"I…" Andre winced. "I can't believe I said that out loud. I'm sorry." He groaned. "I don't – I don't know where that came from," he stammered, looking stunned and uncomfortable. "I guess I do a little. I mean, Rick talked about you and shared interactions and stories about you and your daughter so much that I could see you in my head and –" He sighed. "Seeing you in person it just popped out. I feel so foolish for saying that."

Michonne felt a bit deflated after Andre's embarrassing, rambling lie of an explanation, but she was not deterred. He could say whatever he wanted, but the fact he looked at her and said "Mommy" meant he remembered more than he wanted to admit. Rick squeezed her hand and gave her a little nod. The mother love he had mentioned was real, and Andre felt it. He just had to accept it was there and embrace its presence.

"You don't have to feel foolish," Michonne said, unable to keep her eyes off her son. He was so little the last time she saw him, and now, at almost sixteen, he was tall and muscular, slim, like Mike, with neatly trimmed hair and a light little mustache. Her peanut was growing a mustache. She ached to reach out and touch his face, to hold him again after so long, but she couldn't be too familiar too fast. No matter what levels of truth he knew, this would still be overwhelming, and they didn't have time to sugarcoat things. "You said exactly what I had hoped you would, because deep inside you know."

Andre swallowed audibly, but said nothing.

She took tentative steps forward. "You were just three when I lost – thought I lost you, but you remember me. I saw the look in your eyes before you uttered that word. 'Mommy.' I am your mother."

"Mother?" Andre half laughed and half snorted, but there was unease and edginess in it. "What?"

"I know you have a lot of questions, Andre, and…"

"Andre? My name is Danny," he said emphatically. "Danny Pride."

"Your name is Andre Anthony Hawthorne Wright, and you are my son." Michonne held his gaze, demanding it stay locked with hers. "You are my son."

With a grunt, Andre pulled his eyes from her to Rick. "Why is she saying this?"

"Because it's true," Rick answered.

Andre rolled his eyes. "When did she get here? Does Dad know?"

"Today and he will, but right now you need to sit and hear Michonne out. When I agreed to review this class assignment of yours, I didn't know my wife was on her way to me or that your project would reveal the son she believed died a dozen years ago was still very much alive. We read the paper and know you have doubts and questions, but there's something we don't have a doubt about, and that's who you are, thanks to the picture Michonne has scarcely been able to keep out of her sight or hands since she saw it. The picture of you. Her son."

Andre's gaze moved from Rick's face to Michonne's, to her hand that still clutched the picture, to the presentation book on the couch. Andre's breathing grew heavier. His eyes narrowed and head shook softly.

"Even without the picture, one look at you and I would've know," Michonne said. "You're the image of your grandfather, my father, and your dad, Mike. It's absolutely uncanny."

"Stop! I'm not listening to this. I'm gone!" Andre stormed to the door.

Rick ran around him and blocked the door, frowning. "You're gonna sit down and listen to what your mother has to say!" he said in full paternal mode, motioning to the couch. "When she's done, you'll only have questions for that diabolical son of a bitch you call your father. Sit!"

Brooding, Andre scoffed but did as Rick demanded.

"Thank you," Michonne mouthed, pressing a kiss to Rick's cheek when he returned to her side.

"I'm with you." Rick kissed her forehead and rubbed her back. "He needs to hear this."

Michonne joined Andre on the couch. He moved further over, practically sitting on the armrest to put more space between them, his eyes trained on the floor. He wasn't making things easy, but he was here, and she had to tell him what had happened. Rick sat on the armrest next to Michonne and held her hand in quiet support. Over the next few minutes, she detailed the heartbreaking story she had lived with for years. For his part, Andre listened, and even managed to look at her throughout most of the telling.

"I was devastated, broken, and lost for a long, long time," Michonne said in conclusion, "but I got some amazing second chances."

"Ma'am, I'm sorry for what happened to you and Andre, and I'm glad you got your second chance for happiness with Rick, because I know how much he loves you. But I'm not…"

"You have a birthmark on your right hip," Michonne interjected, not interested in hearing the new protest he would mount, and while she didn't need it, Andre's wide-eyed expression was direct confirmation that the mark was there. "I started calling you peanut when I learned I was carrying you, and that must've manifested in you, because the birthmark is shaped like an unshelled peanut. Two round ends that narrow slightly in between." She smiled at the picture and then at him. "My sweet little peanut."

"Peanut," Andre murmured. He stared at the presentation book between them. His head dropped, shaking slightly back and forth. "Peanut." His gaze turned to Michonne. "In my dreams, I've seen cat figurines and a wall of windows with a view of a city skyline."

Happy tears streamed down Michonne's cheeks. "Those weren't dreams. They were memories of home. A high-rise condo in Atlanta. You were so young, but you remember home and you remember me. I'm your mother, sweetie, and I love you. I never stopped loving you."

"For years, on and off, I would see flashes of images when I slept. I thought they were recurring dreams, because I would remember when I woke up, but I couldn't piece together why I was seeing them or what they meant." Andre left the couch, pacing the small room with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his blue jeans. "Then, I met Rick and he talked about you." He stopped where they sat on the couch. "He talked about you all the time. You, Judith, and Carl, but especially you. Your beauty, your brains, your strength, and the way you challenged and completed him. From what he shared over years, I drew that picture for him, and his Michonne looked a lot like the pretty smiling lady whose face flashed in my dreams. Rick loving you made me happy, because I remember her, the lady in my dreams, happy. Why did I keep seeing her?" he said, his voice cracking with emotion. "Why did she look like Rick's wife?"

"Andre…"

"When I saw you, all those flashes came back. 'I love you, Mommy.' That's what I heard in my head in that instant, in a kid's voice, but I knew it was mine. Up until that moment, I had never heard that before." He shook his head. "I couldn't stop the word. It came out like an instinct and it scared me."

Michonne stood. "It was instinct, but your fear is understandable," she said, still wanting so badly to hold him, to touch him, but taking comfort in that he at least knew the truth and appeared to accept it. "You were very young. I'm surprised you remembered anything at all."

"I knew something was off. After drawing the picture, a part of me wanted to press Rick about my dreams, but another part didn't, couldn't. I let it go for a long time, but the dreams didn't stop. So, when this assignment came up, I decided to write down my thoughts and concerns, in a roundabout way, and ask him to tell me what he thought. Whether I should search for answers or let this go for good. Hmph. I should've let it go before writing the paper." Andre exhaled sharply and nodded. "I have the birthmark, and you are my mother, but now what?"

"Now what?" Rick said, standing and curling his arm around Michonne's waist. "Now, you come with us. Your mother and I love you. You have a sister and a little brother."

Andre blinked curiously. "Brother?"

"Michonne had our son when I was away." Rick gazed at her. His eyes full of love and pride. "My namesake, RJ." With a blink and deep breath, the love and pride was eclipsed by sadness and anger. "A little boy whose life I was robbed of being a part of because I was held captive. But no more. We're going home."

The look on Andre's face was the fear Michonne had dreaded. She didn't have to hear the words. The drop of his head and deep sigh said it all. He didn't want to go. Andre knew the truth and he still didn't want to go.

Desperate to reason with him, Michonne walked up to him, cupping his cheek. "Andre, peanut, I - -"

"Stop." Andre covered his hand over hers and kissed the inside of her palm, keeping it there for an extended moment. A tear slipped down his cheek. Michonne never felt so happy and so sad all at once. She finally got this long-awaited touch for it only to be cloaked in goodbye. "I don't have to wonder anymore. I know the truth and my questions have been answered. But unlike you and Rick, I'm already home. I can't leave. I don't want to."

Before Michonne's first sob broke through, Rick had her in his arms, his chest muffling her cries. "Do you see what you're doing to her?"

Andre wiped away the tear. "I'm sorry, ma'am, I - -"

"Ma'am?" Rick barked between his soothing words to Michonne. "She's your mother."

Andre moved to the bed, sat for a beat, shuddered, and then moved to the couch. "She's a stranger I have faint but pleasant memories of," he said. "In fact, it's like she's two people, and because of you, I feel closer to the one that's your wife. I'm sorry if it sounds harsh, I don't mean to be, but it's the truth. My family, my father, is here."

"Your family is your mother and me and your little brother and sister. Pride is a bastard that stole you away."

"He raised me."

"You don't know you mother because of him. He's your captor. You let me read your paper, not him. What does that tell you?"

"That I love him and I didn't want to upset him needlessly with suspicions that might not have meant anything."

"But they meant everything," Michonne said, sniffling. "You are my son, and you don't want to come home with me. To give yourself the chance to know me, to allow me to get to know the young man you've become."

"You're taking this personally, ma'am."

Michonne groaned. "Please, stop calling me that," she implored, swiping at her tears.

"What do you suggest? 'Michonne' is just wrong, 'Mommy' seems too juvenile, and 'Mom' seems too familiar."

"We are familiar. I'm your mother."

"Biologically, yes, but realistically, no."

"You feel the connection between us. For whatever reason, you want to fight it, but you feel it, and you have from the moment you saw me. I know it, because I feel it, too."

"It's not fighting the feeling so much as it's accepting that embracing it would be pointless. You and Rick just got reunited and have more uniting to make up for all the lost years. Another kid on top of the two others would cramp your style and ruin your flow." He turned to Rick. "I won't have you accuse me of being a coc–"

"Don't you say it," Rick thundered, obviously noticing Michonne's taken aback reaction of what Andre was about to say.

Andre held up his hands. "Fine." He turned to Michonne. "Even if you manage to get away, which Rick can tell you is pretty impossible, I'm not going to see you again. Be happy we got this time and go home. I'm fine. I'll miss Rick, but I'm where I belong."

"You belong with me. Rick and I can't go home without you," Michonne said. "You're not a parent. You don't get that what you're asking is impossible."

"The same can be said of what you're asking of me. No, I'm not a parent, but I'm a child with a loving father that you're asking me to leave to go with a stranger who gave me a chromosome."

"There's not a fucking thing loving about Jacob Pride!" Rick snapped, muttering an additional string of curses under his breath. "The goodness in you is from that chromosome. From Michonne. It's why you and I are connected and what keeps that daily supply of crudeness you've picked up from Pride from taking too strong a hold. You're not blind to his faults."

"No, but he's my father and I don't judge him," Andre replied. "His methods may be questionable, but his intentions are good."

The emotions stirring in Michonne from listening to Andre's words ran the gamut from sadness to frustration and everything in between. How could he rationalize all this man has done and so easily recognize him as his father after all he knew? She wanted to cry, scream, and find Pride and put her sword through him. "His methods are deadly," she said. "This man is no father. He's cruel and dangerous and he kept two of the most important people in my life from me for years. That ends today."

"Say this situation was switched with Judith and me, and some guy showed up and said he's her father and he's going to take her away from you? How would you like that?"

"It's not the same," Michonne and Rick said.

"Of course you would say that, but that's exactly how this situation is for me. You would move heaven and earth to keep Judith with you. Not even that, you would kill anyone who dared try to take her away or suggest she wasn't your daughter. Tell me I'm lying." He looked from Michonne to Rick and back again. "Well?"

"You're right. I would do anything toanyone who tried to take my child from me," Michonne replied, leaving no confusion in what she meant. "Judith is my child, and you are my child, and you're coming with us."

"And that's that," Rick added.

"My father will never let you take me. Rick, how many times have you tried to leave? You wised up and stopped trying. And now you think you can leave with your wife and me. Just walk out?"

"That's the plan. At least until we get to your car and drive the rest of the way."

Andre grunted. "Dad, will you never stand for this."

"I don't expect he will be standing for anything much longer, and before you ask that's not a threat." Rick tilted his head, his eyes narrowed. "It's a damn promise."

Rick and Michonne huddled near the door while a sullen Andre sulked on the couch. There was no mistaking the disappointment and sadness in her eyes, but Rick could see that her fight was still strong. His hands trailed up and down her arms. "That was tough," he said, speaking in hushed tones. "You okay?"

"I don't know." Michonne glanced over her shoulder at Andre. "It didn't go as well as I'd hoped," she said, speaking just as softly, "but it didn't go as badly as I feared." She shrugged. "It did, but it didn't."

"I get it. Thing is, Pride has his fingerprints on Andre, but they can be wiped away." Rick caressed her cheek. "You're in his heart and soul, Michonne. You're his mother. He remembered you, and from the way he kissed your hand, he loves you. Take it from me, when someone loves you, it's forever."

"But he's so unhappy right now, Rick."

"Unhappy we can deal with. He's a teenager being told what to do. We have experience with that because Carl never took well to it, either. We're looking out for what's best for Andre. It might take a while, but he will get to the place where he understands we're acting out of love."

Michonne nodded and glanced at the picture still in her hand. "He has to."

"You shouldn't whisper in front of company!" Andre yelled, ending their impromptu little meeting. "It's not polite."

They walked back toward the unhappy teen. "You're our son, not company," Rick replied. "Get up. It's time to go."

"I told you I wasn't going."

"It wasn't a request," Michonne said, sliding the picture in the back pocket of her jeans. "There's something we need to do before we leave."

"Yeah, kill my father. You don't think I know Rick's gonna grab his gun as we walk out of here?" Andre grunted. "If you think –"

Andre's words stopped at the sound of the door being forced open. Rick stepped in front of Michonne. The person behind this unexpected invasion not a surprise, but the reason for it became clear as Jacob Pride sauntered inside, gun drawn, with an armed Max Hatton moving in behind him. An expletive roared in Rick's head. Anger and fear took root. Michonne whispered his name, moving closer against him. She knew, too. This was very bad.

"Dad, what…"

Pride's raised hand stopped Andre's words. "It's fine, Danny," he said, before saying something in Japanese and moving within inches of Rick. "You disappoint me, Commander Grimes. You introduce my son to your lovely wife, but I had to hear of her presence from Lieutenant Hatton. What do you have to say for yourself? It better be good, because her life depends on it."

~Thanks for reading!~

More to come...