Rick couldn't help smiling to himself as he scooted the stool, the one he'd purposefully dragged from Carl and Judith's bathroom, closer to the tub so he could sit with Michonne while she bathed. Judith hated when her things were touched and she'd be upset to know he'd used her 'brush-teef' stool for other purposes. This would be their little secret.

Carl had been happy to help him orchestrate a hoaxtrip to the Hilltop. The young man was easily lured by the possibility of extra time spent with Enid; Judith by the excitement of finally getting a playdate with Herschie she'd long since been promised. And Rick got what he wanted: an occasion to pamper his love in the way she desired, but would not have allowed herself to enjoy with the kids around.

Rick had assumed getting her to accept an entire day dedicated to herself would be a battle. To both Carl's and Rick's relief, Michonne had relented when Judith, extremely clingy as of late, opted to make today the day to fully exhibit her independence. So with the kids accounted for, he turned his focus to providing Michonne whatever comforts were within his power.

He rose up slightly from the stool and leaned in for a kiss, dipping his fingers into the lukewarm water and trailing them down the smooth, supple skin of her arms. Pleased, he sat back down, captivated by the low hum of contentment emanating from her lips. He looked on as the stress lines on her forehead gradually dissipated.

"You feelin' alright sweetheart?" Rick drawled, a lop-sided grin playing across his lips as his eyes locked with hers. "You sure you don't want it any hotter?"

"Uh uh," she murmured, tilting her head back onto the edge of the claw-footed tub and letting her eyes roll back and gently close. "It's perfect. Feels like a damn dream right now! Mmmmm… it's sooooo nice."

Michonne had already proven that many times over that she could handle anything. But as the baby's birth date drew near, Rick could practically feel her body slowly reaching its upper limit. Things she'd never complained about before – persistent headaches and feeling relentlessly hot – became common topics of conversation. Even walking seemed to have become an actual chore.

They'd spent most of the day in bed, where he'd brought her breakfast and snacks and laid with her to talk about the many plans for their future. Anything to take her mind off her growing discomfort and make the tail-end of her pregnancy a bit more tolerable.

As the late afternoon sun receded from their bedroom window, Rick snuck into the bathroom to prepare a special treat for her. Running the tap, he dispensed lavender oil into the tub as it filled with warm water. Eugene had assured him the combination was a 'sure-fire elixir for easing the crazy, opening the pathways to dreamland, and stopping the itchiness of her ginormous baby bump.'

The man was beyond odd, but Eugene was also rarely wrong as far as Rick was concerned. So, he deliberately added a few extra drops of the fragrant oil into the quickly filling bathtub. Noting the calming aroma filling the air, he inhaled deeply, pleased with the mood he could already feel in the air.

He reached across the tub to dim its overhead chandelier. While he couldn't have conceived of a world where such an opulent light fixture would have ever been necessary, Michonne had assured him it had been 'all the rage' in the old world and one of the reasons she'd chosen the sunny cottage as her home after leaving house she she'd shared with Spencer.

He pulled out Carl's CD player from beneath the bathroom sink where he'd asked Carl to hide it the previous evening. Lately, Michonne had taken to absentmindedly humming a particular tune, especially when organizing the various baby items Alexandria's run teams had accumulated over the past several months.

Finally, he placed a few candles on the bathroom countertop, quickly lighting them before turning off the bathroom's harsh overhead light. The player now perched on the edge of the sink, he took stock of the room, clasping his hands together in satisfaction as an ambience of warmth and calm enveloped the space.

But much to Rick's consternation, Michonne had been reluctant to leave their bedroom. Pulling her out of bed and into the bathroom when she was feeling 'like a beached whale' hadn't gone as smoothly as he had hoped. But pull he did, coaxing her up, then practically dragging her to the tub, before helping settle her into bath. He couldn't help but to smile at the deep sigh she'd practically purred when finally had her nestled in the warm water.

He glanced around the room, taking in the small gifts surrounding them, unimaginable a only a few years ago. Hot water, food enough to fill not only his belly, but his soul. Happy, healthy children. And the thought that there would be more. He vowed to do anything to make it so.

He chuckled at his good fortune, his gaze finding its way back to her, mesmerized by how the soft light from the chandelier cast her shadow against the white tiles framing the room. He inhaled deeply, praying for time to stand still, just for a moment, but recognizing his plea would go unanswered. Instead, he strived to absorb all the goodness moments like this gave to him.

"What's so funny?" she asked, too cozy to bother opening her eyes, yet still able to gauge his mood with them closed.

"I was just thinkin'," he began, grinning at her as she scrunched her nose and waited for him to continue. "If any of this is a dream, don't ever wake me up."

"Ditto," she whispered, her eyes slowly opening to wistfully look into his.

Rick studied her face, noticing a small flash of melancholy momentarily obscured her features. He knew what she was feeling. It felt like a dream to him too. One that would be overtaken by the nightmare the world had become.

It was hard to comprehend that despite all they had lost, they'd also gained so much too. Sometimes, it all felt too good to be true and both awaited the dropping of the other shoe. Hopeful it wouldn't happen, but resigned to the fact that sadness and cruelty was always just around the corner.

"I been thinkin'," he began, his eyes capturing hers once again as he reached for her hand.

"Thinkin' 'bout what?" she teased, watching as his smile widen and those crinkles she so adored spread to the corners of his eyes.

"Just that… I don't know, I guess. It's hard for me to believe this is all mine and someone's not going come by and take it away."

"Well, if they tried, they'd have to deal with me. And what do we always say about not messin' with pregnant ladies?"

"Not our pregnant ladies," he laughed, his thumb tracing a calming pattern across the knuckles of her right hand. "I guess I didn't think it'd be possible to be this happy again. You've made me so happy."

"Me too."

Her head against the tub's rim, she lifted her left hand out of the water, resting it on the pronounced belly even a nearly full tub could not hide. She felt Rick's hand join hers as the small taps from the inside became more purposeful kicks, leading both of them to laugh out loud.

"All these stupid false alarm got me too excited. Our girl doesn't seem quite ready to make her appearance. Now she decides to cause a ruckus. I think she's getting a little too comfy in there."

"Well, Dr. Soroyan said it'd be anytime now," he said, voice wobbling at the very thought finally getting to hold the baby in his arms. "I reckon she'll come when she's ready."

"Funny how I don't really remember this part of the process," Michonne giggled, placing her wet hand on Rick's arm for leverage as she leaned back further into the tub. "Andre came pretty fast. I just remember this sense of calm washing over me towards the end. I don't remember all these weird little aches and pains."

"I think that's how it's s'possed to be," Rick said. "Maybe so you don't question havin' another one."

"I just want to meet her… and pretty much over being pregnant."

"I can't wait to meet her either," he said, leaning over to drop a kiss on her pillow-soft lips.

He palmed the back of her neck, pulling her forward as he dropped from the stool to kneel on the mat beside the tub. She drew him close still, his rolled-up sleeves sinking into the water as he wrapped his arms around her. With one last lingering, sweet kiss, he sat back on his heels and took her in, catching how the candlelight framed the droplets of water clinging to her long dark lashes.

She squealed suddenly, taking him by surprise as her eyes darted to the player as it clicked into the next song. Smiling, she leaned back once more and closed her eyes.

"Oh Rick, this is so perfect," she cooed, joy flowing from her and into Rick as she held him spellbound. "This. Is. My. Jam."

He watched her face relax as the smooth, easy melody bounced across the white surfaces of the room. He smiled, taking in all of her. She consumed him. Her body soft, open, abound with new life. Her lips parted as she quietly sang along with the track.

Through drought and famine, natural disasters
My baby has been around for me
Kingdoms have fallen, angels be calling
None of that could ever make me leave
Every time I look into your eyes I see it
You're all I need

While her voice filled the room, he pondered all the pivotal moments that had inevitably brought them together. Every part of the maze, no matter which path he chose to take, led him back to her. Michonne finding the prison and ultimately saving Carl and himself. Terminus. Washington. Alexandria. Taking the outpost. Defeating the Saviors. Mike. Lori. All led them to each other.

The CD skipped, the song's last line sputtering in an infinite loop, it's meaning seeping into his consciousness. He wouldn't allow his eyes to leave her. The unadulterated happiness on her face, her gentle, hypnotic voice, her delicate smile beaming up at him, more brightly than any sunset he'd ever seen nor could imagine. She would be all he ever needed. Of that, he was sure.

Rick howled in agony, knees buckling and giving way, as he stumbled down the stairs of the RV and landed on the cold, hard ground of the clearing. Head bowed and in shock, visions of Glenn's and Abraham's murder played in his mind like a twisted nightmare. He lifted his head slowing, blank blue eyes keying in on the sun's early arrival. He gazed down onto the sparse patch of earth eerily illuminated as light streamed down on him through the trees.

The only discernible sound was that of birds chirping in the background, the incongruity of such a mundane observation tricking his mind into thinking perhaps he had been dreaming. He dug his fingers into the firm dirt beneath him, clawing at the short blades of grass and. All of it seemed so wrong, so out of place, as the stench of death and decay clung to and coated his nose.

The thought of going on after this. After Glenn, his second friend in this world. The young man he'd watched grow into his own. The force who continuously called out to his better angels, forcing him to be better. To do better.

Or Abraham, his unexpected lieutenant. The crass, overbearing, man who'd fought hard, fought valiantly at his side. The kindred spirit who'd encouraged him to live this life as fully as he'd lived the previous.

Brothers to replace the one he'd lost in the old world, now lost to him as well. The stillness distorted his thoughts, making it harder for him to process all he had witnessed. He'd failed his family, once again, allowing others to die for his sins. His actions had been rash, foolhardy.

The thought of having to look Maggie in the face, look any of them in the face was unimaginable. Shaking the imagine from his thoughts, he quietly raised his eyes, instantly meeting Michonne's tear drenched face as he looked over to his family, still on their knees, still stunned into silence.

Michonne signaled to him, but he couldn't decipher what she wanted to convey to him, his mind too numb to make their usual connection. He paused for a second, and then he understood.

He could her Negan's bellows, the arrogant laugh seemingly shaking the leaves free from tree branches. The ugliness, the brutality, the depravity in this world. All rolled up into this detestable man. This man who could see the terror in the eyes of another and not think twice about snuffing it out.

He chastised himself for his overconfidence. For underestimating Negan. Men like him thrived in this type of world. They always had and always would. His role was to counteract this. While their brutality may have the same effect, their reasons were not the same. Negan had been wrong. They were not the same.

As the chill crept up his legs and seeped into his bones, a fire was stoked in his belly. Justice was ignited, not vengeance. He'd erred, arrogantly flown too close to the sun. And for now, he'd let things stay as they were. Get them out of here, go back and lick their wounds, then regroup and fight.

Negan had gotten him wrong. He wasn't weak. He couldn't be broken, not easily anyway. He had too much to lose to not quest for more. He'd meant everything he'd said. He would fight or die trying. In the end, Negan most certainly would be dead.

…

She languished in the salty sting of her own tears, watching this… this monster try to bring Rick low. Slowly uncover all of his fears, expose his insecurities for those who loved him best to see. Perhaps Negan was seeking a change in tide. The hurried abandonment of a sinking ship. This horrific man did not know Rick. He did not know them. Negan couldn't possibly have seen, have known that in order to truly break Rick, he'd have to first crush them all.

Pain rippled through her spine, caused by the wrenching of her neck as they held her down to cut her locs, persisted. But her physical pain had ceased the moment she watched him tumble down the RV's steps. She'd been bewildered at first. The mental exercise of recalibrating their decisions and recognizing that they'd been wrong and would have to pay in blood for their blunder.

Fear had momentarily griped her. The toxic stench of bile drifted up and into her throat as she watched this man, this terror try to take what was hers. The taunting the self-aggrandizing, the glib torture that seemed to leave not a speck of conscience in its wake. What would she do if Negan tried to harm Carl or Rick. She'd be grossly unprepared, but would not be able to sit idle if either was threatened.

The anger was sharp, its spiked edges lighting her nerves and making her arms tingle. She'd had to force it down, control her breathing, ensure her mind was clear enough to prevent a fool's errand that could take them all down.

She was angry, ready to kill every last one of the Saviors surrounding them. But she knew better. Stupid gets you killed and they'd already lost too much that day. So she stooped and took the snide comments Negan roared down at her. The disgusted shiver that set her body cold as he pulled over his glove and leaned down to clasp the remainder of the locs they'd cut from her hair.

Resolve was what lingered in the end. She took deliberate risks, was methodical, and worked every angle until she found the right fit. This would be no different. Today would not be the day to fight. She knew that now. They were weakened and in disarray. But if they were to re-imagine this world, it would not be at the hands of men like Negan. He would have to be stopped. They would be patience and bide their time. They would regroup, rebuild and grow strong. Only then, would they fight.

She waited for Rick to raise his head, to seek her out like she knew he would. Their eyes locked for just a second; even a focused observer would have missed it. She saw first his confusion, then his recognition.

…

He pleaded with Rick as cold pebbles pressed harshly into his cheek, nearly breaking through skin.

"Just do it," Carl implored.

If it meant saving the rest of them from Negan's terror, losing an arm meant nothing to a kid who'd already lost so much. Whatever it took to get them out of this, he was willing to endure.

He closed his eye, the anguish in his Rick's eyes proving too much to bear. He thought of what it would feel like. The blunt blade of the axe hacking into flesh and bone. He remembered the pain of losing his eye. The gnawing pang and piercing spasms unpredictably shooting through his brain. The nausea and blurred vision that still plagued him when he was overly tired. Perhaps a lost arm wouldn't be so bad.

He thought of Judith. Who would take care of her if all three of them didn't make it back. The idea brought his stoicism to the brink of tears. Swallowing them back, he opened his eye and stared right into is father's.

"Do it dad," he rasped, noting the recognition finally sweeping across his father's face. "Please."

Rick gave him a small nod before lifting the axe. The air stilled as snippets of their past life sped through Carl's mind. When he was 8, he'd fallen out of a tree trying to rescue his neighbor's cat that had chased a squirrel up a tree and was too frightened to make its way back down.

His arm slanted in an unnatural position, it had hurt so badly that Rick had had to hold a shaking Carl in the backseat while Shane frantically drove them to the emergency room in their police cruiser. He remembered thinking how odd it was that his father seemed to feel the pain as acutely as if it were his own. It still awed him.

But as quickly as it had started, it was over. Rick hefted the axe, then Negan leaned down to stop his motion, his staccato laughter breaking like glass against Carl's ears. Carl and Rick looked at each other, stunned at the turn of events. An odd heaviness permeated the air between them. Rick had been prepared to harm his son, the person he'd readily and gladly give his own life. How close he'd come was jarring to both of them.

Carl hated Negan. He was no different than the Claimers or the Governor or Gareth. Cruel men whom this world had only given license to deepen the levels of degradation to which they were willing to descend. But he knew is father. He knew Michonne. Today, they would carry their wounded home and bury their dead. Tomorrow, they would prepare to fight.

…

The disbelief was still there, but the ramifications had slowly begun to infiltrate his thoughts. This had been his fault and he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to forgive himself.

"Rick," Michonne began, threading her fingers through his as they sat shoulder to shoulder towards the back of the RV. "I need you to lis–"

"Nah, this is on me," he interrupted, keeping his hand in hers, but moving his shoulder slightly away from hers.

"No, it's not," Michonne said, each word clipped and carefully articulated. She wasn't going to let him do this. Not again.

"We all decided to take them on, including Abraham and Glenn. All of us did this. It's not your burden to bare alone. Not this time."

Rick watched as Michonne quickly dried her tears with the back of her hand. With Aaron at the helm, the RV was headed back to Alexandria; sullen air circulating through the vehicle and nearly choking all of them. They would return not as victors. Not now.

He looked down at Michonne's lap, where Carl's head lay as she ran her fingers through his dark tresses, pulling them off his forehead so she could peer down at his face. Rick watched his son tremble, turbulence winning the war in a fitful sleep. The image brought him back to that night with the Claimers, its memory shepherding more tears and drawing them down his cheeks. Having both Carl and Michonne so close to him now, just like then, made hi, realize there was no limit to what he'd willingly do, willingly give up, to ensure their safety.

"The entire time we were there, I kept running through all these scenarios," she began, breaking the silence and leaning her head against his shoulder. "Just trying to figure a way out for us."

"I'm not sure I see it," Rick began, turning to catch her eye. "If he was able to do what he did, how do we win? I know you wanna fight, but now's not the time. We need a minute to figure stuff out."

"Rick," she sighed, lifting her head from his shoulder. "I know we need to regroup, but Glenn and Abraham are gone, I don't–"

"You think I don't know that?" Rick interjected, his voice more severe than he intended. "Glenn saved my life. I would have given my life for his. And Maggie? Now Maggie…"

Michonne clasped his hand as he slumped forward, waves of regret driving shudders through his body.

"What'll I tell her Michonne? If we do this, we gotta do it right. We can't afford any mistakes. Not again."

"I know that," she replied. "We'll be smart about it."

He leaned back, looking across at a shell-shocked Eugene and scowling Rosita. He'd expected her to join Sasha and Maggie at the Hilltop to bury Glenn and Abraham, but she'd opted to return to Alexandria with the rest of their crew.

And Daryl, his brother was just… gone. They'd all gotten a bitter taste of Negan's depraved brutality. The thought of one of their own being subject to it while they stood idle turned his blood to ice. Daryl was strong, resilient. He knew he'd willingly endure whatever he believed would keep them safe. Rick didn't want this for him. They'd have to take their time and find allies, but he had no intention of remaining under Negan's rule.

…

"Rick," she said, gently squeezing his hand as she rose, pulling him up with her. "We're home."

He looked around, noting the rest had already exited the vehicle and only Michonne and a groggy Carl remained. He watched her walk down the RV's stairs, her arms wrapped protectively around Carl. Rick wanted to grab onto both of them, hold them close. But he stayed back, giving Carl time to receive all he needed from Michonne.

But she turned to shine comfort in his path as well, waiting for him to reach the ground before drawing him near. The three stood arm in arm, the weight of the quiet a balm for the horror they'd witnessed. His glassy eyes. Caught hers. She'd done it again. She'd seen them slipping and thrown rocks in the path to prevent them from getting too far away from each other.

…

An uncanny hush fell over them as they congregated outside the armory. If Rick listened close enough, he could hear bits and pieces of whispered conversations floating around him.

Carl murmured words of comfort to a weepy Judith, desperately clinging to him. The intermittent click of Aaron's camera interrupted thought as he went about fulfilling Rick's request to take photos of their inventory in preparation for the Saviors' first pick-up. Above the din, Rick separated out Michonne's soft cries, watching her weep on Spencer's shoulder. He could only look on as he watched him lift her off her feet and cleave her to his chest. She went willingly, her body sinking into his as she collapsed into his embrace.

Rick stayed back, giving them this moment. Dipping his head, he snuck a peek at her, at them, through downward-cast lashes. He couldn't help himself. Knowing he'd already taken enough, too much from her and wanting her to get something back, whatever it was she needed. Even if it wasn't from him.

…

"Why are you telling me this?" Michonne asked, leaning against the Monroe house's porch railing as Jessie peered up at her from the base of the stairs.

"Because…" Jessie slowly began, pausing to run a hand through her tangled sandy hair. "He won't talk to me. I know he's suffering, but he won't let me help and… I just don't know what else to do."

"I'm not sure I can do any better," Michonne sighed, walking down the steps to meet the frazzled woman at the bottom.

As Michonne's gaze proved too steady, Jessie looked down at a small crack in the concrete beneath her feet. The two had done little more than nod 'hello' since Ron's death. It had been weeks since the painful, yet ultimately cathartic conversation Michonne had initiated to lay out Ron's death and Carl's catastrophic injury. She'd stopped Jessie just outside the steps of the home she herself had once shared with Rick and his children. In her heart, she knew she'd done what needed to be done to save Carl. She held no remorse in her heart over choosing Carl's life. But watching another mother lose a child was not something to relished. Her own truth had shown her this was an injury for which full recovery would be impossible.

Somehow, mother to mother, not much had been necessary to say. Just a few simple words of contrition, followed by continued acts of forgiveness. It had been messy, but they'd found a way to co-exist. There was no other choice. They navigated the awkwardness, each skirting each other's realm to allow the other space, room to breathe. Until now, neither willing to broach the topic of the man they, from all outwards signs, shared.

Although Negan's reign had brought all Alexandrian's together around a united purpose, it had not done much to remedy the uncomfortable air surrounding interactions between Michonne and Jessie. Luckily, most encounters were buffered by either Rick or Spencer, but run-ins were inevitable. Michonne didn't welcome them, but had come to consider Jessie a contributing member of the community and one she'd willingly defend.

"Rick's someone that sometimes just needs to go through it, to get through it," Michonne said, knowing that it was only in the eyes of an outsider that Rick would appear to have seemingly given in, given up. "He'll be fine."

"I'm not sure anymore," Jessie sighed, shaking her head as the toe of her shoe tapped against the peeling paint on the first step. "He's hurting and I'm just not equip to help him. He won't talk to me about he's thinking, what he's planning to do. I know it's something, but he's keeping it all inside and I– I'm worried."

Of course Michonne knew what Rick was up to, but they'd agreed to keep it between the two of them. It wasn't her job to share with Jessie if Rick hadn't done so himself. And while she somewhat agreed with holding off on sharing the more indelicate details with those outside their inner circle just yet, she harbored a certain level of guilt over the fact that Spencer was privy to key elements of the plan while Jessie was not. Rick had disagreed with telling Spencer so much, but she'd felt it necessary in order to avoid the tension and continued confrontations between the two men.

She looked into Jessie's hopeful eyes. This woman loved Rick, cared about his children. But Michonne knew deep down that Rick would never give Jessie his heart. Not really. He'd try, she knew he would. That's how he was built and one of the reasons he meant so much to her. His guilt and sense of honor wouldn't let him behave any other way.

But he'd never give himself over to this woman completely. Not when he still looked at Michonne the way he did. She'd pushed it to the recesses of her mind, directing her attention to getting them prepared for combat. But it never really went away. Sometimes, in the middle of the night when sleep would not come, she questioned her role in all of this. Maybe if she let Rick go a bit more, not allow him so close to her again, he could move on with this woman. It would certainly make Spencer happy too. But for reasons she wasn't prepared to analyze, she didn't think she could. So, she simply nodded and said,

"I'll talk to him."

…

"You doing okay?" she asked.

Rick lifted his head, staring up at her as she stood in the doorway of the cold, dank prison cell. He turned, head cocked to the side.

"I'm alright. You?"

"I told you Spencer knows most of the plan right?" she asked, walking towards him as he rose to his feet. "I know you think he's 'not us,' but, he trusts me. And I trust you. We're good."

"Well, what's done is done," Rick stated, stepping over the charts strewn across the dusty floor to move closer to her. "I don't necessarily agree, but nothing I can do about it now. You really think he won't get in the way?"

She shook her head, joining him in the center of the room.

"He knows we can't really live if we let Negan get away with this. I told him we all stand, we all fight. He's with us."

"Alright then," Rick nodded, pointing down to the plans at their feet. "Now that we got the Kingdom and Oceanside, we're ready to get started on the first part. What we need to do first is–"

"What have you been telling Jessie?" Michonne interrupted, her hand reaching for his arm, stilling it.

Rick looked at her, confusion in his eyes.

"What do you mean? I haven't told her anythin'."

"That's a problem Rick," Michonne sighed, reaching over to hold up his chin as he tried to drop his eyes. "She lives with you. She helps with Carl and Judith. You've got to tell her something."

"I don't want her to worry," he muttered, easing out of her grip and dropping his head. "'Sides, nothin' she can do about it anyway."

"That's not fair Rick. She's out there learning, training, just like the rest of them. She's trying to get strong enough to protect this place too."

"That's not what I meant," Rick said, lifting his eyes to meet hers once again. "I mean part of plannin' this. She's not ever gonna be ready to do what needs to be done outside these walls. I see her tryin' and I'm proud of her. She's startin' to hold her own. But this? What we have to do? This is on us. We run this."

"You know, when we came back and you didn't want to fight right away, when you wanted to wait and bide or time, I was really angry at you," she began, ignoring his statement for the moment.

Rick tipped his head to the side, drawn by the how the sudden seriousness of her tone couldn't blot out the softness in her eyes as she looked at him. It crossed his mind that it had taken calamity to bring back their closeness. He'd missed this so much.

"I know you knew I started going out there, started doing target practice and figuring out how to sharpen my skills. It started to feel like when I was out there trying to find the Governor. It felt so lonely. I couldn't do it by myself. I knew we'd only beat him if you and I did it together."

"Yeah," Rick said, chuckling softly. "You're never exactly good at hidin' from me. I knew you were mad."

"I guess not," she agreed, her eyes momentarily finding to the floor. "I realized quickly they were too big to handle alone. We needed allies, lots of them. How they trapped us should have given me a clue, but I had to see for myself."

Rick's eyes never wavered, glued to hers as she spoke her peace through misting eyes.

"It finally hit me that I didn't want to do this my way. I didn't want to do it alone. I wanted it to be you and me figuring this out. You and I are still standing, still fighting the good fight. I probably should have died 10 times by now, you too. But we're still here. And Glenn and Abraham aren't. And neither is Herschel or Beth or Andrea or Noah or Bob or Mike or Andre or Lori…"

"You're not worried about losing?" Rick asked, eyes drifting to the cinderblock walls behind her. "I've been wondering if fightin'll be worth what it'll cost us, 'cause there's no way it won't cost us somethin'."

"Rick," she began, laboring to keep her voice steady. "When I kept going out there and chasing the Governor. It wasn't because I didn't know you were concerned about me being out there alone. I knew."

She paused, eyes leaving his bent head to scan the damp, chilly room. Turning back towards him, she reached out to take his hand and pull him towards her, forcing him to meet her eyes once more.

"But we're here now. We want to build a life here. You know we're doing the right thing. We can't do that with Negan's boot on our necks. I can't do that."

"I can't lose anyone else," he mumbled, comforted by the acknowledgement in her eyes. "But I can't live like this either. I won't have this life for Carl or Judith. For you…"

"We're the ones who live, that's what you said," she declared, emphasizing her point by pushing her fingertip into his chest. "We're the ones that fight for the future and for those who aren't here to fight themselves. We do it for them, but we do it for us too. We'll beat them. We can do this, but only if it's both of us, you and me."

Rick nodded, drawing her close. He felt the tremor in her arms as he wrapped his around her. She dipped her head and cried into his shoulder. He held her until her tears subsided.

"There is no life if it's a life under Negan," he whispered into her hair. "That's not what I want for Carl or Judith or Glenn and Maggie's baby. That's not what I want for you. Fighting is living. And if I don't make it, you're the one who'll have to lead 'em. I know you can. I get that now."

"How?" she asked, pulling back to looking into his eyes through the dim bulb hanging over the entrance.

"Because, you led me here."

…

Maggie was the one chosen to bring forth Negan's demise. Negan had taken from all of the them, but he'd stolen their hearts when he murdered Glenn. The young widow acted without hesitation, but also without malice. It had no place in her heart if she was to raise her sweet boy in a way that would make his father proud.

But retribution was a necessity to ensure social order. This was not only to avenge Glenn, Abraham, and the countless more that had died at the hands of the Saviors, but to set forth the principles and beliefs that would lead society forward. No tender mercies could have saved Negan that day. The world would do without him just fine.

Michonne watched as Maggie stood over him. His body bloodied and battered, the smug, self-absorbed smirk finally wiped from his face. While it may have been satisfying to witness, as she had predicted, he didn't beg. It wasn't his nature to show his cards, even in defeat.

So he turned his head, spitting streaks of foamy pink phlegm into the red dirt on the side of the road where she, Maggie, Daryl, and Rick had cornered him. She witnessed his final gasps without regret. And when it was all over, her blade drove through his skull.

They gave themselves to time to mourn. The war had brought more death to their door. Sasha, Eric, along with other Alexandrians and many allies from the Hilltop, Kingdom, and Oceanside.

Steadily, they rebuilt Alexandria. They fortified and expanded the walls. They restored damaged homes using parts from those beyond repair. repair They constructed pens for livestock and stocked the pond.

Rick settled into a quiet, albeit longing existence with Jessie; Michonne and Spencer grew closer, his forgiveness of her secrets complete. Spencer begrudgingly accepted Rick's presence in their lives because a happy Michonne involved Carl, Judith… and Rick. They would wonder when the other shoe would drop. When the sweet bliss of peace and happiness would be upended the tragedies this world seemed to have in abundance. Until then, they would just live.

This feels like summer
Boy you make me feel so alive
Just be my lover
Boy, you'll lead me to paradise

Rick placed his elbows on the side of the tub, engrossed by his view. He'd turned the player off, but Michonne had continued singing, not missing a beat as the melody ceased and only her voice filled the room with a warm, homey glow. He smiled, her delicate crooning lulling the air itself into a utterly satisfied state.

"Now, if I recall correctly," he stated, pausing as a smirk crested her lips. "Dr. Soroyan did mention a way for us to help her along…"

"Yeah, I remember what he said," Michonne giggled, opening her eyes to a grinning Rick. "What do you have in mind?"

He chuckled, the twinkle in her eyes matching his own. He rolled up his damp sleeves and slipped his right hand into the tepid water. He looked down, watching goosebumps break out across her chest as his fingertips flitted over her nipples, nearly rocketing her up out of the water.

"Easy cowboy," she murmured, her hands gripping the sides of the tub. "The girls are awfully sensitive at the moment."

"Oh, I know they are," he retorted, using his palm to cup her breast, his fingers brought one nipple, then the other to rigid peaks. "Just doin' my husbandly duty like Dr. Soroyan had suggested."

"Husbandly duty?" she sighed, easing away from his touch as her entire body pulsated. "I think I kinda like the sound of that."

He watched her stiffen and roll her eyes as his hands drifted downwards to palm the swell of her belly. He reached down to drop a kiss on her ticklish belly button, causing more aroused sighs from Michonne as her body answered his feather-light touches.

He cupped his hand, slipping it into the tub to fill with water, before lifting it back up to pour over her breasts. He was riveted as the droplets beaded, then slowly trickled down the steep slope of her belly and back into the tub.

Her low hums filled his head as he sensed tremors flutter across her pebbled flesh. Slowly, he slid his hand down the front of her belly and completely out of her view. She shivered as his hand landed on the soft, sparse hairs of her mound. He stilled himself, patiently waiting for her breathing to even out and her legs to stop their movement.

When she'd calmed down and leaned her head back against the tub's ledge, he parted her folders with his thumb and index finger, pausing for a moment to flick her bud with his middle finger. He slowly, assuredly, began tapping it with the same finger. Her response was instantaneous. The low throb that had begun at her core began to radiate outwards. Her skin tingled, the rapidly cooling water accelerating her tremors. Her hands began to tingle and ache as she desperately held onto the sides of the tub.

He stilled his fingers, drawing a tortured groan from Michonne. The only other audible sound in the room became their synchronized breathing. He could practically see the rapid beating of her heart through her skin.

"Please," she begged, rising partially out of the water, insisting on reconnecting his fingers with her core. "Make me feel good."

He could never deny her anything. And so, he allowed the tip of his middle finger to graze her bud once more, holding still as she ground into his palm. His taps turned to flicks, which evolved into steady, yet firm strokes that saw her pink center peek out from its hood as her mound broke above the tub's waterline.

Soaked to his sleeves, he eased his arm under the water to grip her waist, holding her lower half above the water as her legs shock, the nearness of her release evident. Rick's stroke was steady, deliberate, as he coaxed her climax from its depths. Her breathing grew shallow as her body turned instinctively towards his. She cried out his name.

He held on tight as she rode a rippling wave of ecstasy. As her breathing evened out, he rose from the stool, gently pulling her up with him. Tenderly, he helped her stand on unsteady legs, before lifting her out of the tub. Landing on the fluffy floor mat, he wrapped a large towel around her and began drying every inch of her body. Once satisfied, he smooth a few drops of the scented oil over her belly, before wrapping her in a favorite robe and leading her back to their bedroom.

He laid down with her, face to face, a protective hand cupping her belly. Her eyes flickered, then closed as light snoring signaled her fall into slumber. Rick stayed awake, his mind clouded with thoughts of the baby and prayers for her safe delivery. Since sleep couldn't find him, he just watched Michonne, sleeping on her side, her soft snores periodically interrupted by the baby's movements, which could be seen even through the light blanket he'd wrapped around her.

He gently rubbed her belly, the slow movements eventually rocking him to sleep. Before he drifted off, thoughts of a joyful future with Michonne, Carl, Judith, and the new baby peppered his mind. It was a reality that not so long ago, he would have refused to allow himself to believe was possible. He smiled. It was possible. All of it.

"C'mon Judy-bear," Michonne whispered, snuggling her sweet girl against her chest. "It's finally just us girls."

"Yay!" Judith cheered, unsure of why they were celebrating but always eager to spend time with the woman she loved so much.

Carl, having just arrived back that morning with Judith, had been roped into helping Rick re-enforce lookout points covering Alexandria's newly expanded areas. Rick had claimed it needed to be done immediately because he felt "today's gonna be a special day." He gave both of his girls a kiss and rubbed Michonne's belly before dragging a grumbling Carl out the front door.

They'd only been gone 30 minutes when Michonne began feeling long forgotten, yet still familiar nagging pressure in her back. It started as a twinge, but after 15 minutes of the pressure moving up and down her spine, she began to suspect that the long-awaited appearance of her baby girl might actually be that day, like Rick had predicted.

Not wanting to alarm Judith, who was obliviously babbling about one thing or another as she insistently fed herself lunch, Michonne braced herself against the center island. She rested a shaky hand on her stomach as she took in a sharp breath. She looked over to Judith, now singing to herself as she filled up on homemade applesauce.

She gasped as a shock of pain ripped through her. The noise alerted Judith, who stopped her spoon mid-flight and turned a curious eye towards Michonne. It had been a while since Andre, but the throbbing sensation brought her back to those moments before welcoming him into the world. She swallowed down the fear as soon as she caught sight of Judith's furrowed little brows.

"Baby ok Mama?" Judith asked, fingers pointing towards Michonne's belly.

Michonne's breath hitched. Judith had decided that since her buddy Herschie called the woman who gave the best hugs Mama, she figured it made sense to do the same. The first time she did it that morning, it had nearly brought Michonne to her knees. Now, the pain prevented a smile, but her heart still soared.

"Baby ok," Michonne answered, willing a smile to replace what she imagined to be a frightening grimace. "C'mon Judy-bear. Let's go get daddy."

…

Before Michonne and Judith could even pick up the prepared bags and head out, Rick and Carl burst through the front door. Strangely, it had been Carl's six sense that had brought them back home. He carried Judith and followed behind as Rick helped Michonne to the infirmary, where Dr. Soroyan immediately guided her back to the infirmary's private quarters.

…

Rick left Michonne's side and returned to the front room to try to cajole an irritable Judith into going back home with Carl. He tried to whisper, but Michonne could still hear his attempts at preventing a Judith meltdown. They'd been there for most of the afternoon and the sun had long since bid the day goodbye. Judith wearily refused to be taken back home with Carl to sleep without getting one more glimpse of Michonne, even though she'd spent the better part of the afternoon laying by her side.

"Now darlin'," Rick began, his pacifying voice reaching Michonne's ears through the closed door. "You know Mama's resting right? The baby's comin' and she's real tired. I promise, you can see her in the mornin'."

"But I wanna now!" she protested, fat droplets skimming past her long lashes and landing on her reddening cheeks. "I wanna see Mama now!"

Relenting, Michonne called out, "Rick, please bring my baby to me."

Michonne could hear him sigh heavily as he lifted Judith off the floor and brought her into the room. The minute the little girl's eyes met Michonne's, she squealed, shimmying out of her father's arms and rushing to Michonne, who leaned over the side of the bed to swoop her up and bring her in for a cuddle. Rick watched as she whispered into the little girl's ears, rocking her slowly until she fell asleep and Carl could take her home for the night.

…

Michonne tossed and turned as a comfortable position proved elusive. Craters of worry and anxiety etched across Rick's face as he sat by her side. He reached for her hand as she looked up at the ceiling, concentrating on a crack that ran nearly all the way to the opposite wall. She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly; the cramping had become persistent enough to make the edges of everything around her hazy.

Dr. Soroyan had assured them that everything was progressing 'as expected,' but that didn't alleviate their uneasiness. So much could go wrong in the old world with even the best care, and the consequences if something did go wrong were much grimmer in this one.

Rick traced his calloused thumb over the center of her palm, gazing down at her as tears trailed down his cheeks and into his beard. She gave him a small smile, squeezing his hand as another contraction took her breath away.

A/N: I'm late, I know. This chapter didn't turn out the way I had planned, but I'm tired of fiddling with it and just decided to let it go. Maybe I'll come back to rework it. We'll see. Only two more chapters to go!

I did a bit of a remix of Rick's state of mind after the deaths of Glenn and Abraham. I never fully bought into the storyline that a night of Negan bloviating would tip Rick so far over the edge that he would so readily give up the fight. I always pictured him going back to Alexandria, licking his wounds, then he and Michonne kicking it into high gear take the fight to Negan. And since I'd already taken liberties with having them not yet a couple during the Savior War, I figured, why not?

A very special thank you to the so, so lovely (and resident Shane side chick) winterscorpion for turning me on to "Get You" by Daniel Caesar and featuring Kali Uchis. It fit perfectly with the Richonne vibe I was aiming for at the start of this chapter.

As always, thank you for reading!