Rick studied her profile like a man on a quest to discover the meaning of life, who then suddenly realizes it has been in front of him the entire time. His mind stilled, as he basked in the tranquility enveloping the room and keeping them safe in a contented bubble of their own making. His eyes departed her form for a moment to glance up towards the window, taking in the beauty of those few minutes rarely witnessed. when dawn forfeited its hold and gently turned into day.

His eyes knowingly made their way back to her, taking in the gentle rise and fall of her uncovered chest, mesmerized by the telltale evidence of her deep slumber. He lay there, observing the signals he had committed to memory long ago, back when they had spent those weeks on the road together, searching for a new place to call home.

Back when they had just begun to really know each other. Back when the mere idea of there being trust, let alone love between them, would have been too foreign a concept to give serious consideration. The fact that he had unintentionally watched her even then, and had remember her patterns, now flooded his senses with the realization that he had wanted her, needed her, for so long.

He lay on his side, propped up on his elbow, his open palm cradling his head, absorbing the calm radiating from her very being. A smile crested his lips, as he watched her nose wrinkle and her lips turn up slightly, as if someone had told a silly joke she wasn't sure she should laugh at, or instead, roll her eyes. The sudden hitch of her breathing, and subsequent slight shrugging of her shoulders, broadened his smile.

I love her so much.

He recalled how she used to turn from her back to her stomach during sleep, seemingly fitful, but never quite waking. These days, she'd gotten into the habit of turning onto her side, subconsciously avoiding any pressure to the precious gift she carried. She now faced him, giving him a full view of her face as the dim light fell across it, allowing him a moment to rejoice in its splendor.

He reached towards her, desperate to feel her heartbeat next to his. His right hand absentmindedly intertwined with her left, as he continued to observe the inescapable serenity finding refuge upon her face. He brought his hand to her face, where he proceeded use a finger to draw an intricate design from the tip of her nose, over the bridge, across her brow, finally landing on her cheek. Cupping her cheek, he watched her smile, eyes still closed, while turning her head in his hand and planting a kiss on his palm.

"Good morning," she whispered, her voice still heavy with sleep.

"G'mornin' to you too," he replied, jubilant in the knowledge that all of this was indeed real and not some fanciful dream his mind's eye had fabricated.

She opened her eyes to find him staring directly at her, a loving smile crowning his lips. She could scarcely believe what they had done, smiling bashfully as she recalled the previous night's activities. She stretched, cat-like, flexing from her toes to the tips of her fingers as she let out a long, protracted yawn. He chuckled at her evident bliss, taking in her bare body as the sheet shifted around her. As she settled back onto the mattress, she grinned at the sexy figure gazing back at her.

"You still tired?" he inquired, raking his eyes over her nude body, soft and pliant, backlit by the early morning winter sun streaming through the sheer curtains framing the bedroom windows.

His right hand trailed in an arc across her face, before skimming down to her sweet, luscious lips. He caressed her plump lower lip with the pads of thumb, anxious for a kiss.

"You wore me out," she giggled, taking note of the satisfying ache running through her body, undulating like waves lapping at the shore.

While the thought of being with Rick in that way had crossed her mind in the past, it had never felt like the right time. Something else always seemed to take priority. Now, the time was theirs and she was no longer willing to let anything get in the way. She deserved this slice of happiness; they both did.

She chuckled quietly, appreciating how the reality of their coupling had far exceeded any previously held fantasies. His was a passionate, intoxicating, all-consuming lover. She wallowed in his adoration for her. The care he took to please her. The places he roamed, and the places he lingered. How he instinctively knew when she wanted a more tender touch, and when she desired to feel the full dominance of his adulation.

Her smile was the only light needed as the candles strewn throughout the room had long since abandoned their flame. He happily walked into that light, leaning in to capture her lips with his, while snaking his arm across her waist and pull her bare body flush against his.

She shivered under his touch, as he smiled against her parted lips, his tongue begging entry. The soft cadence of her moans brought every inch of him back to life as he rolled onto his back, dragging her naked body on top of his. She circled her arms around his neck, already threatening his stamina, as her fingers gripped and slowly release his bedraggled curls.

He reveled in her care, determined to treat her delicate caresses with all the reverence they deserved. He ran his labor-scarred hands across the planes of her shoulders, the pads of his thumb stopping to stroke the pebbly scar on her shoulder. He marveled at the rough edges of the surgical reminder she had incurred before the turn, pondering how the high school swimmer Michonne had been might have differed from the exquisite woman whose body currently encircled his own.

His hands wandered over the silken, blemish-free expanse of her back, noting the deep inward curve of her waist, as his hands trekked to the firm, yet pliable globes pleading for his attentions. The moment his hands found their prize, he gave her heavenly bottom a gentle squeeze, eliciting a low, guttural moan from her parted lips. His tongue continued to make its acquaintance with hers, as his hands caught and released the delectable part of her that he knew forevermore would be his, and his alone.

He felt every bit of the searing heat arising from her core, her wet stickiness grinding into him as his engorged member leapt in response, in pursuit of ecstasy, as it rocked across the crevice of her backside. He gestured for her to lift up slightly from his torso, giving him the space needed to reach between their bodies and palm his meaty girth. The heady aroma of her arousal sent a tingling sensation down his spine, causing his hand to involuntarily jerk as he handled his length with steady strokes. Inhaling, he gripped his member tightly, guiding it home.

Her smoldering center snuggly tugged and clung to him, the ebb and flow nearly taking his breath away as he sank deeper into her. She pulled up to watch him, her midnight eyes locked in a sensual tango with his ice blue orbs. He could only look on as she rose up, never losing their connection, and leaned back to grip his thighs with both hands. The light trickling into the formerly dim room brought focus to the erotic sheen coating her body, as the quietness was only interrupted by their heavy breaths and her incessant moans.

Both hands found her hips, as she rose and fell, and he surrendered the full extent of his passion into her body for safekeeping. He wanted to move faster, cure the ache that was causing flashes of light to spark from his periphery, but she had other plans. She gyrated on top of him in steady, excruciatingly slow circles, her hips moving to a beat heard solely by the two of them. He watched her stomach contract and a sharp gasp leave her lips as he removed one hand from her hip, ghosting her goosebumps strewed skin, to graze the firm slickness of her bud.

He anticipated the erratic jerk in which she responded, gripping her hip in his calloused yet gentle hand, while using the other to stoke her fire. Keeping his eyes unwaveringly on her face, he watched the intense build up to her crescendo. She lifted her face towards the ceiling as her eyes rolled to the back of her head. She brought her eyes back to his, not wanting to miss a moment of watching him watch her.

His eyes locked with hers as the exquisite sensation of her climax seemed to pull the remaining breath from her lungs. The pulsating sensation of her vibrating core dragged his release from him, jettisoning it to the depths of her cavern. Spent, she fell onto his chest, their sweat-slicked bodies seeking comfort in the embrace only the other could provide.

The lay in harmonious silence, satiated and begging off sleep in order to rise and face the day. As much as they both would have liked to remain wrapped around each other, they had business to address and little time to spend the day savoring the afterglow of their union.

Several minutes passed as the soothing tandem beat of their hearts lulled her into a brief slumber. She finally lifted her head to see his eyes open and gazing down on her. The wide smile on his face elicited another giggle from her, followed closely by a pensive stare towards the headboard behind him.

"What'a we tell Carl, right?" Rick asked, knowing this would be the first thing that came to her mind.

She nodded, lowering her head to drop a kiss on the center of his chest.

"I'm pretty sure he already suspects somethin'," Rick continued, laying a warm kiss on her forehead. "You know it's nearly impossible to get anythin' past that boy. He'll be happy though. I know that for sure."

"Maybe so," she began, turning her head to lay it against his chest. "But it's one thing to want us under the same roof, to want us to… see what this could be. It might be a whole other thing to actually see us together. I don't know. I just don't want him to worry about us anymore. He's done enough of that."

"He's a smart boy Michonne," Rick began, carefully parsing his words. "He'll know this is different. You've been the only mother he's known since… The only mother Judith knows. Trust me. He'll be happy we're together. I know it."

She inhaled deeply, taking in his words. Mother. She'd loved Carl since practically the first time she laid eyes on him, intrigued by the astute young man's ability to understand and empathize far beyond his years. She thought back to how he had unknowingly helped her grieve for Andre. How almost losing him after the herd had made her resolve to protect this place even more clear. Loving this sweet boy had been an honor. Rick was right. This was different.


"It doesn't matter Carl," Michonne said, attempting, yet failing to kept the exasperation out of her voice. "This is what you need to do to get well. So, guess what? You do it. No more bullshit."

Carl blinked at her, shocked by the tenor of her voice; she rarely got mad at him, even when she should have. He was frustrated lying there, bouncing a tennis ball towards the ceiling and attempting to catch it. It had been two weeks since the herd and though he knew he was slowly healing, he badly wanted to go home. Just to sleep in his own bed if nothing else. But each time he tried lifting even his head from the pillow, the excruciating pain from his injury inundated his senses and nearly caused him to pass out. Denise had insisted he remain in the infirmary until the wound had stabilized and the headaches had dissipated. She estimated another week or so before he could be released.

The vision in his remaining eye was blurry, so simply keeping it open had required a Herculean effort. Denise had said this would eventually go away, but he needed to start therapy immediately to ensure his remaining eye returned to normal. Because he couldn't lift his head, the spatial therapy she had recommended focused on him tossing the ball towards the ceiling, then trying to catch it on its way down.

He had been practicing for the past 2 days and had yet to catch the ball once. He was fed up with the lack of progress. He knew lashing out at Michonne was wrong, but he was upset and discouraged, worried that he would never be able to compensate for what he had lost. He stilled his hand, cupping the ball in his palm and laying it next to him on the narrow infirmary bed. He looked up at Michonne.

Her eyes soften as she peered down at his downtrodden expression. She wasn't used to this side of him. Even when he was angry, there was a kindness in his eyes that would always shine for her. Now, he was… different. Denise had said to expect some personality changes, but she hadn't really been prepared for this version of Carl. While his motor skills seemed to be fine, since they didn't have the appropriate equipment, there was no way to really tell what type of damage had been done to his brain. Michonne swallowed hard. The look of anguish in his eye causing tears to stumble from her eyes.

"You said you wouldn't cry anymore," he implored, closing his eye to block out the vision of her tears.

"I'm not crying for you," she retorted, sitting down in the narrow space between Carl and the edge of the bed. "I stubbed my toe this morning and it's killing me!"

He opened his eye, scanning her face for proof that he had heard her clearly. He didn't know why, but since his accident, it was harder for him to tell when she was kidding or not. For a few seconds, the double vision he was experiencing went away, leaving the clear look of mischief in her eyes for him to see. He laughed, jostling his head, and causing a groan to filter through his pursed lips.

"Sorry!" she exclaimed. "I always forget how funny you think I am. Wouldn't want you to hurt yourself cackling like a loon on my behalf.

"Yeah, right," he said, his patented protracted eye roll still securely intact. "You caught you off guard. I wouldn't quit your day job if I were you."

He returned her smile, looking up as she quickly wiped the stray tears from her cheeks. She held his hand as they sat there, his eye close, Michonne grateful for the peace enclosing them. Bit by bit, the old Carl was reemerging. She prayed she would get all of him back, but having him still with her, still with them? That truly was everything.

"Do you think I'll ever be normal?" he queried, keeping his eye shut to her prying looks. "I do– don't feel like myself anymore. Everything feels hazy, like I'm in a dream and trying to escape, but can't find the exit. I don't want to be like this Michonne."

"Carl," she said, gently squeezing his hand between both of hers. "You went through something major. It's perfectly normal that you won't feel like yourself for a while."

She looked down at their hands, sighing deeply as she continued, "I promise you that I'll be with you every step of the way. We'll do this together. I just need you to try."

He gave a slight nod, not wanting to trigger another headache episode. He was tired and wanted to go home, but knew he needed to stay. Needed to heal and be ready to fight for this place, just like the rest of the community had during the herd.

"Dad told me what happened," he whispered, his fair lashes catching the light as he blinked rapidly. "About Ron… about Sam. I feel terr–"

"No Carl," she interrupted, bending towards him until they were nearly face to face. "I will tolerate you being Captain Emo, but this? Blaming yourself for something you have no part in? That, I will not do."

"But I knew Ron was mad," he began. "I even knew he had a gun. I thought I could calm him down, fix the situation. I should have come to you."

He closed his eye and bowed his head. If there was any hint of disappointment in her eyes, he didn't want to see it.

"Yeah, you should have," she sighed, looking up at the abstract print hanging on the wall behind Carl's head. "I knew something was up when you came out of the garage. I should have taken time to force you to tell me what it was about. I should have, bu–"

"No Michonne," Carl declared, opening his eye once more. "You don't get to blame yourself for something you had no part in."

She smiled at his paraphrase and said, "touché mon ami. You got me there."

He gave her a genuine smile, a glimmer of his old self finally bubbling to the surface after the chaos of the past two weeks.

"How's Sam doing?" he asked, curious to know how the boy was coping with his injury. He felt badly for him.

Her eyes trained on the painting, she sighed deeply, dropping her head to her chest as she said, "I don't really know. I've been busy getting the community back into shape and, of course, coming to see my favorite person in the world. I haven't had time. You know I love you to pieces."

She watched the smile illuminate his entire face. She beamed back at him. He, along with Rick and Judith were her favorite people left and she felt some sort of way about how the Anderson saga had unfolded. She knew Rick hadn't been in his right state of mind, but it had… stung. She was hurt that he hadn't confided in her about what was going on with him. She figured that letting go of the hurt would be difficult, but not impossible.

"I love you too Michonne," Carl said, a wide grin still plastered on his face. "You love my dad too right?"

The question jerked her out of her melancholy. She narrowed her eyes, trying to get a sense of what he was trying to say.

"I love all of you," she said, wanting to shut down the inquisitive boy.

"I know you do," he replied, not exactly sure why he had asked. It had simply popped into his head.

There had been times when his dad and Michonne had sat at his bedside and he had feigned sleep because he didn't feel like talking, but he had overheard their conversations and at some point, it occurred to him that something might be going on. He would have been happy if there was. He loved Michonne and the calming influence she had on his dad. He knew his dad was in some way taken by Jessie, but he couldn't imagine him with someone who couldn't take care of themselves, let alone Judith. Not in this world.

"Did you check on Spencer?" he asked, shifting gears. "I know you guys are friends. Is he doing ok?"

Spencer had certainly grown on him, but how smitten he was with Michonne still threw him off. He couldn't articulate why, but he didn't exactly like how much time Spencer and Michonne had been spending together before the herd. He knew his dad didn't like it either but also wasn't quite sure why.

"Yeah, I checked on him," she replied. "He's not doing great, but he'll get there. It's not easy being the only person left in your family."

She bowed her head, thinking of the young man who knew, like she did, the unique pain of being the only one left. She had been too busy putting the town back together to visit him more than once but vowed to catch up with him when they got the all-clear to bring Carl home. She looked down at Carl, secure in the knowledge that she would do everything in her power to make sure he was ok.


"What did y'all want for the baby?" Rick asked, his body wrapped around a prone Michonne.

They'd been lounging in bed since their early morning frolic, enjoying the intimacy and quiet before

Carl and Judith, with Enid likely in tow, arrived for breakfast. She lifted her head from his chest and gazed into the deep azure pools peeking down at her. The silent effortlessness with which they luxuriated never ceased to surprise her. With anyone else, in this bed, in this moment, this would have been an awkward conversation. For them, it was just the sharing of their hearts, honestly and willingly.

"Is it weird to talk about Spencer when I'm in bed with you?" he asked, truly wanting to know. "I don't know. Nothing ever feels strange when I'm with you, but…"

She gazed up at him, noting how the mid-morning sun added starbursts to his eyes. Was it weird? It didn't feel like it. After all, they could talk about anything. They talked about everything. There were no more secrets.

"Not for us," she affirmed, catching his lingering gaze one more. "You and me? Everything is normal."

He smiled down at her. She was right. There was never a moment with he was with her where he didn't feel like that was exactly where he was supposed to be… wherever she was where he was meant to be.

"We didn't have too many practical conversations about the baby, not really," she replied, twisting around to face him. "It was too soon to actually plan anything. We were… just excited. A little scared, but mostly excited. Before we knew, we'd talk about what he or she would look like, would be like. We talked about how we would prepare them for this world. We talked about how nice it would be to have Judith and Herschie as playmates. I– We thought it was going to be the start of everything."

He nodded, using the soft edge of his calloused thumb to stroke the apples of her cheek. Space and time had given him clarity on Michonne's relationship with Spencer. He had been jealous of it, of their closeness, for a long, long time.

The rational side of him knew it was wrong, impertinent even. He hadn't any reason to be envious nor angry. Their momentary schism had been of his own doing. The wrong-headed dutifulness of a man who was accustomed to saving others. The end of the world hadn't changed that one bit.

"Rick?" She began dropping her cheek to his chest. "Do you think… that you could love a child that wasn't yours as much as you do Carl and Judith?"

"'Course I could," he stated without hesitation.

He gently lifted her head, using his finger to hold her chin and keep her eyes from leaving his. "I already love this baby. I love 'er 'cause… 'cause she's part of you, and you know I love every square inch of you. So, how could I not love her too?"

Michonne sighed, releasing a breath she hadn't been aware she'd been holding. Of course, he would love her child. That's the kind of man he was. That was precisely why she loved him. It was just a relief to hear him articulate it. The knowledge soothed any doubts still haunting her subconscious.

"I know you will," she whispered, her eyes steadily holding onto his. "I do."

Peering down at her, he realized there were still things he had yet to share. He closed his eyes and looked up towards the ceiling.

"I'm not sure if you've ever heard the story of Shane from the others," he quietly stated. "Shane was… he was my best friend and partner before… before all of this. He was someone I trusted my life to, trusted my family's life to."

She nodded, beckoning him to continue. She'd heard the name from Maggie, learned there had been some sort of conflict from Glenn, but always sensed this was not a topic that the others wanted to discuss in detail. And so, she had left it alone.

"When Lori and he thought I was dead, they…," he paused, trying to find the words that he had never let cross his lips since he'd had to take Shane's life. "They got together. They didn't know I'd survived, so I got the reason why they did it and I accepted it. I did."

She watched as a wistful smile played on his lips.

"Judith?" he began, his eyes darting around the room. "She's Shane's. I know that, I do. But, I love her with all my heart because, I loved her mother. It's as simple as that."

He looked at her and observed the tears filling her eyes. He reached down, using his thumb to whisk them away before they reached her cheeks.

"It's rare that you get to choose family. I chose Judith and love her like my own. I choose you and I choose this baby. I'm so grateful to get a second chance to do right by you. I promise to do right by her. I promise."

He turned her onto her side and used his hand to run the length of her body, stopping to caress the soft mound just below her navel.

"You asked what Spencer wanted for the baby. I honestly couldn't have guess where we ended up. It's funny, after the herd," she began. "I remember you and I spending all our time going back and forth from the infirmary, cleaning up, doing whatever needed to be done."

He nodded, summoning her to continue.

"Deanna had given me those letters for Maggie and Spencer. Maggie was easy to find, but Spencer? I felt like I was chasing him all over the place, just trying to connect."

"Yeah," he replied. "I remember seeing him at the cleanups, but he never showed up for the group dinners. 'Member that? Having a community meal each night? Figured he just wanted time for himself."

She nodded, retrieving her remembrance of those precarious first few weeks after the herd.


"Hey," Michonne said, looking up at Spencer through the open door. "Can I come in?"

Silently, he widened the door, then turned and walked towards the living room as she crossed the threshold. She took a few steps in, tentatively looking around as she watched him retreat from her, shoulders slumped. She wasn't sure what she would fine, but the house seemed to be in good order. Clearing the foyer, she found him slumped on the leather couch, cradling a bottle of cheap whiskey in his arms. She walked over and plopped herself down next to him.

"Why are you here?" he quietly asked, releasing his gaze from the bookshelf in front of him to peer over at Michonne.

"I just wanted to see how you're doing," she softly replied. "We haven't really had a chance to catch up since…"

"As you can see, I'm aces," Spencer sarcastically retorted, turning back into the house and walking out of her view.

He leaned over, placed the nearly empty bottle onto the coffee table, and said, "Sorry. That's not fair. You don't need to worry though. I don't need anyone to check on me; I'm good."

She paused for a few moments, taking in the bewildered, dead tone in his eyes. She thought back to Deanna and how she had always told her that Spencer was better than he knew. Maybe she was right. Maybe there was something there she could use to help him. He was in a bad place, but she owed it to Deanna to try.

"Yeah, well, that's not how things work around her," she began. "We're a community, which means taking care of our own."

"But, I'm not part of your 'own'," he said, turning his attention back to the bookshelf.

"Spencer, I think you more than proved it after the herd. I saw you out there, trying to keep people safe, trying to save this place for us, for all of us. I see you."

He stared at her. This captivating woman that had bedazzled him since their first meeting. He knew her group, knew Rick's feelings about the Alexandrians. He'd thought she'd felt the same. She looked tired, but hopeful, much more hopeful than he felt anyone had the right to be in this situation.

"I don't know what I do now Michonne," he pleaded, sighing deeply as he shifted his aching body on the couch. The hard, physical labor had been good for him. He'd used that, along with the whiskey to numb his senses. Make him forget that he was the sole Monroe who had survived.

"That's why we're here," she said, reaching over to squeeze his knee. "No one can do it alone. Not anymore."

He nodded, closing his weary eyes and dropping his head backwards onto the back of the couch.

"I never really thought I would make it this far," he began. "I was the good kid, if you could believe that. Aid– Aidan was always getting into trouble. Drugs, alcohol, whatever he could get into, he would do. It broke my mom's heart. I watched how sad that made her, so I had to be good. Obey the rules, get good grades, not embarrass the family."

"She was really proud of you Spencer," she declared, looking on as he turned his attention back to her.

He studied her, wondering how she could have known.

"Why?" he asked. "I haven't really done anything remarkable."

"Well, let's just say that she saw the potential," she replied, giving him a small smile, which he returned.

"I just wish I could have seen her one last time. I would have… I don't really know. It just would've been nice."

"She left something for you," she said, rising from the couch a bit to retrieve the letter from her back pocket and handed it to him. "I'm not sure what it's about, but she wanted you to know this. When you're done, when you're ready, come see me. I'm here for you. Ok?"

He nodded slightly, turning the envelope in his hands over and over again. His eyes rose as she got up from the couch. It was nice to have her here; nice to have her to talk to. He realized how lonely he'd been and what a treat her presence had been.

"Remember what I said," she called out. "Come see me. Just, don't take too long.

She gave him one final look, then turned towards the front door and out of the Monroe house.


"I loved Spencer, I truly did," she murmured, tears glistening in her eyes, but not falling. She had finally been able to put her sadness onto the shelf as a memento of life's fickle nature. She would remember, but she realized, this too would pass.

Rick looked down, mildly conflicted as to how to feel about the woman he loved, the woman in his arms, having loved another.

"But," she said, her breath caught in her throat, causing her to hiccup. "It's you. It's always been you. I think you know that."

He nodded. It had always been her as well. The road had not been smooth, but the magnetic force keeping both fixed in each other's orbit was indestructible. They had fought hard to find this anointed place where their hearts, each owned by the other, could truly breath freely. This was not a plaything to toss about, but something held near and dear to both their hearts and something with which they would not easily part.

"But if he… was still here," he began. "I don't know what I would have done if I never had… If I never had this."

She nodded, understanding exactly what he meant. She hadn't let her mind wander to that topic, the mere thought of having to have chosen Rick over Spencer too painful a proposition to have pondered. She had compartmentalized all of it. Things had turned out the way they had always been destined to turn out. She was to have loved Spencer during their brief time together. Then, she was meant to sit in this space, share this world with Rick.

"I choose to believe that things happen the way they were supposed to," she began, the rough hairs coating his chest tickling her nipples as she scouted upwards and placed her lips tantalizing close to his. "We weren't… us earlier because, we were meant to be us now. In this time, in this place. I don't know what would have happened if Spencer… if things had turned out differently. I miss him, I do. But, this is what is meant to be right now. I know it in my heart."

"I think 'bout it all the time," Rick acknowledge, his steady gaze never leaving hers. "What could have been if I hadn't… The minute I did what I did, I knew I'd fucked it up. I don't even have an excuse. I felt so guilty and thought I could fix it for everyone but ended up just making it worse."

"That wasn't your finest moment," she teased, sinking deeper into his embrace. "But, I know you and I know why you did it. You thought you could help her, could fix her problems. That's who you are; someone who protects others. But you never gave her a chance to try to save herself. This isn't the old world. Damsels in distress do not survive. Everyone needs to be able to save themselves."

"I cannot imagine what you were thinking when I was…," he replied. "It's hard to avoid thinkin' woulda' shoulda' coulda' ya know?"

"It doesn't help anything now does it?" she probed, sensing the disquiet leaching into their safe space. "Maybe I'd still be with Spencer, maybe you'd have found a way to make it work with Jes–."

"No," he interrupted, his voice louder than he had intended. He softened his gaze to look down at her. "That wouldn't 'ave happened. I knew it wasn't gonna to work from the start. I was just… I don't know. I guess bidin' my time until I could figure out a way to let her down without hurting her too bad. That didn't work well either."

"Well, now you know," she declared. "You can't force things that aren't meant to be."

"Did you see that," he asked, curious since they'd never really had a discussion on the inner workings of his doomed relationship with Jessie. "After… what happened to Glenn and Abe, did you know it wasn't gonna work?"

"Yeah, I did," she replied. "Mostly because it's hard to build on crumbling ground. I knew you would try because, that's who you are. That's one of the things I love about you. But ultimately, I knew it wouldn't work. Even if I wasn't the girl for you, I knew she wasn't either."

"You were always the girl for me," he countered, meaning every single word. "You know that."

"I know that now, but back then? I knew you were struggling. I suspected it wouldn't work, especially with Carl to contend with, but I was happy. So, I wanted you to be happy. I wanted you to give it a chance."

"I guess I saw it as my punishment," he said, the truth pouring out of him as he took in the hazy glint in her eyes. "I don't know. Jessie was someone who was used to not getting her needs met, so she just took the little I was willin' to give her in stride. I still feel bad about that. She didn't deserve it either."

"So, how far do you think you would have taken it?" Michonne asked. "Would I have heard wedding bells?"

"No," he declared. "Never. It could never have been that."

"Hmmmm. That definitely wouldn't have worked for me either," she stated.

"Yeah, I know that," he concurred. "But, I would marry you. No questions asked."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah, really. I still think about that day and wonder what could have been if…"

"If what Rick?" she implored. "If nothing. Who knows what the fates would have decided? What does Carl always say? This is how it's gotta be. And so, it is."

"So, it is," he murmured, leaning down for one last kiss before extracting themselves from their cozy nest.


"I don't get it," Jessie began, bewilderment and disappointment taking root and camouflaging her features. "Why haven't you come by?"

Not wanting to let him avoid her yet again, she had purposefully stood at the top of the stairs to the porch of the infirmary, blocking Rick's path inside.

It had been 6 weeks since the herd and for most, life had returned to normal. At least, normal as they now knew it to be.

Yet, Rick had not found time to deal with Jessie. He excused it as the community needing him to lead the rebuild. Or that Carl needed him to be more present and was his first priority. But Carl had been home for weeks now and because of Michonne's diligence to his physical therapy, had been healing nicely.

Or that he and Michonne had been dutifully working through Deanna's plans and building details on how to proceed. But the truth was that Michonne was spending more of her time with Spencer and Maggie, working closely with them on Deanna's mission. She gave him the details as needed, but they had agreed that she worked on the future, while he focused on how to further gird Alexander is against further breaches.

When the day had quieted and he was alone in his bed, with his thoughts, he called it what he considered it to be. Shame, plain and simple. He hated himself for avoiding her but knew of no other way to renounce the ghost of Lori he had been chasing, especially when it looked to others like he had actually been chasing Jessie.

The regret of his actions churned his stomach, causing the bile to be drawn up and into his throat, the vile taste closing his throat and causing him to lurch towards the inevitable.

He glanced briefly into her glassy eyes, tears ready to unleash a flood gate. It was humiliating that she was the one that finally cornered him. In this moment, he longed for the cool pragmatism of Michonne. If only he had been upfront with him from the start, he might have avoided all of this. Sighing deeply, he allowed his eyes to connect with hers.

"I'm sorry Jessie," he lamented. "I just didn't know what to say after..."

He couldn't continue. Taking a deep breath, he willed himself to keep his eyes on hers. He owed her that much. As soon as he did, the tears dropped and deep sobs shook her body. Taking slow strides up the stairs to shorten the distance between them, his arms enveloping her as she reached out to him.

"It's my fault," he continued. "I should have come by to see how you were doing. I just needed to make sure that Carl was alright… that everyone was alright."

He leaned back, creating some necessary distance between them. She looked tired. Worn. The toll of all she'd experience etched across her face. He'd done this. He'd brazenly inserted himself into her toxic marriage. Instead of taking it up with Deanna and convincing her to put a leash on Pete, he'd struck a match onto the powder keg that had been the Andersons. He'd known it was wrong but had somehow convinced himself that he was the only one who could save her.

Killing Pete had been one thing, but the callousness with which he had treated Ron was another thing entirely. Still hunting mirages, he'd managed to convince himself that this brutalized young man could somehow forgive the man who had killed his father and left his mother weakened. The signs were there, but hubris had rendered them unreadable.

A tsunami of regret washed over him as he thought about the role he'd played in Carl's injury. How that bullet was meant for him. How in the early days of Carl's recovery, he'd have given anything for it to have been him who had been shot. It should have been. How he saved Sam's life, yet still managed to wound the boy even more. How any feelings he had harbored for Jessie had been muted once the blinders had been lifted. It was simple. She just doesn't the one for him.

She wailed. For making the mistake of marrying Pete. For staying with him all these years. For bringing children into their disaster of a marriage. For not being able to protect her children in this cruel world. For having to beg this man to save her because she knew she wouldn't be able to save herself. She cried for all of it.

He leaned in once more to give an assuring squeeze to her shoulder, observing as the sobs slowly dissolved. She gentle pushed herself further away from him, regaining the distance they had before.

"I'm sorry Rick," she croaked, her emotions too frayed to notice the coolness radiating from him as he stood watching her. "I'm still trying to figure this out. I don't know what to do with myself. Carol's helping out, but, I'm alone for the first time in a long, long time. I'm scared. Sam's barely hanging on and I don't know how to help him."

She and Sam had been staying with Carol at the home she'd shared with Tobin. The former victim of domestic violence had been a godsend. She'd helped her help Sam and taken the burden off her shoulders. Truthfully, while she'd been grateful, she'd hoped it would have been Rick.

"What do I do?" She asked, wary of his reply. "I can't do this on my own and I can't continue being a burden on Carol."

Audibly exhaling, he sought an appropriate answer. He'd brought chaos and pain to this woman's doorstep. For that, his guilt would not abate. Maybe, he didn't want it to. This seemed like the apt punishment for his wrongdoing. This was what he deserved.

"Maybe you could move back into your house?" he suggested, scanning her face for a response. "All the repairs have been done and it might be good for you and Sam to get back to somethin' familiar."

He looked on as she visibly shuddered at the thought. She knew she'd eventually have to find a permanent solution. Had to find a way to forge a path for Sam and herself. But this? Moving back into her house of horrors? This wasn't it.

"There's no way I can go back there," she stated, her ire piqued by the proposal.

"Yeah, 'course not," he agreed, dropping his chin to his chest. "Sorry."

He raised his head to look once more into her sad eyes. He'd done this and somehow, he needed to fix it. He thought about poor Sam, who had taken a liking to Carl. Who might be aided by Carl's presence in his life. He thought about his promise to take care of her, to keep her safe. He thought of all his promises, those spoken and those not, that had given her false hope of the possibility of a life together. He needed to do something.

"You and Sam…" he stuttered, the words escaping his lips before he'd had time to properly analyze the ramifications. "Y'all can move in with us."

The moment his impulsive offer left his lips, he was filled with agonizing regret. But peering into Jessie's grateful, hopeful eyes, he knew he couldn't take it back. It was too late.

She smiled up at him, grateful for the gesture, grateful that he intended to fulfill his promise. She knew being alone didn't always equate to being lonely, but for her, it was exactly that. Even with Pete, as bad as things were, it had been better than nothing, especially when the world had gone to hell. The thought of having to deal with all of this by herself scared her, leaving her anxiety riddled and paralyzed. She knew she would be safe with him. He would protect her and Sam.

"Thank you, Rick," she whimpered, seeing a light at the end of her dark, solitary tunnel. "This means the world to me."

He kept his head down as she walked past him and down the stairs. He inhaled deeply, rueful at what his kneejerk reaction had wrought. As the true cost of what he had just done pummeled his senses, he shook his head, desperate to take back all he had offered. His sense of duty and obligation had clouded his judgement and paved a path that he knew would only lead to heartache. Exhaling, he reached down and twisted the door knob, opening the door to the infirmary. Taking in another deep breath, he walked in and closed the door behind him.

Dear God, what had he done?


"Hey Dad," Carl called out, walking through the front door and towards the kitchen.

With Judith in his arms, he lifted her up into the air, causing the sweet girl to explode in a fit of giggles. He watched as his father looked up, slightly surprised by their earlier than expected arrival. Rick had left Michonne upstairs to get ready, while he'd come down to make breakfast for all of them.

Carl turned back towards the front door and captured Enid's eyes. She followed him through the front door and made her way next to him at the kitchen center island. They exchanged a look before turning back to his father. She too had noticed a palpable change in the air brought on by the relaxed smile on Rick's face.

"Hey yourself," Rick replied, glancing up to look at the three of them lined up at the island. "What are you guys doing here so early? I wasn't expecting you for another half hour or so. Y'all that hungry?"

"First of all, yeah, I'm a growing boy you know," Carl stated, pretending to look around the room as if she could have been hiding in plain sight. "Secondly, where's Michonne?"

Carl looked at his father, clad only in grey sweatpants without a shirt on, as he stirred the contents of the mixing bowl in from of him. He turned to Enid, giving her a smirk that was returned by her raised her eyebrows. He'd won the bet.

"Upstairs getting dressed," he said, dropping the whisk to lean across the island and swoop an eager Judith into his arms. "I thought you guys weren't gonna be here for another hour. Breakfast isn't ready yet."

"Well, Judith's been crying for Michonne and you know how upset she gets," Carl said, shrugging his shoulders.

Rick dropped his head to plant a loving kiss on the top of Judith's head.

"Where Meesown daddy?" Judith queried, squirming to get out of his arms and find Michonne herself.

"She'll be right down sweetheart," he cooed, trying to distract her for her current obsession. "But look at this Judith. We're making pancakes. Don't you want to help me?"

"No!" the little girl pouted, leaning out of her father's embracing and comically crossing her little arms across her chest. "I wan' Meesown now!"

"I'm here baby girl," Michonne called out, rushing towards Judith with her arms wide open.

She took the energetic girl into her arms and gave her a sweet kiss. Looking up at Rick, they both smiled, the afterglow from last night's – and this morning's – events still coursing through their bodies.

Michonne turned to greet Carl and Enid, taken aback by the smug look on both their faces. She furrowed her eyebrows, scanning Carl's face for some sort of indication of the reason for his merriment.

"What?" she puzzled, taking a defiant stance. "Something you'd like to share?"

Rick looked back from the stove where he was preparing the griddle for his famous "daddy cakes," as Judith called them. He chuckled, it suddenly dawning on him that his highly intuitive son might have noticed that something was… different.

"Not really," Carl snorted, amusement evident in his demeanor. "Is there something the two of you would like to share?"

Michonne looked over at Rick, who gave her a noncommittal shrug. If she would have let him, he would have shouted it from the mountain tops. He loved this woman.

Sorry sweetheart, we're busted.

Michonne sighed, "I'm not sure how I'm always forgetting that not much gets by you."

She sat down on one of the stools lined up in front of the island. She'd wanted to wait a little bit before telling Carl, maybe give them some more to adjust… more time to just be. More time to cherish the wonder of finally being able to fully live in their truth. Her lips turned up at the corners as she began.

"Your dad and I have something we'd like to share."


A/N: I had to fill in the lines of the story. I know it's a bit painful for our babies, but thankfully, all of this is in the past. As always, thank you for reading!