A/N: Hey there. I'm rusty, but I found a little time and inspiration to write, so I took advantage of it. I'm really missing Michonne and Richonne these days, so I wrote a little moment I wish we would have seen in the premiere. I also took inspiration from how they wove call-backs into the episode. Thanks for reading!

Episode 8x01

He knew he wouldn't need the alarm when he'd set it last night, but he'd done it anyhow just in case. Showing up late for the war you were wagering would be poor form at the very least, and downright catastrophic at worst.

He woke up around midnight the first time, pleasantly surprised that he still had four-and-a-half hours until he had to leave the warm bed he shared with his love. And after that, he was up every hour then every half hour then every fifteen minutes before the alarm sounded. It was sometime around 3:30 AM that the relief gave way to dread with the realization that he was down to only minutes left now…

He reached over and turned the alarm off to spare everyone else in the house the early wake up call then rolled onto his side to face her. He smiled to himself as he watched her sleeping peacefully on her back beside him, head and shoulders still propped on the two pillows he'd carefully arranged for her the night before.

Even in the dark, he swore he could see the faint return of the hollow just below her cheekbone thanks to a few days of rest, ice, and the last few doses of Motrin they'd been able to scrounge up for her. He wanted to reach out and run his fingers along her cheek to prove to himself that she was getting better, and just to feel her skin against his, but he held back and instead moved a few inches closer and closed his eyes.

3:55

4:02

4:09

4:13

4:17

4:20

4:24

4:29

This time his eyes stayed open and he pushed himself up onto one elbow, stifling his groan so as not to wake her. His face lingered over hers for a moment; they would say their goodbyes later, but he wanted to carry this vision off to war with him. He pulled the blanket from over him and tucked it around her side before rolling out of their bed, grabbing the lantern from his nightstand and padding toward their bathroom.

He waited until was inside before lighting it, then turned back to make sure that she was still asleep behind him. He turned the faucet handles on low then cupped his hands under the slow stream of water, collecting a shallow pool that he then splashed across his face. He blindly grabbed the floral hand towel that hung from a hook on the wall and patted his face dry.

He looked long and hard at himself in the mirror. His weathered and lightly tanned skin, the deep furrows on his brow and around his eyes, the beard that was more white than grey these days. He couldn't help but think of his grandfather this morning.

Every day he woke up and told himself, "Rest in peace. Now get up and go to war." And then after a few years of pretending he was dead he made it out alive. That's the trick of it, I think. We do what we need to do and then we get to live.

He huffed out a grim laugh. He'd uttered those words all of a couple months ago, but my God, how his world had changed since then.

There had been plenty of times he had looked into the mirror and not recognized this man before him, and certainly hadn't liked him much, but that wasn't the case anymore. He was a fighter, a leader, a friend, a father...

"So...today's the day?"

And a husband.

He gazed upon her reflection in the mirror, her lithe arms bracing sides of the doorframe, her lilac tank riding up her sides to reveal a slip of her taut abdomen peeking out from atop her lacy white panties.

He wasn't dead at all. He was more alive than he'd been in a long time, and that's what made this so hard.

"Yeah," he sighed as dried his hands on the towel.

Her hands slipped from their place on the door as she stepped into the bathroom, and her eyes focused on his in the mirror as she walked up behind him and wrapped her arms around his bare waist.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm OK."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he nodded back.

"You know, I'm actually feeling alright today…"

He quirked an eyebrow at her in the mirror.

"I am," she insisted.

He turned in her arms and scrutinized her face for a moment. The light from the lantern confirmed what he'd thought. She did look a little better today, the swelling was beginning to subside and the angry red marks had faded to deep purples and blues. He reached up to cup her face, but the slight flinch of her eyes gave her away.

"Yeah, not a chance."

She cursed herself softly as he left her embrace and walked toward his dresser.

"Rick." She started after him, carrying on their conversation in a loud whisper so as not to wake Carl and Judith. "If Maggie can be out there, so can I."

"You can barely lift Judith out of her crib right now," he pointed out as he stepped into his black jeans. "It's not safe for you to be out there. Not this time."

"What if I just ride along? I can be a look out."

"Michonne…" He began to chuckle as he finished slipping on his blue denim shirt then turned to face her before buttoning it up.

"Why's that so funny?" she asked as she folded her arms across her chest.

He caught her eye as he stepped closer and placed his hands on her upper arms.

"We need you strong. Just rest. A few more days." A small smile played on his lips as she scoffed at him.

"I'd punch you if I didn't hurt so god damned much right now," she admitted begrudgingly.

"I'll gladly take a raincheck for when you're feeling up to it again."

She smiled and looked down as he rubbed his hands over her arms.

"You have no idea how badly I want to be there with you."

"I do, Michonne," he swore. "And I want you there. I always do. I figured you knew that about me by now," he admitted, hoping to cause her to crack a smile at his expense considering she was the one with the independent streak among the pair of them. He slid his hand down her left arm and clasped her hand then brought it to his chest. "I know it's not how you want it, but you'll still be with me...in the plans you helped come up with, in all the things I've learned from fighting alongside you all these years...and in knowing that I get to come home to a life with you and Carl and Judith after this. Even with everything that's going on, I honestly can't stop thinking about that."

Michonne brought her hands up to his face since she knew he was too afraid to do that same to her and placed her lips on his, kissing him deeply for now and the hours and, likely, days that they would spend apart. She lost all sense of time as she lavished him with her affection, it was only when the slight ache in her cheek turned into a throb that she slid her hands off of his face and rested her forehead on his as he hands trailed down his shoulders and grasped onto the open ends of his blue denim shirt.

"Not this one," she whispered as she tugged on his shirt.

He opened his eyes and saw her slender fingers wrapped around the blue denim. It was just the shirt he had just grabbed from the stack of clean, folded clothes on his dresser, but now he saw it all. Their couch, the van, the abandoned school...he wouldn't sully those sacred, precious memories with the acts of war.

He slid his hands over hers to loosen her grip then shrugged one arm out of the sleeve and then the other before bringing it behind her and draping it across her shoulders.