A/N: The support for this little story has been overwhelming. I can't promise a full fic, but I think I can manage one or two chapters more. I think I'll keep them here instead of yanking them out into their own separate story. Thank you for all of the encouragement and kind words!

I hope you enjoy!

"I want you to meet my son."

The statement was innocuous enough, but it set Michonne's heart frantically rattling in her chest.

"Already?" she wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling chilly.

Rick crawled closer to her, pressing his chest into her bare back. His hands slunk around her waist, tracing a now-familiar path over her skin. His lips on her shoulder sent a chill of a different kind through her.

"You don't want to meet him?" he asked, his tone conversational, as though they weren't having a serious discussion.

"Of course I do," Michonne longed to see the little boy with the cinnamon freckles under better circumstances. "But we haven't been doing this that long…"

"What is it that we're doing?" he asked, his face still pressed against her.

"We're…" Michonne searched for a way to quantify it. Certainly, they were lovers. She'd found herself falling into Rick's bed over a dozen times in the last few weeks. Even during the day, the echo of his touches seemed to haunt her.

"I like you, Michonne," Rick pulled back, his eyes flickering up to meet hers. Michonne held his gaze.

"I like you too," the words were soft but sincere.

"I want to be with you," they were the words she had been hoping for, but she still found herself scrambling for a response.

"You haven't been single that long," she began carefully. She couldn't forget the look on his face months ago, his plaintive plea for his wife and son.

Rick's hands tightened around her waist, spinning her to face him.

"You think I still love Lori?" the little crease between his brows let Michonne know just how serious he was.

"You were married… for years," she sighed, suddenly tired.

"We were over before I went in the hospital," he cupped her chin, tilting her face up to look at him. "She just put the nail in the coffin when I was asleep."

A sudden memory of Rick, pale and bleeding nearly to death fills her mind. Her eyes prickled, tears falling unbidden down her cheeks.

"Rick…" she hastily wiped them away, embarrassed.

"If you need time, I'll give you time," his hands covered hers, the thumbs tracing the curves of her fingernails. "But I already know. I want you."

The tears fell hard and thick. Michonne tried to pull away, but Rick moved closer still, leaning his forehead against hers. He held her there, rubbing gently at her back.

"I want you too," the admission slipped past her lips.

"Then what are you scared of?" he asked.

It unnerved her, how quickly Rick had unraveled her carefully crafted control, how he seemed to worm effortlessly into the cracks of her.

"I don't want to get hurt again," it was the simplest explanation she could give.

Rick looked thoughtful at this. For a moment, she feared how absurd the whole thing sounded and thought that he would call her out on it. Instead, his hands came to her hair, massaging at her scalp, tugging lightly at her long braids.

"I recognized your voice, you know," he told her. "Right when I woke up. I thought I had died for a second, thought I was in heaven. I didn't know how I knew you, but I did." He pulled her into his lap. Her legs fell to either side of his waist as she pressed against him. A moan escaped her, low and desperate.

He kissed her, once gently, asking for permission. She opened her mouth in response and he took the invitation. His lips alone were enough foreplay for her, but Rick continued on anyway, his hands beginning a thorough explanation of her body, as though he had never gotten to touch her before.

"Rick," she whined his name again, arching into him, begging.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Michonne," he pressed this promise into the curve of her throat, his teeth nipping at her until she squirmed in his lap. "I'm not going to hurt you," he repeated.

He tilted them over, laying her out across his mattress. Michonne missed the contact at once and reached for him. He caught her hands, bringing them both over her head. Her knees fell apart, inviting him in. She nearly cried in relief at the feeling of him inside of her.

He moved with purpose, one hand still holding her captive above their heads, the other stroking her. His name fell from her lips over and over again until it felt like a mantra.

"Rick, please," she didn't know what she was asking for, but she knew she needed to touch him. He released her arms and she reached for him immediately, clinging to his free hand like a lifeline, bracing herself against his back with the other. She pulled at him, forcing him deeper still. A ragged moan escaped her.

"Michonne," her name was a question, desperate, pleading.

"I trust you," the truth rushed out, her heart winning her over.

With a groan, Rick pulled her against him, holding them chest to chest. She fell apart as his mouth covered hers. Mere seconds later, he followed her, letting out a strangled cry.

She held him against her chest, feeling the frantic pounding of his heart, his warm breath on her skin. Her fingers plied at the curls she loved so much. He tightened his arms around her, attempting to bring her still closer. His lips continued their exploration of her, kissing gently. His hair, impossibly soft, brushed her bare skin. Michonne began to relax, sated.

It had been years since she had felt anything like this. If she was being honest, she wasn't sure if she'd ever felt like this before.

"I want this," she whispered to him, hoping he believed her. "I want you, Rick." She wanted to meet his son. She wanted him to meet hers. Whatever this was, whatever road they took, she wanted to be on it.

He smiled at her, tilting his head up, looking so happy that she began to laugh. He kissed her, tickling her sides in retaliation. Her giggles escalated until she's squirming against him.

"Maybe Carl can come over when I have Andre," she suggested, unable to meet his eyes. "Maybe I can make dinner for us."

"At your place?" his tone was casual.

"You should see it," she smiled softly. "You might be spending a lot of nights there."

"Dinner sounds great," he kissed her forehead, settling down to lay beside her. Michonne rolled over onto her stomach, her chin resting on his shoulder. His hand found its way to her backside again.