Archive of Our Own

“This year, we’ve had five breaches on the main grounds of the Commonwealth.”

Officer Boyd’s voice carried through the briefing room, fully commanding and attention-grabbing, as he continued. He stood in front of the podium with his hands clasped in front of him. 

“Now, that’s less than last year,” he went on, “but it’s still one too many. Our goal is to provide and ensure safety for the people of the Commonwealth. We’ve had a host of newcomers come through our gates. That means more people to protect and less room for mistakes.”

He scanned the room as he spoke, making deliberate eye contact with everyone he could. 

A few heads nodded in agreement. Others remained stiff, with their arms crossed. Winter had a way of doing that, making everyone restless, making every problem feel closer than it was.

Rick shifted his stance, his eyes moving instinctively as he counted faces and tracked exits. It was a habit he hadn’t quite shaken yet.

“We don’t overreact,” Boyd continued, nodding once to himself. “And we don’t get complacent. We prepare, we communicate, and we look out for each other. That’s how this place keeps standing.”

Boyd turned slightly, gesturing toward Rick.

“With the help of our newly appointed Head of Civil Defense, we’ve expanded patrol routes beyond our borders, trained over a thousand recruits for the Commonwealth Army, and strengthened our emergency response, including a ride-along program in coordination with the Commonwealth High School.”

He stepped back from the podium.

“I’ll hand it over to him.”

Rick wasn’t a speech type of guy. He’d stood in front of enough groups over the years, on enough forces, in enough situations, to know how to bullshit his way through something like this. But this wasn’t that. This was real.

He shook Boyd’s hand, the gesture feeling like a quiet passing of the baton, then stepped up to the podium.

“Good afternoon,” Rick said, clearing his throat. He didn’t bother trying to sound polished. “I’m Rick Grimes, for those of you who don’t know me.”

A few heads turned. Some familiar. Some not.

“I’m still pretty new around here,” he continued. He took a breath. “But when I got here and saw what the Commonwealth had built, all the progress, the efficiency, I knew I wanted to be a part of it.”

He let his gaze move through the room.

“This place did something special. And even if I didn’t agree with every rule or stipulation that came with being part of this community, I knew it was worth protecting. Worth working for. In whatever way I could.”

Rick’s eyes flicked briefly to Mercer in the crowd before returning forward.

“I was a cop in a past life,” he added quietly. “Way before all this.”

He let the words hang for a second before going on.

“I’ve seen what happens when safety stops being about people,” he said. “When it turns into control. When order matters more than lives.”

The room had gone quiet now. Not the restless kind. The listening kind.

“I spent time in a place that looked like it had everything figured out,” he continued. His watch buzzed against his wrist, the screen lighting up to indicate a new message, but he ignored it. He didn’t name the community he was talking about. He didn’t need to. They knew. “Strong walls. Resources. Structure. On paper, it worked.”

He shook his head once.

“But it asked for too much. Took even more. It decided who mattered and who didn’t. And once you crossed that line, it didn’t feel like protection anymore.”

His watch lit up again. His grip tightened briefly on the podium.

“Safety matters now because we’ve got something worth keeping,” he went on. “Families. Kids. A future that doesn’t have to be earned through fear.”

At those words, he stepped back.

The applause came quickly. Rick blinked, clearly not expecting it, and lifted a hand in a small, awkward wave before moving off the stage.

Once he stepped down, he finally looked at his watch.

It was new, some piece of Commonwealth tech he still hadn’t gotten used to, designed to keep officials reachable at all times. The only reason it would be lighting up like it was—

Rick’s stomach dropped.

Commonwealth Elementary School.

—---------------

“For now, we’ll send you home with a thirty-day supply of vitamins,” Doctor Wilson finished updating her chart. “I’d like to see you back on the thirteenth, just to follow up. Do you have any questions for me?” 

Michonne shook her head, already reaching for her coat. She didn't have too many questions, having done this all before. "No, no," She said. "I think we covered everything." 

“If you have concerns or questions," Doctor Wilson wheeled over to look at Michonne. "I am just a call or message away."

Michonne nodded once, polite and controlled, already halfway out the door in her mind. She had to get back to work. A doctor’s visit in the middle of the workweek wasn’t ideal, but she was grateful to Doctor Wilson for fitting her in.

She hopped down from the table, slung her bag over her shoulder, and left the office.

Her phone vibrated.

Michonne sighed, slowing her steps as she reached the walkway outside. A thin sheet of ice glazed the ground, and she adjusted her footing before unzipping her purse. Inside were candies, napkins, her official Commonwealth ID, and a small bottle of perfume, everything she considered necessary.

“Hawthorne,” she answered, not bothering to check the caller ID.

A pause.

“He did what?” Her brows furrowed. “Okay. I’ll be there in ten.”

—-----

RJ Grimes was their calm child. He was rational, level-headed, intelligent in a way neither of them had been fully prepared for. Analytical. Thoughtful. He could be shy at times. Slow to violence. Which was why both of them were confused by the shared calls they received as they met outside the small school building that housed the students of Commonwealth Elementary School.

“Hey,” Michonne breathed, her breath fogging in the cold air as she approached Rick, who was waiting by his car. She adjusted the strap of her bag and leaned in to kiss him in greeting. “I didn’t realize they’d called both of us.”

“Teacher said she couldn’t get a hold of you,” Rick shrugged. “Everything okay?”

Michonne thought of a quick answer, then stopped herself.

“I had a meeting earlier,” she said instead. “It ran a little long.”

“You and Yumiko?” Rick asked as they started toward the front steps.

“Y–yeah,” she said distantly.

Rick held the door open for her, and they were immediately met by a boy pressing ice to his nose, Hansel Moretz, and his mother. He was a kid they both recognized from RJ’s soccer team, and the boys were companions at best. Hansel’s mother shot them a quick glare. Michonne returned it without breaking stride. She didn’t have time for confusion. 

They moved past them without words and went straight into the administrative office.

RJ sat on one of the chairs, with his legs swinging, holding ice to his right eye.

“RJ,” Michonne said softly. She dropped her purse and sat beside him at once. He leaned away from her searching hands, but she gently tilted his head anyway, lifting the ice just enough to see the dark bruise already blooming beneath his eye.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Son?” Rick added.

“I got into a fight,” RJ mumbled. “Ah—Ma, please,” he groaned as she pressed lightly along his cheekbone.

“You got into a fight?” Michonne repeated. It didn’t make sense. This was their quiet kid. Their anti-violent child. The one who used words before fists.

“I won,” RJ said, a little proudly.

Rick grinned.

Michonne immediately slapped Rick’s side and shook her head.

“Right,” Rick said, still nodding. “How did this happen?”

“Hansel was bothering this girl in our class,” RJ explained. “He was saying all kinds of disgusting things. Wouldn’t leave her alone. I told him to stop, and he pushed me. I didn’t start it, but I finished it.”

There was something about hearing their ten-year-old say it so plainly, about justice, about lines being crossed, that made Michonne’s chest fill with pride. She was about to reply when there was a clearing of a throat from the other side of the room. 

“Ahem,” Mr. Collins, principal of Commonwealth Elementary, gestured for them to follow him into the office.

“Wait here, baby,” Michone kissed his head. She walked first, and Rick followed her, shooting RJ a hidden thumbs up behind his back. 

Mr. Haddish cleared his throat, folding his hands neatly on the desk as if that alone might organize the situation. 

“Let me be clear,” he said. “The Commonwealth Elementary School has a zero-tolerance policy when it comes to violence. Regardless of intent.”

 “We’re aware of that,” Michonne nodded. “It’s one of the reasons we chose this school for him.” 

“And we appreciate that, Mrs. Grimes,” Mr. Haddish offered a polite, practiced smile. “RJ is one of our best and brightest, which is why I’m very surprised we’re here right now. RJ struck another student,” he continued. “That alone warrants disciplinary action. He’ll be suspended effective immediately.”

 Rick’s eyebrows drew together. “Suspended?” 

“Yes,” Mr. Haddish said evenly. “For three days.” Michonne inhaled slowly through her nose. 

“There are only two days left before Christmas break,” she said. “Break starts tomorrow.”

 “And we really don’t see how a first-time offense warrants a suspension,” Rick added. “Can’t he get a warning? Community service? Something.”

 “Well—first,” Mr. Haddish let out a nervous, incredulous chuckle, “this isn’t a prison. That’s not something we do here. Secondly, if I bend the rules for him, it sends a clear message to the rest of the school that this type of behavior is acceptable.” 

“So he’s missing one day of school,” Michonne said evenly, “and then being suspended through a break he wouldn’t be attending anyway.”

 “Even when he was defending another student?” Rick pressed. 

Mr. Haddish hesitated. “We don’t assess motive in these cases,” he said finally. “We assess behavior.” 

Rick nodded once. “And the other child—Hansel,” he said. “Is he suspended, too, for his behavior?”

 Mr. Haddish straightened. “Yes. He’s receiving the same disciplinary action.”

 “And the girl?” Michonne asked. “The one he was harassing.” 

Mr. Haddish adjusted his glasses. “She’s been referred to the guidance office.” 

Michonne was about to respond, her patience thinning, when there was a knock at the door.

Before either adult could answer, the door creaked open.

RJ stepped inside.

His eye looked worse than it had minutes ago, the bruise darker now, and swelling more pronounced. He held his hands together in front of him, shoulders slightly hunched, as if trying to make himself smaller.

“I know I’m still in trouble,” he said quickly. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

Rick’s chest tightened.

“RJ—” Michonne started, already moving toward him, but he kept going.

“I know I shouldn’t have hit him,” he added. “I know the rules.”

Mr. Haddish cleared his throat again, visibly uncomfortable. “RJ, this isn’t necessary—”

“I just didn’t want you to think I did it because I was mad,” RJ said, looking between his parents. “I wasn’t.”

Silence filled the room.

Rick crouched slightly, bringing himself closer to RJ’s level without touching him yet. “Why did you do it, then?”

RJ swallowed. “Because he wouldn’t stop.”

Michonne closed her eyes for half a second.

Mr. Haddish shifted behind his desk. “RJ, you’re a good student,” he said carefully. “But rules exist for a reason.”

“I know,” RJ nodded. “I just… didn’t think the rules were helping Chloe.”

That did it.

Michonne stood fully, placing herself just a little closer to her son.

“We’re done here,” she said calmly.

Mr. Haddish blinked. “Mrs. Grimes—”

“We understand your policy,” she continued. “We disagree with how it’s applied. And we’ll be following up.”

Rick placed a hand on RJ’s shoulder. “Come on, buddy.”

RJ nodded, relief flickering across his face as they turned toward the door.

Behind them, Mr. Haddish said quietly, “The suspension still stands.”

Michonne didn’t turn around.

“I know,” she replied. “So does my objection.”

—-----------------

Michonne’s boys followed her out of the school like forlorn puppies. RJ kept his hand tucked into Rick’s as they crossed the parking lot. Rick found it more than endearing, considering how nervous his son had been around him for the first six months after he’d come home.

“I’m really sorry,” RJ said quietly. “I can work it off with chores or something,” he added, already bargaining his case.

Rick stopped walking and looked down at his son.

“Son, you’re not in trouble,” he said gently.

RJ looked between them. “But, Mom—”

“Mom isn’t mad,” Michonne said, turning to him. Her voice softened despite herself. “I’ve just had a long day already.”

RJ nodded, still unsure, but he squeezed Rick’s hand a little tighter as they kept walking.

“Are you riding with Dad or me?” Michonne asked. “I still have to pick up a few decorations for Christmas from the store.”

RJ glanced at his dad for confirmation, and Rick shook his head with a small smile. He knew how long Michonne could take once she got to browsing. She wasn’t a big shopper or a big spender, but she was thoughtful.

“I’m going with Dad,” RJ decided.

“Alright,” Michonne said easily. She leaned down, kissing RJ on the top of his head, then pressed a quick kiss to Rick’s lips. “Keep ice on that eye,” she added, nodding toward RJ. “And don’t scare your sister.”

“She scares so easily, though,” RJ said with a small giggle.

Rick snorted under his breath as Michonne shook her head, already backing toward her car.

“I do have a question, though,” RJ said before she could fully get away. “I guess we can talk about it at home, but… Hansel said something.”

Michonne paused, one hand already on her car door.

“He told Chloe something weird,” RJ went on, brow furrowed. “About her mouth. Said it was… nice.” He hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. “We didn’t really know what that meant.”

Michonne’s eyes widened instantly. She looked to Rick without a word.

“I’m letting you handle this one,” she said firmly.

Rick blinked. “Why me?”

“Father–son bonding,” she replied, already opening her door. They watched as she started her car and pulled away. 

Rick waited until RJ was buckled in before starting the car. He didn’t pull out right away. Just sat there for a second, hands resting on the wheel.

“You did the right thing back there,” Rick said quietly.

RJ looked up, surprised. “I did?”

“You stood up for someone who needed it,” Rick said. “That matters. I just want you to know that part first.”

RJ nodded, relieved. “Then why am I suspended?”

Rick exhaled. “Because sometimes doing the right thing the wrong way still has consequences.”

RJ frowned, thinking it over.

“Now,” Rick went on, choosing his words carefully, “about what you asked me.”

RJ shifted in his seat. “Okay.”

“What Hansel said,” Rick said slowly, “wasn’t appropriate. It wasn’t a compliment. It was him talking about someone’s body in a way that made her uncomfortable.”

RJ’s brow furrowed. “Even if he said it like it was nice?” He hesitated. “That’s why it was wrong, right? It was about sex. Because it wasn’t something kids should be saying.”

“Especially then,” Rick said. “Things can sound harmless and still be wrong. What matters is how it makes the other person feel.”

RJ was quiet for a moment. “Chloe looked really upset.”

Rick nodded. “That’s how you knew something wasn’t right.”

RJ picked at the edge of the ice pack. “So… why do people say stuff like that?”

Rick paused. “Sometimes people want power. Sometimes they want attention. And sometimes they just don’t know how to treat others with respect.”

He glanced over at RJ. “But now you do.”

RJ looked down. “I just didn’t want her to think nobody cared.”

“She won’t think that. Not today.”

The silence that followed was easier.

After a beat, RJ asked, “So… next time?”

Rick nodded. “Next time, you get an adult. You stay with the person if they need it. You use your voice before your fists.” A spiel he only half believed. He was getting better about it. 

RJ considered that. “What if they don’t listen?”

Rick met his eyes. “Then you don’t handle it alone.”

RJ leaned back in his seat. “Okay.”

Rick started the car.

As they pulled out of the lot, RJ added, quieter now, “Dad?”

“Yeah, bud.”

“I’m still glad I said something.”

Rick’s mouth curved into a small, proud smile. “Me too.”

—---------

She was finally at checkout after nearly an hour of wandering through the near-desolate aisles of the Christmas section at Kringle’s Grocery Store, a fitting name for a place selling festive decorations in a world that still wasn’t sure how to celebrate.

It felt strange, standing there with a cart and a wallet, choosing decorations. Spending money still felt foreign after so long without it. Adjusting to abundance, if that was even the right word, had taken time. She wasn’t sure she liked it yet. There was a hierarchy to it, a quiet imbalance that still made her uneasy. Less so now than two years ago, when they’d first arrived, but they were still learning.

She was still learning.

Michonne now ran a law firm with Yumiko, one that rivaled the longest-standing practice in town. There were rumors, always rumors, that she was planning to run for a council judgeship next year. That she was positioning herself for it.

It was all hearsay.

She didn’t have the time or the energy for an election. Not now. Not when her priorities looked very different these days.

Tutus. Soccer cleats. Permission slips.

And the pink stuffed bunny with floppy ears, she was currently eyeing near the checkout aisle.

She picked it up, turning it over in her hands. Soft. Simple. Something small fingers could cling to.

Michonne exhaled.

She and Rick had planned for this Christmas. Really planned for it. Their kids’ first Christmas ever. 

She placed the bunny gently on top of the decorations in her cart.

They were going to do the whole nine yards this year.

And for the first time, she realized she was ready for it.

—-------

RJ raced out of the car before Rick could fully put it in park, already halfway to the front door, probably to read his comics and sneak in a nap before the rest of the day caught up to him.

Rick stayed where he was.

He rubbed at the space where his left hand had been. It still ached sometimes, especially in the cold, or when rain crept into the air. He tried not to think about it too much.

Instead, he looked at the house in front of him.

They’d lived modestly before. Alexandria had felt extravagant once, more than he’d ever expected for himself, but this… this was different. This was something he’d never let himself want.

A two-story house. Four bedrooms. Three baths. A white picket fence. Even a tire swing hanging from the tree in the front yard.

In the Commonwealth, they were middle-class.

They were important there.

When Rick first came back, he hadn’t wanted that. He’d wanted anything but importance. He’d been content being home, learning who he was without the fight, without the noise. Being present. Being a husband. A father.

A house husband, if he were honest. And he’d liked it.

Now, it was different.

Now, he wanted more.

Not power. Not control. And certainly not a return to the Commonwealth Army, that was out of the question. But he wanted purpose. He wanted to build something that lasted.

So he did paperwork.

He trained people. He planned routes. He sat in rooms and listened.

He’d been benched, so to speak, and he’d loved it.

Until Mercer started asking questions.

Until Boyd did, too.

About the CRM.How it ran. How Rick had led it.

How he’d walked away from something that big for a “small-town” life with his family.

Rick had answered honestly.

Because the truth was, he hadn’t given anything up.

He’d chosen.

—-------------------

He barely made it two steps into the house when he heard the pitter-patter of little feet.

Before he could even get out a hey there, tiny arms wrapped around his legs.

“Papa,” she whined pitifully, tilting her face up at him.

Zora raised her arms without a word, already expecting him to lift her. She waited patiently, like this was simply how things were done.

Rick didn’t make her wait.

He scooped her up and settled her into the crook of his elbow, one hand instinctively firm at her waist. He noticed the fat, alligator tears clinging to her lashes, her bottom lip trembling like it was holding on by a thread.

Zora Renee Grimes was his kryptonite these days. All she had to do was let that lip wobble, and he was done for.

It didn’t help that she was Michonne’s twin in every way that mattered—deep brown skin, warm chocolate eyes. If RJ was all him, Zora was all her mama. Save for her stance: the same slightly bowlegged way Rick stood, somehow softer on her. And the way she clung to him, like he was the one who’d carried her.

“What’s got you cryin’, Zo-Zo?” Rick murmured, brushing his thumb under her eyes.

“Simba’s daddy is dead,” she pouted, pointing toward the television a few feet away.

Rick blinked. “Oh. Oh boy.”

“Wow,” Judith said, pushing her way in through the front door. “What’s got the princess upset now?”

“I think she watched The Lion King,” Rick said, still a little dazed.

“I let her watch it,” Mrs. Coltrane said from the kitchen, the widow from across the street who sometimes served as their nanny, waving a hand as she slung a dish towel over her shoulder. “I didn’t think it would be too much for her, but she feels everything.”

“That she does,” Rick murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of Zora’s head.

“Wait until she watches Bambi,” Judith said, snickering.

Zora lifted her head from Rick’s shoulder. “What’s Bambi?”

Rick shot Judith a look. “It’s a movie,” he said quickly.

Judith grinned, unapologetic. “With a deer.”

Rick tightened his hold on Zora just a little. “That’s enough, Jude.”

Zora frowned, processing. “The deer’s daddy?”

Rick sighed softly. “We’ll talk about it another time, Zo-Zo.”

Judith shrugged. “I’m just saying. Disney’s got a pattern. If people start making movies again, we should probably do something about it.”

“What should we do?” Zora fluttered her lashes.

“Don’t worry, Zo,” Judith said, shaking her head. She reached into her school bag, pulled out a cookie, and handed it to her little sister. “Here.”

She kicked off her shoes and flopped onto the couch.

Zora looked at the cookie, then up at Rick. “I can have?” she asked, waiting.

Rick glanced between Zora and Mrs. Coltrane, who was now fussing over Judith. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “But don’t tell Mommy.”

“Don’t tell Mommy what?” RJ asked, stepping into the room. He dropped onto the couch beside Judith and accepted the piece of cookie she offered him without hesitation.

Judith sat up immediately. “Whoa—what happened to your face?” She reached out, grabbing his chin much the way Michonne had earlier. “Right before Christmas?”

RJ winced. “Hey—”

Rick closed his eyes for a brief second.

“I got into a fight at school,” RJ answered.

Judith stared at him. “You? In a fight?” She frowned. “Did you win?”

“Yeah,” RJ said. “I almost broke his nose, I think.”

Judith brightened immediately. “Way to—”

Rick cleared his throat.

She stopped herself mid-sentence, hand still raised. “…finish standing up for yourself,” she amended, lowering it.

RJ cracked a small smile.

Rick opened one eye, unimpressed but relieved. “We’re not high-fiving over violence.”

Judith shrugged. “I didn’t say violence. I said effectiveness.”

Rick sighed. “Go wash your hands, Jude.”

She grinned as she stood. “Worth it.”

“Papa, I need milk,” Zora said, scattering cookie crumbs across his freshly pressed uniform shirt.

Chocolate smudged her cheeks, freckles of sugar and mess, and Rick laughed despite himself. He reached up and tugged gently at the pigtails in her hair, earning a quiet giggle. He didn’t even bother wiping the crumbs away. He carried her into the kitchen, leaving the other two kids and Mrs. Coltrane to their own devices.

Rick set Zora on the counter, watching as her little legs swung back and forth. She waited patiently, hands folded in her lap, eyes tracking his every move.

He poured her a glass of milk and slid it toward her.

“I had a good day today, Zora,” he said.

“Oh?” Zora tilted her head, nodding solemnly. “Why, a good day today, Papa?”

The word still caught him off guard in the best way.

He loved it when she called him that. None of the other kids did. For some reason, she’d taken to it naturally, almost instinctively. It was better than the phase a few months back when she’d called both of her parents by their first names, like she was testing the boundaries of the universe.

Rick smiled to himself as he watched her take a careful sip.

“Papa got a promotion,” he explained. “Means I’m big and important at my job.”

Zora’s eyes widened. “Like Mufasa?” she asked, clearly impressed.

Rick laughed under his breath. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Like Mufasa.”

She nodded, satisfied, and took another careful sip of her milk, crumbs still clinging to her fingers.

He wasn’t sure he deserved the comparison, but he liked the way it sounded coming from her.

Zora was their youngest Grimes. Their not-so-surprise baby. She was the direct result of that quiet night in the condo, when everything had still felt temporary and fragile. Finding out Michonne was pregnant had been joyful and terrifying all at once. They were just coming home. Everything was still new. Still raw.

And yet, Zora had become the light of their lives.

Healthy. Curious. Loud in her own small ways.

Rick had once thought RJ reminded him of Carl. But if he was being honest, it was this little one who did. Not in looks, though sometimes in the set of her mouth, but in the way she watched the world. In the way she felt things.

He tried not to make comparisons. Zora was her own person. She had her own interests, most of which, at the moment, revolved around him.

Still, he saw it. The similarities.

And it both steadied him and scared him more than he’d ever admit.

He often wondered how Carl would fit into all of this. How would his son react to his siblings? Whether he’d be married by now. Whether he’d have kids of his own.

The ache never really left. It just learned how to sit quietly.

But the little one in front of him, perched on the counter, milk cup clutched in both hands, eased it, just a little.

“I’m back,” Michonne called as she came through the back door, grocery bags swinging from her hands.

Rick moved without thinking, taking them from her and setting them on the table.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Michonne said, leaning in to kiss both of Zora’s cheeks. “Daddy’s got you up here,” she murmured, amused.

Zora grinned widely and scrunched her nose. 

“Mama missed you today.”

“I had a cookie,” Zora announced proudly.

Rick’s eyes snapped to her.

“Oh, I know,” Michonne chuckled. “It’s all over your face.” She kissed her once more before reaching for a napkin and gently wiping her cheeks.

“I went potty in the toilet today,” Zora added, sitting up straighter.

“No potty accidents?” Michonne asked, glancing at Rick for confirmation.

Rick lifted one shoulder. “Far as I know.”

Michonne laughed softly. “That’s my girl.”

“Can I go watch TV with Judy and RJ now?” Zora asked.

Michonne smiled despite herself. It was still the cutest thing, the way Zora couldn’t quite manage her Rs yet.

“You go do that,” Michonne said, lifting her down and setting her on her feet. “But put socks on.”

Zora nodded solemnly and toddled off down the hall, already halfway distracted.

“Socks!” Michonne called after her, even though she knew full well they’d be forgotten within minutes.

Rick watched her go, shaking his head fondly. He stepped over to Michonne and wrapped his arms around her waist.

“I haven’t even gotten my jacket off yet,” she laughed softly as he started unbuttoning the black peacoat she still wore.

“You’re warm,” he murmured, pressing his mouth to the skin just below her ear.

She reached back without looking, her fingers finding the familiar curls at the nape of his neck like muscle memory. She smiled into it.

“You miss me?” she asked.

Rick hummed against her skin, arms tightening just a little. “Always.”

She let him hold her, swaying gently with him as she closed her eyes. She was tired, bone-deep tired, but she pushed it aside. There were two days left before Christmas, and she wanted this one to be the best they’d had yet.

She could rest later. For now, there was too much light in the house to miss.

“I can take over dinner,” Rick offered. He pressed a kiss to the side of her neck. “You’ve been doing so much for us lately. I appreciate you. I love you.”

“Hm,” Michonne murmured, leaning further into him. She turned her head just enough to brush a kiss against his jaw, grounding herself there for a second longer than necessary.

“Okay,” she said quietly at last. “But I’m sitting down.”

Rick smiled against her skin. “Deal.”

She sat at the head of the table, watching him cook. Every so often, Zora would peek her head into the kitchen, just to make sure her papa was still there, before disappearing again.

Rick made something simple, nothing fancy, just enough to feed everyone and keep the evening moving.

From where she sat, with her feet kicked up on the opposite chair, Michonne could hear RJ and Judith bickering in the living room about how to decorate the Christmas tree. She smiled at one of RJ’s sharp retorts, pride blooming quietly in her chest.

He was finally finding his voice.

For the first few years of his life, RJ had been Judith’s shadow, following her lead, echoing her opinions, measuring himself against her confidence. Now, he was beginning to carve out his own space. Not louder. Just him.

Michonne leaned back, letting the sound of her family fill the house.

This, this, was the part she never wanted to rush past.

“Its not like you ever had a Christmas tree," Judith argued.

 "You either," RJ rolled his eyes as they spilled into the kitchen. Zor walked behind them, with her socks in her hands. 

"Hey, you two don't bring your Christmas cheer in here," She warned them. "I can help with your socks, Zo."

 "No, Papa," Zora insisted as she pushed them into Rick's leg. 

"Papa's cooking," Rick replied as he tasted the sauce he was cooking up. It was one of the few recipes he knew how to make.

Zora leaned against him, satisfied with waiting.

Judith glanced between them. “She’s definitely not gonna move from there.”

Rick snorted. “No argument there.”

Judith climbed up onto Michonne’s lap, leaning into her despite the surprised oomph Michonne let out.

“Mom,” Judith said, settling in, “tell your son we’re supposed to put the lights on before the ornaments.”

Michonne wrapped an arm around her automatically. “He’s not my son right now?”

Judith tilted her head, unapologetic. “He’s being difficult.”

RJ scoffed from the doorway. “I’m being correct. Dad, back me up.”

Rick shook his head. “I’m not getting involved.”

Zora looked between them. “Lights first,” she decided.

The kitchen went quiet for half a second.

Rick glanced down at her. “Well,” he said, nodding once, “that settles it.”

“She would agree with Judith anyway,” RJ shrugged. “They’re both girls. That’s why we need another boy.”

Judith snorted. “I don’t think that’s happening.”

She glanced between their parents, Rick at the stove, Michonne beneath her, and then let out an exaggerated sigh. Rick paused mid-stir for half a second.

Michonne didn’t say anything. She just shifted Judith’s weight on her lap, smoothing a hand down her back like it was nothing at all.

Zora looked up at Rick, solemn. “Papa?”

“Yeah?” he said.

“No more boys,” she decided. “We got you.”

Rick smiled and lifted her into his arms. “You do have me.” He held up the wooden spoon, sauce still steaming. “Taste this.”

“Blow,” Zora said firmly, pushing it away with one finger.

Rick chuckled, conceding the point. He blew on the spoon, Zora watching him with wide eyes and a tilted head, before holding it out again.

“Safe?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

Judith giggled. “She doesn’t trust your cooking.”

“It was one time,” Rick protested, shaking his head. He wasn’t the best cook in the world, but he wasn’t terrible. He’d even started checking out cookbooks from the library, determined to get better. This sauce, he knew, she’d like. “Yes, Zora. It’s safe.”

Zora nodded gravely and took the spoon, sampling it with great seriousness.

Rick waited. “Too little salt?”

She shrugged.

Rick laughed quietly. “Fair review.”

“Alright, it’s ready,” Rick said, setting the spoon down. He knelt to help Zora with her socks as she sat on the floor, wiggling her toes up at him. “You have stinky feet.”

Zora laughed and shook her head. “Not stinky,” she protested, shoving her right foot closer. “I took a bath already.”

“Who painted your nails?” Rick asked, pausing to admire the handiwork. Nail polish was hard to come by these days, so seeing Zora’s toes painted every color of the rainbow caught him off guard.

“My Judy,” Zora answered proudly. “Do you like them?”

“I love them, Zo,” Rick said, kissing her little foot before sliding a sock over it.

“Alright, you’re heavy,” Michonne said, gently nudging Judith out of her lap and toward her own chair. Judith looked like she might protest, then sighed and relented. “So,” Michonne added evenly, “tell us what happened at school today. Did you learn something new?”

Judith leaned back in her chair, lips pursed in exaggerated thought. “Hmm,” she said slowly. “I learned that teachers hate when you ask too many questions.”

RJ hummed in agreement.

“And,” Judith continued, glancing at him, “that some people still don’t know how to mind their business.”

Rick met Michonne’s eyes over the table.

“Sounds about right,” he said. He moved around the table to lift Zora into her seat, noticing how she climbed onto her knees to reach. Michonne stood to help set the table and pass out plates, and Rick was there immediately.

“No,” he said gently, already guiding her back into her chair. He kissed her lips, soft and sure. “You sit down. I got this.” He glanced toward RJ. “Come on.”

RJ was on his feet instantly, eager to help, and the two of them went to work passing out plates and food.

—---------------

After dinner, they spent the rest of the night decorating the tree. Michonne was content mostly to watch, curled into the corner of the couch while Rick helped Judith and RJ with the technical parts, lights that wouldn’t cooperate, ornaments that needed review.

The decorations were modest, considering they were still living in a post-apocalyptic world, but they were theirs. Red and green filled the living room, soft and bright against the walls. Zora was occupied entirely by the tinsel wrapped around her arms, dragging it behind her like a cape.

There wasn’t much to give in the way of gifts. It wasn’t about that anymore. It was the act of it, the choosing, the gathering, that mattered most.

“Christmas movie?” Judith asked, pulling a small CD case from the TV stand. “What’s this—Home Alone?”

“Oh, it’s a classic,” Michonne nodded as Judith slid the disc into the DVD player.

“What makes something a classic?” RJ asked, settling onto the floor in his sleeping bag, already half-comfortable.

Rick lowered himself beside him. “Means people loved it enough to keep it.”

RJ thought about that, nodding slowly.

The opening music filled the room as the lights dimmed and the tree glowed softly in the corner. Zora climbed into Rick’s lap without asking, tinsel still looped around her wrists. He wrapped an arm around her automatically, nearly pulling away when she began to rub at the space where his hand had once been. Ever curious, she had asked him questions about it before. He’d explained as best he could. Now, it seemed to bring her comfort. Nights like this were all she’d ever known of her father.

Michonne rested her head against Rick’s shoulder.

Not even halfway through the movie, she was asleep.

Rick didn’t move. He just sat there, holding his girls. 

If this was what making it looked like, he thought, then it was worth every step it took to get there.

—----------------

He opted not to wake her as he slipped from Zora’s embrace. With him gone, the little one searched for the nearest warmth. She curled into Michonne, nestling deep into her side, settling again as she belonged there.

Rick watched it happen. It still amazed him how much his family had grown. How normal it all looked now. How normal it felt.

He stood and moved through the house the way he always did, turning off extra lights, pulling blankets higher, checking the doors. Securing the exits. Post-CRM life had left him like this. Even after all this time, he checked for bugs, tested locks, and made sure nothing had shifted while they were gone.

Most nights, he wandered the house like this just to make sure his family could sleep safely.

Tonight, he had a better mission.

He came back to the living room with a blanket and found Michonne’s spot empty. Zora lay where she’d been, blanket tucked around her, thumb in her mouth. Judith had slid closer to her brother, sharing the extra blanket she’d claimed earlier.

Judith.

She was the one who shook him the most.

The baby he’d left behind had grown into a beautiful young woman. Artsy. A storyteller. An even better fighter. She was everything he’d hoped she could be.

He only hated that he hadn’t been there to see it. Michonne had been without him for so long. Too long. And still, she’d raised good kids. Whole kids. Their kids.

Of course, she’d had Daryl. And Aaron. And Rosita. Their people. Family is there to help. But he could imagine the toll his absence had taken on her. She’d said as much, back when he’d first come home.

After the condo. After the CRM. He’d retreated into himself. Depressed. On edge. Too anxious to be the father he wanted to be. He fought through it anyway. Therapy helped. They had that in the Commonwealth. He worked through the worst of it, piece by piece.

And when he came home, Michonne was steady.

She didn’t put up with his bullshit, but she held back. Let him come to her when he was ready. Eight years apart, and he wanted to know everything. He wanted to know her. There were nights full of tears.

And nights like this.

The ones where he found her getting ready for bed, coming out of their ensuite bathroom bare-faced and minty fresh.

“I found you,” he said.

“I hope it wasn’t too hard,” she mumbled.

She wore a simple black-and-white tank and a pair of his boxers. He watched her tie her hair back with a silk scarf, careful with it. Protecting her edges. Something he’d learned he had to do with Zora, too.

“I like you like this,” he said.

She turned just enough to catch his eye, lips twitching, then went right back to moisturizing her skin like he hadn’t said anything at all. Slow. Unbothered. Deliberate.

If she knew what she was doing to him, she didn’t let on.

Rick leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her move through the routine like it was muscle memory. Like this was hers. Like she didn’t need to perform or explain or brace for anything.

That was what he liked.

He closed and locked the door behind him before he moved to the bed and sat, tugging his boots off, then unbuttoning his shirt, his eyes never really leaving her.

“RJ did good today,” he said quietly. “Right? He stood up for himself. And someone else.” He shook his head once, still impressed. “That’s what we wanted.”

Michonne sighed and crossed the room, coming to stand between his knees. 

“It didn’t come easy for him,” she said. “You know that.”

Rick nodded. He reached for her hands, grounding himself there. “I do. That’s why it matters.”

She looked down at him then, really looked, her expression softening. “He learned that from you.”

Rick swallowed. “From us.”

She didn’t argue.

Instead, she leaned in, resting her forehead briefly against his.

“He’s going to be okay,” she said.

Rick closed his eyes. “Yeah,” he breathed. “He is.” He rested his hands lower on her hips nd urged her to sit on his lap.

He could feel the stress of the day finally leaving him.

She settled against him, her body flush with his, her fingers tracing slow circles at the base of his neck. “You okay?” she asked, her voice softer now.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m good.”

It wasn’t until she shifted, pressing closer, that he realized how much he meant it.

She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes again, her thumb stroking his jaw. “You’re quiet tonight,” she murmured.

“Just thinking,” he said. “About how lucky I am.”

She smiled, small and knowing. “Luck had nothing to do with it.”

Rick’s hands tightened at her waist. “No?”

“No.”

He watched her. The way the lamplight caught the angles of her face. “Then what did?”

Michonne leaned in again, her lips brushing his as she spoke.

“Staying alive long enough to find your way back.”

Rick exhaled, slow and deep, and let himself have her. This. Them.

He kissed her, slowly, tasting the mint from her toothpaste and the warmth of her lips.

Her hands slid into his hair, nails grazing his scalp just enough to make him sigh against her mouth. He responded by tugging her closer, his hand spreading flat across her back, feeling the muscle beneath her skin. She felt like home. Like safety. Like the only thing that had ever mattered.

When he finally pulled back, it was only enough to breathe. To look at her.

“I love you,” he said.

Michonne’s fingers tightened in his hair. “I know,” she whispered. “I love you, too.”

Rick smiled then, slowly, and kissed her again, deeper this time. His hands drifted to her ass, pressing her closer as he deepened the kiss.

Her breath hitched.

That was it. That was the signal he was looking for.

He rolled her gently onto the bed, shifting so he was over her, braced on his elbows. He looked down at her, the lamplight making her skin glow, her chest rising and falling faster now.

“Even after all these years," She mused. "You still look at me like that."

He didn't answer. He only lowered his head and took her lips again. This kiss was deeper, hungry. All-consuming. His tongue traced her lower lip, and she opened for him with a soft sigh that went straight through him.

She shifted against him, arching her back to get closer. He broke the kiss to trail his lips to her ear and then her neck. He tasted the faint hint of vanilla from her lotion.

He could feel her pulse thrumming under his lips as he sucked.

His hands found the hem of her tank top and tugged upward. She helped him, lifting her arms so he could pull it over her head. His breath caught.

God.

He cupped her left breast in his hand, thumbing it gently and feeling her stiffen just slightly beneath him. He looked down at her, catching the quick inhale as he brushed the peak with the calloused pad of his thumb.

He did it again. Slower. Firmer. Taking note of the reaction.

Michonne’s hips lifted just a little, a silent question.

Rick answered her by leaning down and taking her right breast into his mouth. Her back arched sharply, a breathy gasp escaping her lips as he swirled his tongue around her nipple, then grazed it with his teeth. Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him right where he was, encouraging more. He pointed his tongue and flicked the sensitive bud, then pulled it into the warmth of his mouth and sucked hard, the way she liked it.

Her thighs tightened around his waist, a soft moan vibrating through her chest. The sound sent a jolt through him, and he ground against her, letting her feel exactly how much he wanted her.

He shifted to her other breast, giving it the same attention, sucking, licking, lightly biting until she was writhing beneath him. Her breaths came in ragged little pants now, her hands stroking down his back, her nails digging in when he found a particularly sensitive spot.

He released her nipple with a soft pop, blowing cool air over the damp skin, and she shivered. He watched her as he smoothed a palm down her stomach to the waistband of his boxers she wore. His fingers dipped beneath the elastic, tracing the top line of her pelvis.

“Rick,” she breathed, her hips lifting into his touch.

He grinned, slow and knowing, and hooked a finger into the fabric, tugging it down just enough to reveal a strip of dark curls. She whimpered as he traced through them, teasing.

“So wet already,” he murmured.

Her cheeks flushed, but her eyes stayed locked on his. He swallowed the exhale she took as he rubbed and teased her clit with the pads of his fingers. Her hips bucked against his hands.

“You love it,” She whispered.

He didn't deny it. Their lovemaking had changed in the way he could hold her and handle her, only having one hand. That didn't stop him from tugging the boxers down her legs and allowing her to kick them off. And it didn't stop him from trailing kisses down her stomach, her hips, the inside of her thighs. Thighs that had become thicker with time and the bearing of his children. Thighs he loved wrapped around him.

He nipped at the sensitive skin there, and she moaned, her legs falling open wider for him. He looked up at her, at the flush on her cheeks, the way her chest rose and fell with each ragged breath, the want in her eyes.

He settled between her legs, bracing them with his shoulders. He could smell her arousal, musky and warm, and it made his own need spike. He leaned in and blew a soft stream of air against her, and her whole body tensed.

“Please,” she whispered.

He didn't make her wait.

He licked a long, slow stripe through her folds, and she cried out, her back arching off the bed. He did it again, then again, savoring her taste and the way her body responded to him. He circled her clit with his tongue, then sucked it into his mouth, flicking the tip with the rapid, firm strokes he knew drove her wild.

Her hands fisted in the sheets, her hips grinding against his face as he worked her higher and higher. He slipped a finger inside her, then another, curling them to find that spot inside her that made her see stars. What he didn't expect was the telltale signs of her climaxing. Her legs began to shake, her breath catching in her throat, her thighs clamping around his head. He didn't stop, working her through it until she collapsed back against the bed, her body limp and trembling.

He kissed her thigh, then her stomach, then her lips, letting her taste herself on him. She kissed him back, lazy and sated, her hands stroking his back.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Better than okay,” she mumbled against his lips.

He smiled, then shifted, settling his hips between her thighs. He was still fully clothed from the waist down, and the denim of his jeans was rough against her sensitive skin. He fumbled with his belt, then the button, then the zipper, his hand shaking slightly with need. He shoved his jeans and boxers down, kicking them off, then settled over her again.

He paused for a moment, just looking at her, at the woman who had waited for him, who had raised their children without him, who had survived. And she was here, with him, and she was his.

“I love you,” he said again, the words a raw, vulnerable thing.

“I love you too,” she whispered, her hands coming up to cup his face. He reached into the nightstand, hoping to find the box of condoms they'd had, but found the drawer to be empty. He groaned.

“What?” Michonne asked, sitting up on her elbows.

“We’re out,” he said, the frustration clear in his voice.

Michonne laughed, a real, genuine laugh that made her whole body shake. “That’s a problem,” she said, her eyes sparkling.

“It is,” he said, a grin spreading across his face. “A big one.”

She reached down and wrapped her hand around his length, and he groaned again, this time with pleasure. “But not an unsolvable one,” she said, stroking him slowly. "We are married after all."

She didn't need to say more. He understood her perfectly.

He shifted again, lining himself up with her entrance, then pushed inside. They both moaned at the sensation, the feeling of him filling her, stretching her, completing her, overwhelming. He paused for a moment, letting her adjust.

He began to move, slow, deep thrusts that made her toes curl. He watched her face, watched the way her eyes fluttered closed. Her lips parted in a silent moan. He leaned down and kissed her, a messy, desperate kiss that was all teeth and tongue and need.

He picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming faster, harder. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with their ragged breaths and soft cries. He could feel himself getting close, the familiar coil of heat tightening in his belly.

“Michonne,” he gasped, his hips stuttering. She arched her back, the pleasure so intense she didn't know whether to run away or pull him closer. She clutched at his back and ass. His rhythm faltered as the heat coiled tighter, a white-hot pressure building at the base of his spine. Her name was a broken sound on his lips, a prayer and a warning. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing in the scent of her skin.

"Chonne," He moaned out. "I'm gonna-"

"Me too," She whispered. She reached between them, rubbing her clit, and methodically clamping her pussy around his dick.

The added stimulation was his undoing. He thrust into her one last time, a deep, claiming stroke, and then he was spilling himself inside her, a guttural cry tearing from his throat as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over him. He had the decency to bury his head in the pillow beside her to keep his volume down.

Her own release followed a heartbeat later, a short, violent clench around him that drew out his own pleasure. Her body arched, her head thrown back, a silent scream on her lips as the world splintered into a million pieces of light.

He collapsed against her, his body heavy and limp, as he turned his face to bury in her locs. They lay like that for a long moment, with her raking her nails through his hair.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"Why?"

"I think I pulled your hair."

She laughed. "It's fine," she said, her voice husky with satisfaction. "It was worth it."

He smiled against her skin, then rolled off her, gathering her into his arms. She settled against his chest, her head tucked under his chin, her leg thrown over his.

He felt whole. The fragmented pieces of himself, scattered by years of loss and violence, seemed to settle back into place.

He stroked a hand down her back, feeling the rhythm of her breathing. He thought about the kids, asleep just down the hall. Then he said, "When were you going to tell me?" She lifted her eyes to look up at him. "About the baby?" He caressed her still flat stomach. "How long have you known?"

"A week," She admitted softly. "I wanted to be sure. I went to the doctor this morning. She confirmed it."

He didn't say anything for a long while.

"How did you figure it out?" She asked.

"Well, when I was suckling your-" She couldn't see him too well, but she could tell his chest and cheeks were red. "You were really sensitive, and for the past few times when we've made love, you finished a little quickly."

"So you just know my body so well," She teased.

"I hope so," He shrugged. He couldn't guess if there was a right answer. "I know you, and I know you're not one to take mid-day naps."

"I was tired!" she laughed.

He smiled. "Okay," he said. "Okay." He kissed the top of her head. He felt her breath warm against his chest, the steady, reassuring beat of her heart. A few minutes passed. "Are you happy?" He asked her.

"I am," She murmured. "Are you?"

"I'm extremely happy," He said, craning his neck to kiss her forehead. "Another baby." He whispered.

"With your genes and my good sense," She replied.

He laughed then, the sound rumbling through his chest and into hers. "That's right," he said, squeezing her tighter. "He'll be unstoppable."

"Or she will," Michonne countered.

"She," he agreed, the word feeling right, feeling true. "Though the kids are banking on another boy."

"RJ's been hoping," she said. "Wants another brother to even the odds."

"He's got Daryl for that," Rick murmured, his thoughts drifting for a moment. Then they snapped back to the woman in his arms, to the life they were building. "So we're really doing this again."

"We are," she confirmed. "Diapers. Sleepless nights. Teaching someone how to walk and talk and, you know, not get eaten."

He held her closer, the weight of it all settling over him. "I love it. How far along? Do you know?"

"That night, the condom broke. When we let the kids sleep over at Ezekiel's?" She said.

He remembered. Of course he did. The house had been quiet, just the two of them. They’d talked for hours on the porch, watching the neighborhood, then made their way inside, doing a slow dance of intimacy and want that had ended right here, in this bed.

He kissed her forehead again, then her cheek, then the corner of her mouth. "So about six weeks," he whispered against her skin. "A surprise."

"The best kind," she breathed, turning her head to capture his lips in a soft, lingering kiss.

It was different now. The frantic urgency was gone, replaced by something deeper, more resonant. He poured all of it into the kiss, the relief, the joy, the bone-deep certainty that this was where he was meant to be. Her hands came up to frame his face, her thumbs stroking his jaw, a silent affirmation that she felt it too.

"Doctor says I'm going to need to be careful," Michone said. "Geriatric pregnancy is what they call it, which really is an insult, but..." She shrugged.

He scowled. "You're not geriatric."

"I know that," She said. "But I'm almost 44. It's different than 28."

"I'll be here," he said. "For everything."

"I know," she whispered.

He shifted, rolling them so he was on his back and she was draped across his chest. The blanket pooled around their waists. He traced idle patterns on her back, the smooth, warm skin familiar and yet entirely new. He thought about her first baby, Andre, the one he'd never met. The one that had been lost to a world gone mad. He thought about Carl, the boy who had become a man too fast, the man whose legacy lived on in his siblings. And he thought about Judith and RJ and Zora, and now this new little life.

"We need to tell them," he said.

"We do," she agreed. "Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," he confirmed. "They'll lose their minds."

"In a good way," she said.

"In the best way," he amended.