"You can try to make it funny. Like, put Andre in a box and have him open it and ta-da! A baby!"
"One, I'm not putting my newborn son in a box for comedic effect. Two, I doubt he'll be in a laughing mood."
"But look at this little face," Andrea held Andre up, half-asleep. "How could anyone be mad at this little face?"
"It's not his face he'll be mad at, it's mine." Michonne took Andre from her and cradled him in her arms. He was only two-and-a-half weeks old, but his cheeks were filling out nicely from all the milk. "What to do, what to do."
Andrea placed a comforting hand on Michonne's arm. "Rick will forgive you. From what I've seen so far, he loves you. He'll be mad but, love conquers all and all that corny stuff."
Michonne smiled gratefully, even though her reassurance did fall a little flat at the end. "Thanks. And thank you for being there for me throughout this whole thing. I know I'm not the easiest person to deal with…"
"No big deal. We're both a mess. But now you're stuck with me because you made me his godmother."
"Oh, boy. Am I gonna regret that?"
Andrea grinned sweetly. "Not at all. And it was so awesome of you to name my godson after me."
Michonne rolled her eyes, having half the mind to take Andrea's godmother position if she kept this argument up. "For the last time, I did not name him after you. I've always liked the name Andre, and you just happen to come along with the name Andrea."
"Sure, Michonne. It's not because you love me or anything. Whatever gets you to sleep at night."
Later the next day, Michonne decided to take her and Andre to the nearest plaza for some shopping and fresh air. She was sure to be extra careful since it was his first official outing, but Andre was safe, tucked adorably in a baby carrier she'd found in the mountain of gifts she'd received.
Everything was fine for the first hour or so. People would stop to admire or coo at Andre, and sometimes ask her everything from the invasive ("Are you breastfeeding? You look like it!") to the slightly racist ("Is the father in your life")? Which, he wasn't, but it was still rude to ask.
But Michonne couldn't be mad. It was a nice day, Christmas decorations adorned the streets, and most importantly, she had her baby with her. As long as she focused on that, and avoided any nagging thoughts of Rick, she would be –
"Michonne? Michonne Grey, is that you?"
Michonne froze, wishing she'd heard differently, but that voice was unmistakable.
Jessie Anderson stood a few feet away, clad in snug jeans, suede boots, and a mid-drift baring jacket despite the chilly weather, which did good to show her flat stomach and belly button ring.
Jessie rested her hand on her hip as Michonne contemplated making a run for it. "It is you. Unbelievable."
"Hey, Jessie," Michonne smiled, doing her best to bring little attention to the lump that was obviously a baby. "W-what are you doing here?"
"Work in L.A is slow. Nearly every audition I walk into, there are ten other blondes looking at me like I'm the bitchy blonde getting the part. It's seriously so annoying." She rolled her eyes. "Anyways, since I'm not booked I decided to come back for Christmas."
She looked Michonne up and down, her eyes finally widening when she noticed. "Is that a baby?"
"What? This?"
Her blue eyes nearly bulged out of her head. "Oh my God, it is. It's yours? Is that why you aren't at Harvard with Rick?"
Jessie stepped closer, and Michonne tensed. She half-smiled at Andre before turning mischievous eyes to Michonne. "So, who's the Dad?"
"You know what Jessie, I have to go. Right now."
She didn't wait for Jessie's reply, leaving behind a string of curses as she walked as fast as she could without disturbing Andre. Behind her, she heard Jessie's half-hearted goodbye.
Rick got the call late. He had just finished brushing his teeth and was about to jump into bed with a Dostoevsky novel when his phone buzzed gently beneath his pillow.
Which was strange, since no one usually called him at this time except his parents when the time-zone was different, but they'd called him earlier so that couldn't be it. His heart sped up when he thought it could be Michonne. Maybe she would surprise him, make his dreams come true by telling him she was on the other side of the door.
But the number on the caller I.D was unfamiliar. "Hello?"
Jessie's voice flooded his ear, jarring him for a second. "Hey, you. Were you asleep?"
"No, no," he swung his legs over the bed and ran a hand over his face. "Just…wasn't expecting to hear from you. You change your number again?"
"Yeah," Jessie sighed on the other line. "I'm preparing myself for the life of a superstar. Have to change my number every three weeks or so."
Rick blinked. "That's why you called?"
"No, no," she said, mimicking him from earlier. "I just wanted to let you know I'm in Atlanta for Christmas."
He smiled. "That's good, Jess. I bet everyone's glad to see you." He was half-tempted to ask her to go check on Michonne for him.
"Oh, they are but…I really just wanna see you."
Rick laid back in bed, knowing this would be a hell of a phone call to get through. She was using the sultry voice she used right before they would have sex. "Lucky for you, I'll be down in a few days."
She exhaled. "I'm glad. It's so weird how everything's changed. Glenn and Maggie are married, Michonne has a baby, Hershel's is so different – "
"Scuse' me?"
"Huh?"
Rick got back up slowly, feeling like he was in a trance. "Say what you just said now. About Michonne."
"She…has a baby?" Jessie said confusedly. "I saw her today, at the plaza, carrying a baby."
His mouth went dry. "Her baby? You're sure it's her baby?"
"You can't fake that. As an actress, I'd know."
Rick held the phone away from him, swallowing hard. "I have to go, Jessie."
"Ok," she sounded defeated. "Bye, then."
He clicked end call, threw his phone back on his pillow, and ran his fingers through his hair. Michonne. Michonne had a baby. Michonne had a baby, and so Michonne had been pregnant this entire time, and hadn't told him. In all their phone calls, letters, texts all their promises to one another – apparently void on her part – she hadn't even given him a fucking hint.
He picked up his phone again, his finger hovering over the call button, but he couldn't. He didn't want to have another half-assed phone conversation with her. No, he needed to see this for himself.
He pulled a shirt over his head, and nearly ripped off the door handle to his door before shutting it and storming across the hallway. He banged hard on Rudy's door, the sound of hard rock metal floating out of it. A girl answered, slinking against the door. "Hello, handsome. How can I help you?"
Rick worked his jaw, sincerely not in the mood. "Rudy here?"
"He is."
He cocked his head to the side. "You gonna let me in?"
She shrugged. "Only because you're really hot."
That was good enough for him. Rick brushed past her, finding Rudy where he always was; sunk into a bean bag, high off of whatever it was he was smoking those days. Rick generally never cared for him, but he'd snuck Shane a few things, and so he could only hope his illegal dealings extended to what Rick needed.
"Slicky dick Rick," Rudy teased behind squinted eyes. "You finally caving? What'll it be?"
"Plane ticket. For Atlanta, tomorrow."
Rick felt like he was being grossly played. Like any second a camera crew would appear and this would all be revealed as some twisted, elaborate prank.
He was working it out piece by piece, trying to be objective about it, but it all came down to one thing: She'd lied to him.
It was a jarring realization to come to; he and Michonne had next to no secrets between them, and if they ever even thought to lie, they'd be able to read it off each other in a matter of seconds.
Rudy – by some miracle, especially during Christmas – managed to get Rick the ticket for a grand total of $200, taken directly out of his savings account. Some part of him told him he would sorely regret that later, but he wasn't thinking straight. All he knew was that he had to be in front of Michonne, he had to hear it from her lips, had to see the baby for himself.
He worked most of it out on the plane. The baby was Mike's. Michonne had taken the morning after pill, sure, but that was only ninety-nine percent effective. And then – he didn't know. He'd been so wrapped up in Jessie, in making plans for Harvard, he hadn't even noticed the changes that were undoubtedly there.
All of the pieces were falling into place. Why she shied around the topic of coming to Harvard. Why she deflected – always, always swiveled the conversation back to him. Her clipped answers. And he'd eaten it all up, word for word, empty promise after empty promise, hoping she would come while she knew she never would.
Maybe it was partially his fault. Michonne was just fine with staying in Georgia, until he convinced her Harvard was the best choice. In retrospect, Harvard with Michonne was more for him than it was for her, even if he knew it was the best choice for her. And then he'd left her dry, too absorbed with himself to notice what she was going through.
For the remainder of the flight he oscillated from blaming himself, blaming Michonne, blaming the both of them. He thought of what he'd say when he first saw her, or what she would say. He could've just called her when he landed, and he did scroll past her name a few times, but the words were scrambled when he grasped for what he would say.
In the end, he would just need to sit back, grit his teeth, and wait for the shit to hit the fan.
Michonne had been minutes into some bad reality show when she heard a knock on the door.
After a stressful morning with Andre, she'd finally managed to put him down for a nap, and was itching for a few peaceful minutes, so not only was it unexpected, but inconvenient.
She stumbled to the door, tripping on toys (the twins took it upon themselves to 'break Andre's toys in for him until he's old' enough). "Who is it?"
"Rick."
Michonne took a step back, shaking her head. No, the sleep deprivation was finally getting to her, that was it. She had an entire week before Rick came from break.
Her heart felt like it wanted to leap out of her throat when she unlatched the door, opening it a crack. It was Rick, looking at her with that squint of his. "You mind?"
"Rick," Her voice sounded gross and sad and desperate and it cracked in strange places, but she didn't care. "You're here."
He didn't smile like she wanted him to. Not even a hint. A muscle feathered in his jaw, but his baby blues were lined with silver. "Michonne."
The way he said her name, like she'd hurt him so bad – and she had. She took another deep breath and opened the door wide. "Come in."
She didn't walk with him, leaving him to shut the door as he took in the familiar setting of his second home, where he'd made so many memories with the girl who now had her back to him, wringing her hands. There was definitely evidence of a baby – diapers and wipes piled to the ceiling where he and Michonne used to measure their height, a babies bassinet, more bottles than one baby could possibly need.
They ended up in the kitchen, Michonne pressed into the sink, and Rick on the wall opposite to her, like there was a gaping hole between them and if either of them crossed a line they'd get swallowed in.
"So I guess Jessie told you." she said, skipping over the preamble.
He nodded. "She did, last night."
Michonne bit the inside of her cheek, nodding.
"Crappy way to find out, if you ask me."
"I swear I was going to tell you, Rick," she looked him straight in the eye, her own pricking. "You were the first person I wanted to tell."
He didn't say anything.
"I wrote you so many letters that never got sent, the texts saved in my drafts, I…"
"How could you keep something like this from me?" His voice was quiet, a note of helplessness, a hint of anger.
"Because I knew you'd stay," she said finally. "And then you'd be behind."
"How could you even think like that? You get pregnant, and instead of telling me, you try to protect me? Like I'm the one who needs savin'?"
"I couldn't have us both here. Your future, everything, it was in Boston, and I – I didn't know what to do."
"So you spend months feeding me lies because you're so noble?"
She pushed off the sink. "I was protecting you. I don't care how you twist it, I was."
He leaned his forearms on one of the chairs and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Michonne, stop it."
"Tell me you wouldn't have stayed," she challenged. "Look me in the eyes and tell me you wouldn't have stayed here if I told you."
He looked at her, tears staining her cheeks, her eyes wide and desperate.
"Exactly," she said in a near-whisper. "You can't."
"So what if I stayed for a while? You're my best friend, of course I wouldn't wanna abandon you while you were pregnant, for Christ's sake."
"We needed boundaries, Rick."
He half-scoffed. "Boundaries."
"You've always been there for me, and I love you for that." She smiled for the first time, and it turned his heart over and made him want to forget the whole thing and just run to her. "But at one point, it was getting to be too much. I was going to Harvard because I wanted to be with you more than I wanted to go for myself."
"You should've told me. I shouldn't have – "
"Don't blame yourself. I know you just wanted the best for me."
"Or I'm just as guilty," he shook his head, sniffing. "I was so wrapped up in this idea of the two of us taking on the world together, couldn't see right."
She bit her lip, thinking how she'd almost written the same thing in one of the twenty-something letters she never sent. "My fault. In all your letters and calls, you still spoke to me like I was Michonne, the girl on her way to Harvard, and not Michonne, the pregnant girl who had such a bright future but screwed it up. I was…holding on to that, through you, I think. And I'm sorry."
He nodded. All of the tension in his chest was dissipating, the more he understood, the more he looked at her. And it was then he realized they were both standing there in that moment, the angst up to the ceiling, because they loved each other so much.
He didn't know who walked towards the other first, only that when he finally wrapped his arms around her it felt right, and familiar, and like coming home. She'd put on a bit of weight, but she fit just right in his arms. She smelled like Michonne – like her favorite peppermint shampoo and that perfume her Dad had given her, with a hint of baby. He held her head and buried his face in her neck, whispering that he was sorry over and over, and she did the same, except hers were punctured with sobs.
Finally they pulled away, laughing at the complete messes they were. Michonne laced her fingers through Rick's. "There's someone I want you to meet."
"He's been sleeping most of the day, after keeping me up most of the night, of course."
Rick chuckled, still marveling at the tiny human sound asleep in his arms. "He'll start sleepin' during the day when he's good and ready. That's Dr. Grimes speaking, by the way."
Michonne smiled. Dr. Grimes. One day she hoped to be Grey, Attorney At Law.
"He's beautiful, Chonne." Rick murmured. Andre's tiny hand was clasping his index finger, and the whole scene was too adorable and made Michonne feel warm and want to snap a million photos. "Where's Mike?"
"Still in Florida, last I heard. I called him a dozen times, left him messages, but…" she trailed off, not needing to say more.
Rick smiled apologetically.
"I could technically still hit his ass with some child support, but I'm doing good on my own so far, so I'll keep that card up my sleeve for later. Point is: we don't need him. I've got Mom and Dad, Andrea, the twins. Me and my baby are gonna be just fine."
Rick understood what Jessie meant when she said motherhood couldn't be faked. The way Michonne gazed at Andre, like he was her sun and stars, said everything.
"And me," he said quietly. "You have me."
"Always." She said without hesitation.
Andre woke up a little bit after. Michonne fed him (much to Rick's chagrin, though she was modest and he tried to be a doctor about it), burped him, and then let Rick hold him again. He walked up and down the room, rocking him gently and speaking to him in soft murmurs.
"He likes you," Michonne observed. "I talk to him about you a lot, even when I was pregnant."
"Really? What'd you tell him?"
"Just all about the stupid shit we used to pull – while warning him not to do the same thing, like a good Mom."
"That's right," Rick told Andre. "Your Mom was always wanting us to do somethin' reckless, and I was always the one willing to talk some sense into her."
Michonne smacked him with Andre's bib. "Don't feed my son lies."
"I don't know, he's lookin' pretty convinced."
She laughed again, feeling eighteen again with him, and somehow much, much older with Andre in the mix. She had imagined Rick's return to go down in a lot of ways – most of them nightmarish, and full of tears and endings. And even though thing's weren't completely patched up between them, she liked this version.
If the look in Rick's eyes was anything to go by, he like it, too.
