Well, this is turning into an eventful morning, Rick thought to himself, Carl's words echoing in his mind.

'Dad, if you like Michonne then you should just say it.'

Rick sighed. He knew Carl didn't backtalk unless he had something that he absolutely had to get off his chest. Even then his words always had a ring of truth to them.

Rick got up slowly, stretching his stiff body. The long rest had done him good but it was time to get a move on.

First things first. He began shifting through the bedroom closets until he found what he was looking for.

Maybe he's right. Maybe I should just say it, he mused, pulling on a pair of dark colored jeans, careful not to mess up the bandage on his aching leg.

No. It's more complicated than that and you know it, Rick. You're not living in some daydream world, playing house together...We're on the run again and we need to find a way to survive this world.

He found a flannel shirt crumpled in the back of the closet and gratefully slid his arms into the soft sleeves. It was starting to get cool at night. Autumn was well on its way.

Rick walked down the steps, leaning on the railing to keep some of the pressure off his injured leg, hoping to find a coat closet somewhere.

Wait for now. Wait until the moment is right, then you can tell her.

He checked the windows and doors as he walked around the house. They were safe for time being.

Hell, she probably knows already. She's always been able to read my mind, even when I hardly understand my own thoughts.

After some searching Rick found three jackets that they could use. Carl would have to roll his sleeves up but it'd work. He laid them on the couch near the bags of supplies from yesterday's expedition, all zipped and lined up, ready to go at a moment's notice. Carl knew the routine well; he hadn't forgotten the long winter of running from place to place, after they lost the farm.

All along he could hear various clanging sounds and snippets of laughter coming from the kitchen.

Rick stopped at the threshold to the kitchen, leaning against the empty doorframe, watching. It was so rare to see Carl open up and talk freely; he didn't want to interrupt them just yet.

"If only we had some strawberries," Carl was saying.

"Or some blueberries," Michonne added, passing him a stirring spoon.

They had apparently lit a small fire in the kitchen sink and placed a metal grill from the oven over it, frying pan resting on top. The window was opened just enough for ventilation, but not so much that the wind might blow in too much rain.

"Oh I used to love blueberries!" Carl said, reminiscing.

"Is this really going to work?" he asked, still uncertain about the whole endeavor.

They really had found a box of untouched, dry, bug-free pancake mix.

"It's too bad we don't have any butter, but this will work just fine," Michone said as she shook a can of cooking spray, "Trust me."

"Does this look okay?" Carl showed her the mixing bowl.

Michonne appraised his handiwork, "That should do."

She used a coffee mug to scoop some runny batter onto the sizzling pan.

"Now, the trick is, don't try to flip it too soon. Wait until you see little bubbles around the edges. You wait until the moment is right..."

Carl watched intently, "You seem to know a lot about pancakes."

"I am a pancake master," she said confidently, eliciting a chuckle from Carl.

"I used to make Andre these little pancakes in the shape of Mickey Mouse. He would smile and smile. It was the cutest thing."

Partway through her story Carl caught sight of Rick standing in the doorway. He froze, the laughter falling from his face.

Michonne trailed off, noticing Carl's stricken expression. She followed his gaze, turning around to see Rick.

Rick's eyes skated away from hers. He looked at his feet, feeling ashamed for intruding on their conversation. He looked back up at Michonne.

She stood still, the spatula in her hand fell to her side, her expression uncertain, waiting for him to say something.

You have to say something. Rick steeled himself against the ice closing around his heart. No. I don't want to know. I don't.

"Who was Andre?" his voice came out softer than he intended, but he got it out.

Michonne looked calm, determined.

"Andre was my son," she said, her voice clear but shaded with sadness.

"He was three."

No. No... Rick thought back to how Michonne was the first time they met. She was so guarded, closed off, so determined to do what she thought was right without asking anyone for help, even if it killed her. How surprised he'd been the first time he'd seen her warm and compassionate side, the special connection she had with Carl; it was a glimpse of what she must have been like before the world moved on.

Michonne was saying something else but her words sounded far away.

He'd always known that something terrible must have happened to her, but the same could be said for anyone still alive today, so he'd never thought too long on what exactly it might have been.

She was a mother. To find out so suddenly felt like a sharp blow to the face, leaving his ears ringing, vision blurring around the edges, which had become quite a familiar feeling these days. We're the same. We're the same...she lost Andre and I lost...

"Dad, stop it! Don't do that, please!" Carl pleaded, angry with Rick for making Michonne sad. For reminding him of the one thing he was most trying not to think about. Everything was okay a minute ago. Why does this always have to happen?

Rick put his hands to his face only to find it wet with tears. He turned away and walked back through the house in a daze. The floor began tilting one way and then another beneath his feet, threatening to trip him. He reached out and grabbed the stair railing for support.

Back in the kitchen, Carl was trying not to be upset but he didn't know what to say. Michonne took in his strained expression and knew what she had to do.

"It's okay, Carl. Wait here," she told him, dropping the forgotten spatula on the table as she followed after Rick.

I should have been more careful. I shouldn't say things without thinking. Michonne found Rick by the stairs, one hand covering his eyes.

"Hey," she said softly, placing a hesitant hand on his arm.

"Oh, Michonne..." Rick's voice cracked as he turned and wrapped his arms around Michonne, unable to fight the tears, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Michonne couldn't do anything but return the embrace.

"Me too," she whispered, blinking back her own tears.

"Come on, Rick, let's sit down," she said and together they sunk to the floor.

"She's gone...I couldn't..." Rick sobbed into her shoulder, arms holding her desperately, and Michonne understood that he was talking about Judith now.

"Rick," she said softly, taking a deep breath and continuing, "You can't pretend it never happened, no matter how hard you try. It's not possible...I know that better than anyone..."

"It's okay to cry for her, Rick. It's okay," Michonne said, soothingly rubbing his back, "I'm here. I have you..."

They sat that way for a long time until finally the sadness and the guilt and the pain receded like the tide going out and Rick could breathe normally again. He was left feeling drained but there was a sense of calm in his heart now.

He closed his eyes, thinking, just a moment longer. He was not yet ready to lift his head from its resting place on Michonne's shoulder. He wasn't quite ready to show his face.

No, if he was honest, that wasn't it, not entirely. He wanted to stay in this quiet moment a little longer, memorizing the feel of Michonne's fingertips tracing his spine, soothing him until he almost wanted to fall asleep.

A clatter sounding from the direction of the kitchen brought him back to the present. Snap out of it! This is hardly the time to sleep!

Rick lifted his head and pulled back a little bit. Oh crap. He sniffed and awkwardly wiped his nose on his flannel sleeve.

Rick was mortified to realize that he'd definitely gotten snot on Michonne's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, his voice rough from crying.

"Don't worry about it," Michonne said, giving a small shrug, "It happens."

He looked into her face, remembering the day they'd had a similar conversation standing behind the station wagon with bags full of guns and ammunition.

She looked at him with that curious, thoughtful expression that she got sometimes.

"Are you okay?" Rick asked, still sitting very close to her, his arm wrapped around her back, hers draped over his shoulders.

Michonne nodded but didn't say anything.

Rick looked down then back up at her.

"I'm okay too," he said.

"I know," Michonne said.

"How?" Rick asked. I hardly know if I'm okay, how can she know?

"Because I'm okay too," Michonne said simply.

Another series of bangs, louder this time, sounded from the kitchen.

"I should go check on Carl," Rick said slowly, making no move to get up.

A small teasing smile pulled at Michonne's lips, "And just for the record, I'm not-"

"Not cuddling me. I know," Rick finished for her, eyes crinkling in amusement.

"Just comforting," she said.

He nodded once, "I can live with that." Can't remember the last time someone comforted me. It's been so long...

Rick couldn't bring himself to look away from her brown eyes. He wished that time could freeze right there.

The others back at the prison, even those who had been with him from the beginning, whenever they looked at him Rick could see it in their eyes; doubt, or pity, or unmet expectations, uncertainty, resentment. They were all either waiting for him to take control and lead again, to save them, or waiting for him to break down again and maybe prove them right after all.

But Michonne, she was different, she was the only one to look at him like she understood and that was that.

He felt her eyes slowly trace the lines of his face. Her hand rested on the back of his neck. She's so close, it would only take...

"Uh, you guys?" Carl stood anxiously in front of Rick and Michonne.

Rick blinked, focusing on his son. Rick pulled away from Michonne and stood up, their tender moment falling to the floor and rolling away into a corner somewhere.

"Listen, Carl, I don't want you to-" Rick started but was cut off.

"I need to tell you something important!" Carl interrupted loudly.

Rick raised an eyebrow expectantly.

Carl grimaced, almost reluctant to say it. I'm going to be in SO much trouble.

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