~Airy~

"Good morning, beautiful. How did you sleep?"

Michonne awakened to Rick's bright blue eyes staring into hers and his low, Southern drawl close to her ear. This wasn't her first morning waking in his arms, but after a couple of weeks, she was still getting used to it. Carl and Noah took the change in stride, and Judith hadn't offered resistance either. As a whole, they were a happy unit. Sometimes, she allowed herself to forget about the walkers roaming outside the walls and enjoyed the sensation of normalcy that converted their group of five into a family.

"Pretty good," she murmured rolling onto her side to enjoy the fullness of his embrace. She grazed her fingertips over his chest. The fine hairs caressed her skin, and she smiled. "And you?"

"Good." He rubbed her lower back and hip. "Sore?"

She shrugged. "It's not bad. Rosita gave me some aspirin. I'll take it when I get up."

"Think ice will help?" A concerned frown darkened his brow.

"You weren't thinking about ice a few hours ago," she said smirking.

He grinned. "I was careful… We were careful."

"Mmm…"

Rick's grin faded. "Seriously, it feels swollen. Right here. You should've waited for me. Next time don't go rushing off without me."

"You know me." She scooted from his grasp, swallowing a wince as she stood and padded across the room to slip into a robe. Michonne loathed to admit that he was right about the swelling, but she wouldn't give an inch about waiting for him to assist with breaking up fights. She handled it well. Tripping over the owl statue had been an accident and those happened. Although she could've sworn the ghastly structure hadn't been behind her when she hurried to separate Carl and Ron.

Rick moved into a sitting position. The sheets bunched at his waist and his chest indicated the slightest heave. "Carl's on punishment until further notice. I'm gonna have talk with Ron, too."

"Carl feels bad enough," she said. "Let it be."

Crimson darkened her man's face. "You know me."

She nodded. Indeed, she did.

After a shower and donning her casual clothes, she headed downstairs. The breakfast dishes were done, and a protein bar waited for her at her place at the table. She poured a glass of powdered milk to have with the bar. Michonne never imagined missing scrambled eggs, toast, and fresh-squeezed orange juice. Before the change, she often made breakfast for Andre Anthony, but rarely paused long enough to eat with him. She shuddered at the memory. What she wouldn't give for one more day.

With breakfast in hand, she drifted to the front porch. Without watches and calendars, they had long lost exact dates, but from the airy breeze that made chill bumps dot her arms, she was certain that fall was giving way to winter. She appreciated that they had roofs over their heads now and wouldn't have to brave the elements unprotected and on the run.

Rick found her there hours later. He was still in uniform and carried a brown paper sack in his right hand.

"What's that?" she asked.

"A bag," he said, holding it up.

"You'll be the star of talent night," she said, chuckling softly.

He shook his head. "I don't think so." He leaned against the railing across from her. A faint stubble covered his jawline and Michonne realized that she liked that look on him. He smiled as if he read her thoughts. Then he extended the bag toward her. "For you."

She accepted the offering, but hesitated before peeking inside.

"Go ahead," he said. "It won't bite."

"What is this?" Michonne asked.

"It's yours," Rick said. "Open it."

She peeled the sack's opening apart. A shiny silver whistle with a long string nestled beneath it lay in the bottom of the bag. "What is this?" she repeated.

"What does it look like?" He asked, blue eyes twinkling.

"I know it's a whistle, but why?"

"Take a guess," he countered.

"I'm not blowing a whistle for you to come running. The tumble was an accident," she argued. "No big deal."

"As you've said repeatedly." He reached inside his jacket to show her that an identical whistle hung from his neck. "Not as good as a radio, but it'll do."

She couldn't resist a small chuckle. "You think you're so smart."

His response was to take her whistle and drape the string around her neck. The whistle rested at the rise of her breasts. His gaze lingered and his smile returned. "It looks good on you."

"I'm not using this," she said.

"We're in this together." Rick brushed the back of his hand against her cheek. "Partners look out for each other. That's all I'm doing."

"I know, but…"

"You've trusted me before," he said. "Trust me in this."

"You think I'm being stubborn," she said, fingering the whistle, "but that's not it. And you know I trust you."

"Then what is it?"

"Us being together…as a couple and not just keepers of the community doesn't make me less capable—"

"I never said that," he argued.

"And I don't think you even realize it," Michonne said, "but it's there. You have a need to protect me, and it's one of the things I lo—like about you. It's so you, Rick, but you have to trust me to take care of myself. You have before. With Carl and Judith…on the road. Being behind walls doesn't change anything. I'm capable."

His jaw clenched as he looked down. "I know you are," he murmured so softly that she strained to hear him. Then, louder he added, "I know. I don't believe you're not capable. I just don't…I don't want anything to happen. I can't lose you."

She took his hands, squeezing until he looked at her. "I can't promise that you won't. Tomorrow isn't promised so we have to live fully today and every day we have."

"You're right," he said, nodding. He pulled until she was in his arms. "You're always right."

"Pretty much." She kissed his cheek and took her time kissing his mouth. When the kiss ended, she said, "But I'll wear the whistle. It's pretty and it's been a long time since I've had something this shiny that wasn't a weapon. Thank you, Rick."

"Thank you, my beautiful Michonne."

[Author's note: Thanks for reading! Enjoy! :-)]