"A baby."
For six weeks, those words echoed in Michonne's mind as the reality of her pregnancy gradually sank in. Her emotions swayed between waves of joy and excitement and bouts of apprehension and nervous anticipation.
This pregnancy was wanted— deeply desired, a baby they had planned and hoped for. Yet, Michonne found herself grappling with conflicting emotions and the gradual acceptance of the news. She struggled with a pang of regret for feeling this way, knowing she should feel nothing but happiness.
And she was happy, but she was also exhausted—overwhelmed and burdened by an immense amount of stress. Each day carried its own relentless barrage of decisions to be made, tasks to be completed, and worries to be managed. She longed for the day when her shoulders no longer sagged under the crushing weight of the responsibility she held. She yearned to exhale deeply, releasing the overwhelming pressure that threatened to engulf her.
Caring for Judith, navigating her return to leadership within Alexandria, and supporting Rick through his recovery stretched her thin. She managed it all without complaint but could feel her breaking point approaching.
It had become an uphill battle to quiet those anxious thoughts. They lingered persistently in the corners of her mind, feeding her worries—worries about the growth and stability of Alexandria, worries about what sort of world and community she would be bringing her baby into, and most importantly, worries about Rick.
Rick had been pushing himself beyond what Michonne believed was his absolute limit. Each day, he devoted hours to grueling physical therapy sessions or strenuous exercises in the fields alongside Aaron. Michonne admired his unwavering grit and resilience, but beneath her admiration, she harbored a growing fear that he was pushing himself too fast, too soon, and leading himself toward another risky setback.
She voiced her concerns gently, and Rick did his best to reassure her, his voice steady but sharp with the determination for his ongoing battle for recovery.
Michonne yearned for the day when she could exhale deeply.
Still, amidst the chaos, she did find small pockets of joy.
Leaving a sleeping Rick and Judith to their beds each morning, she slipped quietly into the bathroom, seeking a corner of the house where the air felt less suffocating. Here, amidst the quiet hum of running water and the soft glow of morning light, she found a sanctuary to momentarily exhale and center herself. Shutting out the world, she allowed herself to focus solely on her own thoughts and the precious life growing within her. This daily ritual had become more than a comforting routine—it was a cherished moment of calm and quiet solitude before the inevitable challenges of the day began to unfold.
After stepping out of the shower, Michonne found herself standing before the mirror, her eyes scanning her naked body. Her breasts were tender and swollen - sensitive to touch, almost too sensitive to look at. Her eyes fell to her stomach, and she placed her hands over her belly, then down to gently cradle her stomach.
Her mind filled with wonder as she traced the faint curve of her belly, seeking the subtlest sign of a baby bump. Twelve weeks was still too soon to find out the gender, but excitement - joy- flickered in her eyes, a slight smile tugging at her lips as she imagined the life growing inside her. Who they would be, what they would look like- her face or Rick's. Would they welcome a spirited daughter with her fierce determination or perhaps a son with Rick's steadfast resilience? Her smile, now radiant, graced her lips as she turned in the mirror to marvel at the subtle changes in her body.
"Beautiful." Rick's voice called from behind her. She turned to find him leaning against the doorframe, marveling at her. His curls were tousled and unruly, a testament to another restless night of sleep, yet his eyes sparkled with warmth and adoration.
"I didn't know you were up," Michonne said softly; her hands had dropped from her belly and were stretched out to grab her robe from the towel rack. She added, "You should've called for me; I would've come."
"Naahh." Rick crossed the bathroom slowly, his usual stride absent as he met her gaze in the mirror. "I'm a big boy. I can get up on my own." His eyes twinkled mischievously still holding her gaze in the mirror.
Michonne smiled softly at his playful banter, a flicker of relief fanning through her as she pulled her robe on and began to tie the sash around her waist. Despite the exhaustion and the weight of their responsibilities, moments like these—where they could share a small, intimate exchange—were precious to her.
Rick stepped closer, his hands covered hers from behind, and he pulled the sash apart right before she could tighten it. His movements were smooth and unhurried as he opened her robe. She inhaled sharply when the soft material grazed her breast and revealed her right nipple. Michonne's stomach was once again exposed, and Rick slowly moved his hands from the robe to the warmth of her skin. His hands covered her stomach as he murmured, "You know," his voice low and tender, "You are truly radiant. Seeing you like this... it reminds me why we fight so hard."
Rick pressed a sweet kiss to Michonne's neck, and she leaned into his touch, letting herself soak in his words. Amid all their worries and challenges, his unwavering support was a calming anchor that centered her amidst this world. "We fight for this," she whispered; one hand covered his where it rested on her belly, and the other reached behind her to touch his face, her nails scraping gently at his beard. "For our family."
Rick nodded solemnly; he rested his head in the crook of her neck; she could feel his warm breath brushing against her chest as his gaze remained fixed on hers. "And we'll keep fighting," he affirmed, his thumb tracing gentle circles on her belly. "For our home, for Judith, and for this little one."
His kiss on her neck sent a shiver down her spine. "I'm so lucky to have you."
"We're lucky to have each other." She reminds. Michonne took her fingers across Rick's jaw and then intertwined her hands with his. His lips met her neck again, leaving sweet and soft kisses on her delicate skin as Rick slowly swayed them back and forth.
Michonne closed her eyes and allowed herself to sink deeper into his embrace, longing to prolong this moment—the warmth, closeness, and burgeoning intimacy cocooning them both.
"Judith isn't up yet." His voice comes out as a deep whisper against her ear.
His hands twitch as if preparing to explore her body. Rick pressed her backside snuggly against him, and Michonne could sense a shift in the air. His left hand moved up and cupped her breast, causing her to push off him. Her hands quickly closed her robe and tightly tied the sash. "She'll be getting up soon, and I need to start breakfast for her and you."
Rick's pleading blues peered into her brown orbs, "We can be quick," he insisted, his voice earnest. "Give me a minute."
"Yeah, right, Rick," Michonne snorted with a laugh. "Judith should be up any moment now, and I need to finish getting dressed. She pointed to the door, "So OUT."
Rick stood back, amused, one eyebrow raised and a slight smirk on his face. There was an unspoken invitation in his eyes, inviting her to join him in a moment of shared affection.
"Rick," Michonne blushed, almost giving in almost; instead, she softly yet firmly said, "Out...of the bathroom...please." There was a playful glint in her eyes despite her firm tone. She leaned in and planted a quick kiss on his lips before gently guiding him toward the bathroom door.
Rick sighed dramatically, a smile playing on his lips as he retreated to their bedroom. "Alright, alright," he said with mock resignation. "I'll go."
With the door closed, Michonne continued her morning bathroom routine, moistorizing and getting dressed for the day. She carefully selected a fitted olive green top that complemented her glowing complexion, its earthy tones warming her features. Pairing it with snug dark blue jeans that hugged her curves comfortably, she admired how the colors blended together as she glanced in the mirror for one final check.
She also noted the slight snugness of her outfit and the gentle curve of her belly beginning to show. It was a reminder that soon, she would need to seek out better-fitted clothing to accommodate her growing body. Realistically, she estimated she had about another month before her usual attire became too restrictive to wear comfortably.
Adjusting her top and smoothing the jeans, Michonne buckled her belt, found a headband that complemented her shirt and headed downstairs. As she descended, the faint sound of Judith's giggles reached her ears.
Entering the kitchen, Michonne melts a little bit at the sight before her. Rick stood at the counter with Judith perched beside him on a stool, deeply engrossed in cutting up strawberries together. Their shared focus and the gentle exchange of smiles and giggles between father and daughter filled the room.
Judith - still in her pajamas, tiny fingers tightly gripped the butter knife she held, her brow furrowed in concentration as she carefully mirrored Rick's moves with his much sharper kitchen knife. Rick offered her words of encouragement and praise, his voice filled with pride as he guided her through each precise slice. Michonne watched from a distance, a soft smile playing on her lips as she absorbed the precious moment unfolding before her. She wished she had a camera to capture this Kodak-worthy scene forever, but the memory would have to suffice. With a quiet step forward, she approached them.
"Good morning," Michonne greeted, her voice ringing with affection. They both looked up to greet her, Rick turned with a smile, and Judith beamed up at her mother with a cheery good morning before returning her attention to the task in front of her. Michonne moved in closer to join them, gently placing a hand on Rick's shoulder. "What are you two doing?"
Judith smiled at her mother, a proud look spreading across her face. "Making breakfast, Mama!"
"That's wonderful, baby girl," Michonne praised, leaning over to kiss Judith's forehead. "Thank you and Daddy for getting breakfast started." Michonne goes to the cabinet and pulls out a glass canister. "How about some pancakes to go with your strawberries?"
Judith's eyes lit up with excitement. "Yes, pancakes, Mama!"
"Alright, you and Daddy finish cutting the strawberries, and I'll get started on the pancakes and maybe whip up some eggs?" Judith nodded eagerly, and Michonne placed a bowl in front of her, gesturing for her to carefully transfer the sliced strawberries from the cutting board.
As Judith finished, Michonne noticed Rick leaning over the counter, his breaths a bit labored. Concern flashed across her face, and her worried look captured him. "Are you okay?" she asked quietly, touching his arm and keeping her voice low so as not to catch the attention of Judith's ears.
"Yeah, just need a moment," Rick assured her, his voice strained with the effort to appear unaffected. He made his way slowly to the nearby kitchen stool, sinking down with a visible sigh of relief.
The morning continued on relatively uneventful. Breakfast was cooked and served, and Judith cleaned up and dressed for the day with Rick's help. Daryl popped by for a quick check-in. They exchanged a few words before he ruffled Judith's hair affectionately and left, promising to swing by again soon. Later, Aaron arrived with updates on how things were in Alexandria and extended a playdate invitation for Judith and Gracie.
Michonne thanked him for his continued support and patience; no words could accurately capture her gratitude towards him and his leadership in the absence of both her and Rick.
By lunchtime, a sense of calm settled over the household. Michonne prepared sandwiches in the kitchen while Rick and Judith sat together in the dining room, practicing her letter shapes and sounds. From her position at the counter, Michonne listened to their chatter with a contented smile.
Her hands mindlessly sandwiched two halves of bread together when her gaze flicked over to the clock on the wall, the seconds ticking closer to 1 pm—Rick's scheduled time for his physical therapy sessions with Siddiq. The morning had passed without incident, aside from the occasional cough that had echoed through the house.
She stole glances at Rick throughout the morning, noting his posture, the way he held himself, searching for any signs of discomfort or distress. Besides those brief moments in the kitchen, he seemed fine, engaged with Judith at the table.
"Good job, sweetheart! You're getting really good at this," Rick encouraged, his voice laced with pride. Michonne adored how gentle and patient he was with Judith. She continued to listen from the kitchen, finding it hard to force away the smile gracing her lips. The tenderness in his voice, the way he celebrated every correct sound, and patiently corrected mistakes. It was in these simple, cherished moments that she found herself falling in love with him all over again.
Suddenly, a violent coughing fit erupted from the dining room. Michonne froze, the knife she held poised mid-air, as the sound of Rick's coughs took on a harsh, guttural edge.
"Daddy, are you okay?" Judith probed; her voice had turned from joy to concern.
Michonne's heart pounded in her chest as she dashed into the dining room, her urgency matched only by her fear. Judith hovered by Rick's side, wide-eyed and scared. "Judith, sweetheart, go to the kitchen and grab Mama's walkie from the counter," she instructed gently but firmly, trying to maintain a calm demeanor.
Judith quickly left her seat and scurried off to the kitchen. Michonne waited until her head disappeared out of sight before looking over Rick's face for any sign of distress. His face was pale, a sheen of sweat on his forehead betraying his discomfort. She placed a reassuring hand on his back, feeling the tension in his body as he struggled to catch his breath. "Rick, are you okay?" Her voice trembled with concern, her brow creased with worry lines.
Rick attempted to steady himself, but when he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, Michonne's heart sank. Blood stained his palm, a stark contrast against his pale skin. Panic gripped her, a cold rush flooding through her veins. Every instinct screamed urgency, but she fought to stay composed for Judith's sake.
Rick attempted to speak, but his voice was cut off by another cough that shook through his body. "Hey, it's okay," Michonne murmured softly, her voice a mixture of reassurance and apprehension. She glanced anxiously towards the kitchen, willing Judith to return swiftly with the walkie-talkie. Rick's wheezing breaths filled the room, each rasping inhale a painful reminder of Michonne's deepest fears.
"Rick, we need to get to Siddiq now," she urged urgently. Rick nodded weakly, his bloodshot eyes reflecting the same fear mirrored in Michonne's.
As Judith returned with the walkie-talkie clutched tightly in her tiny hand, Michonne swiftly took it from her and pressed the button. "Siddiq, we're heading your way. Rick's coughing up blood...again," she relayed urgently, her voice betraying the fear she tried to suppress.
Static crackled for a moment before Siddiq's voice responded. "I'll meet you on your way to the infirmary," he comes across as calm and collected. "It's going to be okay, Michonne. Just get him here."
Michonne nodded to herself, grateful for Siddiq's reassuring composure. She turned back to Rick, her hand gripping his tightly. "Come on, baby," she encouraged gently, her voice wavering slightly despite her attempt to remain steady. "Judith, Daddy is going to be okay, we just have to get him to the doctor." Judith nodded her head earnestly as if she understood clearly.
Suddenly, a voice broke through the static over the crackling walkie-talkie still clutched in Michonne's hand. "Michonne, this is Carol. I heard what's happening. I can take Judith for you. Just let me know."
Michonne's heart skipped a beat at Carol's offer. "Meet us halfway?" she replied.
"No problem," Carol's voice crackled through the speaker once more.
With Judith trailing close behind, they helped Rick to his feet and guided him to the door. Every step felt heavy with worry, each second ticking by like an eternity. Outside, the sun was bright, casting harsh shadows that seemed to mock their turmoil.
Siddiq hurried to meet them, beating them to the halfway point with his medical bag slung over his shoulder, his expression etched with deep concern. His eyes immediately fell on Rick, who still struggled to catch his breath, his face drained of color. Michonne, relieved to see him, stepped back as Siddiq gently took Rick's weight onto his own shoulder. It was a brief but powerful exchange—the passing of care from one to another.
Rick's face was lined with pain, but his eyes, still determined, leaned heavily against Siddiq. It was a different support, but one that allowed Michonne to shift her attention to Judith. She scooped up their quiet daughter, who was wide-eyed, still trying to make sense of the tension around her.
"It's okay, sweetie," she whispered, her voice a soothing balm amidst the chaos. "Daddy will be okay."
Judith nodded slightly, her small hand clasped around Michonne's neck. Her gaze, filled with a child's innocence yet shaded with the weight of understanding beyond her years, intently studied her father's face.
Carol met them at the agreed meeting point with open arms. "Come here, Judith," She said gently, her voice warm and comforting. "How about you help me bake a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies?"
Michonne passed Judith into Carol's waiting embrace, watching as she wrapped Judith in a protective hug. "Thank you, Carol," Michonne murmured gratefully. She kissed Judith and promised her that she would be back soon.
Carol nodded understandingly, her eyes conveying a look of sympathy. "Take care of him," she said softly, nodding towards Rick.
With a final reassuring smile, Michonne turned back to Rick and Siddiq, who continued walking towards the infirmary. She couldn't afford to dwell on her worries now; Rick needed her strength. As they disappeared into the building, Michonne took a deep breath, bracing herself for whatever lay ahead.
Inside, with the help of Enid, Siddiq wasted no time. Their movements were swift and practiced as they assessed Rick's condition. Michonne watched from the doorway, her stomach in knots, while Siddiq's hands moved with precision, checking for injuries and murmuring words of reassurance to Rick even amidst his urgent examination.
The scene inside was tense yet strangely serene. Siddiq's presence was a lifeline, his skills a beacon of hope in the darkness that threatened to engulf them. Michonne gripped the doorframe tightly, her mind swirling with worry for Rick. Images of their time together flashed through her thoughts—the battles fought, the moments cherished—and she couldn't bear the thought of losing him now.
"He coughed up blood," Michonne blurted out suddenly, her voice thick with fear and frustration. "I told you both, he's been pushing himself too hard."
She felt the weight of her words hang in the air. It was a mixture of plea and accusation, driven by the desperation of wanting someone to understand the gravity of Rick's condition. She knew she couldn't blame Siddiq—he was doing everything he could—but the fear gnawed at her, threatening to overwhelm her composure.
Silence followed her outburst, broken only by the rhythmic beeping of medical equipment. Siddiq glanced up briefly, his expression a mix of empathy and determination. "We'll do everything we can," he assured her quietly, his voice a steadying force in the storm of emotions.
Michonne nodded, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat. She stepped further into the room, moving closer to Rick's side. She wanted to be there for him, to hold his hand and remind him of the force that had already carried them through so much.
As Siddiq continued his assessment, Michonne stood vigilantly beside Rick, her eyes never leaving his face. Every line etched with pain tore at her heart, reminding her of how much time they spent together in this room. After what felt like an eternity, Siddiq spoke up, his expression somber. "He has another infection in his lung," he announced quietly, his gaze shifting from Rick to Michonne. "We caught it early, but we need to start treatment immediately," Siddiq continued.
Michonne felt her chest tighten, her gaze instinctively shifting to Rick's face. His expression was worn but determined, a silent acknowledgment of the battle they faced once again. Rick nodded weakly, his hand finding hers and squeezing it tightly.
"I want to keep him here to monitor him closely," Siddiq added, addressing Michonne directly. "Two, maybe three nights."
"Just a few nights, Rick," Michonne murmured softly. "Then you can come home." Rick nodded again, his eyes locking with Michonne's in a silent vow.
While Siddiq prepared an area for Rick to occupy for the next couple of days, Michonne knelt beside him, her touch gentle as she kissed his forehead. "You can't keep scaring me like this," she whispered, a mixture of fondness and worry in her voice. A faint smile played on Rick's lips, his hand reaching out to clasp hers, drawing her close. Their foreheads touched - a silent communication of the love and understanding they carried for one another. They remained intertwined like that for a while, finding comfort in each other's presence.
Rick left the infirmary almost a week later, with Michonne steadfastly by his side. Siddiq's instructions were clear and uncompromising: bed rest, plenty of fluids, and strict adherence to antibiotics for the next week. Enid was placed on house call duty and scheduled the best time for her daily visits with Michonne.
The first week passed with encouraging signs. Siddiq's words of progress echoed in their ears, building their hopes. One week turned into two, then three, and before the Grimes household knew it, Rick was on the path to upward health once more. Each day brought renewed strength and glimpses of his former self.
Despite the positive turn, Michonne couldn't shake her underlying anxiety. She hovered around Rick like a silent guardian, observing his every move—whether it was watching him while he slept, playing with Judith, strolling through Alexandria, or even as he rested after a shower. Her watchful eyes became a manifestation of her concern, a silent pull that kept her tethered to her fears.
Throughout it all, Rick sensed Michonne's quiet turmoil. He sought her hand frequently, offering reassurance with a gentle squeeze. To Michonne's relief, he wisely chose to pace himself more carefully as he continued his journey to recovery. He recognized the lines of worry etched on her face, felt the tension in her touch, and understood the toll this was taking on her.
Still, the burden of worry settled deep within Michonne, lingering through the day and seeping into the night. Masking her fears behind a facade of strength, she wrestled with turmoil—an emotional storm threatening to overwhelm her. Relentlessly, her anxieties invaded her dreams, painting haunting scenes of the worst day of her life. Sleep became elusive, replaced by fitful nights where nightmares wove tales of uncertainty and fear.
She often lay in bed and inhaled at night, yearning for the day when she could deeply exhale.