Chapter 11 – Rick

"You take care of your lady, Richard. You hear me?"

"Yes, Mom, I hear you. I will."

"She's such a sweet thing. And I'm so excited. You know I've been wanting more grandbabies for a long time. I just thought it wasn't going to happen for me. Maybe I was only meant to have my Carl. And that's enough, he's the best grandson I could have asked for."

"I know, Mom."

"But, now? Twins! And I'm gonna claim that Andre too, cause he's such a sweetheart. And smart to boot! Hot damn, I can't wait to rub this in your Aunt Regina's face! Oh and guess who else is having a baby? Hershel's daughter Maggie! The babies can all be friends! Wait til I tell him. You know he's always just loved you and Jeff. Kinda thought Jeff and Maggie might hit it off, but she's got an Asian fella as her boyfriend now, so Jeff is gonna have to find his own girlfriend." Rambling on and on, waving her hands expressively, my mother continues to ramp up her thrilled emotions around the pregnancy announcement. It's a dizzying twister of words that I'm fairly used to when she gets excited, but right now given the complexity of Michonne's pregnancy, and her general skittishness about it, I need my mother to bring it down a notch before Michonne comes out of the house.

"Mom, calm down." Placing my hand on hers, slowly easing them back to her sides, I give her a polite smile and still my voice. My father always says trying to calm her down is like herding cats, and I see what he means. She gets going and before it's all said and done she can have gone in so many different directions you won't know what she's talking about. That's a little too much for today. "Mom, you can't tell anyone yet. Mrs. Alexander can't tell anyone, and you can't either remember. I think you can hold out six weeks. Ok?"

"Alright. Why do we have to wait though? You already have the ultrasound pictures; you know she's pregnant. What am I missing here? Cause Hershel has already told half of KC about his grandbaby that's on the way. He's even got his own set of ultrasound pictures. I know cause I saw em when your father and I were at the Piggly Wiggly the other day and we ran into him over by the meat counter. He was getting a brisket for a dinner he was having with Maggie's fellas' parents. Kind of a meet and greet, welcome to the family sort of thing. We don't have to do that cause of course we know the Alexanders already, but when you bring Michonne to your grandparents' dinner this weekend she can meet the rest of the family. Get acquainted."

"Mom-"

"But I'm still wondering why all the secrecy? And again, Richard, where are my ultrasound pictures, and what am I missing here?" Quirking her eyebrow at me, and pursing her lips, tapping her little foot, she's waiting on me to sort through all of what she said and provide her with an answer.

Coming up behind me, catching me somewhat by surprise, Michonne's mother pats me on the back as if to say she's got this. "Amanda, what you're missing is that my daughter has a history of miscarriages. Her last two pregnancies with her ex-husband did not end well. I know the prospect of twins is something to celebrate, but, let's give it time." Michonne's mother offers, joining my mother and I as we stand out by her Buick.

"Oh, Nia, I didn't know that. I'm so sorry." My mother reaches out to Michonne's and places both her hands around one of hers, honest sorrow softening her green eyes. As a woman who was unable to have more children after my brother and I, I'm sure she has a particular soft spot for Michonne's predicament. "Rick, is this… are these babies going to make it? Is this something we should be worried about? I don't like what I'm hearing."

"She's seeing a new doctor, that's actually where we are heading to now. He's optimistic, but cautious. We are taking it one day at a time until we get the clear at six weeks."

"Well see there, Nia. Cautious optimism is good."

"It is good. It's great, but the only way to help Michonne right now is to be supportive, but realistic. I want these babies as much as the both of you do, but you didn't see her light get dimmer and dimmer with each of those miscarriages. My baby girl was sitting up in a hospital bed, alone, in pain. After the last one she was so withdrawn and closed off. Could barely function to take care of herself or Andre. That son of a bitch she was married to couldn't even put his own selfishness aside long enough to properly take care of his family when they needed him. My baby girl deserves so much better. And she's going to get it. Rick, you better take care of my baby. Do you understand me?" Worry and sadness shadow her beautiful face, a few frown lines actually showing around the corners of her mouth. It's a sight I have yet to witness, and its familiarity to the downcast pull of my lady's face when she is upset or sad, is simply uncanny.

"Yes. Absolutely. I know she's… worried. But, I just don't want to feed that. I'm worried too if I'm being honest. Every minute of every day." Rubbing my hand across my forehead I can sense a bit of straining tension forming there, along with a hollow sickness in my chest just thinking about Michonne alone in a hospital room. Crying. Hurting. Emotionally and physically depleted from the loss of yet another baby. I steal a moment to catch my breath, blowing out a long huff, turning my head heavenward in a gesture that will hopefully prevent the tears I can sense gathering in my eyes. "Worrying's not going to help, though. I'll take care of my family, Mrs. Alexander. I love Michonne, and this family is my priority. I will do my best. I promise." Making eye contact with the woman who so clearly resembles the woman that I love, I deliver a promise to her that I have already silently made to myself every single day since I fell in love with Michonne. Every. Day.

"You better." She sniffs, then transforms her face into a brilliant smile, that seems to completely set me at ease and lighten up the moment.

"Don't worry, Nia, Richard will do as he says. He'll take care of her, and in eight months we'll have two little miracles!"

"I hope it's that easy, Amanda, I really do. There is a lot happening, very quickly for my daughter. Michonne's body is older-"

"And Michonne can hear all of you, so you don't have to stand out in front of my house trying to unsuccessfully whisper about me." Exiting the garage, Michonne buttons her charcoal colored, wool coat over her body, and strolls lightly over to where we are standing by my mother's car. With a wide grin, as dazzling as her mother's, and that carries a hint of censure, but also understanding, she bumps my hip and stands next to me. Hanging my arm around her shoulders, I pull her underneath me, and into my side, dropping a kiss to her temple.

Darting her eyes to each of our mothers she addresses them in a calm tone. "Mom, Mrs. Grimes, we are both doing everything that we can to get a good outcome. I appreciate your concern. But, I don't think this is going to be like last time. I feel like I'm stronger, better. Physically and emotionally."

"You are, sweetheart, you really are."

"And Rick's right. My new doctor, Heath Morrow, is one of the best in the city. Very experienced in multiples and high risk pregnancies. I've shared my medical history with him. He knows about the past miscarriages, and the uterine scarring, said it's called Asherman's Syndrome. He also already figured out what Dr. Tucker never seemed to determine which is that me not expelling the placenta from Andre's birth, and the surgeons having to remove it surgically, is what caused the scarring. Told us it could have been removed with a high success rate. Dr. Tucker never even mentioned that to me. Maybe he was too old to know about this stuff, or who knows. Now, I'm informed, I've done research on my own, and listened to Heath, and I feel empowered. I am pregnant, with twins, and I'm fighting against every instinct to allow fear to consume me. It won't. Not this time. It's powerful, and painful, but I don't feel like I have to do all of this alone. Rick has been with me every step. I trust him with my life, and the life of our babies. Whatever happens, I'm not alone this time, and that means everything."

"You're never alone, baby. We've got this. However it turns out, we've got each other." I declare, hoping to add some finality to the discussion, ending it on a positive note.

I meant what I said to Michonne and our mothers earlier today, and I mean it now as I squint my eyes and push my glasses further up on my nose, trying my very best to make out the images on the ultrasound. With my other hand, I'm gripping tightly to Michonne's that rests in a tense fist at her side.

"So, what we see here is one gestational sac, and there right next to it is the other. See that? They're just kind of hanging out, growing, getting stronger. Your babies are developing right on schedule, I like everything I see here. Just like two weeks ago, everything still looks good with them."

"It's hard for me to make out what exactly is going on here. I can see the sacs, but they kind of look like…I don't know what they look like. Not babies just yet though." I absentmindedly mutter out loud, more to myself than to anyone else.

"Well it's still very early on, Rick. Your babies are about the size of a blueberry, and see that there, that's the spinal column for Baby A. And that there, these are the umbilical cords for each baby. Everything looks perfectly normal, guys. Normal babies." Heath directs our attention, pointing out different features on the ultrasound screen, as he moves the hand that is not guiding the wand inside of Michonne to capture the grainy image of our babies.

Heath keeps using the word normal. Is that normal? I feel like he's trying to calm us, to soothe the apparent concern etched across our faces. The power of his words is definitely conveying his confidence that everything with the babies is good. Normal. His caring, patient smile, and the measured rhythm of how he speaks is helping. He has a kind face, and a calming nature about himself. I can see why he's so in demand, and he's so good at what he does. Like everything else lately, I did a little research on Heath too and checked out some reviews online about him. Everyone seems to have been right about him. Thankfully he comes highly recommended and he didn't turn out to just be a nice guy I met in the produce section of Publix.

My shoulders droop in a relaxed release of the weight that I carry each day, each minute. The heavy burden of worry and concern. While it feels good to let it roll away from my body in billowing waves, I also welcome it. The crush of it reminds me of my purpose. This is my family. This is my woman, who is carrying my children, and my heart. My life belongs to them. With that comes my protection, my love, everything that I am. I am invigorated by this renewed sense of purpose. Even when I'm exhausted, like I am right now.

Removing my glasses for a moment I rub at my eyes. They're growing dry with the itchy sensation of me being tired, still in need of sleep. Michonne had me so wound up last night, that I wore her out, and myself in the process. While she instantly fell asleep, falling into a calm soundless slumber as she rolled to her side and curled into a satisfied ball, I stayed awake. Reading. Filling out paperwork. Not finally calling it a night until nearly three in the morning, knowing that I have to rise at five in order to get dressed, and back to KC in time for work. I'm exhausted, but relieved, proud.

Despite how I feel, I know that this is all a lot for Michonne, so I look to her, taking a moment to gauge how she's feeling, taking all of this in. I see that she's also smiling. A demurer, more secretly satisfied smile than my proud Cheshire grin. It's a smile nonetheless, and instantly I sense the feeling that often enjoins itself to her outward displays of joy.

This thing, this feeing washes over me when I see her like this. Happy. Whole. It's a warm flush. So foreign to the old me. It's become predictable now, following every time she smiles. This fantastical flutter of a bird's wings brushing against the rigid cage of the binding frame of my chest, seeking the freedom of flight. The freedom that can only be found in her smile, in her arms. It emboldens me to drown the insecurities that would hide my emotions, my love away, keep it sequestered and protected. My heart won't abide by that any longer. Instead, as I watch her, with tears softening the warm deep chocolate of her eyes, I internally whisper a prayer of thanks for her. For the babies. For all of this.

"That's good to hear, doc. I just wanna be sure everything is moving along the way it's supposed to. That we're ok."

"Well, it certainly looks that way for now. Experiencing any bleeding, or pain, Michonne?" Heath turns his head to center his focus on her. She's the real patient. I'm just the anxious dad, boyfriend, lover, patiently perched at her side. The dutiful witness to the miracles blossoming inside of her.

"No. I'm fine." She quickly dismisses, shaking her head and waving a hand as though the very thought of her not being fine is inconceivable. I have to school my face because my shock at her words is threatening to take over my face. This pisses me off. She does this all of the time. Saying she's fine when she's not. Discounting her own well being, as though her truly being fine is not important. It is to me. It's the most important thing to me.

"No, she's not fine. Half the time she's so tired she can barely make it a few hours without a nap. Then she's still throwing up everything that she eats. Even things that she has always hated. Smells, any smell almost makes her sick."

"Rick, you make it sound so dramatic. I'm ok, and all of this is normal right, doctor?"

"Well, you are having twins, so that does amplify the experience in a way. The eating, and sleeping are perfectly normal. It takes a lot of energy to grow one baby. Two babies is a tall order. Has the ginger not helped at all with the nausea?"

"Some. I will suck on the ginger and that does seem to help me keep down some food."

"If the nausea persists to the level where you are becoming dehydrated, or you are losing weight, we will have to take other measures. You have to provide your babies, and your own body with the sustenance to make it through this process. We could maybe consider an anti-nausea medication like Zofran if this continues throughout the pregnancy."

"I was reading about that, the throwing up. It's called…" Snapping my fingers attempting to recall off the top of my head the name of the disorder that I read about. "Hyperemesis. And that the drug you just mentioned can be helpful, and doesn't have any side effects, or birth defects associated with it. Can she get some of that?"

"Wow, Rick, you've been doing your homework I see. Yes, if this continues, Michonne may be experiencing hyperemesis, and Zofran might be an option. For now, though, we wait. This all might drastically improve in five to six weeks' time. Michonne, you may remember that the second trimester is much different. You get some energy back. Sex drive increases."

"The energy would be a benefit for her. The sex drive never left."

"Rick!"

"I'm just saying. He's not a stranger anymore, he knows you pretty well by now." Nervously my eyes switch from Michonne's face, to Heath's, then down to where his hand was just steadily holding the wand in place inside of her to capture the babies' images. It made me slightly uncomfortable the first time we came to see him. After he used the small handheld machine and wand to hear the heartbeats, I thought that was the height of his intrusion. I was wrong. I know that Carl is only 15, but I have somehow forgotten in all of those years how this goes. I went to appointments with Lori, I remember that. But for some reason I do not remember how familiar the doctor has to become with the patient.

Michonne got a little kick out of my discomfort at our last appointment, taking note of how my eyes widened when Heath donned a set of latex gloves and used his hand and fingers to internally check her cervix. It would be a lie to say that my initial thought wasn't to yank his hand away from my lady. It was. Only Michonne holding on to me, and maintaining eye contact throughout the exam kept me from at least questioning his every movement.

Despite the precariousness of this pregnancy, I am terribly excited. All of my information gathering is not just to support Michonne, but also to allow me to get some sense of real involvement in this experience. When Lori was pregnant with Carl she was as mean as a rattlesnake, and didn't seem to truly want me to be as enmeshed in the process as Michonne does. I went to appointments because I was interested, but for the most part Lori acted as though my presence wasn't entirely welcomed. I didn't even get to witness his birth. Carl came right along while I was out on a call at work, and by the time I got the notification that Lori was at the hospital, my son had already been welcomed into the world by Lori's family.

That kind of separation, the breadth and space that surrounded everything between Lori and I is not something I want to emulate again. I want to be apart of this. I want to feel my babies kick, watch them grow as Michonne's belly expands. I want to watch them being born. Everything. Hell, Michonne said even that asshole Mike had the pleasure of being there when Andre was born. No, this is my do over. My chance to get my life right, and finally have all of the things I've always wanted.

Bringing my attention back from my mind's stroll down memory lane, Heath offers more advice. "Sleep or rest when you're tired, eat healthy when you're hungry. Listen to your body, Michonne. Minimal stress, ok? I mean that maybe more than anything. Sometimes we discount the affect of stress on our bodies, but we are like machines. Too much pressure bearing down on us can be dangerous. So, let Rick help as much as possible. He seems prepared for it, and it's a good way for him to stay involved in what's going on throughout the next 8 months." Heath nods his head towards me, and offers some words of wisdom that I wholly agree with.

From the corner of my eye I can see that Michonne is staring at me, a slightly surprised look of wonder on her face as well, as though she is also somewhat surprised by my preparedness and level of engagement. Impressed might be the word, and it feels good to do that. To give her something to be proud of me for. Usually it's the other way around, and I find that I like this feeling coming from her. Not to say that she doesn't make me feel good about myself all the time, because she does. Honestly, she makes me feel like I can do anything. But Michonne is so put together, intelligent, and is used to moving in a world full of professionals, men with big money, that outside of the emotional pitfalls she has a habit of falling prey to, which are not even her own fault, she's pretty flawless. And not that it's a competition with her or anyone else, but it's good to be able to meet her on her level sometimes.

This is one of those times. For someone on the outside, my heightened need to understand and be prepared may seem a bit excessive. The reading, the research, the questions. But, for me, it's what I need to do. It's the best way for me to feel like I'm doing something to help get Michonne and our babies safely through this pregnancy. On the outside I have been attempting to show nothing but support and optimism to her. She needs that. I can sense it in the anxiety that laces every word she haltingly utters when discussing the pregnancy. The way she refuses to buy anything for the babies, even though I have a secret stash of onesies that I found at a small general store that sells her favorite boiled peanuts.

The onesies have a picture of little brown nuts being cracked out of their shells, their tiny arms and hands raised high, a look of cherubic exuberance stenciled on their made up faces. Noticing them on a rack next to the checkout counter, I chuckled at their cuteness at first, my quick eye check not fully registering the image. But upon a second glance, the presentation finally clicked with me and I let loose a fuller, more robust laugh. A full on hearty one that infectiously caused the woman behind the counter to begin nervously laughing as well. It was that moment, on that second look, that I recognized that the smooth toasty color of the peanuts is probably what our babies are going to look like. I couldn't not buy a few of them. Ever since then, in my mind, they are our little peanuts.

Lately I find that I have been hesitant to share things with her that I think might stress her, or cause her some angst. I haven't shared my general store epiphany, my stash of onesies, my extensive pregnancy research, the fact that I have been walking around with a diamond engagement ring in my pocket, or that I have been desperately attempting to figure out this housing situation, or how to deal with Mike.

Yeah, I'm sitting on my very own chamber of secrets it seems, and the only things that keep me from cracking, is my love for her and these babies. My family. Michonne is strong, resilient. But, she's also delicate, physically, emotionally. There is so much that I want to discuss with her, that I need to confess, but I can't. Not yet. She needs more time. Five to six more weeks. That's all I need. That's all her and the babies need before this all becomes more real. Before one of the greatest sources of pride in my life can become this fully realized thing.

Six weeks. So much is hanging in the balance for this arbitrary speck of time. So many decisions to make. Lives will change. Mine. Hers. Six weeks.

"I'm ready for whatever. I'll take care of her, Heath. I've got this, Michonne. I've got this." My eyes dance hurriedly away from Michonne's perceptive gaze and back to the ultrasound monitor to once again look upon my babies.

"What are you over here reading? You're always doing that lately. Staring at your computer with your glasses on. It's all very sexy, Sheriff. This studious thing you have going on."

"Oh yeah? You like the glasses?" I answer, slightly distracted by what I'm reading on my screen. Until I'm not. In this moment I finally become aware of everything outside of my computer. The music that's playing on the home speaker system. Maxwell's 'Fistful of Tears'.

"Feel just like a weight has lifted
How can I repay you, help me understand
Currency a fistful of tears I can afford
Fight of your life is not the cost
Time will reveal, yeah
All along you're the one who's losing…"

The playing of the music is not out of place at all. There is often music playing in Michonne's house. Hers. Andre's. Carl's. I prefer hers to theirs, but I am surprised that's she playing it on the house speakers. Usually it's confined to her room, or only on throughout the house if the boys aren't here, but she's in a different mood today. It is her birthday.

The boys and I have been all over it too. Making her breakfast in bed. Sending her to the day spa for pampering and relaxation. And now, as I finger the cool metal of the ring in my trouser pockets, and recall the details of what I was just looking at on my computer, I have one more gift…well two gifts, left.

Sliding in between where I'm sitting on the barstool at the kitchen island, and the counter, Michonne easily maneuvers herself between my legs, closing my laptop in the process. In a slinky, form fitting black dress, one that hugs and caresses every inch of her sexy body, even the tiny swell of her flat stomach, she positions herself with her hands on her rounded hips. A curious tilt to her head is causing the long curtain of her dreads to fall in a cascade to one side. Immediately my eyes fall from the long sweep of her eyelashes, to the pout of the scarlet red of her lips, over her pert breasts, to her belly. Still so tiny and flat, it's easy for her to keep our secret for now. But soon? Soon I hope to see her blossoming with life. What we created together. Full, swollen, beautiful, creating more striations, badges of a life well lived across her hips.

Making a sucking, tsk sound with her tongue against her teeth, she shakes her head at my appreciative appraisal of her, and my maneuver of answering her question with a question. She hates when I do it. It's my way of changing the subject. I'm sure she knows that by now.

Wrapping her arms around my neck, she leans into me, and instantly I can feel my dick getting hard in my dark blue slacks, from the weight of her pressed seductively against me, and the powdery scent of her Donna Karan perfume in my nostrils. Licking my tongue over my lips, I'm trying not to allow her to pull my focus too far away from what I was reading and working on, calculating payments for. From the way she's slinking and grinding against me, that is probably going to be a losing fight.

"It's my birthday, Rick."

"I know."

"I'm 38 today."

"The most beautiful 38-year-old woman ever."

"Really? Beautiful?" She purrs, her lips against the shell of my ear. Nipping. Tugging.

"Exquisite." Releasing a slow breath, I inch my hands up over her waist, and roll them behind her, one pressed flat to the small of her back. Pulling her closer to me, her breasts are now crushed to my face, cushioning my lips as her own hands now wander a path over the crisp threads of my new sky blue, button up shirt, purchased specifically for this night. For her birthday. Michonne says she likes when I wear blue because it brings out my eyes. Whatever she wants she gets, and I can tell she's pleased as I lift my eyes to hers. I find love there, amongst the deep coffee swirl of carnal lust, and passion.

I watch her reaction. The way her full red lips are now parted. Just a touch. Her brilliant white teeth, catching the bottom lip at its plushest point.

With my other hand I roam down over her round ass and down the back of her thighs, slowly, the gentlest of touches, until I get to the hem of her dress. Then under. Gripping the bottom of her dress with my fingertips, I move it away from her body, and slide my hand up, up, higher, in between the cushioned flesh of her thick thighs, covered in black thigh high stockings, the lace trim of them along with the garters, further piquing my interest. The pinnacle of her heated womanhood, covered only in the thinnest lace, barely covering her plush, hairless lips. I cup her there, delighting in the feel of her almost riding my hand, grinding in a small swivel as my thumb lightly brushes against her mound.

"What's this?" I ask, pushing the material of her thong aside to get a closer feel of her velvety skin. Creamy. Smooth.

"For you." She utters on a tortured groan. She wants more. Needs more.

"For me? It's your birthday."

"For both of us then."

"I see. What can I do for you, Michonne? Hm? What else do you need me to give you, sweetheart? You already have all of me."

"Rick…"

"Hm? Tell me so I can give it to you." Raising my eyebrows in question, I want to hear her ask for what she wants. It's always my pleasure to give it to her.

"Rick?"

I don't answer her plea, my name dripping from her lips in that way she has. Throaty, husky, sweet as though it has been dipped in honey. It's the way she whispers my name in a clipped and succinct tone, the one she normally uses to get what she wants from me.

Right now I need to feel just a little more of her. My eyelids drop for a moment, desire spiking at the breathy moan that escapes her in response to my possessive touch.

I know my woman. She's tough and strong, a warrior. A true survivor of life. But she's also soft, and warm, and sensitive. And she likes to be handled by me. Sometimes she wants to assert her dominance, and I like that, the way she can command me. Bend and mold me to fulfill her desires. I'm always willing, so entranced by everything that is her, that my body, my mind, my heart, will tolerate nothing but my full compliance with her commands. But, there are times, when a part of me needs her to behave. To let my firm hand guide her to ultimate pleasure. Michonne can tell. She responds to it so nicely. Just like she is now.

It's that subtle moan of my name, falling from her lips. The arch of her back. A demure lowering of her eyes, as though this naughty vixen is shy, or bashful. It's the allure of the dichotomy of her personality. The yin and yang of the sexy and the shy. The dominant and the submissive. It's a wonder that either of us ever has time for anything other than sex. Which is why right now, even though my body is humming for her. The beast inside, vibrating with need, urging me to bend her over the counter and raise her dress…

"Michonne, you are absolutely stunning. Your beauty is distracting." I offer her praise, words of devotion that my divine lady more than deserves. "And while I would love nothing more than to punish you right now for teasing me, the boys are in the house, and we have to leave."

"We have time, and they are in the basement."

"We do not. You always do this when we have somewhere to be."

"You look so handsome though. I love to see you all dressed up like this." She caresses my chest with her fingers, gliding them over my pecs. Her touch feather soft, titillating in its brush over the hairs inching from the opening at the throat of my shirt.

"Well you know, I can clean up too. I may be just a small town sheriff, but I have a few tricks up my sleeve. I know I have to try and look like I belong with you, step my game up. You're way too pretty and sophisticated to be my lady."

"Rick."

"It's true. I always wonder what you're doing with me anyway."

"Stop. I don't want either of us to talk like that anymore, to even think about our relationship, about ourselves like that anymore. I wasn't ready for you when we first met, and I was foolish to push you away. But I am ready now. There's nothing left but enjoying what we have growing between us. Let's not fantasize about failure. Instead, let's put everything into winning. Into our family." Moving my hand from her back, she travels it around her waist to land it solidly against her belly. My palm flat against her curved tummy.

"Hm."

Cupping the side of my face with her other hand, I have to fight my instinct to wallow in self doubt, and cling too readily to her touch. I do adore the feel of her hands on my face though, so I grant myself a brief moment to accept the soft graze of her fingertips over my freshly shaven skin, and the assertive certainty of her words. Even as I lovingly keep my hand pressed to her stomach, receiving a much needed jolt of energy just from the connection.

It's her birthday, but right now my lady can sense something about me, about what I need. It's more than sex. I can't verbalize it to her when I don't fully understand it myself. It's a feeling. A visceral reaction to the state of things. My growing love for her. This deep seated, profound obsession with her. Our babies. Their survival. Her ex. The pressure of needing to do something. To react. There was a time when the old Rick would have never questioned himself on how to make things happen. No, that Rick lived on the overwhelming need to tap into the aggression. Lean into my competitive nature. But life, experience, has neutered some of that, made me uncertain of myself. What's the best thing to do? How do I proceed? Can I do better by her than Mike did? Love is one thing, but money is another. I've never cared so much about everything in my life.

There was a time when I loved Lori, but even things with her kind of felt like a competition. It was also about me beating Shane in some respects. Me winning at having the most popular girl in KC as my wife. I didn't have my MLB career, but I had that. Then I had a son. Then I had a job that I was naturally good at, and with that came the respect of those around me. And I cared about Lori, I loved my son, and my job. But it was all so easy. With little effort or desire all of those things fell into place, and while the loss of it all was hurtful, it didn't break me.

This thing with Michonne is intense love that honestly feels like it's been inside of me all along. Waiting for her. The part of my soul that anchors me to hers has always known her. The beginning of me and her is the true beginning of me, and as a result I want everything to be perfect for her, for both of us this time around. Failure is not possible. I care so deeply, that every moment I'm awake, I'm sleep, I'm thinking of how to ensure this all works out. It has to. It's why I'm always on my computer reading, researching, studying, trying to figure things out, trying to make myself and this outcome better than before. It's what I do. It's how I got so good at baseball. Study to show thyself approved, as my grandpa would say.

When my lover says to me not to fantasize about failure, I nearly gasp because… how does she know?

"Without realizing it, you have completely stolen my heart. Every breath, every beat of my heart is for you. We both have so much history that we have to battle, but when I'm with you, there is no fight. There's no need to fight, or struggle. I don't want to do that anymore. I don't have to. Neither do you. It's just you and me, Sheriff. The boys, these babies. This is the life we deserve, baby. It is, and we have to believe that."

"Ok, Michonne. Ok." I nod my head, in awe of the eloquence of her words, how easily she speaks to my heart. Puckering my lips, I lift my face a bit to seek her kiss, which she kindly provides on a warm, wet press of her lips to mine. "I love you."

"I love you more." Pulling back, she proceeds to wipe her lipstick from my lips with her fingers. She could leave it for all I care. Let the world see I've had the pleasure of tasting her lips.

Creeping up behind where Michonne and I are in the kitchen, Carl and Andre barrel down the stairs. They have perfect timing, as I've just removed my hand from between her thighs and lowered her dress.

"Are we leaving now? We've been dressed for awhile." Says Carl, his characteristic toss of his hair back and off of his forehead.

"We've been waiting on you forever, Mom." Andre pouts, running his own hand forward over his hair.

"Oh no is this Maxwell again?" Carl asks, his face twisting in discomfort.

"Ma, why do we have to listen to this old folks' music?" Andre asks, as I notice how he and Carl are standing next to each other like a set of matching salt and pepper shakers. Both sporting khaki pants and white button up shirts, I don't know if they dressed like this on purpose, or if it was just a coincidence that they are resembling bookends. Either way, it's funny to see them this way, one speaking right after the other like twins finishing each other's sentences and thoughts.

"I don't care how long you've been waiting on me. Yes, this is Maxwell. And no this isn't old folks' music." Michonne answers, pointing her finger at Andre then at Carl, then heads back towards the stairs. "I'm going to grab my purse."

Watching her hips swing as she walks away, I mutter absentmindedly to the boys, "It's good music." I respond, somewhat offended seeing as I like Maxwell, and I wouldn't necessarily consider myself old.

"Well maybe it's not new or young folks' music, but it's slow and boring, and we know what it means when we hear Maxwell playing." Carl remarks. Turning towards each other, Andre and Carl give each other a knowing look.

"Should we drive to the party on our own? Give you two some 'adult time'?" Making air quotation marks with his fingers, Andre makes a statement that confirms even further that the boys are on to us. Oh well.

"You can drive separate if you want, but I want both of you to know that when you love a woman, really love her, you will wait however long you have to wait. You don't complain. You just wait. And, there is nothing wrong with wanting to spend 'adult time' with her. Or listening to good music to set the tone for that. As much time as you two spend sniffing after Cyndie and Macy you should know that by now. Also, there is nothing romantic about the music you guys listen to. You can't romance a woman listening to the Amigos."

"Migos." They both say in unison.

"That's what I said. The Amigos."

"No, Rick, the Migos."

"Whoever they are, you boys will learn that there is nothing romantic about yelling 'skirt skirt' in the middle of a song." I scoff, frowning as I remember the numerous songs with the annoying utterance that I have heard them playing.

"Yeah, ok, Dad. That's why Andre is going to drive. You guys can make goo goo eyes and whisper to each other while Andre and I take his car and listen to the Amigos."

"Right. We'll see you guys later."

Rushing to the door, the boys file out, one after the other, grumbling to each other about our habit of oversharing.

"You're leaving now?"

"Yes, Mom, it's time. We have other plans for Michonne's birthday still. Remember?"

"Oooh, that's right! How romantic and exciting!" she winks knowingly at me, and I hope that Michonne didn't catch that. Did I say that she's good at keeping secrets? Did I lie?

"Amanda, leave them alone. They have other things to do than hanging out with a bunch of geriatrics." My dad teases, smacking my mother on the butt and inserting himself into the conversation, and hopefully keeping my mother from spoiling the surprise. Scotch in hand, he's cutting quite the figure as Michonne noted upon our arrival. Adding, as she widened her eyes in surprise at how much he and I resemble, that he is the epitome of the phrase 'silver fox'. I suppose she's right, I don't know. "Let these youngsters get on with the business of their celebrations this weekend."

"George, I was just wondering out loud about them leaving so soon."

"Mmhm."

"You know what would be nice, if you guys joined us down in Miami next month.
Remember I was telling you about it, Michonne? We're gonna go down with your parents, dear."

"Yes I remember, it should be lovely for you guys." Smiling patiently at my mother, Michonne is so polite as she pretty much tells my mother no. I should be taking notes.

"George, remember when we went to Miami last year? How much fun we had?"

"Oh yeah. South Beach. Lots to see on South Beach."

"You old pervert, I wasn't talking about South Beach." Whacking my dad across his arm, my mother giggles like she's sixteen. Smirking, a twinkle in her mischievous green eyes, she continues. "Though your father is right, they have a nude beach down there that was quite liberating and eye opening. Michonne, you've got the body for a nude beach, sweetheart. Perfect! For now…" Winking at Michonne with her last comment, I can feel my face flushing red at the lewd subtext coming from my mother, and what feels like her itching to reveal our secret. Oh lord, George and Amanda have been drinking.

"What do you mean for now?" Frowning, his dark eyebrows furrowed over the blue eyes that we share, a crinkle at the corners, my father has picked up on the thinly veiled bit my mother dropped at the end.

"Uh, nothing, George. You've had too much to drink. Hey, before you guys leave, I want to introduce Michonne to your cousin Tanya. She's got that fancy furniture boutique down in Savannah. Just in case you all might need some new furniture in the coming months." Taking a hold of Michonne's arm, she pulls her away from where we are gathered in the dining room. Michonne looks back at me probably wondering how we missed our opportunity to finally make a run for it.

"What is your mother babbling on about tonight? She's had one too many Southern Comfort and Cokes if you ask me. Woman could never hold her liquor. I kind of like that though. Makes her feisty!"

"Pop, that's…ok. I didn't need to hear that."

"I'm just saying." He shrugs. Taking a slow sip from his tumbler of scotch, he watches my mother and Michonne retreat somewhere into the crowd of my grandparents' anniversary party. "Still gonna do it tonight?"

"Yeah. I want to keep it intimate. Not a lot of folks."

"Understood. You nervous? Anything I can do?"

"No, Pop, I've got this." Rubbing my hand across the back of my neck, I can feel the stress building up in my muscles at just the thought of things. The only thing that gives me a bit of relief is the thought of what I hope to finally accomplish tonight. A dream fulfilled.

"You know, you don't have to do everything on your own. You can ask for help. Arthur and I want to help you kids. Not just with tonight either. With anything."

"We're not kids, Pop. Michonne just turned 38, I'll be 39 this year. I've got this."

"Yes, I know you do, but I admire what you are trying to do, and if there is anything I or Arthur can do to make it just a little bit easier for you two to have everything, we want to do it. What man wouldn't want that for his son? How you're going after this new life. That's the Rick I raised. Not that guy who just gave up and settled for Lori. Your personal legend has always been so much bigger than KC, son."

"Pop-"

"Listen to me, Rick. You've done fine for yourself. You have. I've always been proud of you. Whether you made it to the MLB or not. But, when you got hurt, a light in your eyes died. Your fire, boy! Fire!" Pressing his finger to my chest, he taps it against me to punctuate each word. "You are one tough son of a bitch. When that girl stepped out on you with Shane, we saw that coming. Your mama and I did. She always played you two against each other. Running to you when she had problems with him. You always trying to play the good guy and comforting her. Believing that fake baby story that she got you down the aisle with. Then her running to him when he got back here and you and her were married. What kind of woman does that? It was all a bunch of bullshit!"

"Pop!"

"Let me finish, Richard! It wasn't all BS. You got Carl out of it, and I couldn't love that boy more than I do. He is a Grimes man and ain't nothing better than that. Look at me!" Stepping back, he tosses his hands up in a wide open gesture, inviting me to do just as he commanded. Smug ass. All of my life my father has been a ham. A funny, charismatic, and outgoing guy, with good looks to boot. He's never known a stranger, and if he did they weren't strangers for long. While we may share physical features, I'm a lot more like my grandpa Robert. Easygoing, slow to anger, but quick to fight. Competitive. Respectful. Popular, but enjoyed my own company just as well. And like both men, a man who loves women. The idea of women. The feeling, the touch, the look of them. I think my parents assume I didn't get around much before Lori. I didn't as much as Shane, but I had my share.

I used that Grimes charm many times to get what I wanted. Hell I had to gather as much of it as I could that first night I met Michonne. But, when I hear my father speak about my personal legend, about me losing my fire. I know what he's talking about, and it makes me somewhat ashamed.

So much of my self worth had been tied up in defining who I was as a ballplayer. A star, that having Lori felt like the completion of that. When I didn't make it, and she still stuck with me, I felt like I was still getting a piece of who I was. I was still winning. Like my dad said, I guess I did in some ways, I got Carl out of that deal. But in the process, I lost something too, and in recognition of that it's apparent to me that Michonne isn't the only one putting herself back together.

"Then look at yourself, Rick. Ain't no man better than you. Remember that. We all lose at some point or another, and sometimes it's for the best."

"What do you mean?"

"I loved a woman once. Before I came home and met your mother. When I was stationed in Germany, when Arthur and I first met. We were best friends. Just turned 26, both of us. Knocking the socks off those German women, and those pretty military girls. Hell, there was something about getting them to let loose and be wild. Unbuttoning from all the rules and rigor of being in the military. It was the yin and yang, ya know. Duality. Then I met this one girl. Pretty thing from Detroit. Oh man, she had the legs of your Michonne. Same figure. Same sexy ass smile. Personality." Sniffing, he takes another drink, and drops his hand into his pants pocket, seemingly lost in his memories. "She was beautiful. I had seen her around Stuttgart a few times. Always so popular and smart, hanging out with her friends. I'd fallen in love with her from afar, you see. She lit up a room. Could toss out commands, and cut a man down with just a word or a look, then warm him right back up with that smile. How could I not fall for her? One day, I'm at the commissary and I see her, and I figure it's now or never, George. So, I turned that Grimes charm all the fucking way up! But she turned her smile on me and gotdamn it, boy, all of my cool dried up. I froze, but, hell I asked her out anyway. Then here comes Arthur Alexander, bringing up the rear. That was it for me. I wasn't even on her radar anymore."

"Wait… Arthur Alexander? Michonne's dad?"

"Yep. I don't know what it was about him, but when they saw each other it was something there I didn't have. But you have it, Rick. Michonne looks at you how her mama has always looked at Arthur. How me and your mama look at each other."

"What the hell?"

"My point is, I wanted Nia for myself, but she wasn't for me. I wasn't for her. Lori wasn't really for you. Michonne's ex wasn't really for her. You and Michonne are for each other. That's what is destined. Fate has made sure of that. So don't stress yourself out. This shit ain't hard. Do right by her, love on her, give her your full self. That's all you gotta do, boy. She already loves you, and those stars and hearts in your eyes tell me you already love her too."

"I do. I love her desperately. This time around is different. It's stronger and more powerful than anything I've ever felt before. The stakes are high this time, Pop. I can't lose. It's why I'm scrambling, pushing myself in different directions all at once. I have to win this time. I have to."

"I sense that. Winning is good. But you should enjoy yourself too. Don't get so caught up on the destination, that you forget to relax and enjoy the journey. For some reason despite all that love swirling around you like cupid done shot you in the ass, you seem convinced that you can lose. You won't. Don't even think about failure."

Hearing my father echo the same words that Michonne uttered to me earlier in the day, fill me with a certain sense of reinvigorated purpose. Hope. And with that, I snatch a deep breath, and set my sights on success. On finally getting exactly what I want.

"Rick, hear me when I say this. This isn't like before. Michonne isn't Lori. This time in your life isn't like before. You may not have become a famous pitcher. But to that woman over there, the one patiently listening to all ten thousand words and thoughts your mother is spamming her with? She hasn't taken her eyes off of you all night. Whatever stuff and thangs you've got going on, know this. The only thing that matters is that she is your destiny. Don't do anything that might jeopardize that. Ok?"

"I got it under control, Pop."

"Good. Now let's get this plan rolling, and rescue your lady and from your mama before she goes deaf from all that damn talking your mother is doing. I love that woman, but she talks so much!"

Last week…

"What do you think, Mr. Grimes? Is this what you are looking for?"

"I think so. I'll take it."

"Excellent! The sellers are very motivated, and I think they will accept your offer. The property is owned by a group of siblings that do not live in Georgia, and want to sell it now that their parents are dead. They grew up here, but when their parents got old, and they left home, it became a burden to their elderly parents. But, I know this family, they speak very highly of growing up here, and want to see it restored. It's in bad shape now, but love and and hard work can rehab it and make it beautiful again. Things break, but they can still grow."

Nabila's words resonate with me. My head down, walking over the dark earth, I take note of the browns and greens mixing together, creating a pattern of worn down paths, patches and edges still fighting to grow, survive. Pushing against the ravages of life and time that would see its demise. Broken but still growing, the crisp grass and frosted dirt crunch under the step of my boots, and with the morning sun warming my cool cheeks, it seems as though fate has once again stepped in to deliver a sign of its grace on my life. 

"Rick, as soon as you told me what you were looking for I thought of this place. My sister Nabila has been trying to sell it for almost a year now. No one wants to put in the work."

"I'm not afraid of hard work, Morgan. This is exactly what we need. A fresh start."

"Yep. It fits all of the requirements you had."

"And it's right on time. I have to get things moving. Her ex bought a condo right around the corner from her. The guy pops in all the damn time. Ignores me like I'm the one who doesn't belong there. I don't have a choice but to share Andre with him, but I'll be damned if I make it easy for him to worm his way back in with Michonne. I'm not taking chances anymore. I let another man break up my family once, won't happen again. I'll kill Mike before I let anything like that happen again. This time… the stakes are too high. I have to put my everything into making sure this works out."

"I understand, Rick. We've been friends for a long time. We go back to high school baseball. Duane and Carl have known each other since they were babies. Gone to the same schools all their lives. Jenny and I were really upset for you when things went south with Lori. And we saw you putting so much into this relationship with Michonne when you came to our restaurant, when we all went hiking. I firmly believe that everything in life is just a circle. There is always a return. It might ebb and flow, you experience the back and forth. But, you will get out of this what you put into it. You put love and caring into her, you will continue to get that back. I believe that. You have to let her all the way in though, Rick. You can't do all of this by yourself."

"I can't do that, Morgan, not yet. Some things I have to do on my own for her. I have to show her that I can take care of her and the babies. This is my do over, my chance to live a different life!"

"Babies? She's pregnant?"

"Damn. I can't hold water. Shit! You can't say anything to Jenny or anyone. We got a few more weeks until she's out of her first trimester, then we should be in the clear. We'll tell everyone then. Right now… it's precarious. Tenuous. She's scared to lose another life, and the very thought of just waiting for everything to work itself out is gutting me. So, I'm doing something."

Walking beside me as I aimlessly continue to tour the property, Morgan's words touch a sensitive spot in me. "All life is precious, Rick, I understand why you are working so hard for her and your family. I get it. But, you have to trust that sometimes things do work themselves out. And you have to trust Michonne. That all of the things you are doing, she might want to be apart of that. Maybe she can help too-"

"I don't want her to help, Morgan! I'm the man of this family! I will protect her and my kids. I will make a way for this family to grow, and survive. You don't understand what he put her through. I have to prove to her that I can do more than just give her babies and love her. There is more to me than that. Yes, all life is precious. The lives of my babies, my sons, my lady? All precious. I would die for them. But, things are not so easy as those four words. It's more difficult than just the three words 'I love you'. I can give them that easy. My love is undying. The words flow from heart effortlessly. But I have to also BE something so much better than myself. There is a man out there who wants to take everything that I am so close to finally having for myself. I won't let that happen."

"Ok, Rick. But do you think not telling Michonne about what Jessie is helping you with, about the house, your finances, the things you're working on in KC is going to help you do that?"

"She can't have stress right now. It's up to me to just fix things and make it easy for her. That's what I'm doing. She'll understand why I didn't involve her in all of this later. She'll understand." Nodding to myself I hope that I'm right. 

"Alright then. I'm your friend and I needed to tell you my thoughts. Give it to you plain. Either way I'm here for you. I always tell you the truth, Rick."

"I know. I appreciate it." Looking away, into the distance where Morgan's cousin Nabila is on the phone, presumably working out the details with the seller, I need to lessen the weight of things between Morgan and I. This man has been my friend for so long, before and after my friendship with Shane, that I decide to inject a little humor into this tense moment. "By the way when we went hiking and you were looking for the last protein bar and Michonne said she didn't eat it? She did. She's been eating like crazy lately, and I didn't want to tell on her then."

"Oh I know she did. She snacked like a hungry squirrel the whole day!" He releases a hearty laugh, followed by his signature grin. Patting me on the back, he gestures towards his cousin who is heading back our way with a wide smile of her own.

"The sellers accepted your offer, Mr. Grimes."

"Perfect. How soon do you think I can take possession?"

Present…

Driving back towards Atlanta, one hand on the steering wheel, I turn and guide my truck up a dirt path, lined with tall American Sweetgum trees. Their egg shaped crowns, colored yellowish brown, provide an almost secreted trail back towards the main grounds of the property, shielding it from the prying eyes of the world whizzing by on the busy street. A haven that can only be found if one dares to explore the road less traveled, an excursion that requires intent, tenacity, will.

"Rick, where are we going? I thought we were heading back towards the city?" Clasping tightly to my other hand, both of hers surrounding it in a needy clutch, protectively resting in her lap, Michonne's dark eyes find me in the midnight of the car. Only the moon's bluish glow illuminates her, creating shadowy panels that allow me to view her beautiful face in flickers, as though watching her in an old black and white movie.

"I want to show you something." Reassuringly I squeeze her hands, and I quickly turn my head her way to steal a look at her again, hoping to see more of her face as we pull away from the shadows of the tree covered driveway, and on to the circular path in front of the bright yellow house. Bringing my truck to a stop, I reluctantly remove my hand from hers and shift to park. My eyes never leave her face though. Gazing at the structure in front of us, with its failing roof, falling shutters, and peeling paint, Michonne is still. So still I wonder if she's breathing. "Do you trust me, Michonne?"

"Of course, Rick. With my life. I've never loved and trusted a man more." Snapping her attention back to me, her features show no emotion. There is no smile curving her full lips. No tilted squint at the corner of her eyes, signaling amusement. Only the depth of truth shining brightly in her irises. Only the honesty of her admission is banked there.

"Then come with me." I exit the truck, and eagerly head over to her side. Opening her door, I help ease her down from the cabin, and steady her on her heels. The gravel underneath our feet is not so stable for the tall, spiky shoes that cradle her tiny feet. With her arm linked with mine I carefully lead her up the pathway to the house, up the stairs to the front door. Only when I produce a key to the front door, unlocking it and throwing open the door, does her face reveal even the smallest hint of surprise.

"This is a beautiful old house, Rick, but why do you have a key?"

"I own this house. We own this house."

"We do?"

"We do."

"I- Ok. It needs a lot of work, but…I can see the potential. I just didn't realize we had purchased a house." Michonne wonders aloud, her voice trailing off as she walks further into the house, her precarious footsteps disturbing the dust that has settled, unbothered over time. The hardwood floors creak and whine as I add the weight of my own footsteps, shadowing behind hers as I follow her, watching, waiting for more of her reactions. "This kitchen is big. And I love the bay windows here. Is this all original wood work?"

"It is."

"I love it, Rick. It's quite a surprise. A lovely one." Glancing at me over her shoulder, she gives me the gift of her genuinely excited smile. Brimming, wide, it takes over her face, animating her features, instead of drooping them in concern. It's what I had hoped for, but not exactly what I was expecting.

Hurriedly she makes her way through all of the rooms on the first floor. The study, the bathroom, the living room. Then her curiosity sends her to the stairs to further explore. Once her foot hits the first step she stops, and looks for me, finding me right behind her, ready to continue right along with her, anxious to discover the house through her eyes.

Upstairs she goes in and out of the bedrooms, making note of a few things here and there that she thinks would be good to add, need to be fixed, or taken away. Her positive response zaps over to me, and my own inspiration is stoked, feeding off of the kinetics of our connection.

Once in the master bedroom, the last room at the end of a long hallway, I halt in the doorway and wait for her. I watch her. She frowns at the small closet and attached bathroom that is shared with all of the other bedrooms on this floor. Her smile returns at the floor to ceiling windows along the back of the house, and the French doors that lead out onto a balcony. When she opens the doors, and walks out onto the balcony that is my cue.

Easing up behind her, I wrap my arms around her waist, and hold her close. So close I can smell the mint of the gum she's chewing, and the scent of her perfumed skin. Kissing at her neck, I pull her back from the railing some, not ready for her to discover my surprise down below just yet.

"It's exactly 20 minutes from Andre's school in Atlanta, and 20 minutes from KC. It's got five bedrooms, but only two baths. There are five overgrown acres, and all of them belong to us. The house is rough, and old. It's been damaged over time. Left behind and forgotten. I can fix that. We can fix that. Anyone else would have looked at this house and would have seen a wreck. But, not me. And not you. Michonne, you are so special that your first words were that it was beautiful. It's a reflection of who you are, your own beauty. In the ruins, the weeds, the dilapidated wood, you saw beauty. And that's how I know."

"What do you know, Rick?"

"That the universe sent you to me. It brought us together. You have healed me in so many ways, given my life renewed purpose. Given me the chance to be loved again. A love that is more powerful and profound than anything I have ever experienced in my life. Nothing has ever felt like this… I've never known this kind of joy just from thinking about a person, seeing them.

I can't tell you what you mean to me, how your love makes me want to be present with you, with our boys, our babies. Forever." Turning Michonne to face me, I get down on my knee and present her with the ring that has been in my pocket for the past few weeks.

On a platinum band, a single princess cut solitaire, rests in a raised Tiffany style setting. Taking a hold of her hand I lift the ring and slide it down on to her slender finger. Tears stream a steady path from her eyes, and while usually the sight of them would send me into distress, I know these tears are different. There is no anguish that signals their departure from her beautiful eyes. Only happiness.

"I'm not as good with my words as you are, so I'll be plain. It's all I know how to do. I'm a plain man, and I never thought I needed much. The world, experience made me believe that I could survive on…deserved so little. Now I know better. You are the best of everything in this world, and I can't live or breathe without you. Michonne Marie Alexander, please give me the opportunity to try and make you as happy as you have made me. To try everyday for the rest of my life to give you the love and respect that you deserve. Please say that you will marry me."

"Rick…of course. Of course I will!" Placing her hands to either side of my face, she leans into me and dots my face with a flurry of kisses. She kisses my eyes, my nose, my cheeks, my forehead, my chin, my lips. Her trembling lips are salty with the trace remnants of her tears. I savor the taste of her, sucking at her lips, devouring her with my own kiss.

She said yes. Yes! Michonne said she will be my wife!

Our kiss turns more passionate, and before I know it she has nearly toppled me on to my ass, with Michonne now almost entirely in my lap. We're holding each other so tightly, passion growing, getting hotter between us. But then, a brief thought passes through my love drowned senses, reminding me of something else. Something very important.

"Michonne, baby?"

"Mmm yes, Rick, your dick is so hard, baby. Let's go out to the truck. I want to make love to you right now." She mumbles against my lips, her hand greedily massaging my length through my pants.

Before things go too far, and my willpower fails me, I brush her hand away from the zipper of my pants, "Michonne, wait. Wait."

"We don't have to wait. We can do it right here. Please, baby." Moaning, her heated mouth finds the sensitive skin just below my ear. Licking and sucking, I'm growing more and more excited, and it's making it almost too hard for me to stop her from having her way with me. In fact, with every moan and gyration of her body against mine, the idea to just make love her now becomes more and more enticing by the second.

Fighting against the cloud of lust almost blanking out my coherence, I try one last time. "Baby, Michonne, listen one more surprise. Last one, then it's just me and you. Ok?"

Huffing, she allows me to gather both of her hands in one of mine, and raise both of us from the balcony floor. Guiding her back downstairs, I take her back outside to where my truck is sitting. Removing my tie from around my neck, I step up behind Michonne, her arms petulantly crossed over her chest.

"Do you trust me, Michonne?"

"Yes, Rick. I still trust you. How can I not?"

"Good. One more surprise, but you have to let me put my tie over your eyes first."

"You wanna try something a little kinky? Here?" Widening her eyes at the thought of it, Michonne gasps in excitement at the idea of being blindfolded. I will have to remember that for later.

"No. Not yet. Here." Gently I wrap my tie over her eyes, securing it loosely. "Come with me."

Walking around to the back of the house, I see that everyone is in place, and instantly my heart begins to pound in my chest. My hands begin to sweat. But I don't falter. I don't miss a beat, as I lead my lady to where a small group of our friends and family are gathered, each of them with the exception of a few, holding candles, illuminating this moment with the light of their love and support for us. Seeing that everything is in place, I nod towards Morgan, to begin the music from the speaker.

Just as Etta James' 'At Last' begins to play, the violin introducing the beloved song, I freeze a moment. I don't move. Emotion is choking me, causing my hands to tremble. Not because I'm afraid of what's about to happen, or anything like that. But because of the outpouring of love for Michonne and I that I'm witnessing right now.

Hearing the music, Michonne's impatient hands and fingers begin removing my tie from her eyes on their own. Her eyes scan the crowd, hurrying from face to face, recognizing everyone and taking it all in as tears once again rush forward.

Stepping out from the crowd, Michonne's parents walk up to her. Handing her daughter a bouquet of peonies, woven together with a white ribbon, Mrs. Alexander kisses Michonne on the cheek and hugs her. Following behind her mother, Michonne's father kisses his daughter on the cheek as well. As they are getting situated, my beloved's face a series of emotions ranging from surprised, to confused, to happy and excited, I walk towards the center of the circle, taking my place in front of Gabriel, but next to Carl and Andre, I accept the large white paper board cards from Morgan.

After a moment, Michonne, now linked arm in arm with her father, turns towards me in the center of the wide circle. Her joyous grin catches my eye, and I'm instantly lost. Again. This woman already owns my heart, so how is it possible that I can still feel so giddy? How is it that every time she looks at me like this it still feels like the first time?

I'm getting caught up in her again, and I've forgotten that everyone is waiting on me. Until Carl and Andre gratefully remind me.

"Dad. Dad! The cards!"

"Go on, Rick! My mom's waiting."

Shaking my head as everyone around us laughs I remember what I'm supposed to be doing, and raise the cards, holding the first one up to my chest, just underneath my face. In my slanted handwriting, scrawled in bold black markered, block letters is the following…

'TO ME YOU ARE PERFECT'

'MY HEART WILL LOVE YOU'

'UNTIL WE BOTH LOOK LIKE THIS'

The fourth card is a picture of two mummies, laid side by side. This makes her laugh, a twinkle that flies on the lightly rustling wind, that helps cool the sweat now gathered on my face.

'SINCE IT'S YOUR BIRTHDAY, AND VALENTINE'S DAY, HOW ABOUT WE ALSO MAKE THIS OUR WEDDING DAY?'

'SAY YES'

Upon reading the last card, Michonne just stares at me, her left hand over her lips as though she cannot believe what I'm suggesting. She has finally figured out what this is all about, and instantly releases her arm from her father's, and runs the short distance to me, jumping into my arms. I drop the cards to the ground just in time to catch her. Hugging, holding my lady close to me, closer than ever, I can hear the faintest word repeated over and over, just under the sound of her sobs.

"Yes, yes, yes… I say yes."