"Look, I know how worried you both must be right now," Dr. Soroyan said, stepping through the doorway of the room in the infirmary where Michonne lay resting on a bed. "But I promise you, this isn't at all uncommon."

Michonne looked on as the Doctor took a few further steps into the room, pausing to give a comforting squeeze to Rick's shoulder, before redirecting his attention towards her. She glanced at Rick, watching as he turned around in the chair next to her bedside and acknowledged the Doctor's comments.

The entire evening had been spent awaiting the baby's arrival. They'd even taken a moment to link hands and pray for her safe delivery. Initially, labor had progressed quickly, creating a palpable buzz across Alexandria as they were inundated by periodic visits from neighbors.

But as night slipped into day without a baby, Michonne's contractions slowed considerably, leaving both in a state of exhausted panic. She tried to convince herself and Rick that all was well, but without an ultrasound to monitor the baby, Dr. Soroyan could only state that the baby didn't seem to be in distress and 'these things happened in the old world too.'

"Sometimes, we progress all the way to the end in one continuous step, and sometimes the little one decides she's not quite ready to make her debut," Dr. Soroyan concluded. "I know I'm probably asking the impossible, but I need both of you to stay calm. With Michonne's blood pressure spiking, we need to minimize chances of it going any higher."

"I'll keep her calm," Rick assured, turning his attention back to Michonne.

"Like I said, try to get some rest," Dr. Soroyan said, giving Michonne an encouraging smile.

"I'm pretty sure that's not gonna be possible," she stated.

"Probably so, but try," the Doctor replied. "Let me give you two some privacy. I'll be right next door, so holler if you need anything."

She wiped the tears from eyes, the echo of Dr. Soroyan's retreating footsteps the only sound in the quiet room. Rick reached for her hand, placing a delicate kiss on her palm before drawing it to his chest. She could feel the vibrating beat of his heart travel through her hand and into her own heart. They stared into each other's eyes. They both knew loss all too well, but if anything were to happen to the baby, it might be too much for either to bear.

"She's gonna be fine Rick," Michonne whispered, tears rolling down the sides of face and dropping onto the pillows beneath her head. "I know it."

"I know it too," he said, kissing her hand once more. "Think you can get some sleep?"

"Probably not, but Dr. Soroyan did said a nice massage might do the trick," Michonne teased, attempting to clear the tension enveloping the room.

He snorted, laying her hand back on the bed, then leaning down to grab the small bottle of oil from the bag at his feet. He gentle turned her onto her side, lifting the back of her maroon tank top until it rested under her arms. Squeezing a few drops from the bottle, he placed it back onto the bedside table and began vigorously rubbing the oil between his hands, warming it before placing his hands on Michonne.

Starting at her tailbone, he applied slight pressure as he spread the lightly scented balm across the smooth, soft expanse of her back. Yielding to his delicate touch, she felt herself begin to relax as his fingertips continued their gentle massage. Rick followed Dr. Soroyan's instructions, avoiding her spine and focusing on the aching muscles on either side of her hips.

He heard her release a soft sigh, her eyes closing as a feeling of calm and safety flooded her sense. She thought back to Andre's birth. How a panicked Mike had driven the doula crazy trying to make sure everything was going according to plan. Teary-eyed, she now understood how frantic he'd been in his quest to do whatever he could to ease her pain.

Though it had been much briefer than she could have imagined, the time spent loving both Mike and Andre had been some of the best moments of her entire life. To get another chance at all of that was inconceivable. And to have all of it by the side of this man was everything.

Rick wiped his hands on the towel at her bedside table, slipped off his boots, and dropped onto the bed beside her. Leaning over to kiss her temple, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close.

"Tell me a story about him," he whispered, knowing exactly where her head was and wanting her to only think about happy memories in this moment.

"When I went back to work," she began, wrapping her arms around his as she shifted closer to his warmth. "I took every other Friday off. It was hard to do with my caseload, but I missed him so much during the week. Making Partner suddenly took a backseat."

"They do have a funny way of makin' sure you know what's important," he stated.

She nodded and continued, "he was such a sweet, sensitive boy. Right before he was born, we'd bought a condo on Glen Iris. We didn't have a yard, but there were lots of parks in the neighborhood. It was perfect for us. Anyway, we would walk up to Old Fourth Ward Park almost every Friday to play. It was our little ritual."

Rick wrapped his arms tightly around her as sobs caused her body to shake.

"I don't know, but Andre would talk about it all week. God forbid if it was a Friday when I had to go into the office. Even when we really should have taken a stroller, the minute he could walk, he'd insist we walk there together. It was only a few blocks, but for a 2-year-old, it may as well have been a marathon. He never minded it though. He was always so inquisitive. I spent pretty much most of the walk answering his questions about wherever he decided to point. I loved it."

"What was his favorite thing to do at the park?"

"Mostly feed the ducks," she laughed, leaning back into his arms. "He was obsessed with them. Always worrying about who would feed them on the days we were gone. I had to point out when other people fed them too or he would never have let us leave. He once tried to convince Mike to get me to take one home."

Michonne snuggled deeper into Rick's arms as they both laughed, the memories bringing tears to her eyes, but a smile to her lips.

"And every single trip ended the same way. We'd get home, he'd be hungry and tired, but he always wanted a hug and kiss and would tell me, 'Mama, this was the best day ever!'"

Rick gave her a loving squeeze, her body gently quaking as tears trailed down her cheeks.

"That's what I miss the most. There's something so special about knowing how happy your presence makes someone else. I didn't realize how much I missed that until I had to deal with you and Carl's puppy dog eyes every time I came back to the prison."

Rick chuckled, lifting up on his elbow to drop a kiss on her cheek.

"And here I thought you didn't even notice," he teased, his hands trailing across her belly.

"Oh, I noticed," she said, gripping his forearms. "I felt pretty guilty sometimes, making you and everyone else worry. I guess I just felt I had to take care of the Governor before it was too late, even though it did end up being too late…"

"Well, I was just always happy to see you," he interrupted, wanting to lighten the conversation a little bit. "Carl used to do somethin' similar."

"Do tell."

"Well…," he began, lifting up onto his elbow again so he could see more of her face.

"He used to do this thing when he wanted me to stay home and play with him. Most nights, I was the one who took the cruiser home. Every once in a while, he'd sneak downstairs and hide my keys. I was pretty sure it was at the crack of dawn, so that's pretty determined for a five-year-old. Anyways, he's a terrible liar and I was a cop, so his confessions came easily. I always felt guilty that I didn't call in sick when he did that because I know he just wanted more of my time. I wish I had."

"Kids are funny like that. They just want your time."

"There's more to the story," Rick continued, tilting her head towards his so he could look into her eyes. "I actually did the same thing when you'd run off lookin' for the Governor. I'd either make sure Darryl took Flame out on a hunt, or that one of the vehicles was out of commission. Anythin' to get you to stay."

"Yeah, I knew all about that," Michonne said, chuckling softly.

Rick rose up onto his arm to look fully into her eyes.

"You knew? How?"

"First of all, because you're not exactly slick Rick. You're more obvious than you think. At least to me. Secondly, because I was a parent. I know when someone is trying to get your attention. Sometimes I let it go. And other times? Well, let's just say Darryl knew to just keep the damn horse at the prison or we'd have a problem."

Rick snorted, leaning back onto the pillow and pulling her flush to his body. Of course she knew. He could never really hide anything from her. He smiled to himself because he wouldn't want it any other way. Every step along the way has led them here, had helped them turn this ragtag clan into family.

"I haven't wanted for much in a long time," his began, his fingers laced soothingly around hers. "I wouldn't dare to. It seems whenever I did, the universe decides to show me who's really in charge. This is everythin' I've ever wanted in this world."

"I know," Michonne murmured, inhaling deeply as she felt the twinge of a contraction coming on. "I've been so afraid of losing something so precious again. I can't Rick."

"Yeah, you can," he said, gently turning a tearful Michonne's head to face his. "You won't, but you could. That's just how life is now. We hope for the best, but if something happens, we pick up the pieces and move on. We do it for our children… and for ourselves."

He reached down to palm her belly, feeling the flutter across his fingertips.

"But this?" he stated, giving her belly a delicate caress. "This is ours. We won't lose this."


He'd arrived early just to spend a few extra minutes with her. She was overjoyed, grateful. She could hear Carl stomping around upstairs, pulling boxes out of closets to begin helping her sort through all the Monroe's had collected in the short time they'd lived in the house.

Rick had wanted to be available to help her with whatever needed to be done, or just to sit and listen to her talk. He was overjoyed that she'd allowed him to stay so close; he was grateful.

"You sure you're ok with me going through you and Spencer's stuff?" he asked again, not exactly comfortable with the prospects of uncovering things about their life together he might not want to know.

"For you, I'm an open book," she teased, running her fingers across the spines of books on the upper shelves. "No more secrets, remember?"

He'd crouched down and started at the bottom, pulling out volumes and volumes of architectural tomes obviously belonging to Reg. They'd had a plan to make one of the smaller homes next to the converted space they used as a school into a library. Michonne had requested all books that looked like they could be used to teach useful skills be organized and set up in the library as soon as they cleared out the Monroe house.

With careful consideration, Rick worked his way up the shelf, chastising himself for worrying if he would pick the right books for Michonne to keep, then pleasantly surprised when he got a 'nod' after showing her which ones he was packing away just for her. Knowing he was able to identify the ones she liked made his heart skip a beat.

As she pulled a thin leather-bound notebook from an upper shelf, it slipped from her grasps. Reaching towards her, he caught it before it could hit the ground. He flipped it over, examining the cover, where he recognized Michonne's small, neat handwriting.

"It's my 'homemade' book of poetry," she chuckled, reaching down to take it from his hands. "I've had this weird little habit since I was in junior high. It's kind of silly that I still do it."

"Tell me," he pleaded.

She sighed, tracing a finger across the worn edges of the leather cover.

"I used to copy bits of my favorite poems into notebooks. And whenever I felt inspired, I'd add some of my own. I wasn't very good, but I liked it a lot. Writing always made me feel… I don't know. Balanced, I guess. I was super shy about it though. No one really knew. Spenc–"

Her breath caught in her throat. She stopped and inhaled deeply, forcing herself to continue.

"He encouraged me to keep doing it, even found me this notebook."

"Can you read me one?" he cautiously asked, pulling her down to sit with him on the stark, wooden floor.

Settling next to him, their backs against the bookshelf, she turned over the notebook in her hands. Haltingly, she opened it to the first page, taking care not to crease the pages. She noted a slightly dog-eared page Spencer had marked and pressed the fold back with her finger. She allowed her eyes to sweep downwards, taking in the printed words she'd memorized so long ago.

"This is one of my favorites," she murmured, before reading the text.

Ancient night and the unruly salt
beat at the walls of my house.
The shadow is all one, the sky
throbs now along with the ocean,
and sky and shadow erupt
in the crash of their vast conflict.
All night long they struggle;
nobody knows the name
of the harsh light that keeps slowly opening
like a languid fruit.
So on the coast comes to light,
out of seething shadow, the harsh dawn,
gnawed at by the moving salt,
swept clean by the mass of night,
bloodstained in its sea-washed crater.

The clear, soft tenor of her voice mesmerized him. As she quietly finished, his mind noted the tremor in her voice when she read 'the coast comes to light, out of seething shadow.' The phase sat with him, bringing him back to their time together on the road, as well as the day they walked through Alexandria's gates. A moment of clarity stilled him as sat on the hardwood floor, watching her try to hold back the floodgates. She had been the one the entire time. His light, the sign beckoning him home.

He shifted closer as she turned the page, her small neat print at the top of the next page: The Season of Light by Michonne Thibodaux.

Aside from some crime dramas and pulp fiction, he hadn't read a lot in his old life, and certainly not poetry. But there was something about reading the words she had written on that page. Something about getting a peek into her inner thoughts triggered his curiosity and further drew him to her.

"That one's yours?" he quietly asked, averting his eyes from the page in case she didn't want him to read it.

"Yeah, it is," she replied, keeping the page open on her lap so he could read over her shoulder.

She began,

Ominous clouds obscured it from my view

And yet, I saw the light from my window

I chastised it, wondering how dare it shine so bright

A sparkling beam breaking through the darkness

He'd promised we'd reach the season of light

But here I stand, alone, bare, caught unprepared

I'm dragged unwillingly from the shadows

I'm forced to embrace it

And this, I do for you

My spirit has been marked, yet remains buoyant

Out of sadness has come light and beauty

Out of the light, she will be born

"When did you write that one?" he asked, studying her through his own teary eyes.

"When we found out about the baby. He was positive it was a girl and sort of convinced me too. I wanted to give it to him as a present, but…"

She flipped to the back of the book, both watching as a small slip of paper floated out of the notebook and onto the living room's oak floors. He reached over to pick it up, noting the large, messy cursive at the top of the page, followed by Michonne's careful script.

"I wrote this for him… after," she rasped, holding it open on her lap.

You were right. If it's a girl, that'll be the perfect name for her. You told me that I was your port in this storm, your home when you desperately needed one.

I made you a promise and I will keep it. I started writing again, just when I'm sad and want to get my feelings out. It's been hard, but Rick's been here, Carl and Judith too. I'm blessed, I know that now.

I was scared too, even though I don't always admit it. But I don't think I've ever wanted anything as much as I want this. Every time I close my eyes, I see her in my dreams. She has my lips, your eyes. She's smart, beautiful, and so strong. I can't wait to meet her.

Peering over her shoulder, he wasn't sure exactly what he should feel. A sense of guilt about being the beneficiary of another man's demise. Remorse at even considering a place in Michonne's life, in her heart, in this child's future. Thinking of it felt wrong, grotesque even. Spencer had been gone for three months now and the words from their conversation in the van rarely left his mind.

'She loves you too. I've known it from the beginning. Used to break my heart, if I'm being honest. I know she loved me too. Felt it every day, in every way. I know what you guys had was different. I didn't like it, but I accepted it. I accepted it because, if that was the price of loving her, I was willing to pay it.'

He glanced down again, pondering the circled word at the top of the page as Michonne sat silently crying beside him. The finality of their conversation in the van still rang in his ears. This man had loved her wholeheartedly, just like he did. In that moment, Rick reaffirmed his pledge to Spencer.

Rick's arms closed tightly around her as he leaned against the bookshelf and wept with her. They cried for those lost to the cruelty of this world. For the chances taken and the failures endured. For a child who'd never know how hard her father had endeavored in trying to live long enough to meet her.

He considered the merciful grace that allowed him to keep his children at his side. He wept for Michonne's bravery. Most would surely have crumbled. He steadied himself as he heard Carl's boots hit the stairs and begin their descent into the living room.

Slipping the note back into the book, he slid the notebook into the box he would carry to her new home. Gingerly, he got up, then helped her to her feet. He had already committed to be there for her, but he vowed to ensure the baby would want for nothing. Would be surrounded by love and light and all the happiness possible in this life.


She took in a shallow, tortured breath, her eyes never leaving his. The ambient noise reduced to a hush as searing pain tore through her body, stilling her movements and shocking her system. She knew there was light at the end of this dark tunnel but her exhaustion had her questioning her ability to reach it. So she opened his eyes, her signal in the storm, red-rimmed and glistening in the soft sunlight streaming from the windows, as her guide.

"C'mon sweetheart," he coaxed, voice cracking as the sheer effort of her endurance pushed his emotions to the limit. "She's almost here. She wants to meet her Mama."

The sweat that had quickly beaded across her forehead, now ran like spring rain overflowing an engorged creek down her forehead and into her eyes, their salty residue burning and causing her eyes to reflexively close. She squinted at him, gripping his hand firmly as the shattering sensation of another contraction caused her to bare down, legs trembling from the exertion.

"She's almost her Michonne," Dr. Soroyan stated, one hand applying firm pressure to her belly.

Michonne felt a distinct drag as the Doctor's other hand left her belly and disappeared beneath her belly. Without warning, the pressure valve was released as the tension left her body and the sharp pains she'd been feeling morphed into a dull, pulsating ache.

"Here she is," Dr. Soroyan said, lifting a wet, squirming mass from between her legs.

Rick looked on in awe as the Doctor scooted back away from the foot of the bed and placed the writhing, yet still quiet baby onto his towel covered knees. Rick held his breath as he watched the Dr. Soroyan vigorously rubbed the towel across the baby's body, jarring the infant as he tipped her to the side and used the suction to clear her mouth and throat.

Leaning up, Michonne's worried eyes caught Rick's before dropping to Dr. Soroyan and the baby. She wanted to ask if everything was ok, but fear stilled her tongue and ratcheted her anxiety. She was ok. She had to be.

The silence was broken by the high-pitched wails. Michonne's head dropped back on to the pillow, too exhausted to do anything but laugh through tears as her baby's passionate cries echoed off the walls of the stark infirmary.

"Papa," Dr. Soroyan called out to Rick. "Care to do the honors?"

Rick's tear strewn face turned away from Michonne's peaceful visage to take in the baby now laying on top of the towel on the floor. He took the scissors the Doctor handed over to him and crossed closer to the baby, taking all of her in for the first time. Tying off the umbilical cord, Dr. Soroyan directed Rick to where he should sever it. Once all was done, the Doctor tied off the cord and gently lifted the baby into Rick's arms.

As Rick looked down at her, night had turned into day and he watched beams of sunlight dance across the dark brown curls covering her head. He marveled at her scrunched-up face as her eyes valiantly tried to adjust to the too bright sunlight.

Her eyes didn't leave hers as he stared down in wonder. He'd been so young and panicked when he Carl's birth that it had all been a blur. He'd missed Judith's birth completely, for that, he would have lifelong regret. To witness the miracle of this new life entering the world was beyond his wildest hopes and dreams.

Turning back to Michonne, he placed his baby girl on her chest. He leaned back onto his elbow and moved closer, placing a shield around both. Michonne looked at Rick, then back at their little girl, basking in the wonderment. They grinned through tear-drenched eyes; his transforming into a throaty chuckle as he looked down at the love of his life and this second chance she'd granted him.

"She's beautiful," Rick began, stroking the baby's cheek as he looked down at both her and Michonne. "Perfect, just like her Mama."

"I still can't believe she's here," Michonne stated, eyes trained on her baby girl. "She's everything."

She glanced up at him, taking in the adoration in his eyes.

"So, have you decided on a name?" Dr. Soroyan asked, looking eagerly between Rick and Michonne.

Michonne turned and locked eyes with Rick. She looked down at her daughter and quietly said,

"Isla Monroe Grimes."


A/N: Next is… and a little something extra, then the epilogue. I'll post the "extra" in my "This-n-That" collection, so look for it there.

The Night in Isla Negra is a poem by Pablo Neruda. Isla Negra, Chile was Neruda's favorite vacation home and his final resting place.

I was crushed to learn Neruda was not actually a good human being. Just further incentive to avoid idolization. Those we admire can be shockingly human. Or in this case, inhumane. Thank you to the reader that pointed me to his dirty doings.

The second poem is an original.

As always, thank you for reading!