A/N: This is a continuation of the story I began in Chapter 6. Rick takes Michonne on a date, determined to earn her back.

I hope you all enjoy!

"You look beautiful."

"You mentioned that," Michonne glanced at him through her long eyelashes. She was nervous, that much was clear. There was a sort of comfort to be gleaned from that; even after a year he still knew her tics. Still, they'd spent over a decade together in nearly every situation imaginable. That she would be nervous around him stuck like a knife in his ribs.

"I haven't gotten to tell you that lately," he moved his chair closer to hers. She regarded him again, the sadness clear behind her eyes. He reached for her, the tips of his fingers just brushing her bare arm. She shivered, pulling away.

"It's been a long year," she exhaled shakily.

"That's my fault," it had been a hard realization. He'd ruined his own life before he even knew he'd been doing it, sabotaged the best part of his existence. Now, through the grace of God, she was sitting with him, watching him expectantly.

"It wasn't all your fault," her voice was quiet, still tinged with sadness. "I shouldn't have—"

"It was completely my fault," he grabbed her hand, lacing their fingers together tightly.

She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, swallowing hard.

"How can I fix it?" he dragged her hand into his lap, tracing the curve of her fingernails.

"Rick," her voice shook around his name. He scooted closer to her still. "I missed you so much. Even when you were still there, I missed you."

His heart broke, the guilt flooding his stomach. The waiter arrived with food, interrupting them. Michonne smiled kindly at him. Rick was determined that he would receive that smile for himself soon.

"I was afraid," he left his food untouched, reluctantly releasing her hand back to her as she went to work on her bread. "I was so close to losing you all that day, and I couldn't shake the feeling." The words came easily now, after so many nights alone in bed thinking them over. "He took a bullet for me, even after everything, everything he did—" he paused, catching his breath. "Shane's betrayal led me to you, then he saved me for you, and then he was just gone and I didn't know how to feel about it."

This time it was her hand that reached for his, the pressure familiar and immediately comforting.

"Why couldn't you tell me?" she asked, her voice soft and plaintive.

"It was my old life," he swallowed, his eyes dropping to the table. "I promised myself I had let it go the moment we got together. Then all of a sudden…"

"You had to think about it again," she nodded, leaning forward towards him.

"How could I talk to you about that? Make you sit through hearing about Lori and the affair?" the idea of it tortured him all over again.

"I already knew, Rick," she reminded him gently.

"You deserved better than that," he admitted, meeting her eyes. "And I couldn't give it to you."'

She smiled then, chuckling wryly to herself, one loc of hair escaping its elaborate bun as she shook her head. "All I wanted was you, Rick. That was always enough."

He was crying over appetizers before he could stop himself, grateful for the low light in the restaurant as he hid his face in his left hand.

"How do I fix it?" he asked her again, his voice splintering.

Michonne's palms came to either side of his face, smoothing away the tears before settling in his hair. "Come home, Rick." His eyes met hers, questioning. She smiled lightly, tugging at the curls at the nape of his neck. "Just come home," she repeated.

He kissed her then, his damp cheeks pressing into her smooth skin, instantly starving for the taste of her. It was over too soon, interrupted by the arrival of wine and salads, the beginnings of a three-course meal. Michonne released him, turning back to the table, sipping her wine daintily.

"I love you," it didn't matter that the wait staff was still within earshot, his proclamation could not wait.

"I know," she smiled, pushing his plate towards him encouragingly. Without further ado, she began to talk, filling him in on the last year of her life as though he'd simply been away on a business trip. He listened attentively, absorbing the information about her cases, about her friends, about moments he had missed with his children. By the second course, he was talking quite a bit himself, things he hadn't even known he was thinking, things he'd spent a year pining to tell her.

When dinner was over, he drove her to their old house, intending to respect any boundaries that she set. He was surprised when she instructed him to pull into the garage, taking his hand as he opened her door for her, and leading him inside. He followed her quietly as she took them upstairs, past the children's bedrooms and into the one they shared for ten years.

"Where are the kids?" he asked. The tell-tell sounds of his children were nowhere to be found.

"At grandma's," Michonne smiled serenely. She turned to face him, her shoulders back, her chin high, the same beautiful, proud woman she had been all those years ago when they first met.

"Michonne," her name was a question, a plea.

"Stay," it was all she said, all she needed to say.

He pulled her into his arms, in awe that this was really happening, that he was really feeling her, smelling her, holding her. She draped her own arms around his shoulders, closing the space between them. With a sigh, she leaned into his chest, laying her head against him, waiting.

"Thank you," he pressed his lips against her. "Thank you," he repeated it, dusting her in as many kisses as she was willing to take. She pulled him to the bed and he came willingly, content to kiss her deeply like it was their first time, his hands taking stock of her body, reacquainting himself.

After several long minutes, she began to remove layers, hungry for him. It took all his self-control to stop her, sitting up to look at her. Her hair was mussed, her clothing wrinkled, her lips kiss swollen. He'd never seen something so beautiful.

With less finesse than he would have preferred, he reached into his pocket, maneuvering around her legs wrapped around his waist. He found what he was looking for, the purchase he had made months ago and hidden away. She stared up at him curiously.

"What is it?" she asked, her breathing still labored.

He took a deep breath, holding the ring up for her to see. "Will you marry me? Again?" it came out far too fast, but she heard him nonetheless.

"Yes," she did not hesitate, barely glancing at the ring as he pushed it up her finger. Their clothing disappeared at record speed, her hands frantic as they tugged at him, testing his resolve to go slow. Still, he managed, making up for lost time, teasing her until she was shaking beneath him.

"I love you," he promised, "I'm so sorry. I love you." He was determined to make her believe it. Every kiss, every caress, every moan was a mark of ownership, a promise to get it right this time.

She trembled, clawing at him, crying as she guided him back where he belonged. He held his face to hers, their cheeks pressed against one another, their tears and breaths mingling as they moved. His name fell from her lips like a mantra. Rick ground her name out with his proclamations of love, wondering for the millionth time how he managed to get so lucky. White light exploded behind his eyes as she fell apart around him. She tightened her grip on him, but Rick had no intention of going anywhere, pulling the blankets up around them, his hands digging into her hips.

She drifted off to sleep, the tears drying on her cheeks, her head tucked beneath his chin, her flushed skin pressed against his. Rick stayed awake, holding her close and watching her, unwilling to close his eyes.

Michonne woke up shortly after the sun rose. She blinked sleepily at him, her smile at the sight of him warming him to the tips of his toes.

"You're here," she murmured, tilting her head to accept his kisses.

"As long as you'll have me, I'm not going anywhere," he assured her.

She smiled again, the happiness radiating off her face. Rick grinned right back.

"Want to go get breakfast?" he asked. "You, me and the kids?"

"Of course," she reached for him. He was considering falling back into bed when the doorbell ringing startled him.

"The kids are home," her voice was an exhausted little sigh. He knew her mind was racing, figuring out the best way to tell them.

Michonne moved to get up but Rick was already on it. "I'll let them in," before she could protest, he was up and pulling on his pants, hastily heading for the door. He needed to see his children. He opened the front door with a flourish, delighting in the sight of all three of them on the doorstep. From behind his daughter and sons he could see Michonne's mother watching him carefully from her car. However, it was the look on Carl's face that would stay with him forever.

Shock melted rapidly into a shit-eating grin that Rick was sure he was mirroring. Judith was in his arms in a heartbeat, Andre wrapped around his legs. He squeezed them all tightly, vaguely aware of the sounds of his wife coming down the stairs behind him.

"You're home," it was Carl who spoke first, his voice cracking through the excitement of his siblings.

"For good," Rick told them, dropping kisses on their foreheads.

"Cool," Carl nodded, already moving inside. "It's good to have you home," he called over his shoulder, making his way towards his mother.

"It's good to be home," Rick called back, still smiling. With a flourish, he closed the front door, content to keep his family to himself for the day.