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Rick sat diligently by Michonne’s bedside, quietly memorizing every line, every bruised, beloved feature, counting every breath that heralded her survival. That’s what she did…what they both did—they survived.
He didn’t take it for granted; knew Fate was a fickle, callous bitch hellbent on proving him wrong. Might steal Michonne from him. Or him from her. Loss the price required to endure in this new feral landscape.
He clenched his eyes shut, the image of a body plunging to the ground as a female shriek tore through the sky seared in his brain on an endless loop. The moment he thought he lost her something he’d never get over; one he’d carry as an impossible possibility every day that followed.
He really should have known better, that his Michonne would glower in the face of death and tell it to fuck the fuck off. Not today, Asshole. Not tomorrow either.
Because we fucking survive.
“You think this is bad,” the soft, strained voice of the woman he loved sounded below him. Rick’s eyes popped open, bloodshot and weary as they met her amused but pained stare.
“I’m sorry, Baby,” he tried to whisper through the sheen of tears, the words more mouthed than anything else. Still somehow, she heard him.
She always heard him.
“I’m good,” she declared valiantly. “You should see the other guy.”
“Oh Darlin’, I did,” he answered gruffly, wishing he could take the piece of shit who’d hurt Michonne and kill her again for good measure. Not that Michonne ever needed him fighting any battles for her. Obviously. He existed most days well aware that she was fiercer and more fearless than he could ever hope to be. If anything, he drew his strength from her. Michonne…his breath. His reason.
“Bitch messed me up pretty good, huh?” she said with a strangled cough, wincing as the shaking motion made her hurt all over. He wanted to gently admonish her, beg her to stop talking, to save her strength and heal, but nobody told Michonne what to do.
He wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Ain’t nothing messin’ you up for me,” he promised, reaching out to stroke her cheek on the side of her face that wasn’t beaten to hell and back. Though undeniably gorgeous any and every day—bloodied and battered, to him still beautiful all the same—her resilience and intelligence turned him on the most.
“Look at you, trying…” she fought for a breath, managing a half smile even through a grimace. “Tryin’ to sweet-talk a dying woman.”
He leaned down, touching his forehead to hers, tone wrapped in steel. “You better fucking not.”
She chuckled. It healed at least one precarious crack in his heart, though he knew he’d be seeing her in that crumpled, bloodied heap against the wall in all of his worst nightmares hereafter. “Damn right, I’m…not.”
“You better fucking never.” She was the bravest person he knew, so loyal it undid him. So good to him…to his kids. So good for him…for his kids. All while looking like sin in leather pants and a tight little vest.
His perfect match. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. Or his hands. Would go to his grave wanting her. Go to his grave humbled this fucked up world had brought him someone so divine—someone worth fighting for. He’d forever be grateful. Unworthy, but fuck if he wasn’t claiming her anyway. As long as she’d have him. He hoped and prayed she’d have him for-fucking-ever.
He heard the gentle clearing of a throat behind him, turning to see his son waiting. “Dad, we need to…” Carl trailed off, gaze unbearably fond as it trailed to Michonne. “Hey Michonne.”
“Hey Carl. What…cha know?”
“Nice work kicking ass out there,” he answered with a small smile.
“Yeah, same.”
“It was mostly the tiger.”
“The what now?” She yawned then flinched, her unswollen eye drooping ominously as exhaustion swept up to take her from them. “Sounds like you have a story.”
“Later,” Rick grinned, heart lightened by the easy interaction, Carl and Michonne’s friendship a treasure he held close. She never tried to replace Lori, just provided her own unique and steady form of support. He stood, leaning down to kiss her forehead, fingers twirling in her hair because he was a little obsessed with it. A little obsessed with everything about her. “Rest now. You earned it. I’ll go take care of business.”
“Go,” she returned firmly. “Take care of business. But you come back to me.” Her face shifted to Carl, who had moved behind him. “You both come back to me.”
“Always,” Rick promised with a solemn nod. “Always.”