It becomes a thing, Michonne coming for dinner. For a solid two weeks, the routine continues and they settle into an easy rhythm. Carol, Daryl, Enid, Carl, Michonne, and Rick- sitting around a table eating one of various casseroles that you can make out of canned tuna, water chestnuts, and whatever furry thing Daryl's killed that day. It's a strange but comforting arrangement, and Rick has quickly grown to love the promise of eating a meal with his family at the end of the day. It makes all of this feel worth it. It makes it feel real.

And of course, there's the Michonne of it all. This newfound proximity with them is intoxicating and confusing. They're over two weeks removed from the incident with Spencer, and it's been even longer since they had it out on her back patio. There's so much they still haven't said, so much that Rick doesn't want to say.

He's spent these past two weeks wondering if maybe it's possible for them to just move on. Maybe things can just keep being this simple.

That thought rattles around his head as he and Michonne walk into his Alexandrian home at the end of their work day and are welcomed, for the first time in days, by an empty kitchen.

"Think she's on strike?" Michonne mumbles as they stare through the kitchen doorway.

Rick rolls his eyes, "I offered to help do the cooking around here."

Michonne huffs. "Yeah and lucky for all of us, Carol took great offense to that."

"She was offended because everyone hated her baked bean lasagna," Rick corrects, moving into the kitchen to peer into the near-barren fridge. "And I'm not that bad of a cook, Michonne."

"I liked the baked bean lasagna!" Carl announces as he bounds into the kitchen, Enid close behind.

"That's because you're insane," Enid tells him, arms crossed over her chest.

They both hop onto the island barstools, Carl rolling his eyes at her comment before turning to face Rick. "And you are that bad of a cook, Dad."

Rick goes to issue his rebuttal, but Michonne pats his arm warningly as she steps past him to lean against the island in front of the kids. "Do you two know where Carol's at?"

"She's on a date," Enid informs them with an amused grin.

"With Tobin," Carl, ever the gossip, fills in.

"Tobin the construction guy?" Rick asks, trying to conjure his face. He can make out a few vague memories of Carol talking to the guy, but the prospect of her actually going on a date is shocking.

"Yeah, you know Tobin," Michonne turns to him with furrowed brows. "I'm surprised he didn't make a move sooner, he's been flirting with her for a while now."

Rick, embarrassingly, does not know. He's not totally dialed in when it comes to the happenings of Alexandria- not in that way. He knows how they are on food reserves, he knows the state of their armory, he knows what progress is being made on the expansion and how many walker sightings they've had outside the gate this week. He doesn't know this kind of stuff and, for the first time, he regrets it.

"Anyway," Carl continues. "She said it was a 'fend for ourselves' night."

Rick and Michonne chuckle at the phrase, familiar with the concept.

"Well we've got two capable adults here," Rick surmises, summoning his truest dad-voice. "I think we can do better than that."

Carl and Enid wear matching expressions of disbelief.

"Can we?" Carl asks mockingly.

They're interrupted by the slamming of the front door and Daryl's raspy voice announcing, "M'back!" He lumbers into the kitchen, hair in his face and two rabbits strung over his shoulder. "Where's Carol?"

"On a date," they all announce in overlapping fashion. "With Tobin," Carl tacks on helpfully.

Daryl makes a confused grunt of approval, seemingly just as surprised by the information as Rick. "Well," he drawls. "What's for dinner, then?"

Rick takes one look at the rabbits and a thought occurs to him. He turns to Michonne with a smirk as he says, "There's one thing I can cook."

A look of realization settles on Michonne's face, a tiny smile gracing her lips. "Not a bad idea."

"What's the idea?" Enid asks.

—-

"Redneck barbecue," Daryl explains, licking his rabbit leg clean. "We used to dig a hole, start a fire in it, put a baking rack over it. S'all you need."

"Well luckily we have an actual grill," Michonne chimes in from across the table. They're all sitting out on the back patio, enjoying the spoils of their labor. Rick is holding Judith on his lap and attempting to feed her small pieces of meat along with her mashed peas, but he's having very little luck. She's a picky eater, unlike her older brother.

Lucky for them, the one persistently available food item left in the apocalypse is condiments- and Rick watches with amusement as Carl seems to load every one onto his plate.

"This is very good, Dad," Carl professes, mouth full. "I take back what I said before."

"Yeah, you better," Rick teases, looking at Michonne in exasperation. She just shakes her head and turns towards Enid.

"What do you think, Enid?" Michonne asks.

"It's good," Enid shrugs.

Daryl lets out a short laugh. "Wow, tell 'em how you really feel."

"No it is," Enid insists. "It's just… y'know. Meat cooked over a fire," she gestures to the food spread out before them. "Isn't that all we've been eating for the past two years?"

Michonne stifles a chuckle and Daryl mutters. "She got you there."

"You just don't get it," Carl remarks indignantly, turning in his seat to face Enid. "This is barbecue, this is totally different."

"I'm not complaining or anything," Enid offers with a shrug. "Obviously I'll eat whatever these days-"

"Except baked bean lasagna," Michonne cuts in. Rick looks at her from across the table and grins, heart swelling when she smiles back.

"Yes, exactly," Enid affirms with a curt nod.

"I still think it was good," Carl mutters, staring down at his licked-clean plate.

Enid scoffs. "And this is why I don't trust your opinions about food."

Rick laughs at that, and at how much Enid's attitude reminds him of Michonne. "When Carl was little, he'd try to sneak food out of the cat bowl."

"Hey!" Carl cries out indignantly, instantly turning red.

Enid gasps. "To eat?"

Michonne nods, laughing. "He was obsessed with it- we started feeding the cat on the kitchen counter so Carl couldn't reach, but he found a way."

"Mr. Noodle liked to share," Carl explains with a shrug. "That's not my fault."

Enid rolls her eyes. "You're insane."

"I've eaten worse," Daryl mutters.

"Well," Michonne announces, standing from the table. "We should probably clean up before Rick tells everyone about the Superman cape Carl wouldn't take off for six months straight."

"Michonne!" Carl exclaims, hopping up from the table and immediately beginning to gather up everyone's plates. "Y'all are the worst."

"We're your parents, it's our job," Rick says, hearing nothing peculiar about the statement until he looks over at Michonne, who seems caught off guard. It immediately sobers Rick and Judith, as if sensing the change in his mood, begins to whine in his lap. "I better go get her cleaned up for bed."

"I'll take her," Michonne insists, reaching out for the baby.

"You sure?" Rick asks warily, examining her expression, trying to figure out how big of a slip up he's made. She seems skeeved more than anything, and desperate for an out.

"Yeah," she insists, barely meeting his eyes as she holds out her arms. Her wrist is still in a brace, so Rick has to stand to carefully place Judith into her arms. It brings them uncomfortably close, Rick's hands lingering too long. They stare at each other for a moment, forgetting themselves, until Carl's voice interrupts them.

"Daryl never helps clean up."

They move apart instantly, Michonne heading inside with Judith while Rick begins to clear the table.

Daryl, who had been picking his teeth with his pocket knife, looks over at Carl lazily. "Who killed your dinner, Superman."

It effectively ends the conversation.

—

The house is dim and quiet as Rick washes dishes. Carl and Enid headed next door to see Noah and Daryl disappeared to the garage to work on his bike, leaving Rick alone with his wily thoughts.

We're your parents. It didn't feel untrue to say, Rick wouldn't take it back. But Michonne's reaction troubles him. As if everything buried between them is bubbling to the surface once again. Rick hates it, wishes they could stay in this comfortable bubble of family dinners and selectives memory forever.

"You know, there is a dishwasher here."

Michonne's voice brings Rick's musings to a grinding halt. She saddles up beside him, beginning to dry the washed dishes without a second thought.

"I prefer the old-fashioned way," he says, nudging her shoulder. "How'd Judtih go down?"

"Good," Michonne nods. "Have the rest dispersed?"

"Like sprayed roaches," Rick confirms, passing her another plate. "I think Carl was desperate to get Enid away from us."

Michonne huffs. "Smart kid. We really put him through it."

"It's a rite of passage," Rick defends.

"Oh, so you're just upholding tradition, huh?"

Rick grins. "Can't lose all our old ways, right?"

"Right."

They drift into silence as they work, something heavy settling between them, until Rick finally gathers the nerve to say, "About earlier. What I said about-"

"It's fine Rick-"

"If it bothered you-"

"It didn't bother me-"

"It really seemed like it bothered you, Michonne-"

"I just don't know if it's appropriate-"

"Why wouldn't it be appropriate?"

Michonne stops short, setting down her rag and looking pointedly at the counter. "I'm just thinking about how Carl would feel-"

"I guarantee you, Carl didn't think twice about me calling you his parent," Rick cuts her off sternly, needing her to hear him. He ducks his head, seeking out her downturned gaze until she finally meets his eye. What he finds there is sullen and pensive, discouraging. "But if it bothers you…" Rick sighs, jaw ticking. "It's true to me, Michonne. But if it bothers you, I won't say it."

She's still looking at him, brows furrowed as she searches him. He can see her mind working as she agonizes over what to say. Finally, she replies, "It doesn't bother me."

It's a half answer, a half truth. But it leaves room for hope and Rick gives her a small grin which she returns. He becomes suddenly aware of how close they are, faces just inches apart and hips brushing. It happens slowly and unconsciously, the way they lean toward each other. It's gravitational, it's inevitable.

But just as their lips brush, Michonne pulls away and turns her gaze back down to the counter.

Rick jolts at her sudden departure, feeling dazed. The energy vibrating between them is overwhelming his senses.

"Sorry," Michonne whispers huskily, her hair shielding her eyes from his view.

"Don't be sorry." He should have never expected things to keep going the way they were. This was the pivotal moment, the trial, and it's falling through his fingers like sand.

She sighs deeply and hangs her head further. "We can't just…"

"Right," Rick nods despite the ache in his chest. "Right, I get it."

She turns suddenly, placing her hand over his forearm and facing him. "You don't, Rick. It's not… this isn't who we are anymore."

"It could be," he insists, voice hushed and urgent. Her hand squeezes his arm and he sighs.

"We haven't talked about it," she says quietly, eyes trained on his chest. "Any of it- not since before all the shit with Spencer… and it's been good not to talk about it. But we can't keep…" she pauses, eyes closing as she desperately tries to gather her thoughts. "We can't keep pretending."

We can keep pretending nothing's happening, she'd told him once upon a time, after that first kiss they'd shared. Maybe that's better.

"Things are good right now, Michonne," Rick tries hopelessly, knowing it's thin even as he's saying it.

Michonne grins humorlessly. "Things are good. I don't think they're gonna keep being good unless we settle things between us. Really settle things."

Rick considers this for a long moment, his hand unconsciously moving to rest on her arm, his thumb smoothing over her skin. They're still so close, yet it feels like a physical barrier has erected itself between them. He feels it, what Michonne's talking about. Michonne's presence has brought him back down to earth, made him feel real again. She's the reason he's stayed in Alexandria, the reason he's making a home here. He wants things to keep being good. And if that means talking about their past, he'll do it.

He takes a deep breath, breathing her in, savoring their closeness. "Okay," he assents softly. "You're right, Michonne. We should talk."

—

"You said you felt like a stop on my way back to Lori," he says carefully, the words cutting cleanly through the stuffy house.

They're sitting on the couch, a safe distance away, attempting to walk back a decade of history. Trying to uncover the crux of it all. Rick feels like he's waiting for a gavel to strike, some part of him assuming that he's already doomed. He's always had that nagging feeling where Michonne is concerned. She's too good, too capable to truly keep Rick around and he'll inevitably be left behind with no one but himself to blame.

Michonne stares at her lap, picking at her blanket. She made them tea but neither has touched it. It sits forgotten on the coffee table and Rick watches the steam curl.

"I did," she nods curtly.

"That's the thing that I've been stuck on," Rick voices the thought that's been plaguing him for weeks. "Did I… Did I make you feel that way?"

She laughs, a weak sound. "Everything made me feel that way. We practically worked together, Rick, people talked. I was this pompous, new-in-town, black woman who stole you away from your high school sweetheart. And I know it was stupid, I know you didn't feel that way. I shouldn't have let it make me so insecure, but…" She shakes her head, grabs her tea and takes a long sip. "There was this distance- between me and Carl. And maybe I was the one putting it there, I don't know… I guess, I felt this pressure to not step on Lori's toes. So it became this cycle of proving to myself that Carl was my kid, and then trying to hold back enough so that I wasn't overstepping. And I thought that would get better, with time. We just needed to adjust." She chuckles, clutching her mug close. "And then after a few years, when we still weren't married, when you wouldn't give me a clear answer about moving… it just made me spiral. The things people said- that I was an experiment for you, y'know that sort of thing… it just got me thinking-"

"That's never what you were," Rick insists vehemently, disgusted by the implication.

"I know that," Michonne replies softly. "I knew that. It was just… It was hard to come up with an explanation for why I felt the way I did."

Rick sits with that for a moment, every word feeling deeply uncomfortable. He feels like crawling out of his skin, feels like running away as fast as possible. But Michonne is still here and she's looking at him with nothing but resolve. So he pushes it down.

"You were always real for me, Michonne. Our family was always real. I never doubted your part in that."

"You did, Rick," Michonne sighs. "I know you bought a ring, I saw it once. And I waited and waited and I debated asking you about it. But I never did and you never proposed, so don't say you didn't have doubts."

The revelation feels ice cold as it rushes over Rick. He struggles to find the words as Michonne's hard expression lands on him.

"The ring.. The ring was a spur of the moment thing, I didn't have a plan- I just knew I wanted to marry you." Rick pauses, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "I came home with it, and I thought about just asking you that night, but you started telling me about a job offer you got in North Carolina and I just… I just woke up, Michonne. If I'd asked, I know you would've said yes, and I'd have been tying you down. I'd have been limiting you. I know that sounds cowardly-"

"It does," she interrupts, a seething bite to her tone. Rick looks up at her, finds her brows furrowed and nostrils flared, tears shining in her eyes. He hates it. "I remember that night, Rick- I remember I told you I wasn't even considering that offer-"

"It wasn't about that, it was about your future-"

"So what?" Michonne bites back. "You were helping me? By refusing to marry me? I wanted to be with you, Rick, why is that so hard to believe?"

"It wasn't about that, it was about me not being able to give you what you needed."

"I didn't need you to decide that for me," Michonne shakes her head as she says it, her eyes so distinctly heartbroken that Rick has to look away. "I wanted you. I wanted you to fight for us. Do you know how much it hurt when you just gave up? When I told you I wanted to take the Atlanta offer and you all but wished me well? I mean, fuck Rick, I wasn't asking for the moon. It was a two and half hour drive from King County."

"You were meant to have a bigger life than I could give you, Michonne." His words bring the conversation to a screeching halt. Michonne stares at him, eyes wide and watery, and Rick forces himself to look back as he explains himself. "You're incredible Michonne, you were meant for great things. I knew it the second I met you. And I'm just… I was a small town cop, I was always gonna be a small town cop. I was never gonna leave King County, I wasn't meant for that."

"Look at where you are now," Michonne whispers. "I'd say you were wrong."

They drift into tense silence, Michonne's words sitting heavily in the air. Rick mulls them over, tries to make peace with them. The prospect of moving away from King County had seemed so daunting back then. Impossible, even. He was scared of losing Carl, losing his life- the only one he'd ever known. Rick was a creature of habit, comforted by hard-earned familiarity. It wasn't until he'd been forced out that he found himself elsewhere, and it left him adrift at the end of the world. Home was a thing of the past, until now. Until Alexandria. Until Michonne.

And maybe that's the missing piece here.

"Can I ask you something," Michonne asks quietly.

"'Course," Rick replies, finally picking up his tea.

Michonne sighs, seems to rethink her question. But she finally voices it, forced-conviction in her tone as she says, "Why did you and Lori get back together?"

Rick's stomach drops and he sets down his tea before he's even finished a sip. He rubs his thumb and forefinger over his forehead, forcing himself to fully digest the question before he answers.

"I guess we… felt like we should? I was lonely, so was she- we just… it seemed like a good idea to try. For Carl. I loved Lori, I always will. But it wasn't… our hearts weren't in it. Lori and Shane- that had always been there. And when I found them, after everything, I just knew they'd been together. And I didn't even have a right to feel angry about it because I woke up in that hospital thinking about you, Michonne."

"I'm sorry she's gone," Michonne murmurs and Rick replies with a sad smile. He sees understanding in her eyes, that unspoken kind they share. "I thought about you too," she adds after a pause.

"You said you thought I was dead."

She shrugs, a watery smile gracing her lips. "You can't keep Rick Grimes down for long."

He chuckles despite himself, and the action brings the push of unexpected tears behind his eyes. He blinks them away, turning and scratching his jaw to obscure Michonne's view of him.

"Rick, I-"

But before she can finish, the front door opens and closes, footsteps sounding up the stairs.

"Carol's home," Michonne surmises.

"That or the kids are sneaking in," Rick says, steeling himself to face her again.

She grins and quirks her eyebrows. "They'd be ten times louder."

"Guess, you're right," he chuckles. "They'll probably be back soon though."

She gives him a look and he realizes how obvious his segue was. "Yeah, we should probably call it a night."

She sets aside her throw blanket and stands, Rick following suit. They stand before each other once again, close enough to feel the weight of everything between them, but it feels lighter now.

"Thank you for this," she says earnestly. "For trying."

Rick shakes his head. "Should've done it a long time ago."

It rings true in a million ways and Rick can see the way it shakes Michonne.

The sound of the door opening startles them once again, and Carl and Enid come bustling in, mid-conversation.

Rick and Michonne exchange a silent look, a silent goodbye.

"Same time tomorrow?" Michonne asks.

Rick can't tell if she's referring to dinner or their talk, but regardless, he welcomes her presence in his life in any form.

"I'll be here."