"I don't get what the big deal is," Carl said, irritation creeping into his voice as he watched his father, crouched on the living room floor of the Monroe house, fill an empty crate with books. "We're probably going to be over there all the time anyway. Wouldn't it be easier for everyone if we just moved in with her?"
From his spot on the couch, the blight of annoyance furrowed Carl's brow, as he held Rick captive with an unrelenting stare. Carl had become more and more comfortable posing questions that purposefully caused Rick great discomfort. Glaring at each other across the living room, their current impasse, as of late, a common state of affairs between father and son, caused Rick's ire to quickly escalate. He recognized that Carl, once again, wasn't going to back down. Instead, he could only look on as his son opted to simply sit there, frown lines marking his face, and wait for an answer Rick was unsure he could provide.
Breaking eye contact, Rick scanned the room for a sign, any sign that would guide him towards a suitable response to Carl's inappropriate question. He lowered himself to his knees, easing the strain on his battle-worn, trauma weary legs. Returning his focus to the bookshelf in front of him, he paused to examine its contents, giving careful thought to choosing the tomes he knew Michonne would favor. He selected suspenseful historical dramas, books of tragic poetry, sweeping introspective biographies, reviewing the binding, then carefully stacking each one in the crate. He was anxious to make the right choices, committed to ensuring the things she most adored would surround her.
After partially filling the crate, Rick turned back towards the sofa, looking over at the irked expression painted across Carl's face. While he pretended otherwise, he knew exactly what Carl had really been asking. The reality was, he would have given anything to have all of them under the same roof again. But, he'd been selfish once before, focusing on his own wants, his own needs. He'd made an oath to Spencer to be there for Michonne, and had internally pledged no strings would be attached to his promise. Herein out, his calling was to provide whatever Michonne needed, and give her everything she wanted. If there was anything still there between them, and he prayed there was, he wouldn't rush her. He couldn't.
He couldn't bare to openly show his hopefulness, but he had slowly begun to notice a resurgence of the effortlessness, the lightness, they had once shared. She was never far from his thoughts, finding a steadfast home in that precious space between the ravages this world had had on his psyche, and the treasured humanity brought on by the hopeful thought of his children's future. He was no longer that monster.
He cherished the subtleties of occupying the same space as her, without words or actions, simply sensing each other's presence, understanding each other's moods, silently aligning on topics big and small. The quiet comfort of their reclaimed bond cleansed his soul. He wasn't quite sure what it was, but it was… something. He pleaded with himself to be patient, as her heart was still mending. He wouldn't risk jeopardizing her recovery to fulfill his own desires. So, he knelt on the hardwood floor of the home he was helping her pack up, absorbing Carl's displeasure, and saying nothing.
He knew his son would not be easily placated. He looked over to him, momentarily surprised by Carl's miraculously ability to bridge the gap between the whimsical carelessness of youth, and the strident authority of manhood. Rick reveled in Carl's single-minded clarity of thought. He always seemed to know what he wanted, and wasn't afraid to demand it. 'This is how it's gotta be,' Carl would often say. Even as Rick found himself flat-footed by this young man's relentless affirmations, he knew that he deserved– no, he had earned a truthful answer.
Rick slid his hand across his stubble-strewn face, sighing deeply.
"Jesus Carl," he hissed, gripping the crate, as he used it for leverage, and lifted himself off the floor. "She's right upstairs. How 'bout you ease up, ok? You're not runnin' the show."
Carl looked at his father, aggravated by his inaction. Slow as molasses, he thought.
"What you guys are doing is confusing for Judith," Carl countered, changing tactics. "She never knows where she'll be sleeping or if she'll be waking up in the same place. It's not fair to her."
"Oh, so this is about Judith now?" Rick chuckled, hands on hips, peering across the room at his son. "You and I both know Judith will be happy wherever the four of us are. She doesn't care what house."
"That's the thing Dad," Carl replied, pulling out his ear buds to ensure his seriousness about this topic was conveyed. "Why can't we just live together, like we did when we got here? It'd be much easier for Judith, and you– we wouldn't have to worry about Michonne so much."
Rick looked at his son, now nearly his height. Overnight, he had seemingly grown less gangly, manlier.
"You want to have a grown-up conversation, so, let's have it," Rick said, striding across the room to take a seat next to his son. "What are you trying to say here?"
"Make your move Dad," Carl said, sitting up straighter and turning to fully meet the eyes of his father. "I don't want Michonne to be alone. Not ever. If she needs us, I wanna be there. I want us to be there."
"I want us to be there too," Rick said, running his hands through his curls, stilling them at the nape of his neck. "I think you know I do. I just– I… I don't wanna rush anythin'. Can't really afford to screw this up."
He watched as Carl's face relaxed, finally recognizing what Rick had left unsaid. His father did want the same things he did.
"'Chonne's been through a lot," Rick continued. "I don't wanna push her harder than she can handle. I can't do that to her, not again. But I'm here– we're here. We'll make sure she gets everything she needs."
"But, you love her right?" Carl asked, watching a startled look swiftly ripple across Rick's face.
"'Course I do," Rick answered, his voice wavering a bit. "We all love her."
Carl gaped at his father, pinning him to his seat with the same cold, laser-focused stare Rick often gave to others. Like father, like son. Carl dignified his father's obtuseness with a groan, and a slow, indulgent eye roll.
"Dad, you know that's not what I meant," Carl said. "Why can't you just tell her?"
Rick looked at his son, debating how much more he was willing to share. Clearly, he'd once again underestimated his son's observation skills.
"I messed this up before," Rick said. "Can't do it again."
"Then don't," Carl retorted. "You love her, she loves you. Why make this so hard?"
"I have no idea how she feels about me," Rick said. "It's been a long time since we've been anywhere even close to that sorta conversation."
"Dad, she loves you," Carl said. "Look, I know she loved Spencer. He was good to her, good to us. But, she does loves you too."
Carl glanced down at his hands, thinking back to the conversation he had with Michonne, after the herd, while he recuperated.
"Sh– She told me," he stuttered.
Immediately, Carl's heart leapt into his throat, the pang of disloyalty halting his breath. He hadn't meant to share Michonne's confidence, he just desperately wanted for them to all be together again. It made him feel sure, secure, to have his family around him. But, his longing drove him to a betrayal he had not intended. He took a chance and looked up, catching the anxious, but buoyant look in his father's eyes. As Rick cleared his throat, wanting to clarify what he had heard, father and son were interrupted by the steady, heavy pounding of boots making their way down the stairs. Both looked up as Daryl barged into the living room. The unbridled strain enclosing the room brought Daryl to a stop in the doorway. His head swiveled, looking back and forth between Rick and Carl.
"Da fuck's wrong with y'all?" Daryl asked, trying to get a read on the burdensome air permeating the room.
It had been three months since Spencer's death, and Michonne had decided the Monroe house was too big for just her. Too full of memories. For the past month, Michonne had discussed with Rick her yearning to depart the Monroe house and get a fresh start. The memorial left by the tragically departed family clung to the walls of the home, slowly suffocating her. Though the Grimes boys had seemingly made it their life's mission to keep her happy, the melancholy had settled into all corners of her home, causing grief to fight for permanent refuge in her heart. For the sake of her daughter, she needed to begin surrendering her sorrow to the winds.
Rick, Carl, and Daryl, had eagerly offered to help her pack up her things, and get situated in a new home within Alexandria's expanded area. They had recently completed the construction of the East wall's extension into what had originally been planned as a 'companion community' to Alexandria, or so the old flier they had found had read. The subdivision had the same amenities and general community design as Alexandria, but fewer houses had been completed, allowing for more open land they now used for raising animals, farming, and training new residents.
Michonne had picked out a cottage-style home next to a pond that was to have been the center of the subdivision. It was a bright, cheery yellow with white trim, and a quaint swing on the front porch. When Rick joined Michonne to take a look at it, she had told him it reminded her of summers spend in her grandmother's house, just outside Lafourche Parish, Louisiana. Rick knew she purposely picked it because it had plenty of room for Carl and Judith to visit, as well as for himself, when their late-night talks tired him out and he opted to sleep on her couch.
Taking a quick look across the room at Daryl, Carl rose from the couch.
"I'm going upstairs to help Michonne," he said. "Please do something Dad."
Daryl playfully tapped Carl's shoulder, as the young man skirted around him and made his way to the staircase. Daryl turned to look at Rick, as they both listened to the loud stomps of Carl's boots striking the hardwood floors, then creating an echo in the nearly empty house, as he took the stairs two by two, up to meet Michonne on the second floor. His attention on Rick, Daryl took in the wistful man with his eyes glued to the floor.
"What the hell happened?" Daryl asked.
"Nothin' much," Rick replied, keeping his eyes aimed towards the floor. "Just Carl bein' a teen-ager, I guess."
"Don't seem like nothin' to me," Daryl muttered. "Seems like a whole lotta somethin'."
Rick raised his head to catch his friend's eyes. Even though his voice was mocking, the concern on Daryl's face mirrored his own. It had been a while since they had conducted a true heart to heart. Between his recruiting trips, and just plain not wanting to sit still, it had been nearly impossible for Rick to rekindle their previously close friendship. This pained him. Looking across the room, he realized that he'd missed his brother dearly. Maybe he did need someone to talk to about Michonne. Squaring his shoulder, he filtered through his thoughts, searching for how to say what needed to be said.
"Carl wants me to ask Michonne to live with us," Rick began. "Actually, he wants us to move in with her."
"Sounds good to me," Daryl said, puzzled at his brother's reticence. "What's the problem?"
"You kiddin' me?" Rick said, frowning at Daryl's glib response. "Everythin's the problem. She's not ready for all that."
"Ever bother askin' her?" Daryl queried, holding Rick's gaze.
Rick stared at him. He had often witnessed Michonne act as a salve for Daryl's sour moods, pulling him out of the dark recesses where his mind tended to wander. Rick had considered the three of them to be lone wolves, kindred spirits, in a sense. From the embers left by the old world, they had unearthed and nurtured their own motley family. He'd missed this.
Daryl continued, "look, it ain't exactly a secret how y'all feel 'bout each other. No one's blind."
"I don't know what y'all aren't blind to," Rick began, awareness slowly seeping into his consciousness. "It isn't like that. There was somethin' there, but it's been gone for a while. At least, for her."
"Shit like that don't just go away," Daryl scoffed, glancing up to peer at Rick through a tangled mop of hair. "I ain't sayin' Carl's right, but he ain't wrong. Ya gotta take your shot, man. Don't waste this."
Trying to catch Daryl's eyes through the sheet of stringy hair, Rick quietly asked, "why didn't you ever take your shot?"
It had been a hunch, but the look of surprise, and then resignation that manifest on Daryl's face told him he had uncovered a fact. He'd always been fascinated by the obvious adoration Daryl had had for Michonne. It had been evident since their time in the prison. If he was being honest, it had peeved him to some degree. He couldn't admit it to himself at the time, but he had been jealous of the time the two spent hunting down the Governor. He knew Daryl had felt some type of way, so, he had always made a point to tread lightly, never revealing his own feelings. With the passage of time, and Daryl's friendship with Spencer, Rick assumed any residual feelings had dissipated.
"How'd I do that?" Daryl asked, shrugging his shoulders, not bothering to deny or defend. "We lost the prison. We all got split up. When I find y'all again, you're cozied up, nice 'n tight. Not enough space for me to get between that. After a while, just seemed like how it's s'posed to be, that's all."
"I'm sorry man," Rick began, regretting having posed the question. "I didn't really know. Ok, maybe I did suspect, but, I just thought– figured it was a crush or somethin'."
Daryl studied him, interested to know what Rick knew and when, but not having the heart, nor the stomach, to go any further down this road.
"Don't matter no way," Daryl concluded. "She's in love with ya. That's the truth."
"What if she's not ready?" Rick worried, not willing to waste energy pretending his heart didn't jump from the mere suggestion. He hated the thought that another's death could possibly bring her back to him, but he'd yearned for this for so long. There was no way he'd let even the slightest prospect of something more with Michonne slip through his fingers.
He'd done it before. He'd vowed to never do it again.
"What's going on?" Rick asked, cupping his hands over his eyes to block out the light streaming in from the window across the room from the blankets on which he lay. "What happened?"
Waking to find himself sprawled out on the floor, Rick attempted to lift himself up from the bedding. His quick movements instantly ceased, as a wave of nausea rumbled through his body, bringing the bile up into his throat. Laying back down, he caught a glimpse of Michonne, seated in a chair across the room, her arms crossed. She looked furious, sitting there glaring at him, not saying a word.
For a few moments, he couldn't recall why he was where he was. As bits of the images from his altercation with Pete came back to him, the shame tumbled down, onto his head. He stared up at her, taking in the look of sheer disgust on her face. He turned his head to the right, and caught the vision of Carol, Glenn, and Abe standing in the doorway. He then turned back to stare up at the ceiling, trying to clear the fog that had been clouding his judgment since the moment he entered Alexandria.
"I'm sorry," he quietly stated, closing his eyes to help calm the spinning of the room. "I… let things get away from me. It won't happen again."
Michonne snorted derisively, rolling her eyes as she looked across to him with revulsion. She'd had enough of his boorish behavior. He'd been endangering their stay here – Carl and Judith's stay here – since the moment they'd walked through those gates. She knew he was suffering; they all were. But, he refused to talk to her, and she was fed up.
"Why are you doing this?" she asked, her voice softening. He could tell that her tears were threatening to appear. "We need this place. Why are you jeopardizing what we have here?
He turned on the pile of blankets to face her, the shame washing over him as the full extent of what his behavior had cost her was clearly reflected in her face.
"I fucked up," he declared. "I'm sorry."
"Yeah, you're sorry," she muttered, watching him lean back onto the blankets. "Why don't you tell us exactly what you're sorry about? I'd really love to hear it."
Rick peered over at Carol, noting the warning look she was sending him, but no longer caring.
"Carol, Daryl, and I stole some guns from the armory," Rick quickly stated, studying the look of surprise on Michonne's face. "We did it for protection, just in case–"
"Just in case of what Rick?" Michonne snarled, taking a moment to glare at Carol, flustered and fidgeting in the doorway.
"What do you mean you guys took guns?" Glenn stammered, stepping into the room, while glancing back and forth between Carol and Rick. "Why would you do that? We all agreed that we would try. We ALL did. You know Maggie and I want to build something here. I don't get why you'd endanger that."
"I know that," Rick replied. "I said I was sorry."
"He did it for us, to keep us safe," Carol stated, glaring down at Rick through slanted eyes. "These people… they're idiots… babies. They have absolutely no clue how to keep themselves safe. They need us– they need Rick to keep them safe. Deanna knew all about the Andersons, but did nothing. Rick was just trying to protect Jessie and her kids. We did the right thing."
"Yeah Carol, I'm sure you think you did," Michonne spat, looking from Carol, then back to Rick. "You can rest easy Rick. We got Pete in another house now. You should be happy now. The road's clear for you."
Rick could only look on, scanning her face for some semblance of what he once saw whenever their eyes met. He could only find the look of sadness and disappointment his betrayal had wrought. He was angry at himself for not having gone with his instincts and just shared with her what was happening to him. He knew she would have understood, because, she always understood him.
"What exactly is that supposed to mean?" Rick said, angrily staring at her.
"You know exactly what it means," Michonne sighed, looking down at her hands, tightly clasped on her lap. "I'm just sick of all of this."
"All right, all right, enough already," Abe bellowed. "Now, what do we do if they try to kick Rick out tonight?"
"Do you really think that's a possibility?" Glenn asked.
"You can pretty much bet on it," Abe replied. "He's been so fucking out of control. Did you see the faces on those guys? They're terrified of him. No way they're gonna let him stay. Might not want any of us to stay after this."
"That's not gonna happen," Rick said, irritation evident in his voice. "But just in case it does, we'll need a plan. If something happens, Michonne grabs Deanna, I grab Reg, and everyone else watches the crowd."
"We're going to attack them?" Michonne asked, shocked by Rick's resolve to make this situation even worse.
"No," Rick replied, careful to avoid eye contact. "We're gonna have a backup plan just in case somethin' happens."
"If things go south, we'll need to act quickly," Carol said, looking around the room.
Glenn silently shook his head, disheartened by the leader's actions. Abe looked on, seeing exactly what he knew to be stress reactions from Rick. He'd been a soldier and could recognize that Rick's head wasn't in the game the way it should be. Maybe Michonne could reach him; he'd seen her do it many times before.
"Let's get out of here and let Rick rest," Carol concluded, turning to walk out the door.
Michonne rose from her seat, following after Abe and Glenn as they exited the room.
""Chonne," Rick called out. "Can you stay for a minute?"
Sighing loudly, Michonne turned back around, standing still, contemplating whether or not she should just leave. Coming to her conclusion, she walked to Rick and stood in front of him, peering down onto the top of his head. As Glenn closed the door to the makeshift prison cell, she sat down beside him, looking across at the empty wall, as each waited for the other to say something.
"If I thought we weren't safe, did you really think I would have tried to stop you from making sure we were?" she asked, the fatigue clearly articulated in her voice. "You could have talked to me Rick. After all we've been through… it feels like you– We walk through these doors, and you decide now is the time to stop talking to me."
He could hear the hurt and defeat in her voice. In his quest to protect, he had inadvertently forsaken her. His mind a jumbled mess and he was basically just reacting and acting on instinct. He felt so untethered, without Michonne by his side, but didn't quite know how to bring her back.
"I didn't mean to," he replied. "I guess I just didn't want to put any more on your shoulders. You got us here. I was just tryin' to keep us secure."
"By doing what you've been doing?" Michonne asked, scoffing at the notion that what he had been doing wasn't accomplishing the exact opposite. "Running around like an idiot, following Carol's lead? You've got to know that she doesn't have your best interests at heart. I don't know what it is, but she's got her own agenda. When it comes to her, I'm not sure why you can't see clearly."
"I know what she's up to Michonne," Rick replied, turning to look directly at her. "I'm not an idiot, and she's pretty obvious, if you know her. Maybe… maybe, I didn't wanna stop her. I knew if I told you, you would have convinced me to stop… You'd have cleared my head. You've got that power over me."
"What power is that exactly Rick?" Michonne said, scanning his face. "You've been doing whatever you please since the moment we got here. Plotting with Carol, chasing after married women, I mean wh–"
"What the hell are you talkin' 'bout?" Rick roared. "I'm not chasing after anyone."
Michonne stared him down, her incredulous look telling him everything he needed to know.
"Ok, if that's your story…" she replied, chuckling disdainfully.
"It's not a story," Rick replied.
She looked at him, scrutinizing his eyes for deception. She'd always been able to spot it, but had seemed to have lost this ability since their arrival in Alexandria.
Seeing nothing, she quietly said, "I saw you kiss her at the party."
"What?" Rick said, puzzling over her statement. He thought back to the party, and fell upon what she was talking about.
"That was a peck on the cheek," he said. "I was thanking her for looking after Judith. It was nothing. Besides, I wasn't the one outside yuckin' it up with some random asshole I didn't know."
"I was out there because I couldn't get your attention, you idiot," she muttered. "I haven't been able to get it since we walked through those gates."
He looked at her, noting the rings under her bloodshot. She was tired. He had done that. He could tell that he had hurt her.
"I– I was afraid you'd keep me from doing what I thought was best," he said, pleading with her. "You're the only one who could have."
"If you were doing right, why would that have been a worry?" she asked, not willing to concede any points.
He nodded, knowing she was right.
"You put up your sword," he finally said. "I figured that you wouldn't want to pick it back up, so…"
"So, what?" she asked. "You thought I wouldn't be willing to defend this place? Defend us if I had to?"
"Honestly, I'm not sure what I thought anymore," he admitted.
"Rick, we're safe here," she began. "I put up my sword because, I don't need to have it strapped to my back all the time anymore. You don't need to keep your gun in its holster. We're protected here."
He looked at her. Really looked at her. The anguish and discouragement in her eyes. Her slumped shoulders. The way the sun streaming in through the solitary, curtain-less window, hit her lips, showing him its slight tremor as she tried to speak. Her discontent with him was a devastating blow.
"I know what you're going through Rick, she began. "I've been there. Believe me, I know. You can't do this alone. I wish you'd trust me to help you… help us."
"I do tru–," he began.
"No, no you don't," she interjected, causing him to look down at his feet. "If you did, you would have come to me. You would have known that, no matter what, I'll be by your side. Nothing's change."
He looked at her, noting how her eyes had softened and begun to mist. He'd done that. He'd made her worry. He'd caused her pain. He'd done all of this, and for what? He didn't quite know. His head was a jumbled mess of noises, battling for supremacy. She was the port in the storm. His only glimmer of sanity. He couldn't let go of her. He was filled by an overwhelming urge to touch her. And so, he reached out his battered and bloody hand to cup her cheek, stroking it softly. She leaned into his hand, closing her eyes and breathing in deeply. Whatever he had been doing, he needed to stop. He looked at her closed eyes, licking his own lips as his eyes fell on hers. He leaned in, desperate to kiss her.
Opening her eyes, she peered curiously at him, taking in the unusual look he was giving her, and how close his lips were to hers. Her breath caught in her throat. Suddenly, she didn't trust herself. Not with him, and not like this. Pulling away, she brought herself back to her feet.
"Get some rest," she said. "You need to be ready for tonight."
Walking towards the door, she turned back to look at him. Catching the sorrow in his eyes. Blinking slowly, she lowered her eyes to her feet, and slipped out the door, closing it tightly behind her.
"Hey Michonne," Carl yelled from the landing, his voice echoing throughout the second floor. "Did you want some help sorting through the pictures?"
Michonne looked up from her perch on a stool in the middle of the hallway. She had been filtering through a box containing photo albums that Deanna had kept on a shelf in the closet of the master bedroom. It had been too eerie sorting through them in the bedroom, so she had dragged the boxes out into the corridor. Flipping through the albums made her sentimental about Spencer, but the fond memories she had of Deanna. Sitting in the living room, chatting about the old world and the new, reviewing plans for what would become the future of Alexandria. Deanna had been a formidable woman; Michonne deeply missed her quiet determination and wisdom.
"Yeah," she said, gesturing towards Carl. "Come sit next to me."
Michonne looked on, as Carl noisily strode towards her. He leaned against the wall, sliding down, until he was seated, on the floor, next to her stool. He reached into the box, and pulled out a cream colored, timeworn album. Michonne reached to take them from him, wondering what she would find in its pages. Turning to the first page, she gazed upon a portrait of the Monroes, all eyes focused forward, smiling, and seemingly happy in the formal shot. Turning the page, she noticed the album seemed to be a timeline for Deanna's boys. Aidan and Spencer as babies, Spencer's first day of kindergarten, his 3rd grade class picture, high school and college graduations, all filled the pages.
The album continued, highlighting the family at Deanna's inauguration, Reg at the groundbreaking of a building he had designed, Aidan and Spencer, sitting on the steps of their house, shortly after arriving in Alexandria. She noted Spencer's pensive, conflicted expression in that picture. She picked all the milestone pictures of the family, and then placed the picture of Spencer with his investment banking qualifications on top. She'd want their child to know him like this. Eager to do what was expected of him, funny, goofy, kind.
Smiling as tears slowly ran down her cheeks, she turned to look at Carl, who was watching her carefully. Like his father, he was often able to practically carry on entire conversations with Michonne using minimal actual of words. They could interpret what each other was feeling or thinking at any given time. She loved that about him.
"Can I get you anything?" he asked, anxious to ask the questions that had really been plaguing him for the past few weeks, but unsure as to how to begin.
"No, I'm good," she said, beaming through her tears at him. "You're awfully helpful today. What's up?"
"Why does something have to be up?" he queried. "Maybe, I like being helpful."
She gave him two beats, before they both burst into laughter.
"Yeah, right," she retorted. "Well, if you do see Mr. Carl Grimes, please let me know. I'd like to talk to him."
"Hilarious Michonne, truly gut busting stuff," he smirked, eyes in perpetual rolling motion.
Looking at him, this glorious young man she'd watched steadily move into manhood, she looked back at the album on her lap and asked, "any others you think I should keep for the baby?"
Carl leaned in and took a look at the open album on her lap. This was important to her, so it was important to him. Slowly, he began to turn the pages, sneaking glances at her as they moved from picture to picture. Depending on her slight response to a picture, he would move on, or sit and study it for a while. He stopped when he got to the end.
"If it were up to me, I'd create a timeline, just like you did," Carl said, looking at the open album, while still glancing up at Michonne. "And, I'd definitely add this one."
Michonne looked down at where his finger was pointed. It was a candid picture of she and Spencer. She had missed it during her initial perusal of the album. It was the day after that horrific night when Glenn and Abraham had been murdered. She had been crying and Spencer had his arms around her. Rick had asked Aaron to take pictures of the inventory they had available for the Saviors, which they had piled up outside the Monroe house. Aaron had inadvertently included Michonne and Spencer in the achingly beautiful shot. He had captured the way he looked down at her, her pain reflected in his face.
What Michonne had not noticed before, was that Rick was in the picture as well. Standing to the side, looking directly at her, while Spencer held her in his arms. She didn't know what to make of his expression. Impenetrable sadness, dejection, relief unrequited, or maybe something else. She wasn't quite sure. She couldn't remember what she had felt in the moment, only recalling the comfort that Spencer had offered her. Rick's unknown intrusion into that moment did cause her to reflect, remembering those times when they weren't as close as they were now. She now understood how the death of Glenn and Abe had been a pivotal moment on their path back into each other's lives.
"That's a good one," she said, softly, gazing up at Carl.
Carl took the chair next to her, not saying a word, but she could tell he had more on his mind.
"You know how this goes between us Carl," she began. "Just let it out."
He paused to look at her, then said, "I want us all to live together again. We need you, and you need us. I won't like it if you need something and we're not there. I want to take care of you the w– way you've taken care of me."
Finally releasing the anxiety that was roiling through him, he waited, apprehensive of what her reply might be.
"Oh Carl," she began, inhaling deeply. "It's not as simple as that. Your dad and I, we… we need our space. It's good when we have a little bit of space, don't you think?"
"No, I don't think so," he retorted. "He's miserable when you're not around, which means we're all miserable. He's just so mopey, mumbling things under his breath, or getting mad at me for some dumb shit–"
"Hey, young man," she half-kidded. "Language!"
"Sorry," he said, smiling sheepishly. "He gets mad and yells for stupid stuff. But when we're here, or you're over with us, he's happy… lighter. I don't know. He's just nicer to have around."
"And, why do you think that's because of me?" she asked, genuinely curious about his thinking.
Carl stared back at her, bewildered by her question. It seemed pretty clear to him, and he assumed to both of them.
"Because, he loves you," Carl said, quietly. "And, you love him."
He said it so clearly and so simply, that it caught her by surprise. He turned towards her, looked up, trying to capture her gaze.
"Of course he does Carl, we all love each other," she replied. "That's what families do."
"That's not what I meant, and you know it," he said. "Please don't treat me like a stupid kid. I remember the way he was acting when we got here. And all that Jessie crap… I know how much it bothered you, even though you never said anything about it. At least, not to me."
"Carl, I'm not going to discuss any of this with you," Michonne said, sternly. "I'm sorry, but I cannot."
"I know. I'm not asking you to tell me anything," Carl replied. "I just figured you'd probably given up on him."
He looked up at her, and tried to conjure up the words he sorely needed her to hear.
"I didn't like Spencer at first, even though he was always nice to me and Judith, and he treated you the way you deserved. Maybe it was because I knew dad didn't like him. Seeing you with Spencer made dad sad. But, he knew your were happy, so, he let it be.
Michonne nodded her head, thinking back to Spencer's last words to her in that van. She could now admit that she had suspected Rick had some feelings for her. Maybe she had at some point felt… something more for Rick. It had been so long ago, but she could still see the glimmer of what they could have been to each other. Spencer had known it, or at least, had shared his jealousy with her. She had tried to allay his fears, but knew she had not always been successful. Instead, they had agreed on their commitment to each other and that the Grimes were simply… family.
With Spencer gone, and Jessie out of their lives, she hadn't yet let herself consider the possibility that she and Rick might have some sort of future. She thought back to that fateful day when she last spoke with Deanna. How she had promised herself that she would actually start living and not just surviving. Maybe, she'd finally come to the point where all of it was possible.
She laid back, panting, the feverish shivers tormenting her body. Pain hummed through her, moving up and down her body, head to toe. Slowly, she lifted her head from the sweat-soaked pillow. She yearned to see that sweet face one last time. Turning her head slowly, she took in the vision of Judith, holding onto the edge of her playpen, trying to steady herself into a standing position. Rick had left Judith with Deanna to prepare the others to leave the Anderson home.
Looking wistfully over at Judith, she thought about her boys, about Reg. Her regrets over not listening to Rick earlier, her fear for Spencer's future. Her fear for all their futures. Her thoughts we interrupted by the creaking door as it opened onto the visage of Michonne. Deanna couldn't help but smile at this loving, strong, resilient woman. Though their time together had been short, she had felt an immediate kinship with her and had enjoyed her council. She looked on as Michonne walked across the room, first taking some time to check on Judith, placing a loving kiss on the top of the charming child's head. She kept her eyes trained on Michonne as she made her way to where she lay on the bed, sitting on the side, and reaching down to clasp Deanna's hand in hers. Both eyes began to mist; this was a tragic goodbye.
"I handed over the reins to Rick, but, he'll need your help," Deanna croaked. "He can't do this on his own."
Michonne looked at the dying woman, an essence so similar to the grandmother who had raised her. To lose another woman she loved broke her heart. The unbearable pain pulled the tears from her eyes and set them loose down her cheeks.
"I will," Michonne pledged.
"Good," the exhausted woman responded. "I've got one last deathbed request for you. Are you listening?"
"Yes," Michonne said, laughing through her tears. It had been so easy to love his spirited woman. "I thought about asking Rick, but I think you're the one for this mission. It's about Spencer."
"What about him?" Michonne asked, confusing cloaking her voice.
"He's better than he knows," Deanna began, struggling to pushed her pain to say her peace. "I don't know… Reg and I spent too much time dealing with Aidan's issues. Spencer definitely got the short end of the stick. But, he's got potential. I know he does."
Michonne nodded. During their watches together, Spencer had shared with her the many dishonorable activities of his older brother and how they had nearly ripped his family apart. He'd always had to be the good son, doing what was expected, allaying the burden of worry on parents.
"I know," Michonne replied, nodding vigorously through her tears.
"He trusts you and admires you so much," Deanna said, looking directly into Michonne's eyes. "He's got the biggest crush on you. Oh God! He would hate that I told you that!"
She chuckled softly, imagining her shy boy's reaction to her confession.
"If anyone can show him what he needs to do to survive in this world, I know you can," she continued. "You are smart, you are strong, and so capable. You and Rick… you both could reorder this world. Together. I see it."
Michonne gaped at the woman who had helped restore her faith in mankind and made her want to fight, want to live for this community. She thought of her son Spencer, who had shown her the promise of love and adoration when she was feeling so disconnected. She had faith in his abilities to survive that she hadn't had before. He had proven himself willing to fight for her, fight for them, and so, she would fight for him.
"Nothing is guaranteed in this life," she concluded. "Reg was the love of my life, my partner. My raison d'être. I see the same partnership with you and Ri–"
"It's not like that," Michonne interrupted.
Deanna looked at her, the pain had subsided for a moment, and so, she was able to really see her. This glorious woman, who loved this man, loved his children with all her heart.
"Yes," Deanna continued. "You both are born leaders. You're the future. Take it, make the most of it. Will you do that for me?"
"Of course I will," Michonne replied.
"Thank you my dear," Deanna asked, closing her eyes. "Do you still think the plans are feasible?"
"Yes, I think it could work, even now," Michonne replied. "I've been looking over them. I know exactly what you were trying to do. We can still do it."
"Good," the dying woman stated. "I'm grateful."
"There was Latin in the margins of the sketches," Michonne began, hoping to receive one last lesson in wisdom. "What does it mean?"
"Dolor hic tibi proderit olim," she said, smiling through her tears.
"What does it mean?" Michonne repeated.
"Someday, this pain will be useful to you," she stated. "It's one of the things Reg would say when things had gone to holy hell. I finally know exactly what it means."
She laughed, clutching Michonne's hand more tightly as the pain surged through her body.
"Michonne, I got everyone I ever wanted out of this life," she said. "All I wanted to was to do good works, and have a happy family. We had our bumps, but I got to work with my boys to try to build a better future. I didn't get everything right, but it was everything I always wanted, and I got to live it to the end, on my terms, start to finish."
She paused, taking time to peer up at Michonne's tragedy struck expression.
"We've talked about this before," she said. "But, have you figured out what you want?"
"The only thing I care about is this place," Michonne said, gesturing around the room, looking over at Judith. "I wa–, I need this place to be successful. There is no other choice."
"That's not what I meant," Deanna said, chuckling softly at the woman that constantly put the needs of others before her own. "What do you want for you?"
"I'm not sure I can answer that," Michonne answered, dipping her chin into her chest.
Michonne studied the pain etched into the woman's face slowly morph into peaceful surrender. Letting her go would be crushing. Looking back at Deanna's wane face, she could only look on as a small smile transformed her countenance. The older woman turned and looked at her. Smiling as the realization of her departure struck her. She'd done the best she could. All that was left was a last prayer for the best for all whom she had loved and lost. She looked at this strong, brilliant woman. This woman who has so helped heal her son's soul. This woman who had helped her through the agony of losing a son and a husband. This woman who had suffered herself, yet had the grace to ease her trauma. She'd been blessed. Taking a deep breath, she murmured,
"Well, you'd better figure it out."
"Stop it Rick," Michonne said, exasperated by his hovering. "You're worried about nothing. Dr. Soroyan said I could 'resume normal activities.'"
"Yeah, I know what normal means," he began, tired of her deflecting his concerns, as he watched her lift a nearly full crate onto the kitchen countertop. "But, do you?"
She tried to keep her amusement at his suddenly fussy behavior to a minimum. While her pregnancy had been fairly uneventful to date, she'd begun experiencing a slight elevation in blood pressure, which had concerned the doctor enough to put her on lighter duty and more rest. But, Rick knew Michonne. It wouldn't be easy to get her to surrender her duties to others and agree to a diminished work schedule. She hated being a burden to others. If he were to get her to comply, he'd have to take more drastic measures.
"Ok Rick, you win," she smirked, giving him a wink. "I promise to be a good girl. Scouts honor."
He stared at her. Is she flirting?
"What's that look for?" she queried.
"Nothin'," he replied, quickly turning away from her penetrating gaze. "I– I was just thinkin'… maybe it would be easiest if you just moved in with us for a while."
He scanned her face, nervously gauging her reaction. She looked puzzled by his request, her eyebrows raised, as she returned his fervent gaze.
"Rick," she gently said. "You don't have to worry so much. I'm fine… I'll be fine. Besides, I literally just moved in here. I should probably spend at least one night in my own bed, don't you think?"
She held his gaze, her beaming smile acting as a backlight to her beautiful face. She looked around, picking up the now empty crate, and then walked over to the front door to stack it next to the others.
"You know, you don't hav'ta be," he said. "It's ok to lean on us. I sorta wish you would."
"I know you do Rick," she said, softly. "I do. How could I not? You guys are always underfoot, so…"
He nodded, not sure what else to say. He looked at her, marveling at how the winter sun caught the highlights in her locs, setting off her cheeks, fuller due to pregnancy. She looked so beautiful. He was in awe, because, he loved her. It was as simple as that. He wanted nothing more than to be in her presence. Always. Perhaps he would have had a chance if he had played his cards differently, but the time had long since passed for him to worry about how to remedy his failings. She had forgiven him. She had allowed him to bask beneath her sun. If that was all she could offer, he would savor every single bit of it.
"Do you ever wonder what coulda been if I hadn't acted like such a blazin' asshole when we got here?" he asked, blindly looking towards her for some sort of confirmation. Anything at all that she could offer to soothe his regret at opportunities lost.
She looked at him, knowing exactly what he was asking. They'd had that stolen moment after the fight with Pete, but she had been too angry, too disenchanted to make it more than it was, at least at the time. By then, Spencer had wedge himself into her thoughts… and eventually, her heart. She didn't know if she could chance her heart with Rick. She thought back to the promise she had made to Spencer, in the back of that van, those many months ago. Unbeknownst to Rick, she had spent some time over the past few months wondering the same. She had walked through Alexandria's gates those many, many months ago with the thought of what could possibly be between them. She and Rick and become nearly inseparable during their journey after they prison.
What if she had been more overt with her affections? What if she had reached for him before he fell? What if she had bared her soul under threat of rejection? The truth was, she had been afraid to test her heart out with Rick. He had meant so much to her; Carl and Judith had her heart clutched in to their little hands.
The threat of losing all of what they had, even when it didn't seem like enough, had held her back. Not from loving Spencer… but, perhaps, from giving him all parts of herself. The thought that he had ever had any inkling of it pained her deeply. Yet, it had been their truth. Michonne could now admit to herself that she thought there could have been more, she had had no wish to help him chase ghosts. All that time on the road, so closely aligned, she had felt something was… different between them.
Rick gazed back at her, thinking of all the time he had spent… all the time he had wasted chasing spirits and what had been. There had been more. There could have been more with Michonne. The thought of not having this chance broke his heart.
"I love you Michonne," he said, taking in her startled looked. "I knew for sure when I watched you on your knees in front of Negan, begging for our lives, but I knew I loved you even before then."
His breath hitched, the terror of rejection causing his stomach to churn. She looked at him, curiously stilled by his declaration. If he had been mistaken in his forwardness, he would be ok. Unleashing his truth was all that mattered. He would… he could, live with the consequences.
"Oh!" she grimaced, reaching for her belly.
"What's wrong?" Rick called out, fright reverberating in his voice. He leapt to his feet and rushed towards her.
As he neared her, her grimace turned into a bright smile. She cradled her belly, still so tiny, rubbing it in slow, gentle circles.
"I just felt her move," she said, tears streaming down her face.
Intuitively, Rick reached out to cup her belly, the soft flutters of their– her baby girl echoing against his fingertips. He smiled down at Michonne, his eyes misting slightly. Michonne stood still, gazing up at him, recognizing something so clear and true. He did loved her.
She reached out, pulling him by the arm into an embrace. His arms circled her, his hands gliding from her shoulders, to grip her waist, pulling her body flush with his. His eyes asked the question his lips were too afraid to utter. Her response was instantaneous. And so, he leaned in, inhaling her lightly floral, intoxicating scent, as pulled her towards him, his lips finally connecting with hers. He leaned into her pressing her back against the kitchen island. Her hands went slack, as his lips roamed her face. First pulling her top lip into his mouth, then using his tongue to gently, then more forcefully invade her mouth. He fought for dominance, contemplating whether or not he should, but emboldened by the need to consume all of her. In tandem, they sighed. Sighs representing the bliss of love, hard fought, and hard won.
A/N: Sorry for the delay – work, life, etc. made this chapter quite the struggle. We've turned the corner. As always, thank you for reading!
