NSFW. NSFW. NSFW.
Two Weeks Later
Michonne disappeared again.
And Rick waited.
He sat on the edge of the bed and waited.
When she was gone, he checked on Judith, tucking her in more securely, closing her door firmly, making sure the baby monitor was working.
He waited.
Until nearly an hour later.
He heard the soft creak of the top stair. The squeak of wood on the third floor. The groan of furniture in the bedroom above him.
He grabbed the monitor and stood.
He eased the bedroom door open. He climbed the stairs. He inched down the hallway, as he had done nearly two months ago. He peered through he bathroom door.
There she was again.
Writhing.
A hand between her legs.
Her nightgown around her waist.
Rick pushed through the bathroom door. It didn't make a sound. And he stood there in the doorway between the bathroom and the bedroom, waiting.
She moaned, and he welcomed the stretch of his groin, the tightening. He leaned against the doorway. He waited.
Finally, she opened her eyes. Just a slit.
She jerked in surprise, her legs closing, her hand coming up to cover her breasts.
"Rick. Jesus."
Her eyes were wide in the moonlight. She pressed her legs further together.
"You scared me. What are you doing up here?"
He waited, watching her, still leaning on the doorway. He said nothing.
He could have turned away to hide his erection, his hunger. He did not.
Even as her surprise faded, her breath did not slow. It increased.
"Rick, I—"
The beginning of an explanation, perhaps. But he didn't need one. She didn't owe him that. He only wanted to know if she would have him.
He stepped into the room. Just a single step. So that she could see more of him.
Her eyes fell to his dick. He was hard. He had been since she left. Then she looked up. He met her eyes. Reaching behind him, he eased the door closed.
"Do you want me to go?" he asked.
He took another step. The moon dazzled tonight. Good. He wanted to fuck her in it.
"I will. If you want me to."
She looked, for a moment, trapped. And he held still. But he didn't leave.
"Do you want me to go?" he asked again. "Tell me. Please."
Her eyes steadied; her legs fell open. So he could see. Her slick slit. Her engorged labia. Her protruding clit.
"No," she said. "I don't want you to leave."
He nodded. He placed the baby monitor on the bedside table. He grabbed a pillow and held it in his hands, weighing his words.
"I'm gonna make you come, Chonne."
Her mouth opened, but no words came out. He nodded to reiterate his point.
"I'm gonna make you come real good. Like I been wantin' to. And then you're gonna talk to me."
She stared at him; then her eyes fluttered closed.
"You hear me?"
She nodded.
"Then say okay."
She bit her lip, her hand moving to press on her clit. She needed the pressure.
"Say okay, Michonne."
"Okay."
"Good."
He tossed the pillow at her feet. His knees weren't what they once were. He was an old man after all.
He knelt before her. Precisely where he always wanted to be.
"Rick, baby…"
He looked up at her. She was tense, her toes pressing into the floor next to him. He kissed her knee. Soft. Than the other.
"I have you. I always have you."
She exhaled.
"Do you believe me?" he asked.
He kissed her shin. Her toes curled.
"Yes."
"Then open your legs for me."
She whimpered and covered her face. He waited. He could be patient. Especially for her. But she wasn't going to hide from him tonight. He was tired of that.
He pulled her wrists away. Until her pretty face was visible to him again. He placed her hands on either arm of the chair. And they sat there. Watching each other. Both heaving, excited, frightened.
But Rick would be bold enough for the both of them tonight.
Hands on her ankles. Then her calves. He massaged the back of her knee. He had learned long ago that she was sensitive there. A surprising, delightful erogenous zone. He rubbed her there, kissing at her thighs until they fell open. Not far enough, but he could be patient.
"I've missed you," he said.
He yanked her to the edge of the chair. She groaned.
"I miss you," she said. "I miss you so much, baby."
And he understood that she had missed this. Just as he had.
He pushed her legs back, planting each of them over one arm of the chair. She was wide open for him. Wide open. He placed his hands on her inner thighs, holding her there. And he stared.
Her hips came off the chair. A demand.
He ignored it.
Instead, he continued to hold her open and then lowered his face right above her pussy. He inhaled, deep. He loved the smell of her wet pussy. It was musky and creamy when she was aroused. He put his nose right at her clit and breathed again, holding her still so she couldn't thrust up.
"Oh God." She gripped the chair. "Rick."
He kissed the mess of curls, grateful that she left it as is. He had never admitted that he loved a bush, that he preferred the way a pussy looked and smelled with hair on it. Especially when it was wet and slippery.
"What do you do? When you're up here alone?"
Wordlessly, she put her fingers to her clit. An indication.
They hadn't had much time to learn each other before the War. Before Carl left them. They had just begun back then.
"Show me what you need."
She sighed, her head falling back. She pulled his hand away from her inner thigh and placed it on her pussy, positioning his forefinger, middle, and ring finger right on her clit.
Then she showed him exactly what she liked.
Small, tight circles. Firm pressure. A steady rhythm.
So he gave her that. Circling her clit. Pushing her thigh back with the other hand so she'd surrender to him, to what he was doing, what she needed.
She writhed, her hips bucking underneath his hand.
"Oh God, Rick. Fuck. Oh God."
He hummed to encourage her, keeping steady.
"I love you," he said.
She whimpered.
"I love you," he said again.
Her back arched. Her pussy fluttered. This is why he liked being knelt between her leg. He liked seeing the contractions. All of them.
"Come on."
"Rick."
"Come on."
She groaned, moving her hips as best she could in her position. Chasing the feeling, the warmth, the tingling.
She placed her hand over his. Guiding him to press harder, just a little faster.
"Yes," she hissed. "Right there."
She was close. Her breathing grew high pitched, stuttered. She panted.
On an impulse, Rick leaned forward. He bit down on her inner thigh. She shrieked, her back arching, her pussy clenching under his hand. He stroked her clit until she jerked away from him, grabbing his wrist to still him.
"Please," she said. "Please."
"Okay." He kissed her inner thigh. "Okay."
Instead of falling backward, she fell forward, into his waiting arms. He pulled her further off the chair, until her wet pussy pressed against his bare torso. She gripped the back of his head, hard, like he liked it, and kissed him.
Sloppy. Wet. Grateful.
"What the fuck, Rick."
"I ain't done."
He gave her little time to recover. He took her legs, now wrapped around him, and pushed them back again, until her knees hit her chest.
It was an obscene position. Everything was bared to him. Her pussy. Her asshole. It fluttered. He dove between her legs and latched onto her clit, sucking hard.
"Rick. Fuck."
She groaned from somewhere deep inside of her. Deep, deep, deep. She cursed.
He swirled his tongue, moving it the way he'd done his fingers. He didn't know everything, but he was a fast learner.
"Baby," she said. "Baby. Baby. Baby."
"Mhm."
He couldn't say much. His face was buried between her legs. The legs that had begun to tremble with each swipe of his tongue.
"It's so wet," she said.
His tongue. Her pussy.
This was real fucking, Rick thought. The kind that was so good, eloquence fell away. The kind where the most arousing thing was to say exactly what was happening, what you were feeling.
Wet. Warm. Full.
Primal. Raw. Honest.
The very thing he wanted from her.
He pulled away. A string of her arousal followed him, stuck to his bottom lip. On the bedside table was her dildo. She followed his eyes and hers flashed.
"Is this what you use?" he asked.
"Sometimes."
He grabbed it delicately. It felt like a sacred object to him. Something that brought her pleasure when she needed it.
It wasn't lubed. He reached for the bottle next to her, but she beat him to it. She held it in her hand as she leaned forward, swallowing the dildo until only the balls were visible.
"Jesus, Michonne."
She hummed around it, sliding her tongue to the top and swirling it. It glistened when she removed her mouth with a wet pop. Then she slicked it with lubricant, stroking it as she'd done to him not long ago, and tossed the bottle on the bed. She leaned back.
"Fuck me," she said.
She didn't need to tell him twice.
He lined the dildo up with her opening, sliding it in with care. As he did, she rubbed her clit so that her muscles loosened around it.
He had never done this before. Had never been part of a woman's pleasure in this way.
It exhilarated him.
She wrapped her hand around his wrist to help him maneuver inside her. In a little. Down. Out again to the tip. Back in again. Until it couldn't go in further.
And he remembered that she'd left it just like this the time he'd witnessed this ritual. So he did the same and she widened her legs.
"It's so deep," she said. "It's so fucking deep."
She got filthy when she was feeling good. The graceful lawyer fell away and it was just Michonne. Pussy full and tingling. Grasping. His throat was raw with want.
"That's where you need it?"
She nodded. Her hand covered his. She ground against the dildo, pushing it to that deep spot inside of her. The one that left her incoherent and babbling.
"Help," she said.
"Tell me."
She grabbed the back of his head and brought him forward. His dick flexed. He liked to be manhandled sometimes. He had only learned this by making love to her. She pressed him against her and he sucked and sucked and sucked.
Her breast heaved. She moaned.
She didn't need him to thrust. He only pushed the toy deep as he sucked at her pulsating clit. She wound her hips, finding the right spot, and she chanted.
Yes. Yes. I love you. Fuck. Fuck, baby. Fuck. I love you.
Rick had always been good at playing his role.
With Lori—the quiet, stable, failing husband.
With Shane—the quiet, staid, dutiful friend.
With the group—the quiet, inaccessible leader.
With Michonne—friend, partner, devotee, addict.
Unlike with Lori and Shane and the group, his place with Michonne was neither assigned nor resigned.
It just was. What he was always meant to be. And in it he found the life he'd always wanted, had always imagined but never articulated. It was never more clear to him than when he made her come.
"Come on. Give it to me."
It was one of his favorite things to say to her when she was close.
Permission. Supplication.
To let go.
To trust him.
And maybe, despite all her confidence and conviction and decisiveness, her ability to "handle shit" as Rosita had said, she needed to be told that she deserved this.
Her nails dug into the upholstery. So hard that he heard it.
"Rick, baby, stop. I'm gonna—I'm gonna..."
He didn't give a fuck what she was going to do. He just wanted her to do it. Preferably all over his face.
She pushed at his head, begging. He held on, sucking harder, pushing deeper.
There was a burst of liquid. Then another. And then a stream. Nothing ostentatious or violent. But steady. She thrashed, pressing him closer while trying to get away.
He held until his beard was soaked. His chest. The chair.
She gave another deep groan. Then a series of violent curses.
Goddamn you. Fuck. Fuck you. I love you so much.
Finally, blissfully, her body wrenched towards the ceiling before she grew still.
Rick was merciful. At least with her. He let go of her and sat back on his knees.
Breathing proved difficult; his chest burned; he loved it.
He eased the dildo from inside of her. Slow. Easy. It squelched as the tip slipped out. Her muscles loosened. He caressed her thighs, her belly, her breasts.
"You okay?"
"No," she said.
Her voice was thick, heavy.
"You wanna stop?"
"No." She sat up and it took her great effort. "I—I need this. Please."
"You sure?"
She wrapped her arms around his neck, falling forward until she was completely out of the chair. He caught her.
"Please."
He held her until her tears subsided, whispering soothing words, promises. It took effort for him to stand with her still wrapped around him, but he managed. Pre-cum dripped down his thigh. He grabbed the baby monitor—Judith was slept like a log—and walked them out of the room, down the stairs, and into their room.
He laid Michonne on their bed and kissed her. Her nightgown came off easily.
"I'll be right back."
He hurried into their bathroom, removed his pajama pants, splashed water on his face, and exited the bathroom with his hands full.
Michonne was sprawled across their bed, her arms and legs splayed wide. He wondered if she had fallen asleep. But her eyes opened when he touched her foot and she held her hand out to him.
"Come here, Rick."
He draped his body over hers. They kissed. It was wet and sloppy and long. He abandoned her lips to suck on her neck and her nipples, until her back arched off the bed. She begged him, but he didn't rush. He had been waiting so long for her. He needed this as much as she did.
He slipped his fingers inside of her, until his palm rested against her clit, and instructed her to grind. She did.
His hand. Her hips. In tandem.
Until she was breathless.
Until she begged.
Until he leaked against her thigh.
"Use it," he said. "Get what you need."
He had always been a giver. One of the few things Lori had liked about him. But he hadn't known how much he liked to lend his various body parts to a woman's pleasure. Not until Michonne.
Their movement created a filthy and wet slapping sound. It only aroused him further.
He pulled away just as she was on the precipice.
Frustrated, she whined: "Rick."
He flipped her onto her stomach. He took in everything. The taut lines of her neck and back. The dimples just above her ass. The plump, round shape of her cheeks. The slit.
He took both cheeks and spread them, staring at the hole that he was often curious about but never ventured to. She had never indicated any interest in it, and it had never appealed to him before her.
She wiggled and he sighed at the movement of her cheeks.
"Jesus."
She was bared to him. For long moments he did nothing but stare.
"I wanna kiss you here," he said.
The tip of his finger rounded it. Her hand gripped the pillow by her head.
"Can I?"
She nodded. Her "yes" was muffled by the pillow.
He wasted no time, leaning down, and giving her asshole a firm lick.
"Jesus fucking Christ, Rick. Yes."
It was entirely possible that he would come just like this.
"It's good?" he asked.
As he'd done upstairs, he leaned down and breathed in. Loud, Deliberate.
"Fuck," he said. "You smell good."
She smelled like sex. Like a fucked, wet, needy pussy.
"Again."
He obliged, swirling his tongue around the tight hole. It responded to him, winking and squeezing. He gave a long, firm lick and then sucked. She cried out into the pillow, lifting her hips, pushing her ass into his face.
He licked and sucked. She pressed her fingers against her clit and circled. He wrapped one arm around her thighs and pushed the fingers of his other hand inside her.
"Can you come like this?" he asked.
She sighed.
"Yes."
He fucked her hard with his hand and pushed his tongue inside. She jerked, panting and keening.
"Oh shit. Fuck."
He knew she was coming when her thigh muscles tensed, when her pussy clenched around his fingers. He fucked her harder, his tongue digging. He continued until she spasmed, pushing his head away from her. He chuckled at her roughness.
"I'm sorry," she said, reaching back to caress his beard. "It was too much."
He kissed each cheek.
"Don't be."
She collapsed onto her stomach and he lied beside her, hard and exhausted and in love.
Sluggishly, she caressed his chest.
"Give me a second," she said.
"Me too."
She giggled. He moved her hand from his chest and kissed it, holding it against his mouth. After a while, he released her, reaching towards the bedside table. He fumbled for the box of condoms and tore one open with his teeth, careful to not rip it. He rolled it on with ease and lubed himself up. The strokes were excruciatingly good. She watched, liking he motion of his hand.
Michonne lifted up on her elbows and he shook his head.
"Lay back down."
Eyeing him, she did.
"Get comfortable."
Her voice was teasing: "Yes, sir."
He slapped her ass as she folded her arms under her pillow and turned her face to the side, so she could see him.
"You ready?"
"Mhm."
He climbed on top of her.
"It ain't gon' be long. Been a while since we did this."
"I don't care."
"You say that now."
"Stop stalling."
Holding her waist with one hand, he lined himself up and pushed inside. Unhurried, he pulled out and re-angled. It was the right move. She sighed with pleasure.
"Okay?"
"Yes. Go deeper."
He did. The drag was exquisite as she bloomed around him. The sheets whispered in her hands.
"Fuck," he hissed.
She moaned in agreement.
He settled in until he was as deep as he could go. He laid across her back, his full weight on her, the way he knew she liked. He nipped her shoulder and held himself still. Mostly for his benefit. He was liable to come out of his fucking skin at any second. She reached back and tapped his thigh.
"Come on."
"Give me a minute, sweetheart."
"Rick."
She was so bossy sometimes.
Fuck, he loved her.
He gave a single thrust and nearly cried. Michonne hissed. He pushed inside her again. He wasn't thrusting as much as he was digging, seating himself deep inside and rooting around, stimulating the spot just before her cervix. He reached under the pillow and laced his hand with hers. They settled into a slick and steady rut.
He nipped her shoulder.
"Why didn't you tell me what you needed?" he asked.
She whined into the pillow.
"Why didn't you come to me? I woulda given you anythin'."
Her hand gripped his. She huffed with each press of his hips.
"Talk to me."
It didn't seem that she could. Not with him fucking her like this.
But he needed her to. He was demanding and gluttonous.
She whimpered when he pulled out and nudged her hip. She flopped onto her back, eyes shut, and he re-entered. Again seating himself all the way. This position was even better for her. His pubic bone rested right on her clit.
The root of her locs were soft in his hands. He held tight. Not pulling. Just holding. Angling her neck back so she would look at him. Her eyes opened. He slipped his other fingers through hers and pushed her hand above her head.
"I ain't Mike."
Her eyes widened. Her lips parted.
"I'm not gonna abandon you."
He ground harder. Deeper.
"I was fuckin' made for you, Michonne. We were made for each other."
Her other hand came up to grip his shoulder, nails digging. He grunted. His balls tightened.
"Yeah? Do what you gotta do to get through it. I ain't goin' nowhere."
"Rick."
"Rick what?"
In a brittle voice: "Fuck me."
That he could do. He let go of her hand and wrapped one of her legs around him. He knew she needed the other to press into the bed, to give her leverage so she could grind back against him.
"You're gonna come aren't ya?"
She buried her head in his shoulder, her voice rising. He tugged at her locs again, forcing her to look at him.
"Naw," he said, his voice thick and desperate. "Stop hidin' from me."
"I can't….Please."
"Yeah, you can. And you're gonna."
Her legs began to tremble. Good. He was right on the edge. He didn't much care about simultaneous orgasms and had never strived for them with her, but tonight they were in tandem. The result of months of yearning and needing.
"Cause I love you," he said. "I love you more than anythin'."
She sobbed. Tears sprung from his eyes and he pushed his forehead against hers. She grabbed his face hard and held on.
"Yeah. Hold onto me. That's it."
He rocked them both into a spine-stiffening orgasm. He let out a series of full-throated, urgent groans. She wept as her muscles spasmed, and he fucked her through it. Fucked them both through it. Until he felt another small burst of warm liquid. She gave a long groan.
Exhausted and sensitive, she wrapped her legs around him tight enough to keep him still. He yielded, letting out a final cry into her shoulder.
He held her as she wept.
…
They cleaned up and dressed. Rick led Michonne downstairs. He didn't trust himself in their bedroom. It smelled of sex, and it would only distract him, make him want more of her.
In the kitchen, he made her a cup of tea and set it before her. She wrapped her hands around it and carried it off to the window.
The big one she liked overlooking the backyard. The one with a bench and tufted orange cushion.
She sat down, bending her legs under her, and gestured for him to do the same. Rick wasn't as flexible. He faced her, placing one leg on the cushion, his knee bent.
She sipped her tea and looked out of the window.
"Where do you go?" Rick asked.
"To fight walkers."
Rick should have been surprised by this revelation. And yet it made perfect sense coming from her. He nodded.
"Why?"
She shrugged.
"I feel like I'm going to crawl out of my skin. I miss it. The fight."
Her eyes fell on him, perhaps gauging his reaction. She bit her lip, looking away again.
"How could I tell you that after what Carl died for? How he died?"
Rick's eyes closed in understanding. When he opened them again, he shook his head, frustrated.
"Because I want you to tell me everythin'."
Her lip trembled and her hands tightened around the mug.
"What? Did you think I wouldn't understand? That I would be mad at you?"
"No," she said.
"Then why didn't you talk to me?"
"You lost your son. You can barely get out of bed sometimes. I can't ask you to carry this with me."
Rick's nostrils flared.
"That's exactly what you do," he said.
He was angry and devastated. And unsurprised. They had needed this confrontation for a long time. He knew that. Somewhere in the back of his mind since they'd grown closer, since he'd noticed a pattern forming.
He sighed and reached forward, cupping her face. She melted into him.
"Tell me what happened to Mike and Lettie."
Her eyes widened. She didn't pull away from him, but she stared. He brushed his thumb across her cheek.
"I been waitin' for you to. I'm always waitin' for you to come to me. But you—" He shook his head. "Sometimes you won't. I get that now. So I gotta ask, Chonne. I gotta. Cause I don't want you disappearin' on me."
Shaking her head, she tried to turn away. But he kept her face still, so he could see her, so she could see him. And he waited. He had made the demand, and he could wait now.
Her hand came up to grip his wrist and she squeezed. Then she nodded. She set the tea on the windowsill and pulled his hand into her lap, playing with his fingers.
"She died early. Maybe a few weeks in. We were at a refugee camp."
"You and Mike and Lettie?"
"And our friend Terry. He and Mike grew up together."
Rick nodded.
"I don't know why I adjusted to it the way I did. And I don't know why Mike didn't. But he wasn't interested in fighting. Living. Surviving. I told you, he was like Lori in a way. Wondering what the point was. And I was so mad at him, Rick. I was so mad."
Her voice lowered and he felt the anger vibrating off her. He understood. Fuck did he understand.
"I couldn't make sense of it it. Even if he didn't want to fight for himself or for me. What about Lettie? What about our baby? The baby he wanted?"
Rick tilted his head in question. Michonne sighed.
"He was the one who really wanted to have a baby. And I got pregnant on accident. One of those moments when birth control doesn't work I guess. I didn't love her right away, when I realized I was pregnant."
She blew out a breath.
"But then, one day, one appointment, I did. I can't explain it. It just happened. And she was the best thing, Rick. The very best thing. I don't think I ever ever loved being a mother, but I loved being her mother. I loved her."
That, Rick understood. Carl hadn't been planned either. And the very prospect of fatherhood scared the shit out of him. Rick didn't know if he ever got the hang of it, being a father, but he knew that he'd looked into Carl's tiny, new face and the world shifted.
"I get that," Rick said. "I get it."
Michonne squeezed his hand.
"Mike changed after. Or maybe he became who he always was. I don't know. But he and Terry…They just wouldn't fight. So I had to. And the refugee camp was out of control. Poor leadership. No supplies. No food. People giving up left and right. I'd planned to leave. I was going to take Lettie and leave Mike and Terry behind."
"Good," Rick said.
"I should have. Sooner. I wish I had."
He laced their fingers together, anchoring her.
"I went on a run. There wasn't enough food. I needed food and supplies to take with us. And I couldn't take her with me. At least I thought I couldn't. I've wished every day since that I had taken her. But I—I didn't."
Her voice trembled. Rick held tighter.
"I left her with them. I thought she would be safer."
She made a noise in her throat. Derisive. Caustic.
"I saw the smoke from a mile away and ran. I had never run that fast in my life, Rick. And I knew as soon as I saw the walls down. Something in me just knew. There was an emptiness that I can't describe. A hole, almost. Like something had been ripped out of me. Something vital. Even before I found her, I knew."
The tearing away. The emptiness. Rick understood. He did. His eyes watered at her pain. At the way she rubbed her chest, as if trying to soothe away the ache.
"There were…there were only pieces of her left. Pieces."
Jesus.
"Mike and Terry were bitten. And Mike cried and cried. He said sorry. That he had tried to protect her, that it happened too fast, that they came out of nowhere. And the emptiness inside of me grew. It was like I had disappeared, Rick. I don't know where I went. I was standing there, but I was somewhere else. I—"
Her lip quivered and she turned away. When she turned back, her face and eyes were still, dark. She spoke calmly.
"I slit their throats. I watched them bleed out, and I waited for them to turn. The bleeding out was fast. The turning wasn't. But I waited."
There wasn't an ounce of regret or shame in her voice. No penitence. No contrition. Just truth. A recounting of events. Her eyes closed and, for a moment, it reminded Rick of the way she got when they made love, that blissful surrender to the feeling. And he recognized that very well. The surrender. The acceptance.
I'm okay.
I know.
How?
Because I'm okay too.
They stared at each other, understanding, synchronized. Something crackled between them for a moment. Something prurient and wicked and profane.
"They deserved it," Rick said.
"They did."
Her eyes fell to his lips. His to hers. He reached up to trace them. He took his hand away. She breathed and the stillness receded.
"I buried what was left of my daughter while I waited for them to turn. Then I left with them. And I was out there like that for months. Just wandering. Until I met Andrea. Until I met you. You brought me back to life. You and Carl and Judith. Now you know what you brought me back from."
And some of that frightening stillness, the one that had unnerved him so, ebbed before his eyes. It was as if something heavy had been lifted off her and she sagged back against the wall, drained.
"I've tried to tell you that story so many times," she confessed, her eyes closed.
He swallowed, saddened.
"Did I make it hard for you to?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"No. The words just got stuck. Every time I tried to tell you. When it was just me and you and we had time. The words would get stuck. Right here."
She massaged the space between her breast.
"Carl knew," she said. "About Lettie. I told him."
Rick's heart lurched. He dug his thumb into his eyebrow.
"Carl…" His voice gave out. "Carl knew?"
She nodded.
"It was after the prison. After you thought Judith was gone. I wanted him to know that he wasn't alone. That I knew how he felt. It was easy to tell him, honestly. It was easy to tell him everything."
And Rick was grateful for that. So fucking grateful that she'd loved his son that much. That she trusted him.
"It wasn't easy to tell you. And I wanted to. I really wanted to. But that's not because I don't trust you, Rick. Carl, he was my best friend. You are too. You know that. But you're something else. More. You scare me sometimes. How I feel about you scares me."
"It's different," he said.
"Yes. I know I'm safe with you, Rick. I do. I just—"
She tossed her hands up and let out a watery laugh.
"Sometimes I feel like if I cry in front of you, I'll never stop crying."
He understood that. How raw they made each other. How exposed. How safe to feel and hurt and be alive. He understood very well.
He nodded.
"It's fine for you to disappear sometimes, Chonne. You're allowed that. But you gotta know that I'm gonna come lookin' for you. I'm always gonna come lookin' for you."
Her lip trembled, and tears flowed down her pretty face.
"It ain't just you anymore. And I can't have you actin' like it is."
He pulled her to him and kissed her. Once. Twice.
"I been waitin' for you to come to me cause I'm always scared of pushing too hard, making you run away. I guess it's been like that since the prison. But it can't be like that between us. I won't have it be like that."
Tearful, she nodded.
"Okay."
"Okay."
They rested their foreheads together, breathing each other in, basking in the quiet.
"I miss the fight too," he confessed.
She pulled back.
"You do?"
"I been—shit, I been restless my whole life, Chonne. I think we're the same in that way. Needin' somethin' from the world. Not wantin' to sit still for too long."
She smiled.
"Maybe it's just who we are."
"I think so."
"It felt good. To be out there."
He smiled too.
"That why you always went to the third floor when you got back?"
Her complexion didn't change, but he could tell she was blushing. She covered her face.
"Yes. It does something to me. Fighting."
That thing. Wicked and profane.
He kissed her collarbone and hummed. She sighed.
"And I didn't want to push you," she said.
"I didn't wanna push you," he said. "We'd get to kissin' and then you'd pull away."
"Like I said, I didn't want to push you."
"I want you to push me. I want you to do a lotta things to me."
She flicked his nose, shaking her head. He grabbed her hands and held them, turning serious.
"It's hard without Carl. Everythin' is."
"I know."
"But this, us, it's keepin' me alive. You and Judith."
She wrapped her arms around his neck.
"Me too."
A Year and a Half After the War
Rick worked the ground. It was harder. The temperatures had dropped; the soil was less yielding. But some things preferred the cold.
Carrots. Broccoli. Kale. Cabbage.
They had more people now. A new group had just come in. But they'd been building new houses. There was room. And they would keep making room.
He'd found an MP3 player. This one had better music than his old one. A fact Michonne reminded him of often.
A few feet away, Judith chased a chicken. One she had named Fluffy because it had been feathery and soft when it was born. Fluffy screeched, but she liked the game as much as Judith did.
Rick felt a hand on his back. He pulled his earphones out and stood, wincing. He was sore.
But not from farming.
He and Michonne had a few glasses of wine last night after Judith went to bed. Michonne liked red wine, he'd learned. It did something to her. She'd ridden him hard on the couch until he begged for mercy.
"How's it going?" she asked.
He leaned down for a kiss.
"Good. Got a few more rows to do. Judith's a big help."
Their baby girl shrieked with glee as she weaved between the crops, Fluffy on her heels. Those working in the garden were used to Judith's antics, cheering her on or smiling.
"I can tell."
"You heard from The Kingdom?" Rick asked.
Michonne nodded.
"Yes. More sightings of that big herd. Maybe a different one than the last time. I don't know, Rick. Something's off about it."
He felt the same. The way they moved, the way they appeared in an area only to disappear shortly after. It was as if the herds were sentient, conscious.
"Yeah, somethin' ain't right. We'll put our eyes on it in a few days."
He, Michonne, and Aaron would head out to see for themselves. Alexandria had established a council, and Michonne had stepped down as the primary leader, wanting something different. She and Rick had new roles: security directors. She was thriving. Focusing on security between the communities didn't make her feel as claustrophobic, and she and Rick could go beyond the wall together, as they liked to.
"You're walking a little funny," Michonne said.
"Whose fault is that?"
She shrugged. She waved to Judith.
"Don't worry," he said. "I got somethin' for ya."
Her eyes flashed with excitement, but she remained cool. She stood on her tip toes, waiting for him to press his lips to hers.
"I love you," he said.
"I know."
She pulled him back for another kiss.
"I love you too."
He watched her walk away. She stopped at Carl's cross, her fingers whispering across it. She whispered something. And then, with great reverence, she placed a hand on the cross right next to Carl's. It was new.
It read: LETTIE.