AN: Set Post-TOWL Episode 6. Two Rick Grimes' and a Rubik's cube. Rated G for father-son bonding and Grimes family fun (with brief mentions of PTSD. Unbeta'd, all errors are mine.

Thank you all so much for the extremely kind comments, it really is a treat to dive back into this fandom and write again for an all-time favorite pairing. Richonne fic readers have always been just as dedicated as the fic writers, and it's much appreciated.

It was all an adjustment.

In some ways, Rick still felt like he was trapped in another escape attempt; bleeding out, hand gone, and walkers on fire at every turn. Racing heart, tight chest, and the panic that pressed on him at the oddest times. Desperate breaths and cold sweat, elements of the panic attacks that gripped him with no rhyme or reason.

His hand still shook, the worst of it at night when his brain would do its best to convince him that it was all a dream. That he was still back inside the cushioned cell that was his apartment at the CRM, or behind a fortified wall, the cold bite of a metal killstick in his hand as he mindlessly dispatched walkers.

That his return had all been a dream. That Michonne wasn't real. That their children were figments of an overactive and traumatized mind. That he was still alone and dead inside.

But then, those trembling fingers would reach out and find Michonne in the dark beside him. And all he'd need was that touch, skimming her soft skin, hearing her gentle breaths and the sleepy sigh that was her only response when he buried himself closer, wrapping her in his embrace. Her steady heartbeat a balm for his battered mind, the ugliness inside him fading to the background when he kissed her shoulder, needing the grounding touch of her to know everything was real.

And it was real. He knew that. Despite the many changes to the place he'd called home all those years ago, there was a sense of rightness, being back inside Alexandria's walls. There would have to be more discussions: the business of the Commonwealth, the whereabouts of their other family members, and damn near everything else, but they, husband and wife, agreed it could wait. It was clear they needed it. He needed it.

"We're still adjusting," Michonne said, right as always, gently squeezing the arm wrapped around her middle. "So we'll take some time, take a breath. No rush. We're okay."

They were curled up together, early morning sunlight streaming into the bedroom he remembered so vividly, having pictured her in this very place so many times, in his dreams. Rick's sweat-dampened brow softened when her hand reached behind, her fingers combing reassuringly through his curls, grounding him in the moment. He held her tighter, and exhaled slowly. And eventually, they fell back asleep.

When he woke again, it was much later and-to his dismay-to a fully dressed Michonne, looking casual weekend cool in jeans and a light sweater. She was sitting at the edge of the bed, a small jar of shea butter beside her as she moisturized her locs. He took the time, silently watching her go through the hair care routine that had always fascinated him.

"Mornin'," Rick called out, voice roughened with sleep.

"Good morning, baby." Michonne leaned over, grinning at the adoration in his eyes and treated him to a spearmint-flavored kiss, laughing into his mouth when he cupped her cheek and greedily claimed another. "I wasn't trying to wake you."

"I'm alright. Slept enough. What time is it?"

"Some time after ten."

"Definitely too late, then."

Michonne smiled and twisted the cap back on the jar. "Got somewhere to be?"

Rick eased up to a sitting position with a small groan. "Feels like I should. Not used to it."

"Used to what?"

"Slow mornings. Not like this."

"Mmm. That's just your 'can't take a break' talking."

"Ain't that a pot calling the kettle black situation." Rick dodged her playful swat with a deep chuckle and slipped from the bed. "Know you're runnin' outta here on some mission."

"Nothing but training," Michonne replied. "Jude wanted to show me what she's been working on."

He could hear the smile in her voice while he searched their dresser, pulling out a pair of dark jeans, and a soft green denim button down. His own lips twitched with a grin, because their daughter was so grown up now, so far from the little girl with wild curls that he used to chase between the vegetable gardens, it was tough to wrap his mind around her also expertly wielding her mother's choice of weapon. "That's good."

"Mhm." Finished with her hair, she reached for her katana leaning against the nightstand and kissed him once more. "There's breakfast downstairs. We should be back around noon. Make sure RJ wakes up before then."

"He ain't up yet?" Rick asked with a slight frown.

"Takes after his namesake that way," Michonne teased, slinging on her katana and adjusting her cropped gold sweater. "See you later."

"Alright, sweetheart."

Rick went through the morning routine, opting to leave his growing beard be, because he didn't have the right clippers for trimming anymore (he really needed to ask Aaron what happened to them).

By the time he showered and made it downstairs, he was surprised to see that RJ was, in fact, already awake and dressed. He was perched on a stool at the kitchen island counter, sock-covered feet swinging, and his brow furrowed in concentration over his newly acquired Rubik's cube.

Rick smiled. "Mornin', son."

Round brown eyes met Rick's warm gaze, and immediately brightened. "Hi, Dad."

It was a small thing, the way the words thrilled him, warmth blooming in his belly whenever Judith or RJ called him 'dad'. He never stopped being a father, knowing it was part of what drove him to return home, knowing Judith needed him, willing to do whatever it took to make it back. And now, there was his son.

His love for them had come so naturally, so intensely, the feeling was liable to knock him over. And growing with every day. He was still nervous, still anxious at learning his own children, and angry at the time he missed, all the important milestones in their lives, but the negative couldn't and wouldn't outweigh the instinctive connection.

Rick moved closer, ruffling his son's soft brown curls and lingering when RJ wrapped an arm around his middle in a brief, loose hug. He was a hugger, his boy. Constantly seeking out affection from both his parents and sister. It reminded Rick so much of Carl, who had possessed the same easy, guileless demeanor at that age, even as the world had shifted and ended around him.

"Your Mama and Judy already left?"

RJ set aside his puzzle in favor of watching his father move around the kitchen. "Uh-huh. I had breakfast too." He pointed at the microwave, and Rick opened it up to find a large homemade oatmeal and fruit bar on a plate. "Uncle Aaron makes 'em. They're the best."

"Yeah? Guess that's what I'm havin' too." He arched a brow and smiled at the sound of RJ's giggle. The plate went to the counter and Rick poured himself the last cup of coffee from the machine, still hot and fragrant. "Mind if I sit with you?"

The boy seemed to consider it, studying his father with a curious look that Rick struggled not to laugh at, until he nodded with an 'Okay'.

"Appreciate the consideration." The silence was comfortable while Rick ate his breakfast bar and kept an observant eye on RJ's progress with the Rubik's cube, trying to work out his son's method. Which after a good five minutes he realized it mostly consisted of impulsive choices and backtracking as the younger Grimes tried to align the colors. "You're not too bad with that."

Quick fingers paused their movements and RJ looked up at his father, who was busy adding sugar to his coffee. "It's hard. But fun."

"I always thought so. Took me forever just to finish one when I was a little older'n you."

"Really?" Dark eyes, so much like his mother's beautiful pair, widened with excitement. "You had one when you were little? Back in the olden days?"

Rick snorted mid-sip into his coffee. "I'm not that old, Junior." His faux grumpy look earned him a hearty laugh from his little doppelganger, bringing out a smile of his own.

Despite Michonne explaining that no one else had graced him with the nickname, Rick had been pleased when RJ responded to it when he'd given his namesake his custom license plate. Over the last two weeks, 'Junior' had become their thing. A connector between father and the son he was still getting to know.

"Did you have other cool toys?"

"Some. Puzzles and Legos, stuff like that. My parents liked me better outdoors. Was always runnin' and jumpin' around somewhere around the farm. Even had a treehouse."

"No way! That's awesome, Dad."

"It was," Rick nodded. "Me and my dad, your grandfather, built it one summer. Took weeks and a lot of hard work. But I loved it."

RJ gave a little sigh, his eyes drifting downwards. "I wish we could build a treehouse."

Rick considered that as he polished off the rest of his oatmeal bar. "Hmm. There's a few big trees still in the Safe Zone. Maybe after this, we can go around town, scope 'em out."

There it was, the excitement he'd been expecting, RJ's face's lighting up in surprise. "Seriously?"

Rick laughed, because he sounded so much like Carl then, big grin and boyish excitement, his heart panging a bit at the realization. "Seriously. Gotta keep my old man mind sharp, an' a project's good for that. Plus, you can bring your hatchet. Get some practice in."

The Rubik's cube clattered atop the marble counter, already forgotten. "Awesome! I'm gonna get my shoes!" RJ's footsteps echoed off the hardwood as he ran upstairs.

Chuckling to himself, Rick cleared up his breakfast dishes. By the time he was buckling on his utility belt, the front door opened, signaling Michonne and Judith's return.

"Hi, Daddy!" Judith greeted him, katana strapped to her back with a basket of groceries in her arms. "We stopped by the pantry on our way back."

"I see that," Rick replied, dropping a kiss to her hair. "Hey Jude. Sure hope there's still sweets left for everyone else."

"We needed stuff for dinner," Michonne explained, ignoring Rick's teasing but accepting her kiss from him with a small hum. "Where's-"

"Ready, Dad!" RJ yelled as he barreled into the living room, shoes on, and sheriff's hat perched on his head. He grinned at the rest of his family, Michonne's startled expression and Judith's amusement. "Oh hey, Judy. Hi, Mama! Guess what? Me and Dad are gonna go look for trees."

Michonne glanced over at Rick, his shoulders shaking with mirth as he bent over their weapons chest, retrieving his hatchet along with the one they'd gotten for RJ. "What in the world?"

"Told him about the treehouse I had when I was about his age," Rick explained. "Said we would look at some trees around town, see if any of 'em would work for building a treehouse."

"And I get to practice with my hatchet, like Jude and her sword!"

Which Michonne had to laugh about, her son's raw excitement. And she noticed the gleam in her husband's eyes, getting the chance to do a project with their son, keeping both Grimes boys busy and focused. She tapped the brim of his hat. "Well okay. You have fun with your Daddy. And remember what I told you-"

"I know, Mama. Weapons aren't toys, it's a responsibility." With the lecture out of the way, RJ turned to his father, bouncing excitedly.

"We won't be gone long," Rick promised, noting the softness in his wife's eyes as she regarded their little family unit. He felt it too, letting the warming comfort wash over him as he brushed his fingers with Michonne's. "Be back in time to help with lunch."

"Take your time," she told him, her smile small but loving. "There's no rush."

He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze before letting go, and patted Judith's shoulder before nodding at his son, already ahead of him at the door, ready to begin their adventure.

"Alright, Junior. Let's go look at some trees."