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It was not actually physically possible that this dress had gotten tighter since two days ago, was it?

Michonne Hill pondered that as she held her breath. At the same time, her best friend Sasha Williams Ford blew out a frustrated one. Sasha took a moment before trying with the zipper again. Michonne looked into her friend's face through their reflections in the mirror and smiled feebly.

Sasha fixed her face quickly as she looked up and saw Michonne eying her with concern. She leaned her shoulder into the center of Michonne's back and pulled at the zipper. The bones of Michonne's corset bit into her ribs. But just as it had a moment before, it got to the center of her back before refusing to budge further.

"Is it possible they gave you the wrong dress?" Sasha asked, gritting her teeth and screwing up her ruby red-lipped mouth in extreme exertion.

Michonne glanced down at the slender silver watch –a gift from her wonderful fiancé– which dangled loosely from her wrist.

Yet another thing that didn't fit today.

Turning the face up to read it, she saw that this was minute number twenty-three in their ongoing struggle with the dress. The first five minutes had been funny, made even more so by the half-full champagne flutes they imbibed between attempts. Minutes six through fifteen, had been filled with laughter too, but of the more nervous variety as it became clearer that the dress was being more resistant to closing itself around Michonne's figure than it had been during her recent fittings. The last eight minutes, however, had been a tense affair where no one spoke, only huffing and puffing, and silently grimacing to pretend that the mutual exertion wasn't taking a toll.

"I don't think so," Michonne answered simply. That was an understatement, there was no way this dress belonged to anyone else. She'd been sure of that.

This is what she got for her vanity.

Michonne could have picked other dresses, simpler dresses, roomier dresses, differently-styled dresses, dresses made of more forgiving fabric but all without the striking silhouette this one had. When she'd first spotted the mermaid-style, platinum on winter white brocade silk dress, she knew she had to have it.

Getting married during the dead of winter was bad enough, definitely a less orthodox choice but getting married on Christmas Day itself was possibly just a little crazy. But that's what their kids had wanted and more importantly, that's what her fiancé had wanted. Being far more into the whole Christmas season thing than she'd ever been before she met him, for Michonne, it made a deeply ironic kind of sense. A symbolic gesture to both her man and the fates that had brought them together. And this dress, with its stiff and heavy but intricately embroidered and sparkly brocade, spoke directly to that psychic and emotional transition.

If she was going to marry "Mr. Christmas" himself, Rick Grimes, she reasoned, she would need to look the part.

And this dress was exquisitely, perfectly, even spectacularly of the season. Dusted with almost metallic threading that gleamed in some lights, a form-fitting bodice that clung to her curves, and an off-the-shoulder, sweetheart neckline that made her look swan-like, it showed off her sculpted arms and shapely figure to their best effect. Her décolletage looked amazing, showcasing just enough to keep things interesting without being too revealing, while her hips and bottom looked molded into the fabric, both high and firm enough to snap a coin off. When she looked at herself, Michonne felt like she was a Christmas present herself, wrapped up like a gorgeous holiday bow–a Mrs. Claus even–if Mrs. Claus was not only Santa's wife but also the patron saint of the season.

Seeing herself, Michonne was reminded of the old Marilyn Monroe chestnut about having been sewed into her dramatic dress for JFK's birthday. And although Michonne had a bit more freedom of movement than she imagined that blonde bombshell did, she felt just as beautiful and desirable. So what if the waist was a little extra cinched? And who cared that its structured design made good-posture essential and relaxing impossible? Wasn't it irrelevant that the fabric was unyielding and the whole thing was completely unforgiving of even an extra pound in the wrong place? When a dress looked as good on you as this dress looked on Michonne, it was worth it. And this dress was made for her, both literally and figuratively. She was certain of it.

No, this was her dress. She and the kids had dubbed it her "Snow Queen" dress.

Sasha sighed heavily and let go, taking a step back to eye the problem. "I don't want to pull on it too hard and rip the zipper or the seams. Where's a good old hook-and-eye closure when you need one," She joked clearly attempting to keep her tone light.

She grabbed her nearly empty champagne flute and took another swig before crossing her arms over her chest.

"I deliberately told them I wanted an invisible zipper, I didn't want to be in here all day trying to fasten a million hooks or buttons," Michonne screwed up her face as if she was delivering the world's worst punchline.

"More like you didn't want Rick having to fight with a million hooks tonight," Sasha replied, raising one elegantly arched eyebrow at her friend.

"Girl!"

They were silent for a moment before both bursting into peals of naughty laughter. Her friend knew her far too well.

That's what decades of acquaintance got you.

"What the hell are we gonna do?" Michonne asked finally after stopping herself in fear of bursting through the already strained seams. She spoke in a whisper looking around the bridal suite although no one else was there.

Their makeup artist was already gone, Michonne's older sister Roberta had left to walk their mother to her seat and her step-daughter, Judith and Sasha's daughter, Miranda were off helping the boys with usher duties down the hall. They were alone, free to panic openly if they wanted. But still, Michonne struggled to keep it together. Since she had chosen to only have a matron of honor and no other attendants, this was a conundrum she and Sasha would clearly have to tackle on their own.

Michonne sat down carefully in the plush chair in front of the lighted vanity, dejected. The dress seemed to undo itself as she hunched in her seat, the zipper sliding slowly down her back and loosening all over until the whole back was open again. The sensation was enough to make Michonne want to cry, which she'd been doing a lot of lately. Everything seemed to make her feel so emotional and just a little bit maudlin. But she wouldn't cry, she resolved, if only so as not to ruin her freshly applied makeup. It wasn't as if this was a complete surprise anyway –they'd even had to take out the dress a little at her last fitting– but it was still dismaying. It felt like all her hard work was falling apart.

She should have accepted those water pills Roberta offered her last week. She lamented. Although something about that hadn't felt right at the time, but maybe it had been a mistake?

"Mich, it's just a dress," Sasha said as if reading her mind. "Rick would marry you in a burlap sack."

"If we don't get this dress zipped, he might have to!"

Sasha shook her head taking on the serious face she got when she had a particularly complex case or faced a trying adversary in the courtroom. "We'll figure something out if we have to staple you into it."

Michonne smiled weakly at that and buried her face in her hands.

"It's the stress. I've been stress eating. First, it was trying to sell the house, then the move. My God, I had no idea one man and two children could have so much stuff! Then all that construction while planning a wedding. Some days, I wouldn't eat at all, some days I ate anything that wasn't nailed down. Especially these last two months? I ate all the kids' leftover Halloween candy...by myself! It's been a lot."

"Yes, it has. Abe and I just looked at each other when you guys would talk about it all and marvel. Just planning a trip for us requires marriage counseling. To go visit his family in Texas for Thanksgiving nearly had me shopping for divorce attorneys. Now, you tell me, does 18 hours trapped in a car with a 10-month-old prone to motion sickness and an eight-year-old with the attention span of a squirrel sound like a solid plan to you? Of course not! But suggest to my husband that we've gotta fly there and watch him put his affairs in order, increase his life insurance policy and write out a will..." Sasha grumbled.

Michonne smiled into her palms and shook her head before lifting it out of her hands to glance across at her friend, who continued to gripe.

"...but Michonne, really, why I gotta explain that flying is statistically safer than driving to a 44-year-old man? What am I saying? He's a grown man who can't take his daughter to the supermarket alone because those two knuckleheads will argue over who gets to push the cart until they crash it into a cereal display!"

Michonne chuckled, remembering that story.

She listened, fully aware that Sasha was doing this all for her benefit, as a distraction to get her mind off the growing disaster that was her and this dress. She caught sight of her own reflection in the mirror as her friend talked, and peered at herself critically.

Was she entirely too old for this? Was it all ridiculous? Who was she kidding? Would Rick laugh at her with this Christmas Beauty Queen schtick?

Lifting her chin slightly, she regarded herself, suddenly concerned that with all the recent eating, she was beginning to see a double chin...or were those shadows cast by a trick of the light? The truth was she was feeling kind of fluffy, her bits a little fuller here and there. Maybe even a bit sluggish and low energy recently. It was odd. She looked down at her cleavage in the reflection, there a small, simple pear-shaped blue sapphire pendant hung, nearly lost in the swell of her breasts. Rick certainly hadn't complained about it, but it seemed to her she was quite ample lately. But, especially in this dress, anyone could look buxom. Although honestly, it was happening in all of her clothes of late.

With an appraising eye, she looked over the smooth expanse of her dark skin that was accentuated by the crisp, brightness of her dress and she wasn't ashamed to admit at least that one thing was still working. It looked luminescent, flawless. Her brown skin glowed, a smooth ebony, that was sensuous, to the point that even Rick had remarked of how she was looking particularly fresh-faced and gorgeous.

And the dress highlighted all of it. Or at least, it was supposed to.

That had been the plan after all. To knock him on his ass. To look like the best Christmas present he'd ever gotten. To make him thank the heavens that he'd chosen her one brutally cold night to share his nana's special hot cocoa with. Michonne had wanted him to look up the aisle and know that as much as he already loved it, no Christmas would never be the same again. Instead, she was going to have to waddle her roly-poly self down the aisle in her new robe that said "Wifey" on the back and the pair of fuzzy bunny slippers she had on that Judith had given her as a Christmas gift.

"Knock-knock," The door to the suite opened hesitantly and a second later two heads peered in.

Michonne and Sasha both looked up and spun in their seats simultaneously as their friend and Michonne's neighbor, Carol walked in holding Sasha's baby daughter, Lila, followed by Roberta.

Sasha rose quickly from her seat, her face a question mark going to them and reaching for her small daughter.

"Abraham's outside but was afraid to knock. He said Lila was getting fussy and needed her mama." Carol explained, handing her off. "I remember when my Sophia was that age. No arms but mine would settle her if she got going."

"She's teething," Sasha explained apologetically taking her daughter with a frown and heading into the hall to consult with her husband.

Michonne watched as the chubby little girl sucked vigorously on her fingers, drooling as her mother took her out of the room. She remembered fondly what Andre had been like at that age too. Mike couldn't pass him off to her fast enough back then. The memory filled her with such warmth. She turned then to see her sister watching her watch Lila with a knowing smile. Michonne was surprised, but also a little bit relieved to see her again.

"Mommy sent me back to make sure you were still okay?" Bertie explained. "She told me to bring you her safety pins."

Michonne could have cried again right then. Damn, her hormones were all over the place! But her mother's ability to read a situation at a glance, and sometimes, like this one, even without a glance was unrivaled. She grabbed at the top of her dress and hoisted it up as she stood, making her way over to her sister, tripping over the long gown.

"It won't close," Michonne explained, turning her back to her sister and her neighbor so they could see what she was talking about.

For the next five minutes, Michonne stood patiently and grunted through both women's individual and collective attempts to get the zipper up her back. They pushed and pulled as Michonne sucked in every part of herself she could, she held her breath and held herself ramrod straight, fruitlessly. For every inch of progress they made, inevitably it was reversed every time she exhaled.

"Progress?" Sasha asked hopefully when she walked in again, noticeably absent her daughter.

They all turned to give her identical dejected expressions.

"I went to see if the reverend's wife had anything. You'd think a venue as nice as this one might have something even."

"Like what? A spare dress service?" Michonne asked snarkily.

Sasha made a face while Roberta snickered.

"Listen, I can go see if anyone else has something. You never know. I used to carry around a small sewing kit in my purse when Sophia was little," Carol offered then.

"Unless a seamstress comes with it, I don't know how much that will help, but sure." Michonne sulked and shrugged at the time.

She checked her beautiful new watch again. It was now a quarter after six. They were in minute forty now.

---

Rick Grimes checked his watch. His nerves felt frayed in a way that startled him. Intellectually, he knew for sure that he was getting married today but he'd inherited a little of his fiancée's cynicism or better yet, realism...and he knew despite that surety, anything could still happen.

A second later, he checked his waistcoat again, feeling for the golden bands sitting in the pocket. He smoothed down the fabric and sighed when he felt them before straightening his bowtie and then shoving his hands back into his blazer pockets. It was weird, suddenly he didn't know what to do with his hands. He stood at the mouth of the great room, near the top of the aisle, looking down toward the altar where the minister and Rick's best man/son Carl and soon-to-be step-son, Andre stood waiting and laughing together.

For some reason, Rick hadn't wanted to wait in the makeshift nave as men do normally. So, he stood near the door as if guarding the exit. Keeping people in or people out, he wasn't yet certain. It gave him a prime spot to watch as guests came and went and had allowed him to personally greet each and every wedding guest who had entered. That wasn't his intention but it beat standing at the end of the aisle waiting for the show to get on the road. And considering people were taking time out of their own Christmases to come and celebrate with him and his family, it felt like a nice touch.

Technically, the wedding should have started twenty-five minutes earlier, but Rick was no newbie. He couldn't recall the last time he'd attended a wedding that started exactly on time. He walked out of the great hall where the ceremony would take place into the large atrium of the old building. He looked around for a minute, getting his bearings. Built in the mid-seventeen hundreds, the old colonial mansion was now home to the historical society and a local museum that provided amazing views of the city glittering below it. But tonight, the interior views were breathtaking as well.

For their wedding and the season, the entire lobby was festooned in sparkling ornaments and tiny white lights. There was fresh aromatic pine garland lining the balustrade of the gigantic main staircase and the balcony railings of the entire second floor. A nine-foot gold and silver decked tree stood in one corner of the atrium. An enormous brick fireplace roared with life and the dark, polished walnut-paneled walls gleamed, projecting a soft golden glow throughout the rooms. Their four-tiered wedding cake sat upon the grand piano just off the ballroom where the reception would take place. It all gave the space the perfect mix of a cozy yet spectacular atmosphere that seemed to exemplify the season. Rick nodded to himself, confident in the fact that he and Michonne had made a good decision in choosing this historical site for their special day.

"You scared to do it again?" A voice coming up behind him asked, breaking into his long thoughtful silence.

Rick blinked and turned to a man standing suddenly at his side. Abraham Ford had appeared out of nowhere bouncing his daughter on his hip. The adorable little girl smiled at Rick with a toothless grin. Rick loved them at this age, chubby and drooling, with big heads, lots of curls and huge eyes, just brimming with personality that they couldn't yet express verbally.

"Scared to do what again?" Rick asked unclear about what Abe referred to but surprised by the prescience of the question anyway. He bent slightly and shook Lila's caramel brown, little drool-slick hand as the small girl giggled merrily.

"Commit. Get married again. Say, 'This is it for me, she's it and I can make her happy'," Abe clarified.

Rick looked at him and his daughter carefully. They had become friends initially because his girlfriend and Abe's wife were very close friends but over the past five years, Rick had become quite fond of Abraham himself. He was a big, barrel-chested, beast of a man, with a gruff demeanor but the heart of a teddy bear, especially around his wife and kids. He also had a great sense of humor and told a mean joke, most often at his own expense. More often than not, in fact, Rick found that Abe was joking even when he didn't crack a smile. Particularly when it served to lighten a mood, Abe loved messing around. Right then though, Rick wasn't sure if Abe was joking or not. Because for the first time that Rick could recall, Abraham seemed entirely serious.

"'Cuz I was. Man, was I," Abraham admitted while making faces for Lila to entertain her. "First time I did it, I was so young, shotgun, you know? The Missus had a bun in the oven, I was 21, headed into the Army. It seemed like the right thing, the responsible thing."

Rick nodded.

He'd heard some of this before but not all of it.

He knew, for example, that Abe had kids a bit older than Carl that only came around occasionally and it was a source of great pain to him. It was a shame too because Abraham so clearly doted on his children. He was one of the best and most fiercely protective fathers Rick had ever met...yet he was also obviously and humorously completely wrapped around his daughters' fingers. The Ford girls got away with murder while Abe stood around and watched or occasionally, acted as their cheering section.

"...But I also did it because I thought I was in love." Abe continued with his odd confession as Lila grabbed at her father's mustache.

"Ten years and a nasty divorce later, I realized I had made a hash of it all. The truth was, I had had no idea what love was. Not real love. And by the time I finally met Sash, I wasn't sure I had it in me to try again and risk possibly fuc—" Abe looked down at his daughter then. "Um, fudging it up again. I was terrified to let this beautiful, vibrant young woman with her whole life ahead of her take a chance on an old, ginger dope like me. But I was also scared to let her go without at least trying. I didn't think I could do it again, but luckily she knew I could. And thank God I learn quick, 'cuz she was right. She's always right. Remember that: they're always right."

Rick laughed almost in spite of himself realizing that this was Abraham's attempt at words of encouragement. He cupped his hands over his face and then revealed it, playing peek-a-boo with the baby as he contemplated her father's words. She giggled riotously, nearly jumping out of her father's arms and into Rick's.

He remembered fondly when both Carl and Judith had been that age. The two experiences had been distinctly different, but both were terrifying and thrilling simultaneously. With Carl, Rick been a first-time father and completely green, terrified he'd screw something up and break his infant son. With Judith, however, he was newly widowed, blindsided and overwhelmed, unmoored by a grief that he couldn't allow himself to wallow in. Both times had been daunting tests of his mettle as a man and father, still, in the end, he wouldn't trade either experience.

So yes, he realized, he was scared to do something equally as scary again. Definitely.

But he would do it. Taking this leap with Michonne was something he had to do. And he knew it was something he could do because he'd already faced his fears as a man, things that were just as formidable yet rewarding ultimately and he had succeeded. Now, he would never have it any other way.

"Yep." Rick answered confidently then, suddenly aware that though he didn't know what type of "pep talk" this was or even if it was actually supposed to be one, it was working.

He smiled at his friend, Abraham, the sage.

"Point is, Rick, Michonne's a woman very much like like my Sash, brilliant, beautiful, accomplished and they could have had anyone they wanted. And yet they chose us."

Rick nodded silently acknowledging Abe's words while he mulled them.

"We're lucky they found us. I know it."

He remembered how many days he had watched Michonne hustling herself and Andre in and out of their neighboring limestone row house wishing for the nerve to just say something, anything aside from their customary "hellos" and "goodbyes" before he actually spoke to her. He remembered how many times her wanted to tell her how lovely he thought she was when all she was talking about was the weather. And he recalled all the times he tried to work up to a coffee or dinner invitation when they ran into each other at Carol's regular block association get-togethers.

"And they don't make those decisions easily, I know that..." Abe stated that as fact.

Rick also knew it to be true.

A full year after his neighbor and friend Mike's death when the idea of asking her out first came to Rick's mind, it all still seemed too fresh —the loss, for the both of them— to attempt it. Later, Michonne had just seemed too preoccupied, too focused and really too withdrawn for him to put it all out there. As a result, another year and a half went by before he found her waiting, virtually outside his front door, as if Santa had finally heard his very adult prayers and given him the one thing he'd truly asked for. And now, five years almost to the day, it was only fitting that Michonne should marry him at Christmas.

Nope, he knew Michonne was a catch and he was more than ready make this official. Rick didn't need anyone to remind him how lucky he was and how well things had worked out for him.

Rick smiled to himself, and the big guy with the small baby standing next to him smiled back with self-satisfaction.

"Yeah," Rick nodded again, concurring. "I do too."

"We're a coupla very lucky sonsabitches if you ask me. Yes, we are!" Abraham shook the babbling baby, to her delight, and spoke in a soft, singsongy voice for her benefit. But the words were directed at Rick.

"We are." Rick chuckled at father and daughter, exhaling some of that pent up nervous energy that had been plaguing him nearly all day.

"Don't I know it," Abraham leaned back, rocking on the heels of his dress shoes and raising Lila, in her frilly dress, up over his head. Abe nodded at her and as he did it, she screeched with excitement as Rick looked on grinning widely.

Just then, Carol passed Abe's other daughter, Miranda crossing paths in the hallway in front of both men but going in opposite directions with similar urgency.

"Oop, duty calls, I'm the designated kid wrangler tonight," Abraham announced giving Rick a quick but firm rap on the shoulder before hustling down the hall after his other daughter. "Randa! Where are you going with those keys? Are those Daddy's car keys?"

Rick turned and followed Carol with his eyes. He watched as she consulted with her daughter Sophia, sitting among the guests, and then saw when Sophia leaned forward to whisper to their neighbor Nora. Soon, it looked like every woman who lived on the 300-block of Arlington Street was digging hurriedly through their purses and clutches.

After a minute, during which they all seemed to come up empty, Carol walked back down the center aisle past Rick.

"Everything okay?" He asked surprised by how rattled he again felt so quickly. What the hell was going on?

"Everyone's hunky-dory, Handsome." Carol winked at him not even pausing in her stride past, but still giving him a near identical pat on the shoulder to Abraham's as she went.

Rick had a moment of indecision before deciding to follow her… at a distance.

---

There was another firm rap at the door that Sasha opened quickly.

"Any luck?" Sasha asked with eagerness, to which Carol shook her head.

"Nope. I blame tiny purses. You can only carry around the essentials now."

"What are you gonna do?" Judith raised her head from Michonne's lap briefly to ask.

Michonne looked down at her soon to be step-daughter and stroked Judith's head. She'd come in with Miranda a few minutes earlier and was now fully engrossed in the turn of events that had bored the other, younger girl. She and Michonne sat side by side on the large couch opposite the door. The young girl looked expectantly at the adults in the room waiting for a resolution to the new drama. Michonne realized then she was waiting for that too and all they had now was another cliffhanger. Would Michonne Hill, previous holdout and all-round grinch, but recent convert to the Christmas spirit, be completely and totally thwarted by fate…? It was stupid, she knew, no one was dead or dying and thus it wasn't that serious and yet it was hard not to be morose when it seemed like she was again being mocked by this thing everyone else seemed to love.

This was still not her season after all.

Mike had been the one who loved Christmas originally. He loved the songs and the smells, he loved how everyone smiled and gave each other glad tidings of the season. He loved the camaraderie and the spectacle of it. Shortly after they'd moved into their neighborhood, Mike was the one who took it upon himself to begin a friendly competition among neighbors for the best-decorated home. And through that competition, he'd become a friend and decorating rival to the guy next door, Rick. But that had been their thing, Rick and Mike's, and then later Mike's thing with their son Andre. It was not ever something Michonne participated in. She just hadn't ever felt that strongly about it. Having grown up in a family that preferred celebrating Kwanzaa, while keeping Christmas more about its religious implications...it just never thrilled her like it did others.

Then once Mike was gone, all the joy of the season went out of her and out of her life without him. She just couldn't be bothered to do more than the bare minimum. It went back to being just another day co-opted by corporations for commerce, a season that people used as an excuse to overindulge in every way possible and that her coworkers at her firm used as an opportunity to take advantage, because unlike them, she didn't mind working straight through it. Only for Andre did Michonne make any effort at all.

...that is, until Rick re-entered her life.

"I don't know, Pumpkin," Michonne answered honestly then. "I might walk out there in my sweater and jeans or better yet, naked, I suppose."

Judith looked at her wide-eyed, taking her at her word, with a combination of thrill and shock. Michonne chuckled to herself and shook her head. Although there was definitely a time in her reckless youth when either option would have been viable, it wasn't today.

There was another knock a moment later. They all looked up.

"If that's my husband again, I swear…" Sasha groused, walking to the door and opening it. "I told him to go keep Rick occupi—"

She stopped instantly when the man himself stood on the other side.

"Rick!" Sasha cried startled and Carol moved quickly to block the visual path to his wife-to-be.

"This is bad luck, Dad!" Judith exclaimed, scolding.

"Too late for that," Michonne said to her with a resigned sigh.

"Oh Michonne, hush!" Bertie said, frowning at her slightly.

"I-Is everything okay?" Rick asked, attempting to peer cautiously over and around the other women. They all moved evasively to keep him from seeing anything. "'Cuz, we're running late."

"What are you doing here? Where's Abe?" Carol and Sasha asked simultaneously.

Michonne could barely see Rick herself between all the women in front of him, except for the elegant legs of his trousers and its neat little break over his dress shoes. The tiny glimpse she got of his face before her "squad" moved defensively to protect her from his line of sight was enough though. With just that brief view and hearing his voice, she knew he probably looked good enough to be in an issue of GQ, just good enough to eat.

Her stomach actually rumbled at the thought, reminding Michonne, she hadn't eaten at all that day to fit into the blasted dress. At this point, she might as well send out for her new favorite: 20-piece McNuggets covered in Thousand Island and mixed with fries.

She jostled her daughter, who raised her little head and got to her feet as Michonne did, dragging her open dress up with her. As she rose, Bertie, Carol and Sasha jockeyed to further obstruct Rick's view of her, which was nearly impossible since she was taller than them and he was taller than all of them. But she realized quickly, he'd closed his eyes and placed his hand over them to prevent that. She could see him clearly though. She was right, Rick looked delectable. He'd gotten a haircut, short on the sides but still thick and wavy up top and a shave that left only the barest of his salt and pepper stubble remaining. His three-piece suit fit impeccably, with the white and platinum brocade waistcoat and bowtie that matched her dress peeking out from his black blazer. If things had worked as they were supposed to, they should have looked amazing together.

She sighed again heavily. Of course, as usual, Rick looked great. It was like the season actually imbued him with superpowers.

"I don't know that it matters anymore, girls, let him take a good look at the Heffalump," Michonne sulked.

"Girl, hush. Self-pity is not a good look on a bride." Bertie said channeling their grandmother to Michonne's annoyance.

If there was ever a moment to think the sky was falling, this felt like it.

"No, uh-huh, nope," Sasha said with adamance, pushing Rick back from the door with a firm palm square in the center of his chest. "This isn't settled yet."

"Everything is fine," Carol added to him. "Just like I said, Rick. Now, shoo!"

"Everything is not fine!" Michonne amended, kicking at the bottom bouffant hem of her dress that she was still holding up, only by an arm wrapped around her midsection, as if to illustrate. "This is not fine!"

Rick stepped forward again, his voice coated in concern. "Mich, honey?"

He spoke blindly still holding his hand over his face. Michonne watched then as he lowered his head and spoke in hushed tones with Roberta, Sasha, and Carol. They all whispered. It sounded like they were hagglers at a bazaar. Then a moment later, Sasha and Carol looked up and turned toward her and Judith.

Whatever was decided, it looked like they'd lost to see their faces, Michonne thought.

"Jude baby, why don't you come with Aunt Bertie? We'll let your Mom and Dad have a couple of minutes alone," Bertie said gesturing toward Judith to come with them.

Michonne looked down at Judith, who had an arm tightly wrapped around her waist and leaned into her side right under Michonne's arm. "I'll see you in a few minutes. Go see what your brothers are up to."

"No peeking!" Carol admonished as she walked out behind Judith and Bertie, leaving Michonne standing directly in view of Rick.

"Go stand behind the door," Rick instructed, hand still shielding his eyes, looking at the ground and stepping to one side of the door as Michonne moved to the other.

Sasha gave Michonne a quick and encouraging squeeze as she walked out behind the small group.

Michonne leaned lightly against the door and could tell when Rick did the same on the other side.

"You okay?" He asked gently once they were entirely alone.

Michonne took a deep breath. It felt like they hadn't seen each other in days even though she just saw him yesterday. It felt like all they had done recently was talk about the wedding or the remodel on the house or the sale of Rick's house or the kids at school or Carl in college or one of a million other mundane concerns.

"Getting cold feet?" He asked, surprisingly calm for the nature of the question.

"Never," Michonne reached out past the door and in what she saw as a perfect metaphor for their relationship, Rick's hand instantly appeared to grasp it. He squeezed her palm and caressed her fingers with his own, intertwining them comfortingly.

"Are you?" She asked softly.

"Of course not," He said with the kind of certainty that one usually reserved for saying their own name. "And you're still feeling good about it?"

"I am now," She answered and realized at the same time that it was entirely true. She still didn't know what the hell she was going to do about the damn dress but she knew this was going to all work out somehow.

With this man, it would.

Rick brought her hand up to his mouth behind the door and kissed the back of it, then her palm.

"Oh-ho, all the lights are shining, so brightly everywhere," Rick suddenly began to sing to her in his surprisingly melodic and clear tenor. "And the sound of children's laughter fills the air..."

Michonne rolled her eyes. "You and this song. I don't know why you sing it to me. I keep telling you: I really hate it!"

Yet, it was his favorite Christmastime song for some reason. He turned it up every time it played in its heavy seasonal rotation on the radio. And no amount of dissuading on her part seemed to be able to get Rick to drop it from his karaoke repertoire. Or stop him from singing it directly to her. Every. time.

"...And everyone is singing. I hear those sleigh bells ringing." Rick continued undaunted as Michonne broke out in a smile against her better judgment. "Santa, won't you bring me the one I really need?"

A second later, she felt something in her palm. Pulling her hand back from the other side of the door, Michonne found his silk bowtie in her hand, "Wha—?"

"Won't you please bring my baby to meee?" Rick dangled his suit jacket past the door next.

"Rick Grimes, are you stripping for me?" Michonne said flabbergasted as she took it from his hand. "Now?"

"If that's what it's gonna take for you to come outta here and marry me, then yeah." He spoke then. "We can do it in our street clothes, our skivvies. I really don't care, as long as we do it."

"I don't want a lot for Christmas. This is all I'm asking for," His voice rose confidently then as he went back to the song, belting out the rest like a troubadour. His voice resounded down the halls, sounding particularly melodious in the good acoustics of the building. "I just wanna see my baby, standing right outside my door."

"Rick," Michonne began, mortified.

"Oh, I just want you for my own. More than you could ever know," He went back to the chorus of the song loudly as Michonne stepped out from behind the door to see him, eyes squeezed shut, face filled with emotion, down on one knee, unbuttoning his waistcoat. "Make my wish come truuuee! Baby, all I want for Christmaasss, iiiis yoooouuu…"

"Ohhh baaaaby…." Behind him and down the hall, they both looked and saw a small crowd made up of some of their guests and the event staff watching him serenade her with delighted expressions. The teenaged waitstaff had chimed in with a sudden bright and sweet harmony.

"All I want for Christmas is yoooouuu… baaaaby!" They all finished like a choir, repeating it and clapping along with feeling as Rick belted out the lead. "All I want for Christmas is yooouuu, baaaby!"

"Rick!" Michonne laughed self-consciously, grabbing him by the shoulders and clumsily trying to get him back to his feet while still holding up her dress. The crowd cheered as they dispersed when Rick finally stopped singing and opened his eyes.

"Michonne...My God, you look..." He started as he got a good look at her, the words clearly caught in his throat.

Rick got back up quickly then and stepped back from her before slapping his hands over his eyes and looking down at the ground again.

"Shit, Babe, I wasn't supposed to see!" He panicked. "Damn! I'm sorry!"

"Rick, Rick," Michonne said soothingly. "It's okay. It doesn't matter. I'm over it."

Michonne realized suddenly then, If this was the goofy, lovable, gorgeous guy she was lucky enough to be marrying today, she would willingly do it if only in her garter and corset—

Suddenly, an idea came to her. Michonne jumped into his arms, grabbing him by his lapels and kissed him deeply to Rick's surprise.

"I'm so stupid! And you, my darling man, are brilliant!" Michonne said into his stunned face, wiping her lipstick from his lips with her thumb. "Go get your cute ass in position. Tell the girls to come back in here. I'll see you in ten."

Rick nodded stunned. "Well, I guess I'll need my jacket and tie back, then."

Michonne grabbed his suit jacket from the doorknob and helped him back into it. "I'm thinking you look cuter without the bowtie, actually."

"Okay, good note." Rick chuckled as he slipped his blazer over his shoulders and she straightened his collar, smoothing down his shirt.

Michonne gazed at him longingly in his delicious suit, lamenting the fact that they couldn't skip the whole ceremony thing altogether and move right along to the Honeymoon.

He winked at her seductively, reading her face before turning to walk back down the hall. "See you soon, Mrs."

"Can't wait!" Michonne grinned, excited for the first time all day to get down the aisle to him.

She felt like she could sprint there now.

Michonne knew she loved that man more than words could say but finally, she was ready to glide down the aisle into his arms and profess it before friends and family.

---

He was marrying a divine creature, of that, Rick was suddenly certain.

It was very nearly more than his poor mortal heart could take right then. He brushed a tear from his eye with his thumb, undone by the magnitude of the moment. He knew that this wasn't Michonne's thing. Even the big wedding itself wasn't necessarily her style. So he was all the more moved by how seriously she had taken it all, every little thing, purely because of how much she knew Rick loved it. He knew she'd been driving herself crazy in the past few days, just to make sure everything was perfect and it was. He was happy. He felt like the luckiest man on the planet that she would go through all of it just for him. Even the way she looked at him right then, like he set the sun in the sky was enough to make his chest puff out and have him strutting around like a gamecock.

Rick looked over at their kids, each grinning widely, and knew they were as excited for this as he and Michonne were. It was all perfect, and he hoped Michonne recognized it. Everything imaginable could have gone wrong and he still knew it couldn't have been any better than this. This moment, right now.

He knew it.

What he didn't know was, what exactly he'd said to get Michonne to come out of her dressing room? He was fairly certain it wasn't his impromptu serenade, but whatever it was, he thanked God it worked.

Rick's chest constricted as he watched his gorgeous bride coming down the aisle toward him accompanied by her son. His heart thudded in his ears almost ringing. He was nervous again, he nearly shook with anticipation as she approached slowly. He thought she looked exquisite in her white gown. It was as perfect as he'd heard it was. And it was as if there had never been a question of the fit. Michonne even wore sprigs of mistletoe in her updone hair in yet another nod to his favorite season.

Even on an average day, Rick always thought Michonne looked amazing. As she ran around the house in the mornings in her business suits, rallying their troops to their assorted duties, school for the kids and work for him, she looked like the most powerful, sensual lawyer of all his dirtiest fantasies. Then, in jeans and a t-shirt rummaging around or running errands, she was magnificently sexy. And when she wore nothing at all but one of his shirts lounging in their bedroom with the Sunday paper, he thought she looked like the subject of a classical masterpiece in repose. But right then, walking down the aisle toward him smiling, a vision in silver and white with a wintery bouquet of sterling roses, Michonne looked like a goddess.

"Who gives this woman to be married to this man?" The minister asked, when they arrived, in a booming voice.

"Her family and I do," Andre said at the same time that Michonne spoke for herself as they had rehearsed.

"I do."

Rick smiled at them both as Michonne bent slightly to kiss her son's cheek, before turning back to face him. She gave her bouquet to Carl standing at his father's side, doling out another kiss to him as well. Rick took her hands in his then and she stepped closer to him grinning. She squeezed Rick's fingers, just like he often did to her whenever she got nervous.

"Hi," She rubbed her thumbs over the back of his hands. Instantly, he felt bolstered and moored by her strength and certainty.

"You look amazing," He whispered to her under his breath as the minister began to speak to the congregation. "What did you do?"

Michonne smiled, leaning forward and speaking breathily to him. "I followed your lead and just took some stuff off."

Rick looked down at her dress suddenly with understanding, a sly smile creeping over his face nearly identical to the one he saw on hers.

"Yep, it's just me, your tie and some fuzzy bunny slippers under this dress now. I just figured, 'Au naturel, what the hell?'" She shrugged. "'The slippers can be my something new.'"

"And my bowtie?"

"Well, that is my something borrowed...and it makes for a nice bow for you to untie your present later." Michonne winked suggestively. "Merry Christmas."

Rick nearly burst out laughing in the minister's face. The reverend looked at them both with an amused forbearance and an arched eyebrow, never stopping his sermon.

He adored this woman, Rick thought then.

But knowing how far they'd come, and how much she must have loved him to do all this, that was the real gift.

And for both Rick and Michonne, understanding that starting today they had the rest of their lives together made this their best Christmas ever.