A/N: The story continues. I hope you enjoy!

And thank you to everyone who had such supportive things to say after my mini rant about a troll. Every comment meant so much and was genuinely appreciated!

Chapter 27: The Maury Povich Chapter (part 2)

Fucking Lori Grimes.

I couldn't think of one logical reason she'd have to be snooping around the farm. But using logic had never been a strong suit of hers.

She'd probably been caught snooping less than five minutes after stepping foot on the farm.

"Fucking Lori Grimes," I grumbled.

I probably should've been a lot more concerned that she was being injected with black-market horse tranquilizers, and perhaps I would've been if Maggie or Beth were doing the injecting. But Birdie and Annette seemed liked the types who knew how to determine dosage amounts based on body weight… because wasn't that something people who had black-market horse tranquilizers on hand to defend themselves against rodeo enemies would know?

Rodeo enemies.

What the fuck?!

At some point, Rick and I would have to sit down with Birdie and Annette and have a long talk about rodeo enemies, but I had too much on my plate to worry about that right now. Leave it to Fucking Lori Grimes to steal the spotlight from rodeo enemies.

I sighed as I yanked open the door to the DNA Diagnostic Center.

FUCKING LOR—

Oh.

My eyebrows shot up and I froze in place.

Rick, who must've been on his way out, stood in the doorway in front of me, also frozen in place. Our eyes locked, and all thoughts of Fucking Lori Grimes cleared away.

All thoughts of everything but Rick cleared away.

His eyes slowly slid down my body, and when they made their way back up to mine, there was an undeniable look of delight twinkling in them.

His lips curled into the softest, sweetest smile.

"Hi, 'Chonne."

I couldn't stop myself from grinning. There was just something so incredibly gratifying, and so incredibly sexy, about Rick Grimes' inability to stop smiling because of me.

"Hi, Rick."

His smile started to grow, and before I could warn him that it was growing too big, he winced in pain.

"Rick," I groaned. "Stop that."

Once his pain passed, he gave me a small but bright smile and shrugged. "Can't help bein' happy to see you."

I was happy to see him too, but I kept that to myself to protect him from his smile.

He took a step closer to me, and his eyes slid down again, lingering first on my lips, then moving to the M charm on my necklace, and finally settling on the scoop neck of my tank top.

"I like your top," he murmured, gazing into my eyes.

I scoffed, ignoring the chaotic effect those lingering looks had on the butterflies in my stomach. "It's a basic, purple tank top, Rick."

"And you look real pretty in your basic, purple tank top, Michonne."

I rolled my eyes. He was being ridiculous. I hadn't so much as tried to look pretty when I was getting ready this morning. I was too tired from the lack of a good night's sleep. I'd just thrown on a tank top and a pair of jeans, braided my locs into one thick braid down my back, and put on some lip gloss. That was it.

And yet, despite my lack of effort, Rick still thought I looked pretty. Real pretty.

I fought very hard to hold in the giggles that Rick's compliment stirred up. He'd smile way too big if I giggled. Or worse, he'd laugh. As flattering as it was to make him smile, he'd done enough wincing this morning. I was going to do my best to make sure he didn't—

Wait.

Was his smile growing?

"Rick!" I complained.

"I'm tryin' not to smile!"

He did try, and he ended up smiling way too big anyways. Once the pain passed, he leaned against the door to take over holding it open. I was in no way convinced he could support the full weight of the door with his injured body. He'd already done a terrible job of holding in a moan when he pressed his shoulder against the door. I let go of the handle and moved a little closer to Rick to use my hip as a door stopper.

"Frankie told me she gave you my notes…"

I gave Rick a half playful, half annoyed eyeroll. "She did. I didn't hulk out," I deadpanned.

"Good. I'm glad to hear it."

I raised an eyebrow at that.

Was it good?

That Piece of Shit Shane may not have physically attacked him, but any type of disrespect still warranted a hulking out. And how dare he bring such toxic, negative energy to DNA Day! We wouldn't even need a DNA Day if he wouldn't have been a big whore with Fucking Lori Grimes.

That Piece of Sh—

"And did you miss me too, Michonne? Like I missed you?"

Oh.

Rick's questions took the steam out of my anger right as it started boiling. I didn't know if I missed him in the same way that he missed me, but I did miss him.

I missed him at breakfast because he wasn't there trying to convince me to put sugar in my grits instead of salt. I missed him after I took my shower because he wasn't there teasing me about taking such a long shower. I missed him when I was rewatching the videos Gleggie sent us because he wasn't there fawning over the babies with me. I missed him on the drive to the hospital because he wasn't there snapping his fingers and singing along to his favorite rockabilly songs.

"Yeahhhhhhhh, you missed me," Rick said with a cocky little smirk.

I didn't want that smirk turning into another painful smile, so I gave him a nonchalant shoulder shrug and simply said, "Maybe."

His smirk still turned into another painful smile.

"Rick," I groaned.

"It's your fault!" he exclaimed after the pain passed. "You're such a bad liar."

"I am not a bad—"

Oh my God.

I couldn't believe it when Rick's lips started curling up again.

"Rick!"

"I can't help it! Tell me you missed me too so I won't start laughin' about you bein' a bad liar."

Oh my God!

"Fine! I missed you," I confessed. "No more smiling! And no laughing!"

"Yes, ma'am," he said with a straight face. His eyes were full of laughter, but I would allow it.

"Deputy Grimes, see you back here in an hour!" Frankie's voice chirped from inside the DNA Diagnostic Center.

Rick stood up straight and took a step back to look into the center. "See you in an hour, Frankie."

"Do you know if Michonne'll be comin' back with you? Did she have to leave because of that very important lawyer call?"

Oh, no.

"She'll be comin' back with me," Rick answered. He glanced at me and then looked back at Frankie.

Oh, no no no no no!

"She's right here."

Shit.

I heard fast-moving footsteps and started to panic. But maybe they weren't Frankie's footsteps. Maybe someone else just happened to be heading in this direction. I hadn't seen other employees, but certainly other people worked here. Or maybe people with their own maybe baby issues had shown up for their appointment. Those footsteps could belong to anyone. I just needed them to not belong to Frankie.

Don't be Frankie. Don't be Frankie. Don't be Frankie.

Frankie appeared in the doorway with the biggest, friendliest smile on her face. "Hey there, Michonne!"

Shit.

"Hey, Frankie," I cheerfully replied. I maybe replied a little too cheerfully because I could feel Rick looking at me suspiciously. I had to ignore that because I was trying very hard to convey one message with my eyes to Frankie:

DO NOT bring up the baggies.

"I sent those baggies to the lab! Thanks a million for givin' 'em to me! The team has everythang they need for testin'!"

Goddamnit, Francesca!

"See you two back here in an hour! Enjoy those chocolate muffins," she chirped.

"Thank you," I deadpanned, trying not to roll my eyes as she pranced back to the front desk.

I don't know how much clearer I could've been about her not bringing up the baggies, outside of actually speaking the words, "Do not bring up the baggies, Frankie." I shook my head and sighed to myself. If Frankie had zero comprehension when it came to silent conversations, there truly was no hope for a future friendship.

"Michonne…"

Rick's suspicious gaze was still locked on me, which I was now actively avoiding by looking down at my tank top and picking invisible lint from it.

"Michonne…"

Shit!

This was all Francesca's fault!

"Yes, Rick?" I answered calmly, smoothing my top down over my stomach. My hope was that he'd be distracted by the top and how pretty he thought I looked in it.

"What baggies was Frankie talkin' about?"

Shit!

"And where's Gleggie and Judy-pie?"

Shit!

"What's goin' on, Michonne?"

Shit!

There hadn't been enough time between leaving the stairwell and running into Rick for me to think through what I was going to tell him. I definitely wasn't ready to discuss the barn situation, but I had no choice but to say something about Pumpkin and the baggies, thanks to Francesca. I looked up at Rick and gestured for him to go to the hallway. He gave me an unimpressed look, which I did not appreciate at all, but followed my direction.

I was relieved to see that he wasn't limping as hard or wheezing as hard as he had been earlier this morning. We'd need to give Siddiq a very nice thank you gift for prescribing Rick the really, really good stuff.

After I closed the door to the DNA Diagnostic Center, I walked over to Rick and stood in front of him.

He was already putting his hands on his hips.

Fuck.

The conversation was going downhill fast and it hadn't even started yet.

I nervously twisted my M charm.

"So…. there may have been a teeny, tiny little hiccup in the plans this morning," I said in a low voice.

"What kind of a hiccup, Michonne?" Rick asked in a low voice.

"So… The thing is… Nugget wasn't ready to say goodbye to Pumpkin, so Gleggie didn't want to separate them. But, obviously, we needed Pumpkin's DNA, so Gleggie had to get creative in getting it…"

Rick looked confused.

And his head was starting to tilt.

Fuck.

"Creative in a good way! In a safe way," I told him in a rush. "In a professional way! There was a kit! And she's fine! She and Nugget have probably been giggling and speaking baby gibberish all morning! Gleggie stopped by with the DNA and explained what happened, and they plan on coming back with Pumpkin by the time the results come in."

Rick still looked confused.

His head was fully tilting.

"It sounds so much worse than it is, Rick," I said in a rush. "I'll tell you all the specifics later," I promised.

He stared at me for a very tense few seconds before lifting his tilted head and nodding. I thought I was in the clear, until he asked, "Is there anythang else you wanna tell me?"

Fuck!

Why would he ask that?

Because, yes, there was a big something else.

A really big something else.

It just wasn't the right time to share the barn situation with him. But if I lied and told him there was nothing else, he would immediately know there was something else. There was only one way to dodge his question.

I put my hands on my hips, held my shoulders back, and looked him in the eye. "Rick, I need to plead the Fifth."

"Mich…" He couldn't even finish my name. He gave up on it and went straight to rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"But I'll tell you everything later," I promised. "I'll give you all the specifics… along with the other specifics. I owe you two sets of specifics!"

Rick sighed—a little too dramatically, if you asked me—ran his hand down his face, making sure not to rub his band-aids off, and mumbled something that sounded an awful lot like "Jesus, take the wheel."

Before I could roll my eyes at his overreaction, he gently pulled one of my hands from my hips and held onto it.

"You wanna get somethin' to eat while we wait for the results?" he asked. "Or are you full from your breakfast?"

Wait. What?!

I was getting away with pleading the Fifth and he was offering to feed me?

It was a DNA Day miracle!

"Let's eat! But first, we get my muffins," I insisted. "And that lemon poppyseed joke wasn't funny, Rick."

He gave me a dazzling smile that almost made him wince. "Let's get your muffins."

Because of Rick's experience with that soggy chicken salad sandwich the last time we were at the hospital, we walked to a fast-food place about a block away. I was in the mood for a burger and fries with a strawberry shake, but the restaurant was only serving breakfast until noon.

I was not pleased.

I was less pleased when Rick giggled—and winced in pain—for five minutes straight after accusing me of having a hangry tantrum. He said I made the same scrunched, frowny face as Nugget when he was hangry.

I wasn't amused.

Luckily, Rick now had a hulking out reputation. And since I wanted a burger and fries with a shake, Rick made sure we were able to order burgers, fries, and shakes… once his giggles subsided.

It was a warm morning without being devil's butthole hot, so we sat at an outdoor table and immediately fell into our fast-food routine. Rick drank some of my shake while I picked the tomatoes off my burger and put them on his. He poured some of his chocolate shake into mine while I picked the pickles off his burger and put them on mine. He squeezed ketchup over the fries while I opened and sorted the rest of the condiment packages, giving him all the mayonnaise and keeping most of the mustard for myself.

Eating fast-food when Daryl was with us was even better because I'd also get his pickles, I'd get most of his onion rings, and he'd add his vanilla shake to mine.

But just eating with Rick was always lovely too.

We sat next to each other and dug into our food in silence, preoccupied by our own thoughts. Mine centered on Fucking Lori Grimes. I thought about things I wanted to say to her once we were finally face-to-face, but I mostly envisioned jabs, upper cuts, and hooks.

I was finishing my shake and envisioning Beth's recommended punch-knee-elbow combo when Rick looked at his watch and started gathering our trash. I watched him limp to the trashcan, paying close attention to how he was moving and whether he was in any kind of distress. He was still getting around fairly well and didn't seem to be in extreme discomfort.

He slowly limped his way back to me and held his hand out to help me up. I sucked the last of my shake through my straw and stared at his hand. I wasn't about to let him help me up. I was too worried about him agitating his injuries.

"I'm a big girl. You don't need to do that," I silently told him.

Rick wasn't pleased by my rejection.

"Put your hand in mine, and let me help you up," he silently demanded.

So bossy!

I did as he asked and watched his face closely for any signs of discomfort. If he was in any, he hid it well.

"Thank you, Rick," I silently said, relieved to not have caused him any pain.

"You're welcome, Michonne. And stop worryin' so much," he silently replied.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

I put my empty cup on the table and opened the moist towelette packets that came with our meal. I handed Rick a towelette to clean his hands and used the other to clean mine. We dropped them in the cup when we were done, and then I pulled our after-meal peppermints from my pocket.

As I was untwisting a peppermint wrapper, my eyes somehow found themselves locked on Rick's lips.

It truly was nothing short of a miracle that those lips had escaped harm during the fight at the café.

They had no right being so perfectly pink.

They had no right looking so soft and so plump.

I brought the peppermint up to Rick's mouth, and he parted his lips, ever so slightly, to accept it. I gently pushed the mint into his mouth and tried not to tremble when he closed his mouth and his lips brushed against my finger.

Those lips were going to be trouble once Rick finally got around to using them on me.

But this was no time to get caught up in Rick's perfectly pink lips. We needed to get back to the hospital.

Focus, Michonne.

I reluctantly tore my eyes from his mouth and unwrapped my mint.

"Are you ready?" I silently asked Rick.

He didn't respond.

He sucked on his mint and stared at me with a fiery intensity, which fizzled out as my question set in.

I was glad for that. This was no time to get caught up in Rick's fiery intense looks.

"Rick? Are you ready?" I asked out loud.

"Yep. Sorry. I am. I'm ready," he affirmed. He checked his watch again. "We should get back now."

"Hi again, you two! You're right on time," Frankie chirped as soon as Rick and I walked into the center.

"Hi again, Frankie," Rick replied, giving her a small, friendly smile.

I gave her a polite enough smile. I was still annoyed with Francesca for bringing up those baggies in front of Rick. Of course, it went over her head that my smile was just polite enough since she didn't understand silent communication. She gave me the brightest smile with the cutest little nose crinkle.

"The results just came in, so you can head on back, deputy. Dr. Cloyd's waitin' for you," she said. "She's in the office just past the room where you were swabbed."

Yesterday, after answering my question about Fucking Lori Grimes' DNA, Dr. Cloyd told me she'd make sure she was the one to go over the paternity test results with us. She'd worked with Rick and Fucking Lori Grimes when they were trying to get pregnant, she'd been with us every step of the way through the surrogacy process, and she'd delivered Nugget. Dr. Cloyd was invested.

"And just so you're aware, Mr. Walsh and Ms. Harrison are already in the office with Dr. Cloyd," Frankie told us.

I rolled my eyes.

As far as I was concerned, That Piece of Shit Shane was still due a hulking out.

That Piece of Shit Shane.

"Michonne's gonna be comin' back with me to hear the results. That's not gonna be a problem, is it, Frankie?" Rick asked.

For a split second, I thought that she was going to say it would be a problem just so she could witness Rick hulking out. But Frankie was too sweet to do that.

"No, that's not gonna be a problem at all! Dr. Cloyd is expectin' you both."

Rick thanked her, and when he walked past her, she whispered, "Good luck!" and gave me a thumbs up. I couldn't even be a little annoyed with her anymore. I gave her a genuine smile and a little wave.

Rick led us to Dr. Cloyd's office, but he didn't stop when we got there. He strode past the closed door, pulled me into an empty office, and stood close enough to be invading my personal space.

I wasn't sure if I should be confused, excited or irritated by what was happening.

"Riiiiick, what are you doing?" I slowly asked. "The results?"

"You and me need to talk before we see Dr. Cloyd. I saw that little eye roll of yours when Frankie said Shane was here."

Oh.

I see.

Rick was trying to irritate me.

I could tell I was about to get a lecture about being on my best behavior around That Piece of Shit Shane.

"You're gonna ignore Shane when we're in Dr. Cloyd's office. No lookin' at him, no talkin' to him, no reactin' to anythang he says," Rick predictably advised. "And if he gets outta line, I'll be the one to handle him."

I scoffed at that. "Really, Rick? The last time you handled him, you went through a window. I'll be the one to handle him today."

"No."

My eyebrows shot up in surprise.

No?

"No, Michonne. Shane's gonna talk shit. He's gonna be loud. He's gonna be… Shane. But thangs can't be a fight right now, not here. We're here for Judy-pie. That's it. We need to know who her father is. So I need you to ignore him. Will you do that? For me? Please?"

I sighed in exaggerated exasperation. "Will you do that? For me? Please?" Rick Grimes was fighting dirty!

I sighed again, rolled my eyes, groaned, and held up my pinky. "Fine. I will ignore him," I grumbled.

Rick wrapped his pinky around mine, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

It was kind of annoying, but it was mostly cute.

I really hoped he remembered this feel-good moment when I finally told him about the barn situation.

"It's cuz I got that super sperm, doc!"

What.

The.

Fuck?!

I'd barely opened the door to Dr. Cloyd's office, and my ears were already being assaulted by That Piece of Shit Shane's nonsense.

Ignore him, Michonne.

"That… is not a recognized or legitimate medical explanation, Mr. Walsh," Dr. Cloyd rebutted.

"Maybe it is, maybe it ain't, but super sperm is my thang, doc! My daddy had super sperm, my daddy's daddy had super sperm, and my great grandpappy had super sperm."

"Shane, hush," Andrea whispered.

"Why do I gotta hush?" he complained. "I'm just tryin' to explain how super sperm works!"

How was he such a chatterbox after being injured so badly? The man had glass sticking out of his body yesterday!

Maybe he'd been prescribed the good stuff too.

Ignore him, Michonne.

"Michonne? Rick? Is that you out there?" Dr. Cloyd loudly inquired. "Please, come in!"

The desperation in her voice was hard to miss; I understood it completely. I opened the door wider and stepped into the office to save her from a super sperm TED talk.

"It's us, Dr. Cloyd. Good morning," I said, shooting her a look of sympathy.

She was sitting at her desk and had the most frazzled look on her face.

Rick, who closed the door behind us, greeted her with a friendly, "Mornin'."

"It's great to see you, Michonne! It's great to see you, Rick! Really great. Really," Dr. Cloyd rattled on. "Take a seat." She gestured to the two empty chairs on the right side of the office.

The left side was occupied by That Piece of Shit Shane and Andrea. I know Rick said I shouldn't look at That Piece of Shit Shane, but I took a quick peek at the left side of the room. That Piece of Shit Shane was wearing a hospital gown and sitting in a wheelchair, and Andrea was seated beside him. He did not turn around to greet us. Andrea did.

"Good morning, Michonne. Good morning, Rick," she said a little too loudly.

Rick replied with a cordial, "Good mornin', Andrea."

I let him speak for the both of us and headed to our side of the room. After I sat down, I caught Rick's eye to make sure his inner hulk hadn't been triggered by being around That Piece of Shit Shane.

"I'm ok," he silently told me.

I nodded and held my hand out for him to hold onto as he lowered himself to his chair. When he was settled, he laced his fingers between mine and pulled our hands to his lap.

"Shane, don't be rude. Speak," Andrea whispered.

Her request was met with an explosive silence that swiftly spread to all corners of the office. Rick seemed unfazed by it, but I felt annoyance start to burn throughout my body.

Ignore him, Michonne.

Dr. Cloyd cleared her throat and pushed her glasses up on her nose. "We should get started. I don't want to take up too much of everyone's time this morning."

She opened the folder on her desk, and I felt That Piece of Shit Shane's glare on me and Rick. Remarkably, Rick remained unaffected. I did not. I was tempted to return the glare and let whatever happen, happen. But I was supposed to be ignoring him, so I continued ignoring him.

Rick was going to owe me so many Big Kats for my exceptional display of self-control.

"Thank you—all of you—for coming in today," Dr. Cloyd continued. "Paternity cases are extremely sensitive, and emotional, and stressful by nature, and this paternity case has additional layers of complexity due, in part, to Lori's medical background."

Dr. Cloyd was being too polite. She left out the layer of complexity that came from Fucking Lori Grimes being a whore.

Fucking Lori Grimes.

"Rick, I need to reiterate that at the time you and Lori were trying to conceive, my team and I conducted an extensive battery of tests that concluded Lori was unable to carry a child, at that time. I stood by the testing and those results when I suggested surrogacy, and I stand by them now. I know you must have questions, as do I. However, without examining Lori, or having access to her medical records, or conversing with her physicians, I'm unable to determine why she is now able to conceive."

"I already told you it's my super sperm," Shane grumbled under his breath.

"Zip it, Shane!" Andrea snapped. "Zip it right now! Zip it tight!"

Andrea was nowhere near as angry as she was in the ER waiting room yesterday, but she was getting there. That Piece of Shit Shane must have realized it because he zipped his lips.

"Please continue, Dr. Cloyd," Andrea said apologetically.

"Sure thing. But…" Dr. Cloyd took a few seconds to choose her next words. "Mr. Walsh, your sperm did not play a role in reversing Lori's fertility issues. That's not a claim you should be making or repeating. It is one of the most juvenile things I've heard come out of a grown man's mouth. As a medical professional, I'm asking you to cease all comments regarding super sperm."

Dr. Cloyd's tone was firm, but she was wasting her breath. That Piece of Shit Shane was never going to stop talking about his super sperm. But for now, at least, his lips were zipped, and I knew it had to be killing him that he couldn't argue.

I was tempted to cackle at his predicament, but I didn't want to get in trouble with Dr. Cloyd.

"And now to discuss the results of the DNA paternity tests," she said, reviewing the pages within the folder she'd opened.

Oh, ok.

We were getting right to it.

This was good.

I glanced at Rick out of the corner of my eye. He looked as cool as a cucumber.

That was good.

I was also as cool as a cucumber.

"When it comes to the paternity of six-month-old Judith…"

My stomach suddenly dropped.

I was not as cool as a cucumber.

All this time, I'd been so confident that Pumpkin wasn't Rick's. My gut said she wasn't. The Greenes said she wasn't. But what if we were wrong?

"… with 99.9% certainty…"

The air in the room grew thicker by the second.

What if Pumpkin did look like Rick's mom?

What if Pumpkin really was a Grimes?

Rick would have two biological children—two babies!—with Fucking Lori Grimes.

"… Judith's father is…"

Realistically, would we even be able to blossom as Richonne with a six-month-old in the mix? Our one-year-old was more than enough responsibility. He was all the responsibility I wanted right now.

I squirmed in my chair.

Dr. Cloyd looked at Rick and then at That Piece of Shit Shane.

"…Shane Walsh. Mr. Walsh, you are Judith's father."

Thank God!

Thank God! Thank God! Thank God! Thank God! Thank God! Thank God! Thank God! Thank God!

"I told you she was my babygirl! I told you!" That Piece of Shit Shane shouted. "My babygirl is a Walsh! 100%! No doubt about it!" he shouted louder, pumping his fists into the air. "Judith Walsh! My babygirl! My… my… my… Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

Great.

We were back to him groaning in pain again. I didn't even get to do a little happy wiggle.

"Shane, did you pop your stitches again?" Andrea frantically asked.

"Mr. Walsh, do you need medical assistance?" Dr. Cloyd asked.

"I… need… my babygirl," That Piece of Shit Shane grunted, clearly in distress.

Frankie burst into the office. "Is everythang ok? Did Mr. Walsh pop his stitches again? Should I call for help?"

"Shane, you're bleeding!" Andrea cried out.

"Frankie, call for help," Dr. Cloyd instructed.

Frankie rushed out of the office.

"My babygirl! Gimme… my baby… girl!"

That Piece of Shit Shane.

I'm sure I explained yesterday that we would hand Pumpkin over to him after we got the results proving he was her father. We'd just found out! Yes, Pumpkin was at the hospital, but she wasn't in the DNA Diagnostic Center. She was in the courtyard with Gleggie, who'd arrived at the hospital while Rick and I were walking back. Did That Piece of Shit Shane expect me to teleport to the courtyard and then teleport back here and give Pumpkin to him? He was being ridiculous.

I was in the middle of rolling my eyes at his theatrics when Andrea's ear-piercing screaming made me jump.

That Piece of Shit Shane managed to get himself so worked up that he passed out.

I finished my eye roll.

That Piece of Shit Shane!

Things got pretty chaotic in the office after that, but Dr. Cloyd asked Rick and I to stay, so we stayed.

Rick was still in his cool as a cucumber state. He was being too cool of a cucumber. I waited for him to react to the test results, or to That Piece of Shit Shane, or to Andrea's very loud whimpering, or to anything.

He didn't, and that made me extremely nervous. It was a rare thing to not be able to read Rick. I pulled our linked hands to my lap, and when I had his attention, I silently asked, "How are you feeling?"

Rick blinked slowly and let out a long breath, as if he had been holding it in for a long while.

"Just Carl, you, and me," he mouthed.

There was so much relief and joy in Rick's eyes, that my eyes welled with tears. All I could do was smile and hold his hand tighter.

Just the three of us.

That was the best DNA Day gift we could've received.

A/N: Happy DNA Day! Thank you for reading! Let me know what you thought!