Author's Note: Well, long time, no see. So many years have passed since I've posted anything on here. I continued to write for other fandoms, but with that being said, writer's block got me, and I haven't actually completed a piece of work since 2021. For a second, I thought that it was the end of the road for me, but leave it to my first ship to be the catalyzing factor to get me back into writing.

After watching 1x05 of TOWL, I was particularly compelled to write this one-shot. Hearing Rick confirm what so many of us already suspected deeply inspired me and this one-shot is the result of it. There are small spoilers, so proceed with caution if you haven't seen the episode or the show as a whole. I hope you all enjoy this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. 3

The night is quiet. The familiar tingle of fatigue has long settled into her bones, a feeling Michonne has become fairly acquainted with since the world went to shit, but with it comes a particular warmth that she'd almost thought she'd forgotten over the passing of so many years. She feels it most in the backs of her thighs and the hinges of her hips, a remnant of the fire that burns between her and her lover. It brings a heavy blush to her cheeks and a wicked thought to discard her peach tank and plaid boxers and fall into passion with him once again. However, they're in unfamiliar territory, and Michonne knows better than to lose too much sleep in favor of other affairs. This cabin that they've found is cozy and gives her a faraway sense of deja-vu, but it's nothing more than a temporary safe haven.

But she thinks it might be less about the cabin itself and more about the person she's sharing breath with. The only time I feel safe is when I'm with you. She could find solace in a cardboard box so long as Rick is by her side.

"Leavin' me by my lonesome?"

Michonne glances over her shoulder, the corners of her lips curling at the sight of Rick's lazy grin. It's not much of a change, but he looks healthier now than he did when they reunited that fateful day in the forest. She takes some responsibility for the rosy blush of his cheeks, but the rest can be attributed to his unwavering will and good looks.

"That bed can barely fit the two of us on it," She comments, turning to face him fully now. "And you've already taken up half of it with your manspreading."

"I'm just getting it warmed up for you."

"Or maybe you're posturing."

"What can I say?" Rick tilts his head, pursing his lips. "I know what you like."

Michonne laughs, her teeth sinking into her full bottom lip. He does look good, and she could go for round two—or four—but it seems like they're in the same boat right now. Craving intimacy and closeness, uncaring of what form it comes in. Her feet are moving before she can register it, guiding her to the home that rests only in Rick's arms.

It's all been hitting her like a freight train lately—the bridge, and leaving her children behind, abandoning their foundation to bring the man that she loves back home to Judith and RJ. Her grief turned rage, where red gave way to a myriad of colors, of hope and happiness. It wasn't long before everything was blue again, grim and all wrong. Rick, a strong and capable leader, the man she was proud to love, had fallen victim to a militaristic pipedream, a soldier to an army he had no business serving. He was traumatized, and his Stockholm syndrome nearly drove an irreparable wedge into their union. But somewhere deep down beneath that cracked foundation, Rick, her Rick, was still there. He found his way back, and together, they would find their way back.

Jadis was right. Together, they really can do anything.

"What are you thinkin' so hard about?" Rick presses a kiss to her forehead. "Hm?"

"The road so far," Michonne answers, twisting her body to settle against his chest, "The road ahead."

"Well, the hardest part is over," Rick says, tapping his fingers against her hip. "We made it out. We're well on our way."

"You think so?"

"They blew up our helicopter," He reminds her. "Any traces of us that were left behind went down when the building did. They think we're dead. We made it."

She thinks back to what Rick told her about Jadis's plan in the case of their disappearance—how she'd gone out of her way to leave behind a dossier that detailed everything about their communities and the people living within them. How at any time, she and the CRM could come for their home and the people that they love. Initially, Michonne thought it was bogus, that even if Jadis wasn't bluffing, there was no way to burn Alexandria to the ground without engulfing herself in its flames.

He was right, though. Michonne pulled him out of that helicopter and she saved their lives. That helicopter has since been destroyed. Despite all the odds, it really does seem like they're well on their way.

"Yeah," She says, huffing out an exhale, and she lets her plaguing thoughts go with it. She drapes her arm over Rick's midsection, eyes fluttering shut when she feels his chin rest against the top of her head. "We can make this whole world ours, right?"

She feels Rick hum. "That's right."

They fall into a comfortable silence, one where the presence of each other's company says far more than words ever could. She basks in the warmth of him, her limbs lazy in their slightly inebriated post-coitus haze. She could fall asleep just like this, and for a second, she thinks she's going to, but then —

"Rick?"

"Mm?" Rick murmurs, not sounding too far off from sleep himself.

She thinks back to the earlier events of the day, particularly when they were scavenging around the inside of the camp canteen. While Rick's confession didn't necessarily come as any sort of surprise to her, a lot of questions arose as a result of it. These were questions that Michonne only briefly allowed herself to entertain the answers to, but now that they are what they are, ripping off the bandaid won't feel like anything at all.

"Spearmint and baking soda," Michonne says. "And being in love with your son's best friend. You know, in any other context, that sentence would be horrific."

Rick lets out a hearty laugh, one that shakes Michonne with the sheer force of it. "Good thing it's this context, then. But it was the truth. It is the truth."

Rick's fingers tug gently at the leg of Michonne's boxers. She almost allows herself to be distracted by the way his touch ghosts across her skin. "When did you know?"

There's a moment of silence that stretches on long enough for Michonne to peel herself away from his chest, her curiosity piqued. He isn't looking at her, focused on some faraway wall in the cabin. His brow is pulled in deep, furrowed in the middle. She finds herself mirroring his expression, arching a brow as she wonders what could possibly have him thinking so hard.

"I started thinkin' it around Terminus. Maybe sometime before, or maybe after. But I knew for sure when we got to Alexandria. I went there for you, 'Chonne," He looks at her then, blue melding against brown. "You saw and believed in Aaron's vision, even when I couldn't. I believed in you. I believed in us."

She remembers it in that moment—the nervous anticipation on the way to Alexandria, hoping for the best but always expecting the worst, and the quiet relief that came once they were finally outside of those gates. She also remembers believing that it was a chance to start over, to finally want something for herself and knowing that there was a chance that she could have it.

It was gone as quick as it had come, though, because boy met girl, and then boy lost his mind.

"I know we've never talked about it because I think we'd both like to forget that it ever happened, but… if you'd known for so long, why all the bumps in the road on the way?"

Rick casts his eyes away, the hand caressing Michonne's side halting in its movement. Maybe he's thought about it, Michonne wonders, or maybe it's that he never put any thought into it at all. They were out there for so long, encountering nothing but villains, walkers, and each other. She gets it—they had security within the walls, something they hadn't had since the prison. It would make sense why Rick suddenly allowed himself to feel a stirring in his loins. It was safe. They could have the things they had in the old world now. It wasn't the concept, but rather the subject of his fixation that she just couldn't wrap her head around.

"I didn't think I could have you," Rick murmurs after a long moment, "Not like that. After everything that we'd lost… It felt like the biggest risk thus far. Jessie was—she was easy. She was familiar. She was everything that I'd known from before and I thought that's what I wanted. I thought it was enough."

"Do you think it would've worked?"

"No," comes Rick's immediate answer. "I already knew it wouldn't. It just—"

"Felt easy?"

He chuckles, but it's tinged with regret. "Yeah."

"Easier than allowing yourself to be loved the way that you needed to be?" Michonne asks, and then, quieter, gentler, "Easier than loving me?"

"Nothing is easier than loving you," Rick whispers, his tone delicate. His gaze frantically dances back and forth between her eyes, almost as though he's afraid that he'll trip and say the wrong thing. "Nothing with you has ever felt difficult. That's why I ran. What if I tried things with you, a-and it didn't work? What if I blew it? I couldn't even let myself entertain the thought."

"So that was it? You thought it better to chase a fever dream than to have something real?" At the sight of Rick's lips parting defensively, Michonne presses a pacifying hand against the middle of his chest. "I'm not trying to argue. I just—" She sighs, "I was right there, Rick."

"I know you were," Rick affirms. "I—I lost my mind. We'd been out there… fighters, all of us. Having numbers never hurt, but when it came down to it, we could all defend ourselves. In there, they couldn't. They knew nothin'. She asked me to save her."

Michonne remembers it vividly. Two boys—one a recluse and the other oblivious, and the abusive husband was just the icing on the cake. Rick was everything that Jessie's husband wasn't; He was balanced, strong, a protector. He was the answer—a way out, the mercy that she'd desperately prayed for.

"You wanted…" Michonne ventures, "Someone to save?"

He sighs as he looks away again, and for a second, he looks disappointed in even himself.

"It was a power trip. I would've come off of it. I know I would've," He nods, more to himself than anything, "And when the smoke cleared, I would've found you standing there. Hell, I did. When we got overrun, and when Carl…"

He breaks off, clearing his throat harshly, that wound still tender. He goes on eventually, murmuring, "You were there, Michonne. You were always there. It was just me who needed to catch up."

Michonne allows his words to settle before she reaches up to cup his jaw. She strokes his beard, her lips curved in a small smile. Her beautiful lover, so confident and able, but somehow always in his head, easily troubled by the sound of his own voice. He's conquered far worse—has fought the most vicious ghouls and remained on his own two feet, but somehow, the thought of allowing himself to love was the thing that got him. She leans forward and Rick meets her halfway because he always meets her halfway, and presses her lips against his. The kiss is short and chaste, but it's sweet, and it's followed by one more, two more, and finally a third.

"Maybe not," She breathes, her voice thick with emotion, "I think we got where we needed to when we needed to."

Rick looks at her then, really looks at her, his blue eyes full of wonder. It's like he's seeing her for the first time all over again. She knows that look, because it's the same way that she looks at him. The way that she's always looked at him.

It's his turn now when he asks, "When did you know?"

"When we were on the road," She says without hesitation, rough stubble still scratching her fingertips. "After the prison fell and we met back up with Daryl."

It must come back to him then, because his eyes flash with a particular darkness that she hasn't seen since that night. An irredeemable threat and the looming dread that they might not make it out, and then teeth and flesh and red—so much red. In that moment, maybe to himself, Rick was a monster, but to Michonne, he was everything. He was the answer, her answer.

"Why then?" He asks her, quiet, waiting with bated breath.

"Because I saw who you really were at your core. I saw what you were willing to do to protect the ones that you love. Your family. It's what we tell ourselves that we'll do, that it's the right thing to do because it is, but… to some, it's just words," Michonne whispers, and briefly, she remembers Mike. Andre. What could have been and what should have been. "To others, to you… it's a promise. It's a vow."

Her hand slides down the length of his neck, fingers tugging at the neckline of his shirt. With him, it was a whole different world. She didn't have to question where his loyalty began. He never made her wonder if it would ever waver. It was evident from the beginning that he was her equal, the final piece in what felt like an absolute puzzle.

"There are very few things left in this world that feel right," Michonne starts, and she feels flutters in her belly like it's the first time all over again, because that's what he does to her, what only he can do to her, "Loving you feels right. Loving you has always felt right."

And like always, they meet in the middle, small pecks heating up until they're blazing, Rick's tongue parting her lips and sliding into her mouth. He kisses her fiercely, hungrily, like they're making up for lost time, or running out of it. He kisses her until she's breathless, tugging herself away with a choked gasp. In his eyes, she finds tears there, brimming with emotion that leaves her just as winded as Rick's lips had. She shifts her weight until she's fully in his lap, her hands cradling his face, leaning forward until her forehead knocks gently against his own.

"Thank you," Rick whispers, the words woven within a shaky exhale, "Thank you for trusting me with your heart. Thank you for loving me."

Michonne feels her smile as it goes wobbly. At one point in their relationship, the thought of loving him even more than she already did felt like an unimaginable feat, but that was the thing about him—he could always make the impossible possible. She's almost positive that if he tried hard enough, he could very well be the first mortal being to somehow turn water into wine.

That's a story for a different day, though. For right now, it's just them in this cabin. Just them in this world, their world.

"Rick?"

"Yeah?"

"You never have to thank me. Ever."