Table of Contents [Report This]
Printer Chapter or Story


- Text Size +

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.


Coming Home


"Carl! Come take one of your brothers from your mother so I can help her into the house!" I yell up the stairs. It's early morning, very early, and I know my son is still sleep, but as soon as Corey said Michonne and the babies could come home, I scooped them up. I may have gone a little overboard, driving them from just three blocks over, but I know that after the boys' painful delivery the other day, she is still recovering and probably too tired to walk. And, simply put, I don't want her to have to lift a finger, to do anything she doesn't want to do. After watching this woman, my love, go through what she did, bringing those boys into this world, with nothing but her own willpower and strength, I am more in love and in awe of her than ever before.


Add to that, Corey thinks she may be suffering from Post-Partum Depression. He said he took note of how overwhelmed she seemed, lethargic, melancholy. It was not something he expected from her given how put together she always seems, stalwart, logical, and that she had a baby before, but that it can happen to anyone. He advised that it may go away on its own, but she may need some encouragement and support, and that's what I'm here for. Given all of this, anything I can do to make things easy, stress free, and relaxing for her, I'm doing it


Shirtless, bursting down the stairs, Carl comes into view, grumbling at the early wake up call. "Dad, you didn't tell me Mom and the babies were coming home today."


"I know. Corey told me just a little while ago, so here we are. Come on, I need your help."


Coming down the front steps, exiting the house, I stop short, a broad smile across my face, taken aback by the sight of her, as though I hadn't just seen her moments before. Standing before me is my wife in her short, blue, cotton nightgown, next to the car at the curb, attempting to walk towards the house, with both babies in her arms. She makes a beautiful, maternal picture, one that instantly hits me like cupid's bow to the heart, but I need her to let us help her. Always trying to do things on her own, I'm going to have to remind her that Corey said she needs to take it easy, relax, and let her body, and her stitches heal.


Honestly though, if it wasn't so early in the morning, I would have Aaron come take her picture. To capture and carry with me always the beauty of this moment. That is how arrestingly stunning she is. Standing there, the sun against her back, my boys nestled against her bosom, she's the post-apocalyptic Madonna. Maybe in a more voluptuous and arousing package, but just as divine. The nightgown, one of her favorites, is no longer snug across her stomach, but it still is in other places. The thin spaghetti straps and lattice top provocatively hug and lift her much fuller breasts, almost to the point of spilling over the top. My wife has much more than a handful now, and my mouth waters at the thought of their warm plushness in my mouth, the sweet softness in my hands. No longer tight with the bursting fullness of my sons, her stomach is not completely flat, but it has definitely gone down, and draws a striking contrast to the petite cinch of her waist, against the wide curve of her womanly hips. Her dusky skin is glowing with a dewy brush of sweat from the early heat of the day. Stopping just about mid thigh, the nightgown billows in the wind, showcasing the sexy length of her thick thighs and long legs. And with her hair up, knotted atop her head, her delicate swanlike neck showcases the classic beauty of her face. A face blessed with eyes the color of the deepest dark roast, and the most kissable juicy lips I have ever had the pleasure of tasting.


Snapping out of my lustful perusal of Michonne, I'm back in action. "Chonne, what are you doing? Wait! Let Carl and I help you." I rush over to her, taking the chunkiest of the two boys, Richard Jr., or Junior as he's become known, from her.


"I can do it, Rick, you don't have to." She says in a quiet, tired voice. "Morning, Carl. Where's your shirt? Where's Judith?" She asks, looking from his naked torso to the front door of the house in confusion.


"Hi, Mom. Welcome home." Carl says, reaching out to take Jamie from his mother, and holding tightly to the tiny bundle. Leaning down he places a kiss to her cheek, and responds. "She's in the house still sleep. Maggie and Hershel got here really late last night, and she was up playing well past her bed time."


"That's nice. It will be good to see her and Hershel. It's been a while."


Snugly carrying Junior in one arm, I've got my other arm around Michonne's waist, keeping her tiny body close to mine. With a light touch around my waist for support, she's walking gingerly up the stairs beside me.


"Take your time, baby." I remind her, excited to have her and the boys home, our full family all under the same roof.


Entering the house, she stops in the door and takes a look around, gasping a little in surprise, as she surveys the changes that have occurred over the two days since she has been at the infirmary. The house is clean, and there are gifts everywhere. They have been pouring in ever since her delivery day walk to the infirmary. Though most folks don't have much more than anyone else around here, it was heart warming to see people bringing whatever they had, food, homemade goods, letters, cards, whatever, just to say congratulations and to welcome the babies. Tobin who is a fairly good carpenter brought over two small wooden cradles for the boys, that are setup next to the couch. Laid inside of each are homemade pillow like mattresses, and a few knitted blankets that one of the ladies made and brought over. Then there are beeswax candles, scented with rose oil, sitting on the island in the kitchen. They are a new addition, and I have no clue who brought those over, along with a bouquet of roses that accompany them. This is all in addition to the food and gifts that were brought over to the infirmary.


"Oh wow! Where did all of this come from? I thought there was already so much at the infirmary." Tears glossing her warm brown eyes, elegant fingers to her lips, she looks to me and smiles. "I can't believe everyone did this for us."


"They did this for you. Everyone loves you, Chonne, you know that." Kissing her cheek, I usher her over towards the couch so she can get a better look at the cradles. Running her fingers over the smooth sanded wood, admiring Tobin's fine craftsmanship, she is temporarily speechless. Despite her lack of words, the tears continue to sporadically fall in diminutive drops across her cheeks. Corey told me to expect this. That sometimes the decrease from the pregnancy hormones can contribute to a feeling of sudden emotion, sometimes sadness, even in the midst of such happiness. I think that may be a part of it, but I think there may be something else there as well. Something I have never seen in my lady before, but whatever it is I'm still with her. I will help her through it.


The depression is one of the reasons I'm glad that not only is Maggie here to help out, but that Gabriel visited with her at the infirmary, and that Corey spent some time with her as well. Throughout her pregnancy he has been a big help, and I'm ashamed to say that I was less than welcoming to him in the beginning. But, his advice and guidance has been invaluable, so far, so I will continue to listen. One of the things that Corey suggested, is for her to take advantage of the sunny days we are enjoying this summer. It's still very hot, and the sun can apparently do amazing things for one's mood and overall health. I have taken a lounger from one of the empty houses, and placed in the back yard for her. I hope she will take advantage of it, as I desperately want this to be as enjoyable a time for her as it is for me. But again, I think I have figured out why this is entirely bittersweet for her.


"It's all wonderful, and so kind. We have to figure out how to thank everyone, Rick."


"Of course. Are you hungry? I know it's early still. Or do you want to take a nap? You just fed the boys, and they're napping right now, so nothing to worry about there." I ask, searching her face for some inkling of what she wants to do.


"Is it ok if I just lay down here on the couch? Take a quick nap? You can lay the boys here in their cradles so I can hear them if they wake up. I'm just really tired." She says, leaning to the side and slowly lowering her body down on the couch.


"Sounds good." Placing Junior in one of the cradles, I nod for Carl to lay Jamie in the other. Grabbing the throw blanket draped over the back of the couch, I shake it out, and gently cover her relaxed form with it. Crouching down in front of her I kiss her full sweet lips, and wipe the remainder of the wetness her tears left behind from her cheeks. "I'm gonna run upstairs and shower, then I will come down and fix some breakfast. And, I think Maggie and Hershel will be over a little later. Yell if you need something. I don't want you doing too much, ok? Take it easy for a little while."


"Yeah, Mom. Holler if you want something." Carl yells, heading back upstairs. His loud voice causes the boys to rustle and fuss a little bit. I hold my breath, hoping they settle themselves back down. Knowing they will be back up in two hours to eat, like clockwork, I need to make the most of this window to get cleaned up and everyone fed, before I need to help my wife with feeding. Clenching my jaw at the carelessness that Carl sometimes displays, I have to close my eyes to collect myself for a moment.


A small lazy smile ghosts across Michonne's lips, as she's settling in to doze off to sleep. A few mumbles of words escape her, "Ok. I'll be right here." With that she closes her eyes.




Heading back downstairs, not even thirty minutes later, I look to the couch and the cradles to check in on Michonne and the boys. Junior is still sleep, flat on his back, swaddled tightly. Jamie on the other hand, is wide awake, quietly looking around, cooing to himself. I've only known them for two days, but I can already see a little of their own personalities peeking through. Junior is like me, he's fire. When he wakes up, when he's hungry, and when he's wet he's hollering to let you know. He's got a little temper, but he's also easy to satisfy if you give him what he wants. That will serve him well in this world where sometimes it's simply a matter of survival, kill or be killed. On the other hand, Jamie is like his mama, simply cool. He'll give you some time to get to him, just don't take too long. He doesn't fuss much, and he's always watching, learning, absorbing his surroundings. As Carl observed yesterday, he's very chill. Of course it's still early, and things may change, but it's interesting to notice.


And to be honest, I'm in love with these boys, my boys. They are some cute little guys. While Michonne thinks they resemble me the most, carrying my dark curly hair, eye color and hawkish nose, when I look at their little faces all I see is her. The wide set of their big eyes, their full cheeks and lips, the dusky tint of their skin, a clear nod to their mother. It's all her, and I love that every time I, or anyone looks at them they will see her. Her body did something selfless and amazing to care for them and deliver them here safely, so all of the honor and glory of their cherubic likeness should belong to her.


Seeing that Jamie and Junior are fine, and not in need of any immediate attention, I make my way into the kitchen, wondering where Michonne has gotten off to. Still healing from her stitches, I seriously doubt she made it up the stairs on her own. Opening the refrigerator to see what I can make for breakfast, I hear hushed voices coming from the open window by the front porch. I can't quite make out the angry bass of the male voice, but I can hear my wife's calm whisper asking for whoever it is to keep it down. Her plea instantly peaks my interest and I move closer to the window to try and make out the conversation.


"Sorry, I didn't realize my voice was so loud. I just came by to see if you got the flowers, and the candles I left here for you. I didn't want to bring them by the infirmary, and just left them on the porch last night."


"It's ok. You just need to keep your voice down because the boys are sleeping here in the living room. I didn't realize those things were from you. Thank you." 


"You're welcome. The roses came from the bulbs you planted in my backyard. Remember?" 


"Yes. They turned out beautiful. We didn't even think they would grow. But they did. How nice." She remembers, a whimsical lilt to her voice.


"Like us. They just needed time to mature, to grow, to turn into something beautiful."


"What do you mean, Scott? Are we still talking about the roses?" Nervousness is now in her voice, evident by the way she clears her throat. 


"I told you then, Michonne, when I asked you to marry me. I loved you then, I love you now. If you had moved in when I asked you to, when you planned, we could have turned out as beautiful as those roses. Those babies could have been ours. They would have been ours. I wanted to give you a family, just like we talked about… This should have been our life, Michonne. Not you and Rick's. You know that." Scott says, dismissing her nervousness, asserting his point.


"Scott, that is all in the past. I'm sorry I hurt you, I really am. You are such a wonderful guy, and you helped me so much when I got here. But, things turned out the right way, the way they were supposed to. I never could have really walked away from Rick. He's in my blood, he just is."


He scoffs at her admission, continuing to plead his case. "Michonne, the day is going to come when you realize that he can't love you like you deserve. He can't make you happy, and be what you need. It's not his fault, he just doesn't know how to love a woman like you. He might be interested now, but when you were with me, who was he with? He was busy killing Pete to get to Jessie. That's what he likes, weak, needy women. That's not you, Michonne. And when he's tired of you not needing him, the next chick who does is where he'll be. But, that's ok because when he does mess up, I'll be there for you, and your kids."


"Wait a minute, Scott, I-" She says, but he cuts her off in desperation. 


"I love you, Michonne. I try so hard not to, to forget about what we had, but then I see you, and it burns me up all over again, how he took you from me. I miss you, your laugh, your smile, your kisses. Do you miss me? Do you ever think about me? Hmm. When he's not around, do you remember how happy we were, trying to find our way together? How we made each other feel?"


I can't listen anymore, quietly spying on their conversation. Rage is building in the core of me, rushing through my veins, dangerously engulfing me in its flames. Attempting to calm myself, to not create a situation with the babies sleeping in the other room, I take a few breaths. Making the mistake of looking through the blinds and out to the porch, I see that Scott is holding Michonne's hand, rubbing his thumb across it, and there is nothing else I can do. Like I've been given new batteries, my body jumps into action, swinging open the front door, charging out onto the porch. Marching directly up to Scott, I haul my fist back and punch him in his jaw, feeling the satisfying crack against my knuckles. He's taller than I am, and has a few pounds on me, he doesn't go down, but staggers backwards. I caught him off guard, he's hurt, and the savage anger his words planted in my head have me poised to kill. Head hung over, he's clutching his jaw as blood leaks from his busted lip. Catching sight of him now weakened has my adrenaline firing, and my next instinct is to completely obliterate him. Clenching my fist, I'm growing angrier at the feeling of tenderness in my knuckles caused by the punch.


Something stops me though. The soft grasp of my wife's gentle hand soothes the beast, and pulls me from the brink of utter madness. "Rick…" Her voice calls to me, breaking through the cloud of rage imprisoning my head and heart.


"Go in the house, Chonne." I command, my sights steady on Scott. Even though I can feel her calming presence and touch on my arm, I can't back down. Every fiber of my being is unable to relinquish the passionate fury smoldering within me, from seeing him hold her hand, and hearing him profess his love to my wife. I want to listen to her, but I can't.


"Please, sweetheart. Let's go inside. Ok?" She begs, tenderness in every word, drawing my attention to her. Making eye contact with me, never once looking away, she addresses him with an abrupt terseness. "Scott, leave."


"He's only out here ready to fight because he knows I'm right, Michonne! I'm the better man for her, Rick. If you really knew her and loved her, you would know that, you'd let her go." Scott angrily screams, no longer trying to keep his voice down.


Swinging my focus back to Scott, I tilt my head to the side, squinting my eyes, gathering my thoughts. "I'll kill you if you come around my wife or children again. Mine. I suggest you forget her, forget she exists. Do you understand me?" I promise him, and I intend to keep my promise. My wife's presence, stroking my arm with one hand, hand over my heart with the other, is diminishing my anger. I'm still anchored in place though, tensely prepared to continue this fight.


"I'm not going anywhere. When you fuck up, just like before, I'll be waiting." He responds in defiance. Looking from my violent glare, and over to Michonne, his eyes soften. Standing up straighter, his anger more subdued, he addresses her directly. "I will never forget you, Michonne. I love you still."


After Scott left, Michonne and I went back into the house. Surprisingly, Junior was still sleep, and Jamie was still unbothered. But Carl was waiting in the kitchen, his steely gaze on the door, and like his father, ready for a fight. Commenting in an emotionless voice, that she just needed to rest, Michonne asked Carl to help her up the stairs, and for me to watch the babies. At the bottom of the steps, I witnessed her haltingly make her ascension with Carl's help, then turn right towards our bedroom.


Sitting on the couch next to the babies, I'm once again forced to confront my own shit. Self-awareness is a hell of a thing, and being with Michonne has allowed me to embrace, to really take stock of who I am, who I want to be. On the one hand I'm frustrated that the whole Jessie debacle still clings to me like the annoying spray of a skunk. But on the other hand, the faulty way I handled it, and more importantly the way I went about everything with Michonne was not entirely to the right. When Michonne helped me out of the dazed craziness this place had me in, it was like having blinders removed, I could see everything so clearly. Looking upon my best friend, I could see her, who she really was, who she was meant to be in my life, and I wasn't going to lose her. I had to have her. Once my mind was set on that, I did go after her. Even though I sensed some hesitance, a sign I obviously misread as her being with someone else, it didn't matter. There was a part of me that always knew that we belonged together. That the yearning I had for her, that I always kept secreted away, was purely mutual, she had to feel the same way.


Like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon, I was finally ready to take a leap of faith with her, to get moving on this thing that started in my heart months ago. I took advantage of every opportunity for us to be together. We lived in the same house, there was already a domestic connection, and a heightened level of comfortability between us. We shared everything from soap to toothpaste, and through all of those reignited connections I felt like we were rebuilding our friendship that had suffered a damaging blow, and were fostering a more intimate link.


Reaching down to pick up my baby boy, Jamie, I recognize how simplistic his life and needs are in comparison to my own, to those of any adult really. In a gross over simplification, I thought that one day, like an epiphany Michonne would see past my missteps, and only see me. She would look at me, and realize that we had made it to the same place at the same time. That we both would figure out this love thing together, and that I would finally have what I wanted, Michonne. What I never accounted for, what Daryl so kindly reminded me of, was that Michonne is amazing, and beautiful, and not just to me, but to others as well. My lady is magic, and there are indeed other men who understand this, and want that magic for themselves. Who wouldn't want a unicorn? One coin from the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow? Even a piece, a speck of something so majestically untouchable?


Selfishly, I claimed all of her. I scooped up every ounce of love and affection she offered me, and I've never looked back to see how many others were left behind like so much collateral damage. When I finally had the nerve to clutch her hand on this same couch a year or so ago, to grab a hold of that dangling brass ring, my heart nearly bursting from my chest, I took the plunge of my life, and greedily devoured her. She was mine. She is mine.


Easily I can dismiss his claim that I don't know how to love her, that I would ever abandon her. How could I ever? Now that I have tasted her, been blessed by the true warmth and depth of her love, I am bewitched, there is no other woman for me, ever. Who could compare? No one, because there is no comparison. Not in my heart.


But, being honest with myself it just never even crossed my mind, never pierced the armor around my selfish heart, that maybe I wasn't what she needed. Is it possible that Scott was right, that because he was there for her when she needed him, and I wasn't, that he was the man best qualified to treasure her magic? Following this dark train of thought, I have to even wonder if everything I have been planning around this surprise wedding for her, is really just a way to lock down a commitment I don't deserve in the first place?


I hate the vacillation his charges are bringing back to the forefront of my mind. Haven't Michonne and I struggled with this back and forth, the doubt, the jealousy enough? I don't want anything to do with it, this is not going to be a running theme between my love and I. I'm making a conscious choice to let this shit go, for the sake of us, for our family.


Hugging my son close to my heart, inhaling the newness emanating from him, I take his patient smile, so very much like his mother's, as a positive sign. A sign that with similar lips, she has loved me, and promised me that I could trust in her love, in her fidelity. And I do. I have to. My deepening addiction to her won't allow for any other outcome. So that settles it. I'm not going to focus on the negatives, or how I feel about them anymore. From now on, I'm putting the jealous feelings aside, and I'm going to focus on my lady, the woman who has my heart, and has given me everything.


Hearing the hungry wails of my other son, Junior, quickly ramping up, I lean down and scoop him up as well, ensuring to support his neck. Marveling at the identical likeness of my boys, my head turns toward the stairs, wondering if Michonne is ready to feed them.


Making my way up the stairs, entering our bedroom, I see her laid demurely on her side, with her back to the door. Soft cries waft over her shoulders, and I can sense the weight of the immense sadness emanating from her. Rounding the bed over to my side, I call her name, gaining her attention. Staring up at me, her eyes are wet, stormy, filled with sorrow. Needing to touch her, to help alleviate or shoulder as much of the burden of her melancholy as I can, I gently lay the boys in front of her. I slowly run my hand cautiously from her shoulder to her arm, caressing up and down. "I think they're hungry, it's time for them to eat. I can bottle feed them though, if you'd like to rest some more." I nervously eek out, trying to assess her receptiveness to our presence.


Wiping her face, a glint of happiness sparks in her face, though fleeting, I can see that something about the thought of the closeness of her time with the boys brings her joy. "Yes. I will feed them. It actually makes me feel better, I think. The warmth of their little bodies so close to mine. Bonding." Dragging her body up to a sitting position against the headboard, she drops one of the straps of her nightgown, releasing her heavy, full breast. "Sit with us? Place Junior on your chest while I feed Jamie. Remove your shirt. Skin to skin, ok?" She asks, making room for me to sit on the other side of the bed.


"Sure. Whatever I can do, Chonne." I agree, grateful that she doesn't appear angry with me after the altercation with Scott. While I have decided to let it go, I can't help but wonder if she has come to the same conclusion. Or does she need to talk about it? Maybe it will be cathartic for her to say something, for us to hash it out. "So, do you want to talk about earlier? Is that why you were crying?"


"He's hurting, Rick, and part of that hurt is my fault. I don't know how much of our conversation you heard, but there was a time when he and I did discuss how to move forward, together, to build a life, a family. He did ask me to marry him. There was a time when we both wanted that. I feel sorry for him because deep down I knew that if you and I ever had a chance, then there was no way I could be the one to give that to him. That's why I never said yes to his proposal. And well, that's exactly what happened, isn't it? You came for me, and I hurt him. It agonizes me that he's so crushed, that I hurt him. You don't know him, Rick, but he has lost a lot too."


Thinking over her words, I prop myself up at the headboard as well. I remove my shirt, and unwrap Junior from his snug swaddling blankets. Happy to be free, he throws his little arms in the air, yawning and stretching. Chuckling at how demonstrative my boy is, I also take off his t-shirt onesie, and place him against my chest. Rhythmically running my hand across his tiny head, admiring the feathery softness of his curls, I finally respond to her admission. "I understand, Chonne. And I'm sorry I hit him, that it escalated that far. I heard him say he loves you, and saw him touching you, and I just couldn't stop myself. I'm trying to be better. I am." Glancing over at her feeding Jamie, I tilt my head to catch her eyes. "I don't want to keep doing this, keep riding this carousel of uncertainty. Going around in never ending circles about Jessie, and Scott, and whatever the hell happened before you belonged to me, and I belonged to you. My focus is on you, on what you need, this family, our future. Whatever he said doesn't matter to me anymore, unless you say it matters. Otherwise I'm done with it."


"Me too, Rick. Me too. I'm tired of it." Distress is vanishing from her eyes with my admission, and her declaration. Reaching over to my face, she runs her graceful fingers through my beard with a subtle touch, then runs her thumb across my lips.


Kissing her thumb, I ask, "What can I do for you, Chonne? Hm? Why are you so sad then, crying? What do you need from me?" I beg, needing to do something to fully assuage the general malaise that has befallen her since the boys' birth.


Letting her hand fall in between us, to grasp hold of mine, her head falls back and she closes her eyes. "Andre was a summer baby, too. I don't know what time of the year, month or date it is right now, I don't if anyone is keeping track anymore, I'm not. But, I remember that. The heat of that day was the same as the day the boys were born. The ghost of his features is so apparent in some of theirs. My lips and nose expressed on each of their faces, three of my boys." Stopping to allow more tears to run unabashedly down her face, she looks over at Junior, then briefly down to Jamie, both with their eyes also focused on her. "It destroys me. I'm sorry, it just does, and I don't want to ruin how joyous this all is for you. But, the memories of my sweet little peanut, my Andre, Rick, it's overwhelming. I didn't know how this would feel. The happiness these boys bring me, crashing against the sadness of losing him. It all just hit me that first day, and I'm trying to shake it, Rick, I promise I am. But, it-it…it's going to take some time I guess." Taking her hand from mine, she wipes at her eyes.


"Shhhh, shhh. It's ok. I get it." I reach out for her hand again. Grasping it tightly, I bring it to my lips, lovingly kissing her palm and each of her slender fingers. "Tell me and the boys about him. I want to know everything about my son Andre. The boys want to know their brother Andre. Tell us everything. You don't have to, but you also don't have to keep it all in. You don't have to suffer with all of those warring feelings on your own. Let's work through it as a family." I urge, seeking to unburden her the only way I can. "You know I would kill for you, Chonne, no question. But, I can't shoot this problem with my Colt. I can't hack away at it with my hatchet, or punch it with my fists. But, I can listen. You can lean on me. Shit, I always lean on you. You always keep me sane, let me do the same for you." I lightly laugh, wanting to inject some lightness into the conversation.


"Thank you, Rick. I will, give me some time, but I will." She nods, a tiny smile on her lips as she looks at Jamie finishing his meal, eyes lazily drooping as he's falling into a milk induced sleep. "Let's swap. You burp Jamie, and I'll feed my greedy little Junior."












Enter the security code shown below:
Note: You may submit either a rating or a review or both.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.