Author's Note: This is a story I wrote almost a year and a half ago. For a long time, I considered revising quite a lot of it, like having Carl be alive, which is why I had never posted. After some debate, I decided to keep that painful truth unchanged in this story, and evolve some other things.

That said, this story is a departure from what happened on screen, but it's something I'd hoped for before things unfolded as they did. And isn't that what fan fiction is about?

I hope you enjoy this short multi-chapter tale.

"Michonne."

Rick groaned. The whispered utterance of his wife's name had exerted every ounce of his strength. Exhaustion sealed his eyes. Everything hurt. From the top of his head to the soles of his feet, the points of countless hot daggers seemed to drill every inch of his body. Physical discomfort had not been a stranger. Since the world changed, it had been a constant companion more often than not. The extreme pain in his body was like none he'd ever known, but it was an agony he would forever welcome if it ended the torture in his soul. The loneliness he felt for his Michonne.

Where was she?

Where was he?

This place wasn't home. It didn't smell of Michonne's softly scented lotion and Judith's paint. His wife's touch wasn't here, his daughter's laughter absent. There were only faint voices he didn't know belonging to faces he wouldn't recognize if he possessed the strength to open his eyes. He was so tired. Too tired. Sleep called for him once more. It was always on the line, and he welcomed it. It took him away from the pain and brought him home; to her arms, to his family, if only for a little while in his dreams.

"Michonne."

"He's asleep again."

"Yes. He came out of the coma yesterday, but he still needs rest, Jonah." Dr. Noelle Stevens moved next to her assistant at the observation window after providing the latest dose of pain medicine to their patient. "It's getting him stronger. He is getting stronger." She took the chart from Jonah's hands, studying the steadily improving vital signs once more. "This is remarkable. Six weeks, and he's still here. Tired and weak, but healing from his wounds and his body being so broken. No signs of fever. That's the most amazing part."

"You're sure the broad spectrum antibiotic didn't -"

"It's not the antibiotic, any of the drug combinations we gave him, or the serum I've been trying to perfect for years," said Noelle, interrupting the young Brit. "You saw what happened with the lab animals, and we used the same protocol. It's him. There's something about him."

"Maybe it's this Michonne he's been calling for." Jonah brushed away golden locks draping his light gray eyes. "He has someone to live for, so he's living."

"If only it were that simple. Milton, my hardworking but misguided friend, believed the dead retained memories of their old selves when they reanimated. That the brain held the answer to this outbreak and confirming that hypothesis would lead to a cure. I never believed that, but I admired his dedication."

"He led you to your work."

"More redirected my priorities," she said, jotting instructions and returning the chart to Jonah. "Before everything happened, we were just coworkers at the local trauma center, someone I'd see sitting alone in the cafeteria. Afterward, we became friends, each other's family in this world gone mad. When things got really bad at the hospital, when everyone started leaving, and we were running out of hope and everything else, he suggested we go further into town, and we found Woodbury. There were walls, it was thriving, and we made a difference there. Milton was a researcher, a brilliant mind, and I was a doctor. Valuable commodities that became essential to the leader. Someone, as it turned out, Milton had known from church."

"The Governor guy, right?"

"Uh-huh. Phillip." She shook her head, scoffing. "Governor. That nickname should've been the first clue. But we were inside walls, with food, shelter, and hot water, surviving. Away from the crazy of the world, or so I thought. When I realized nothing outside was worse than what was inside those walls, I had to leave. The Governor was leading the people to war, forcing them to kill. A year in Iraq in the combat support hospital was enough war for me. I could defend myself, but I didn't kill people when I was in the army, and I wasn't about to do it for this madman when our only enemy was the dead."

"The world's most formidable enemy."

"Right. I couldn't stay, and I tried to get Milton to leave with me, but he wouldn't. Said Phillip needed him. He got me access to a car, a few extra containers of fuel, and I headed north, ended up in Annapolis and a part of a bigger world. I flew over Woodbury in one of the birds a couple of years ago. It was all gone, burned. I want to believe Milton got to safety, but…" She released a shaky breath.

Jonah touched her shoulder. "You okay, Doc?"

Nodding, she stuck her hands in the pockets of her lab coat. "It felt like a lifetime ago, so much has happened since. Becoming a part of Commonwealth, running this floating hospital, our Mid-Atlantic community on the sea, saving lives, helping people, it makes my life purposeful. The future isn't scary like I thought, because there's possibility. Rethinking Milton's research, finding a cure to this outbreak that made life hell and led me to drive a knife into my new husband's head, became my mission." Noelle stepped closer to the window, staring at her sleeping patient. His torso bandaged and both his legs in immobilizing braces. "Everyone before had someone or something to live for, Jonah, but none of them are here. He is. The answer isn't in our heads, it's in that bed."

Noelle and Jonah turned at the sound of a knock on the door. "Delivery," said a voice from the other side.

"Bring it in." The deliverer rolled a loaded dolly in and filled the corner closet. "You're not Brad," Noelle said of the attractive thirty-something black man.

"That's a fact," he said with a little laugh when all the boxes were placed. "Brad's back has got him out of commission, so I'm making his deliveries and pickups now." He shut the closet and approached. "My name is…" His words stopped suddenly. The bespectacled man removed the cap covering long cornrows pulled into a ponytail and stepped closer to the window. "Rick?"

"You know this man?"

"I think…" The man stepped closer, practically pressing his nose to the glass. "It's been nearly three years, but, yeah, I know him. That's Rick Grimes. He was the leader of my community."

Rick Grimes! Noelle's gaze shot back to her patient. Was this the same Rick Grimes the Governor wanted to kill? If so, his Michonne had to be the one who took the Governor's eye. The world was bigger, but still so small. "Was the leader?" she said.

"Is still, I guess."

"Near Atlanta?"

"Alexandria, Virginia, but Atlanta is where Rick and his people started," he explained, confirming her suspicion. Her bearded, bandaged patient now had a name. "I got separated from my team member while out on a run. We had just - We all had to make a tough decision for survival as a community, and it was right after that I left for the run. Things must have got real bad. Damn. What happened to him?"

"Many things. We gathered most of his injuries were from an explosion. He was found on a riverbank a few miles from a large plume of smoke."

The man finally turned to them. "You said most of his injuries?"

"He'd been impaled on his left side," Noelle said, touching herself in the general area. "The object managed to miss all his vital organs, but there was tremendous muscle and tissue damage, and he lost an incredible amount of blood which led to shock and coma."

"Coma?"

"Six weeks. He came to yesterday. He had superficial burns on forty percent of his body, and his injuries point to extreme force. A back fracture, broken and cracked ribs that led to a punctured lung and other internal injuries, tissue and ligament damage to his left knee, a non-displaced fracture of the right femur, he took in a lot of water, and he…" Noelle cleared her throat, thinking better of sharing anything more. "He was critically hurt. It's not an overstatement to say it's a miracle he's still alive and not paralyzed."

"My God. Was he alone? He has Michonne and his children."

"We found him alone. His eyes have barely been open a couple of seconds, but since he came out of the coma he's been repeating the name Michonne."

"She's his lady."

"It's what we assumed," Jonah remarked.

"He's in a lot of pain and has been continuously medicated since waking," Noelle said, "so we haven't really had a chance to talk to him."

The man's concerned gaze returned to Rick. "Is he gonna be okay?"

"I want to be hopeful, but we don't know yet. He's defied the odds and he's still fighting, but he has a ways to go. Additional surgeries will likely be necessary, so even if he does pull through, with the nature of his numerous injuries, recovery will be very slow. Especially with the breaks to his leg and back."

"Michonne should be here. Maybe after one of my deliveries, I can take the helicopter and -"

"No." Noelle stopped him with a shake of her head. She needed Rick to bank more time before bringing in his family. There was too much unknown, and Michonne wielded a sword. She'd rather approach her with positive news to keep her happy. "With the uncertainty of his condition, I think it best we wait until he's turned a corner before attempting to reach his family. It would be better for him and them."

"Whatever you think is best, Doctor, but I want to help however I can. My family and home are in Pennsylvania now, but I still care about the people of Alexandria." He extended his hand. "I'm Heath."

Noelle accepted his hand. "It is very good to meet you, Heath. You can be a big help by telling me everything you can about Mr. Grimes and his family."

"I am. I know I am," Michonne said, speaking with conviction, but closing her eyes and bracing for the heartbreaking infinitesimal possibility that she could be wrong. She couldn't bear the notion. She clutched the wedding bands on her necklace. Earl, the Hilltop blacksmith, gave them to her at the signing of the charter two weeks ago. He explained Rick had wanted them to renew their vows with these rings and be the first couple married under the new laws of their society. Rick was thoughtful that way. They didn't have rings when they promised themselves to each other during their gun run to defeat the Saviors, but it couldn't have been more beautiful. She'd felt married to Rick from their first night together, and she always kept his ring with hers, next to her heart, because in her heart was where he'd always be. "All right, tell me."

"You were right," Dr. Margo Kim said with a smile. The pretty doctor and her husband had been with them just over a month, joining Alexandria from the Kingdom after Siddiq was killed after chasing and shooting to death a runaway Negan. The gunshots caught the attention of walkers and Siddiq had been overtaken, just before those who had rode out with him could arrive. There had been so much loss, but it seemed hope was on the horizon. "You are pregnant."

The breath Michonne had been holding found release with the confirmation. "I'm pregnant." Joy filled her heart and tears her eyes as she touched her stomach. Hearing those words for the second time in her life meant everything. She was thrilled, but there existed a twinge of sadness.

Rick wanted this baby. She knew the moment of conception for this little plan for their future. When with the sunshine streaming down on their bed, bathing them in light as strong and intense as their feelings, Rick loved her sweetly and thoroughly, filling her with this life. Lonely teardrops trickled down her cheeks. How she wished he was here to get this news with her.

Michonne wiped her eyes. But he wasn't here, not now. The memory of the bridge exploding, her anguished cries, the helplessness she felt watching him sacrifice himself for all of them, this stayed with her. Rick had never wanted to lead, he didn't choose it, but there was something about him that made people want to follow. He had a need to take care of others, especially those he loved most. It was why she loved him so. Why she missed him, and why she still had unwavering hope that she would see him again.

Forty-seven days had passed since the explosion, yet she still felt Rick's presence. He wasn't with her, but he wasn't dead. He was seriously hurt, he'd been bleeding profusely before the explosion, but he was alive, and she knew that. No one else did. Arguing that it was why they never found his body convinced no one. There was so much pity in their eyes with every mention of her belief. After a while, she stopped saying it aloud, but getting the rings made the feeling stronger. Wherever he was he was fighting, getting well. Rick was coming back to her, to Judith, and to their baby. Her husband would put this ring on her finger.

Believing was easy, but the wait so hard, especially at night. In the darkness of their empty bedroom, she wore Rick's T-shirts and held his pillow, clinging to his scent, feeling his absence and weeping her pain. She missed him desperately. Not succumbing to the debilitating pain of this crushing separation had been a daily challenge, but she had to care for Judith and the people of Alexandria. Rick's people. Her people.

She had finished the charter and led. That kept her going, and now she was expecting his baby. A piece of Andre and Carl that would live on in a part of her and Rick. In their son. It felt like a boy. She smiled. "I'm having Rick's baby."

"I expect this little one to make an appearance…" Dr. Kim hummed, scanning the file.

"Toward the end of December. I'm six weeks along."

Dr. Kim closed the folder. "Yes," she said. "The twenty-third, if my calculations are correct."

"Seems right to me." Michonne rubbed her stomach. "I'm delivering an extra special present this year."

"Are you okay? I can imagine the surprise."

"It's not a surprise, Dr Kim." Michonne smiled. Rick wanted this baby, they did, so they made one. The surprise would come from the naysayers when Rick got home for Christmas, because he would be there when this baby was born. Her heart told her so. She stroked her stomach. "It's a blessing."

"How are we this morning, Mr. Grimes?"

Rick glowered at Jonah, irritated by his constant use of that annoying pronoun and that the man had walked in right in the middle of the memory that had regaled Rick on a near daily basis for the last four months: telling Michonne he wanted a baby and working on making it happen. Ignoring Jonah, and the ritual eight-thirty poke and prod, Rick flipped onto his side and returned his thoughts to the sweet memory.

Their lovemaking had been so passionate and sensual that morning. It always was, but that time - that time was different, because it would build on the future he saw for them. With that glorious sun shining on them, they'd made a baby. Michonne was pregnant. His gut told him in more ways than one.

He glanced at the apple slices, toast with a healthy slathering of apple preserves, and the cup of apple juice on the breakfast tray brought in an hour ago. His stomach churned. Before this morning, he couldn't have enough of the fruit, or food in general, but today apples were the enemy. Sympathy pains were real, but he took them in stride. It made him feel closer to Michonne, more a part of their pregnancy.

Rick smiled, visualizing Michonne's body blossoming with life. Her cheeks full, her gorgeous skin glowing even more. Thoughts of him carrying her katana as their child grew bigger and kissing, rubbing, and talking to her beautiful bump every chance he could stayed with him. He could only imagine these things, because he was stuck on this massive tub in the middle of the Atlantic somewhere between Pennsylvania and Georgia.

"Didn't hear your response there," Jonah said, his happy-go-lucky smile annoying Rick even more than usual. He brought over the blood pressure monitor and wrapped the cuff on Ricks' arm. "How are we this morning?"

"We are sick of answering this question every damn day." The young blonde looked like he should be walking shirtless on a California beach, but his across-the-pond accent spoke of tea and crumpets. "How do I look?"

"At present, grumpy." Jonah stuck the thermometer in Rick's mouth while waiting for the pressure reading. "Not enough apples this morning?" Jonah peered at the bed table. "Doesn't look like you touched your breakfast."

"Don't want it," Rick answered after the removal of the thermometer and disclosure of a normal temperature.

"You don't want apples? That might explain your grumpiness and the slightly elevated blood pressure." Jonah removed the cuff and pushed the stand back against the wall. "Aside from that, you look well."

"It's been over five months since I woke from the coma, of course I look well. I'm better."

Rick wasn't a hundred percent. Occasional aches and stiffness reminded him of how bad his injuries had been, but he felt like a strong eighty. Sixty on the days the nausea was particularly bad, like this morning, but overall his condition was good. Physical therapy was working wonders. His ribs had long healed and the middle back pain from his fractures was practically non-existent, minus the occasional twinge he attributed to the pregnancy.

Getting on his feet had been the hard part. His busted knee seemed to magnify all his injuries. He had surgery on it, but gratefully he didn't need it for the femur, which is what had given Dr. Stevens the most concern.

The recovery process had been slow, almost to the point of worrisome, but the doctor told him to expect it when compounded with the back injuries and fear the femur fracture could become displaced. He'd come a long way in the months since then, and was ready to go further. To go home. It was when the constant pain started easing that the recurring conception memory started and sympathy pains began. That memory had been his motivation to fight and get strong. And he'd done it.

"I wanna go home," Rick said.

"I'm well aware of that, Mr. Grimes." Jonah scribbled notes in Rick's chart. "But we need to keep an eye on you a little longer."

"No, you don't!" Rick sucked in a breath. After his first full day of consciousness, he had received introductions from the two people who were always at the window watching whenever he opened his eyes. Jonah Meade and the fifty-something African-American lady doctor who spoke freely but left even more unsaid, Noelle Stevens. These people, though cryptic, seemed decent. Heath being alive and a part of their network of communities confirmed that all the more. He didn't know Heath could pilot helicopters, but it wouldn't have been a useful service in Alexandria, so not sharing it made sense.

Commonwealth was like a world unto itself. Rick owed his life to this community and its people, but it was something they weren't telling him, and he was tired of guessing what that was. He hated being in front of this window, being watched like some zoo animal on display while missing Michonne so much he could barely breathe.

"Why are you always watching me?" Rick asked.

"Look around," Jonah said. "It's a hospital. Watching patient responses is what we do."

"It's more than that." Rick moved the bed to a more upright position. "I'm better now."

"Better, but not completely healed."

"I can get completely healed at home. You have helicopters that can get me there." He performed knee extensions and tapped his right thigh. "The break has healed and my knee is strong." He lifted his white T-shirt. "The muscles in my abdomen have strengthened and my back is good. The pain is minimal. Gone most of the time."

"And that's great, but you don't need to rush this."

"Rush?" He lowered his shirt. "I've been here months. There's nothing rushed about this. Where is Dr. Stevens this morning?"

"Dealing with a matter."

"On the ship?"

Jonah shook his head. "I'll check back in on you later, Mr. Grimes." He brought the bed table closer to Rick. "Try to eat something."

"No!" Rick slammed the tray to the floor. Jonah bristled. "Every question you and Dr. Stevens asked, I answered. Where I've lived, medical history, everything, because y'all fished me off the bank of that river and saved my life. Your faces were the last thing I saw before everything went dark. I'm grateful, but gratitude only goes so far. I want some answers. Even more than that, I want to go home to my pregnant wife and daughter, but you're keeping me here. 'You need to get better, Mr. Grimes,'" Rick said in his best English accent, "won't work anymore. I'm better now. I don't want to hurt you, Jonah, but I can, and I will if you don't start talkin' and I mean now."

"You're serious?" The smirk on Jonah's lips didn't hide the fear in his eyes. "You'd hurt me?"

"Without a second thought." Rick stared, unflinchingly. "That's the only warning you're gonna get. Talk!"

Jonah gulped, holding up his hands in a defensive stance. "You don't understand-"

"Make me understand! Am I worse off than you've been saying?"

"No. You are doing very well. Amazingly so."

"But it's something about me that's makin' you keep me in the middle of the ocean and away from my family." The change in Jonah's expression confirmed Rick's suspicion. That look saved Jonah's life and ruined it at the same time. "I don't know how Dr. Stevens is gonna feel when she finds out you let me jump overboard."

"I what?"

"You need me on this boat, but if you don't tell me what the hell for, I'm swimmin' to shore, or I'll die trying to get there. One way or another, I'm gettin' offa this ship. I think she'll hate coming back to that news."

"Don't – don't do that."

"Damn it, you'd better talk."

"Okay, I'll tell you, just don't go anywhere." Jonah grumbled incoherently, rubbing his forehead. Uneasiness troubled Rick's stomach. The off-putting scent of apples wasn't helping. What the hell was Jonah about to say? "The reason we've kept such a close eye, why we want you to continue to stay here is because you had an injury we didn't tell you about."

"You said I was fine."

"And you are. That's the thing. Mr. Grimes, when we found you, you had been bitten by one of the dead."

~To Be Continued...~