Title: With Us
Author: bana05
Rating: T
Characters/Pairings: Richonne
Spoilers: Up to 06x13
Disclaimer: The Walking Dead ain't mine. If it were, there would be nothing but Michonne getting loved on for sixteen episodes straight.
Summary: In the aftermath of the Saviors' massacre, the Grimes family reassures Michonne.
Author's notes: I'm sure everyone has seen that Richonne sneak peek for 6x15 by now. This happens before that, but it riffs on what that really lovely moment between them had revealed. Please enjoy and forgive errors!

Michonne trudged up the porch steps, her katana feeling like a boulder upon her back, as the adrenaline of the past thirty-six hours finally burned away. She was just leaving Glenn and Maggie's house after a gentle debriefing that had more to do with gauging the state of Maggie's welfare than whatever intel Michonne could get about the Saviors who'd captured her and Carol. Glenn wouldn't go more than five feet away from Maggie, which Michonne more than understood. This was not the time to say Maggie shouldn't have been there, because it was all moot now. However, the irony that she would've been safer actually storming the compound instead of being a lookout wasn't quite inescapable.

"Rest," Denise had prescribed, earning a scowl from Maggie and a triumphant head nod from Glenn. Michonne had arched an eyebrow, silently agreeing with the good doctor and Glenn, but she knew better than to pile on Maggie at this time. Instead, Michonne had offered to prepare them both a hot, if uninspired dinner of vegetable soup. They'd declined and she hadn't fought them on it, understanding they just wanted to be alone and decompress from the tension of the bullet they'd all just dodged. After hugging them both and taking her leave, she'd looked across the street and two doors down to where Carol lived. Rick had been there with his own debriefing session with the gray-haired woman and Daryl. Michonne had smirked, knowing they were having a war council, because Rick would do anything to get as far ahead of a threat to his people as he possibly could.

Exhaustion turned the edges of her vision fuzzy and she could feel a headache coming on. It'd taken her three tries to grasp the door handle. Finally, she was in inside. Carl was puttering around in the kitchen with Judith on his hip. Her small head turned first at the sound, then a bright smile bloomed on her face. She squealed and Michonne smiled in return. This baby always knew how to brighten up a day.

"Hey," Carl called, glowering at the pot he was trying to fill with water one-handed. "Where's Dad?"

"With Carol," Michonne said, coming into the kitchen and hugging the baby. "How were things here?"

Carl shrugged, now free to really handle the pot now that he was sans toddler. "Me and Judith mostly read and slept. Enid came over for a bit and we watched a movie."

"Is that all you did?" Michonne asked, eyeing him. Carl scoffed and smirked as the water level rose in the pot.

"Yes, Mom, that's all we did," he reiterated shaking his head. Michonne couldn't help the sharp inhalation she made even as she knew he was teasing her. She only nodded, bowled over by the rawness she felt, and cleared her throat with a wobbly smile.

"I'll see to Judith," she murmured as the baby tried to burrow her head into Michonne's chest, a clear sign she was ready for her crib.

Carl stared at Michonne for a moment. "All right. Spaghetti okay?"

"Spaghetti's perfect. Your dad will be home soon."

Thankfully, Judith wasn't at all fussy this evening, and Michonne had her cleaned, changed, and slumbering in her crib in record time. She placed a hand on the sleeping child's back, watching it rise and fall with the little girl's breathing. It'd been years since someone had called her a mother; she'd thought she'd never hear that term applied to her again. She'd always been careful with her interactions with Rick's children, making sure she didn't overstep whatever invisible boundaries that might be in place. However, it was impossible not to fall in love with the Grimes children, more impossible not to think of them as hers—even before the seismic shift in her relationship with Rick. If anything happened to them…Michonne shook her head. That wasn't a thought she could even remotely entertain.

"Michonne?"

She turned, her hand still on Judith, and grinned softly at a hesitant Carl hovering in the doorway. "Dinner's ready?"

"Yeah, but," he paused and frowned. "I didn't mean to upset you, when I called you mom."

She immediately turned back to Judith, feeling her eyes sting at Carl's words and the soft tone in which he'd wrapped them. "I know it was only a joke," she managed to rasp.

"Well, see, here's the thing: Jesus called you my mom, too, and he wasn't joking."

It was Michonne's turn to scoff. "That Jesus…why would he say that? I mean, it's pretty obvious I'm not your mom, right?" The words felt like glass coming out of her throat, making her eyes water, and she pressed more firmly upon Judith, as if the baby could root her to something.

She heard him enter the room but she didn't turn to look at him. She could tell he had his father's gait, wide strides complemented with purposeful steps. She was proud of him, like a mother would be…whatever that was worth. Everything to her, but she wouldn't make Carl place that same value on their relationship. It worked, whatever he saw them to be, and that'd be good enough for her.

"Actually," Carl said, finally coming to stand beside her, his hands gripping the edges of the crib. "I think it's pretty obvious you are."

Michonne shuddered out a breath and began to blink rapidly. "Carl—"

"I know you didn't carry us inside your belly; and I'll always love Mom and I'll make sure Judith knows about her, too; but I know you carry us where it really counts, which is here," Carl said, and she looked to him pointing at his heart. "Family doesn't have to be blood to be real. We all know that. Like I said…if ever the time came, I'd keep you from turning, just like I did Mom, because you're my mom, too, and I love you."

Michonne's free hand came to her eyes to hide the tears that had spilled from them. This kid…this kid. It didn't matter his voice had dropped several octaves with the same alarming speed that had had him shooting up like a weed, he was still the same boy who risked his life to make a run on his little sister's behalf. She'd felt her re-frozen heart begin to thaw again when he'd snarled, "It's the only one left!" about the last Grimes family photo in existence, had seen the determination and the valor of his spirit, and the seed of her love for him had been planted. Now it was a mighty oak, never to be cut down.

Her hand trembled as she wiped away her tears, and she looked over at him with a soft smile. "I love you, Carl Grimes. I loved you before I even really liked your father. What I feel for you is independent of what I feel for him—you and Judy Bug."

Carl nodded, his face complacent even as his shoulders relaxed slightly. "So would it be okay if I called you Mom sometimes?"

"More than," Michonne replied hoarsely, feeling tears well up again. "But just so you know: once you officially call me that, that's it. No takebacks. You can't decide that if I discipline you or make you do something you don't like or want to do that I'm not your real mom. That would devastate me."

"I'd never do that," Carl insisted, and Michonne snorted.

"Carl Grimes, you can throw an epic tantrum and we both know it."

He grinned and shrugged. "True, but if you're ever on the receiving end of it then that would sort of make it really official, right?"

She arched an eyebrow at him. "I will never be on the receiving end of that. Don't get that twisted!"

He laughed, his blue eye bright in a way that made her heart wobble. It'd been tinged with darkness for so long, well before he'd lost his other eye. That she had a hand in its current sparkle made up for the terror that the past twenty-four hours had brought.

"Okay…Mom…"

She nodded, her breath shuddering out as grief and joy combined into a quiet sob. Carl was there, wrapping her in his arms, and she held this boy who had become so dear tightly to her. She pressed a long kiss to his temple, grateful he bore her show of affection. He even squeezed her in return.

"You would've been an awesome big brother to Andre," she said. "He would've adored you."

"Yeah," Carl replied, his own voice gruff. "I think I would've adored him too."

Dinner was quiet but pleasant, the spaghetti with fresh tomato sauce hitting the spot. She washed the dishes, shooing Carl off to bed with an apple since he'd cooked, and made a plate for Rick before going upstairs with an armful of apples herself. She still wanted her spearmint and baking soda toothpaste one day, but the crisp fruit would provide their dental hygiene for now.

The shower was lukewarm as to conserve energy and hot water, but she really could use a soak. Blood and grime spun down the drain, and Michonne sighed heavily at the sight. They'd become guns for hire to put food in their bellies, and maybe it was a good thing she still felt a smidge of guilt for the massacre they'd just committed. Granted, it wasn't enough for her to have regret for what she'd done, but better to live with that remorse than to starve without it.

Sighing again, Michonne stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around her damp body before leaving the bathroom to go into her room.

Rick was in the bed already, his hair damp from the shower he must've taken in his own room, the thin, white T-shirt he wore brandishing damp spots from places where his skin hadn't fully dried yet, and his pajama bottoms riding low on his hips. He was snoring away, his arms curled around the pillow he used, and Michonne muffled her giggle at the adorableness of it all.

She crossed the room to close the door, making sure to be as quiet as possible. However, when she turned back to the bed, electric blue eyes stared back at her.

"Hey."

"Did you eat?" she asked quietly.

He nodded. "Carol had a leftover casserole so I ate there. I saw the spaghetti. I'll probably polish that off later too."

"Or Carl," Michonne said, a corner of her mouth ticking up.

"Yeah," he said, chuckling. "More than likely Carl." He stretched and burrowed deeper into the bedding, his eyes falling shut. "Between the two of us, it's a wonder you and Judy have anything to eat."

"No matter how greedy you get, you'll never let us go without," Michonne said confidently, tugging up the towel around her body.

"Yeah," he agreed again, his eyes peeling open, bloodshot yet focused, to regard her. He pressed his cheek into the pillow and inhaled deeply. "I'm so glad it wasn't you."

Nodding, understanding he meant the brief kidnapping they'd all just endured, Michonne approached him and cupped his jaw in her hand. He closed his eyes, leaning his face into her hold. "They made it back. Our family is resilient."

He nodded, scooting closer to her to bury his face into her neck and sling his arm over her belly. "I'm still glad it wasn't you."

Michonne remained silent as she massaged the back of Rick's neck. She would not give him platitudes or false promises, because their relationship demanded too much honesty and truth for that. It could've been her. Hell, it had been her before—and once under Rick's own orders until he'd changed his mind. She could've died a thousand times before now, but the universe had decided to spare her for some reason. Her grandmother would always say tomorrow wasn't promised, and that'd been before the end of the world. Yet she'd been through her own personal hell, losing her lover and her son; however, she'd been able to gain another of each with a bonus daughter to boot. She would focus on what she had and celebrate it, cherish it, and guard it with her life.

"Stay with me," he whispered into her shoulder, nosing her skin amid her thick locs.

"As long as I'm able," she vowed, and she frowned when he chuckled.

"While I'm really happy to hear that, I mean tonight," he said, kissing her jaw, then her cheek, nose, lips. "And tomorrow night…and the night after that…and every night until there are no more nights to be had…"

Every pause was a kiss, to her collarbone, to her forehead, to the curve of her ear, to her chest. She was intoxicated by Rick's mouth upon her body.

"That's why you came into my room lookin' like a lost puppy?" Michonne teased, giggling when his wet tongue slipped into her cleavage.

He rested his chin gently atop her sternum and grinned. "I was tryin' to catch you before you changed, see if I could convince you to move in with me. But I'm tired and the bed smelled like you and now here we are."

He tongued her left breast right above her heartbeat, and Michonne slid her fingers through his hair. "So, you'd like to stay in here instead?"

Rick shrugged and kissed the inside of her forearm. "If you're partial to this room, I can move in with you…" He grinned and blushed a little. "I just wanna hold you and sleep with you and wake up with you. Don't care where, just as long as I'm with you."

Emotion swelled within her chest, and she drew his head up her body so she could kiss his lips. Rick came willingly, devouring her almost immediately as his hands smoothed down her flesh. His mouth tasted of apple, and her tongue tried to get all of the flavors from him that she could. Rick managed to undo the towel's tie underneath her left armpit, and soon his callused palms were gliding along her bare skin. Michonne shuddered, breasts peaking and nether regions moistening. It seemed Rick's weariness was no match for his arousal when it came to her.

"We don't—"

He pressed a tender kiss to her lips. "I do." He drew the towel away and tossed it to the end of the bed. "I gotta cherish you. I gotta show you how much I adore you."

Michonne looked up at the ceiling as his lips traveled down her body. She was already trembling from his ministrations, his words, and even the echo of Carl's declaration if she were honest. She felt heady over the domesticity of everything, a boon she'd never thought she'd regained after she'd lost her first family. She was completely overcome, everything hitting her the moment Rick placed a kiss above her womb, and she burst into tears.

Of course, Rick popped up in alarm, his hands now cradling her damp face, his eyes fierce with the need to vanquish whatever caused her distress. Michonne shook her head, tangling her fingers through his on her cheeks and kissing the heels of his hands.

"Darlin'?" Rick began, kissing her forehead, the bridge of her nose. "Did I do somethin'? Am I comin' on too strong—?"

Michonne shook her head and clutched him to her, burying her face into his neck. He was being exactly what she required: strong, firm, determined, present. He anticipated her needs and made sure she had whatever was necessary to not only survive, but also thrive. He was so different from whom Mike had become post-apocalypse, and she mourned Mike even as she rejoiced Rick. Too many complex feelings roiled within her, lingering anger and grief and even, now that she felt safe enough to admit it, relief Mike and Andre were no longer here. She couldn't unpack that now, though. She was flayed open enough.

Rick murmured soothing words and adjusted them both so that he bore her weight instead of the other way around. His hands smoothed along her bare body, his arousal she'd felt between her thighs softening amid her need for comfort. She suddenly chuckled, her throat still a little thick and raw, and Rick pulled back to look at her.

"What?"

"I effectively killed the mood."

He quirked a smile at her, brushing away moisture from her cheeks with his knuckles. "A little. But I think you needed this more, and I'm happy to oblige."

She allowed her thumb to smooth over his bearded cheek, her heart fluttering at the way he closed his eyes to savor the caress. "Carl called me Mom."

His eyes opened and were filled with so much pleasure and joy that she almost started crying again. "He did?"

"You're okay with that?" Michonne asked, needing verbal confirmation. As well as they could communicate silently, some things required explicit statement. "I didn't ask him to—"

"Way I figure it, you've been mothering him since the prison," Rick said plainly. "You look after my boy as if he were your own flesh and blood. Judy too. You're their mama. The DNA of a family is made up by the love, not the blood."

"That's basically what Carl said," she revealed.

"He's right," Rick said, kissing Michonne's forehead. "Boy's got a good head on his shoulders. We lucked out with him."

"I lucked out with all of you," Michonne replied, brushing her nose against Rick's. "Thank you for giving me a family again."

He smiled at her so tenderly that Michonne hid her eyes into his cheek, her spirit so light she feared she could float away. He snickered, pulling her closer and tangling his pajama-clad leg with one of her bare ones. "Yeah, you're stuck with us," Rick warned. "We ain't lettin' you go without a fight."

She came out of hiding and kissed him languidly, vibrating with the wealth of feelings she held for him.

"Good."