A/N: Happy Holidays everybody! This will be the last update before Christmas, but I promise I'll be back soon! Thank you all for your kind words, insightful (and hilarious) observations, and your continued support.

The alarm went off far too early for Michonne's liking, the electronic tune crescendo growing louder until she could no longer ignore it. The man next to her, by contrast, seemed to have no qualms with sleeping through the sound. His chest was still rising and falling in a gentle rhythm, his hand laid protectively over her backside. It wasn't until she moved, reaching for the offending phone, that Rick woke up, his blue eyes opening groggily.

"What time is it?" he mumbled, his accent gravelly.

"6:30," she knew the hour without having to look. Today was the first morning in years where she had not woken up before the alarm went off.

Rick groaned in displeasure. "What time do you start work?" he asked her, closing his eyes again.

"9," she put her now silent cellphone back on the nightstand. Work seemed like an insurmountable task today, particularly after last night. She and Rick had fallen into a pattern of dozing off only to be woken by the other one's desires until they were finally spent in the early hours of the morning. She was still in a blissful haze, almost a state of disbelief. It had been years since she felt anything like this. Going to bed with Rick Grimes was pleasurable but waking up to him the next morning was the most sublime experience she'd had in a long time.

"Me too," Rick rolled over, his sleep-warmed skin covering her. He kissed her between the shoulder blades. "Want to play hooky with me today?" he asked against her back.

Michonne laughed into the pillows. "You're a bad influence," she swatted backwards at him. He caught her hand.

"Come on," he plead his case, "when's the last time you stayed home on a work day?"

"Not since before Dre," she admitted, unable to even recall a single instance.

"Same here," Rick said. "I haven't taken a day off in years. Not counting my suspension." He chuckled.

"We work hard," Michonne attempted to rollover but Rick was reluctant to release his human pillow.

"Let's take a day, just one," he kissed her again, dragging his lips to the base of her neck.

"And do what?" she asked playfully. She wiggled against him.

"I have a few ideas of things we could do," his hands were wandering her body again.

"You're insatiable," she laughed.

"Stay in bed with me," he beseeched. "One day. No work. Just a normal couple, getting to know one another."

"Are we a couple now?" she asked in a teasing tone, but was truly curious about the answer. One night together, no matter how passionate, was no guarantee of anything in her experience.

"We better be," he rolled back over, freeing her. "I don't do one night stands. I expect a commitment," his tone was serious, but his face was crinkling into a smile.

"I'll make an honest man out of you, don't worry," she poked him, unable to hide her own grin.

"Do you really want to go to work?" he asked her. Michonne knew that if she said the word, he would get up and prepare for his workday.

"One day in bed," the prospect was very tempting. She mentally catalogued her to-do list today. It was nothing Glenn couldn't handle.

Rick scooted closer to her, contorting his face into a pouty expression that immediately set her laughing.

"Just this once," she told him.

He fist-pumped the air. Michonne's laughter intensified.

"Call work," she instructed, moving to get out of bed.

"Where are you going?" he asked, reaching for her.

"To brush my teeth and wash your funk off me," she stuck her tongue out, evading his grasp.

"Such a girl," he lamented with a smile.

"There's an extra toothbrush in the medicine cabinet," she called over her shoulder, grabbing her bathrobe and moving off to the master bathroom.

Michonne splashed her face with water from the sink, turning on the shower to heat the water up this cold morning. The sun had yet to make it past the storm clouds outside the small window. She had to admit that Rick had selected a good day to be lazy. She was brushing her teeth when he joined her in the bathroom, still naked as the day he was born. She smirked at him around her toothbrush, gesturing to the one she had set aside for him. He shoved the brush in his mouth, rubbing the foam around indiscriminately. She shook her head, trying not to laugh with her mouth full.

"What did work say?" she asked him after she rinsed her mouth out.

Rick spat in the sink, "They told me to feel better. I came down with a horrible cold," he grinned cheekily at her. "Are you going to call?"

"After my shower," she assured him, pulling the glass door back and reaching in to test the water. It was steaming hot, the way she liked it. She could feel Rick's eyes on her from behind. She looked at him over her shoulder. His obvious attraction to her gave her a little spark of feminine pride. An idea entered her mind. "We could save water if we shared," she suggested innocently, removing her robe and hanging it on the towel rack.

"Probably a good idea," he nodded, his pupils darkening.

"Grab a towel," she stepped in to the shower, enjoying the sounds of him scrambling around just outside. The hot water felt amazing on her skin, coursing over sore muscles. Rick had given her quite the workout last night, but she wasn't tired. She kept her eyes closed as she heard him step inside, his feet slapping on the tile floor of her walk in shower in his haste to join her. She tilted her head back, her skin prickling as the water dripped down her face and into her hair.

"You aren't playing fair," Rick's voice was low and rumbling.

She opened her eyes again. He was standing in front of her, almost distressed. Michonne turned her back to him, fidgeting with her shower controls until she switched the faucets to a rarely-used feature. The faucet over head of them began to spew water, simulating rain. She did not often indulge in this; being a mother meant showers were quick. She could not think of a better time to splurge.

"Better?" she asked him, the water drenching them both.

"Almost," he closed the distance between them, pulling her against him and kissing her. He tasted of mint, his skin slick underneath her hands, his stubble brushing against the delicate skin on her face. She pulled back reluctantly, tilting her head to breath.

"Turn around," she instructed. Rick raised an eyebrow, but complied. Michonne reached for her shampoo, lathering some up between her hands before massaging it into his damp curls, dragging her knuckles down his scalp. Rick let out a deep sigh of contentment, relaxing as she went to work on the rest of him, soaping him up generously with her body wash.

"So this is why you smell so good," Rick chuckled. She was kneading his muscles between her hands. He had spoiled her last night in every way; she intended to return the favor.

Michonne laughed, turning him around and pulling him back under the hot water, watching the suds race down his body and into the drain. She cleansed herself as he rinsed off, his eyes trained on her as she smoothed the soap over her dark skin.

"You really aren't playing fair," he lamented for a second time, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

She smiled, taking her time in rinsing off, pulling her fingers through her hair to stretch the tight coils back out.

"Waiting is no fun," she teased him, enjoying her modicum of payback.

"No, it's not," he agreed, his control splintering as he reached for her, pulling her wet body flush against his. She snaked her arms around him, clutching his shoulders as his hands beelined a path down to her rear.

"Always copping a feel," she accused as he turned his attention to her neck. She did not mind in the slightest. She craved the contact as much as he seemed to.

"You can't really blame me," he gave her cheeks a light squeeze to illustrate his point.

Her self-control was quickly slipping as Rick dusted kisses along her body, his hands going to work on her slick skin.

"Rick," she could barely get his name out. His ministrations were robbing her of her ability to think clearly. She vaguely recalled her plan and pulled back from him. He looked disappointed at the sudden lack of contact. "Sit down," she instructed, steering him backwards towards the shower bench.

He dropped down onto it with a comical wet smack. She smiled, coming closer, the air around them steaming from the hot water. "Lean back," she applied pressure to his shoulder, pushing him back until he was braced against the wall. Michonne climbed into his lap slowly, mindful of the way he was watching her, like a child waiting to open a present.

"You're going to kill me, I swear," he groaned, his fingers digging into her waist.

"I like you too much to kill you," she assured him, not bothering to disguise her moan of pleasure as she began to move on top of him.

88888

"Do you have eggs?" Rick's face was in her refrigerator. He was dressed in his work undershirt and boxers, his hair still damp from their shower, looking at home in her kitchen.

"Top shelf," she called backwards to him, looking for a mixing bowl. She could hear him rooting around, removing ingredients one by one. He set the eggs down on the counter in front of her, tugging at the back of her shirt playfully. She smiled at him. "What are you making?" she asked.

"Pancakes," Rick had insisted on cooking breakfast. He kissed her forehead once before returning to his task, giving it the singular focus he seemed to apply to everything that was important to him. He measured out ingredients, eyeballing them as he dumped flour into the bowl she gave him.

"From scratch?" she questioned, impressed. She was more of a Bisquick gal.

He winked at her. "I know a thing or two about cooking," he cracked the eggs with a flourish over the bowl.

"Do you want me to help?" she retrieved a whisk.

"I want you to just relax," he smacked her on the bottom playfully, shooing her out.

"If you insist," she wasn't going to complain about a homemade southern breakfast, especially if it came from Rick. She leaned on the counter, watching him whip the batter expertly, humming a song to himself.

"What do you normally do in the mornings?" he asked her, adding cinnamon.

"I usually workout," she told him.

"Well, you certainly managed to do that a little while ago," he grinned suggestively at her.

"I can't break my routine," she teased, but her face was flushing. She was glad he enjoyed it as much as she did. "What do you normally do?"

"Well, I used to get Carl ready for school. Now, I have breakfast with the girls, then go feed the horses."

"Very Pa Ingalls of you," she watched him heat up her griddle on the stove, testing it by splashing droplets of water on it.

He chuckled, spooning the batter on the pan. "What does Dre do, during the day?"

"Mostly, he's at daycare," Michonne had spent many weeks researching before settling on a place that satisfied her. Leaving her son alone had been a considerable effort, especially after his father died.

"His grandma doesn't keep him?" the batter sizzled, filling the kitchen with a warm smell.

"She wouldn't mind, but I don't want to impose. Also, he needs to be with kids his age. After Mike died…I kept him sheltered for a while."

"Can't blame you," Rick said lightly, flipping over the flat cakes. "When I woke up, you couldn't pull me away from Carl."

"What was Lori like, when you woke up?" Michonne hoped she wasn't over stepping a boundary, but the question nagged at her. She would have been beside herself if the man she loved was in the hospital. She wondered how Lori had reacted.

"A little distant, now that I think about it," Rick looked at her thoughtfully. "I let it slide, thinking it was because we fought so much before the accident and she wasn't sure how to handle it. Guess I was wrong." He shrugged, plating the first stack. "Do you have syrup?" he asked.

She retrieved it for him, her mind on what he had just said as she pulled out silverware and napkins. She wondered about Rick's marriage sometimes. From what she could surmise, it had never been a particularly blissful union. He had been angry when they first met, resentful when he spoke of it. Now he spoke of them with the air of a person discussing the weather.

She looked over at him. He was stacking pancakes a few inches high on a plate. He smiled when he caught her eye, looking every bit as happy as his tone would suggest. The thought occurred that she might have been the catalyst for that smile. Her body prickled in response.

"Breakfast is going to be cold if you keep watching me like that," Rick said, seizing the syrup bottle and silverware.

"Do you want to eat at the table?" Michonne brought herself back to the here and now, anchored by her hunger and the delectable smell wafting off the plate towards her.

"We're spending the day in bed, right?" he answered with a question of his own, inviting her with a nod of his head to indulge in his plan.

"How right you are," she kissed him on the cheek. "Lead the way."

Breakfast was delicious, made all the more enjoyable when eaten off a shared plate. Rick was acting as her backrest, his legs on either side of her, his arms bending around her while he ate.

"These are so good," she complimented, leaning into his chest while she chewed another delectable bite.

"It's a family recipe," he told her.

"What else are you good at?" she set her fork down. "You know, besides ice-skating, and horseback riding, and cooking…" she ticked the points off on her fingers.

"Well, I'm great in bed," he licked syrup off his thumb, "but you already know that."

She rolled her eyes, but was unable to refute him. "I know you're a comedian," she teased.

"Honestly," he swallowed a bite of food, "there isn't much I think I'm truly great at. You're the one with all of the talents. Single mom, super lawyer, snazzy dresser—"

"Snazzy dresser?" she couldn't resist the urge to interrupt him, laughing at his odd turns of phrase.

"You're always wearing these dresses that I swear you just pour yourself into," he smirked at her.

"What about you and those button downs?" she countered.

"What about 'em?" he asked.

"You know what they look like on you. You have a mirror," she accused.

"I exhausted my supply of nice shirts trying to make an impression on you," he chuckled.

"Now I know what to get you for Christmas," her laughter intensified. It wasn't often that she got giggly, but Rick had a talent for coaxing it out of her.

"What are you doing?" he asked. "For Christmas, I mean?"

"I'll have to go see Mike's mom for a bit," she said. "But besides that—"

"Spend it with me," Rick suggested. "And Carl. Christmas on a farm. Dre will love it."

"You're full of ideas today, aren't you?" she polished off her last bite.

"Or Carl and I can come here," he amended. "Since we hosted on Thanksgiving."

"That's a big step," she mused.

"Is it?" he sounded genuinely surprised. "You've already met my whole family and friends. Doesn't seem that far of a stretch."

Michonne found herself smiling. Rick had a way of simplifying things for her, putting an end to her overthinking. "I could cook dinner. Invite some people over."

"Me included?" he questioned jokingly.

She laughed again. "You'll get the seat of honor."

"Then I'll be there," he kissed her, the maple on his lips lending him a sweet taste.

"Will Carl be all right, spending his Christmas here?" she could not help herself from asking.

"I'll talk to him," Rick promised her. "But I can't imagine he would be upset."

"And Lori?" she asked.

"What about Lori?" Rick's brow furrowed.

"How do you think she will take all of this?" Michonne needed to know.

"I think she already knows," Rick wet his lips. "She came over, while I was getting ready yesterday. I've been meaning to tell you," Rick said apologetically, scratching at his stubbled cheek absentmindedly. "I just keep getting distracted." His eyes drifted down to her.

"What did she say?" Michonne asked, attempting to keep him on task.

"She came over before our date," Rick shifted, moving their plate to the bedside table. "I guess Carl was gushing about you."

"She confronted you about it?" Michonne privately thought his ex-wife had a lot of nerve.

"She tried," Rick shrugged one shoulder. "She had plenty of questions about you."

"I bet she did," Michonne snorted.

"It's none of her business," Rick echoed her own thoughts. "But I asked about the baby, and she told me Shane doesn't know she was still sleeping with me while we were married."

"You really think Shane doesn't know?" Michonne asked. Officer Walsh did not strike her as a stupid person. He could play stupid when it suited him, but Michonne knew a calculating person when she saw them.

"I doubt it. I think he doesn't want to know," Rick leaned back against the headboard. Michonne moved over so that they were face to face.

"He's jealous of you. I think he desperately wants this baby to be his. It'll be the one thing he has over you," she studied Rick for his reaction. This was a lot to take in for anyone, let alone a man who had been through the ringer a time or two over the last year.

"Is it wrong that I hope the baby is his?" Rick asked her, his hair tumbling over his forehead.

"She's put you through a lot, I can't blame you." Michonne, touched his curls. massaging the scalp. He closed his eyes and exhaled.

"Is the baby is mine, what does that mean for us?" he asked her, flicking his eyes open.

Michonne gave a start at his word choice. "Well, Carl would have a sibling," she said, choosing her own words carefully. "I'm sure I will come to love them as much as I already love Carl." That part was true. Anyone who was half-Rick was bound to be a person whom she was affectionate towards.

Rick's hand flexed, clutching her through the material of her shirt. "A baby is a lot of work for a single parent," he breathed.

"I have some tips for you, if it comes to that," she fluttered kisses over his face in an attempt to reassure him. The action served to calm her nerves as well.

"How did you do it?" he was looking at her with something very much like admiration in his eyes.

Michonne sighed. "I had help. Mike's mom…" she did not like to think about that time. To say she had been a mess was an understatement. Those first few weeks of grieving had hit her like a freight car.

"Is that where Dre is?" Rick questioned.

"Yes," Dre blessedly had an excellent relationship with his paternal grandmother. It was convenient now, especially with Rick over at her house for adult sleepovers.

Rick looked away thoughtfully, "What do you think Dre will do, when he finds out about us?"

The question caught her by surprise. It was one that had plagued her, if she was being totally honest with herself. "He already loves you…" she began.

"But I'm not his father," he finished for her. There was no malice in Rick's tone, just a pure and simple statement of fact.

Michonne felt guilt flood her. Rick was such a good man, one she should be happy to introduce to Dre as her romantic partner. Guilt still nagged at her when she even considered that possibility. "I just don't want Dre to forget Mike," she admitted, unable to meet his piercing blue gaze.

"What makes you think he will forget his father?" Rick was watching her, a wrinkle forming between his eyes.

Michonne felt her heart begin to pound faster, the tell-tell signs of a panic attack rising. "Dre was so young," she took a deep breath. "If we didn't have pictures of Mike, I don't know if he would remember him at all."

Rick adjusted his position again, bringing his hand up to her shoulder reassuringly, looking thoughtful. "Do you know what it feels like, being shot?" he asked. Michonne felt her eyes widen. Rick didn't often discuss his injury. He continued on calmly, "It doesn't hurt; not at first. It's like a numbness fills you up, like the breath gets sucked out of you. Then you start to realize what's happened, and you start to panic, start to smell the blood. That's when the pain hits."

"Rick," she felt tears gathering behind her eyes. She reached for him, but he caught her hand, guiding it to the place under his hair and just above his left ear. The scar was still there, pronounced and jagged.

"That pain is nothing compared to being in a coma," he continued, his fingers pressing into hers. "You have to make some choices when you're close to death. You have to choose what you're going to do."

"You chose to live," she whispered, beginning to understand his point.

"I chose to fight," he amended. "Brushes with death tend to put things in perspective pretty quickly. You learn not to waste time worrying about things you can't change." His eyes found hers again.

"What are you saying?" she asked him quietly, fear rising in her.

Rick kissed the inside of her palm, his lips lingering against her skin as he spoke. "I'm saying that you and Dre, you got dealt a bad hand. A complete shit one. But you chose to keep fighting. And Dre, he's never going to forget his dad because you will make sure that Mike is remembered, whether I'm here for it or not." He guided her hand in his hair down over his shoulder.

"I want you here," she assured him, swallowing hard.

Rick's lips pulled up into the hint of a smile. "I know we always talk about Lori. I know it's part of your job, but this is more than a job now," he pulled her body closer to his, pressing them chest to chest. "I just want to understand you the way you understand me."

The tears did come then, large salty drops that dripped down her cheeks in rapid succession. Rick's calloused hands wiped them away.

"It's going to be tricky," Rick took her hand, "But I hope you know that I'm not trying to replace your husband. He'll always be a part of your life."

Michonne swallowed. "And Lori will be a part of yours, baby or no baby, she's Carl's mom. And that's fine," she added.

"That's fine," he repeated, his smile widening.

"Maybe next time you're here, you can make Dre these pancakes." She gestured to the empty plate. "It's his favorite food." She kissed him, deeper this time, determined to make amends for her uncertainty. Rick responded in kind.

"Pancakes it is," he assured her, smiling.

She was crawling into his lap again when his phone began to buzz, bouncing around on the bedside table. He gave her an apologetic peck on the lips before leaning over to check it. "It might be work," he explained.

"No worries," she took a moment to wipe the remnants of tears from her cheeks. When she looked back up, Rick was frowning at his phone. "What is it?" she asked, instantly on guard.

"Shane's calling me," he answered.

"Are you going to take it?" she asked, her eyes falling to the screen. Shane's name was glowing there.

"What do you think?" he looked at her.

"I want to hear what he has to say," she looked back at him. Rick hit answer almost immediately, the line clicking as he moved to speakerphone.

"What do you want, Walsh?" Rick's greeting was far from friendly but not outwardly hostile. Michonne waited with baited breath.

"You and me need to talk, man," the raspy voice was unmistakable. Michonne looked up at Rick. He seemed surprised. He glanced at her, silently asking for confirmation. She nodded once. It was past time the two men hashed this out.

"Yeah, I'm guessing we do," Rick told him. "Where do you want to meet?"