A/N Hi everyone, here is chapter one of the sequel to Right Where We're Supposed To Be. If you haven't read that yet, this story will make a whole lot more sense if you do :). Thanks for reading!

xxxxxx

"Tell me somethin', man," Daryl said, as he stared out of the windshield of their cruiser at the bright summer sun, while hour number nine of their shift ticked by on the clock. "You ever wonder why women say they don't want you to do anything special for some event, like a birthday or anniversary or whatever, but they really do. Like it's some kinda test?"

Rick snickered to himself at his partner's question. In all the years he knew him, Daryl never had trouble getting a date, but maintaining a steady relationship was proving to be a humbling experience for him. "I don't know," Rick answered, innocuously. He knew the conversation would never get back to Michonne, but he figured he should probably let this train leave the station without him anyway. "It's a mystery I guess."

"Yeah man, a God damned enigma. Rosita's all swearing at me in Spanish over the whole birthday party thing." He shook his head, looking utterly confused and Rick bit back a laugh. "And let me ask ya another thing: why the hell these women still insisting on birthday parties? Aren't we a little old for this shit? I don't even know when your birthday is and you're my best friend."

"Well, if I were you I'd keep the age thing out of your counter argument," Rick offered.

"Good advice," Daryl agreed, settling back into his seat to mull over his conundrum in his head.

"So when is it? Rosita's party."

"I don't know. I'm sure she'll tell Michonne when she figures it out."

Rick shook his head at the density of Daryl's oblivion, but decided he was too tired to hand out anymore relationship advice. He nodded and continued fidgeting with the radio to ease his boredom.

"Here we go," Daryl said suddenly, gesturing to Rick's window and watching a black sedan hurry down the road, weaving back and forth over the centerline.

"Shit. I was just getting comfortable," Rick complained. He flipped on the sirens as the beat up vehicle passed them, coming unreasonably close to the hood of their car, before heading back to the other lane, and he spun his tires in the gravel for his own amusement before taking off behind them. This road was always good for a speeder or a distracted driver, but at three p.m. on a Thursday, he expected to be riding the gravel shoulder for a few more hours before such a blatant offense.

It was only a moment before the driver saw the blue lights flashing in his mirror and tore off to the side of the road, coming to an abrupt stop. Rick and Daryl exchanged a glance as they exited their cruiser and approached the car, each reminded of an eerily similar traffic stop they had both taken part in two and a half years ago, that turned out to be anything but simple.

The windows of the car were already rolled down when they approached and Rick was slightly relieved to see a rather young looking man behind the wheel, and a younger looking, yet hugely pregnant woman in the passenger seat. "You know why I pulled you over?" Rick recited, glad to be back to the monotony of a back road traffic infraction. He rested his arm on the roof of the car, leaning down face to face with the kid.

"I'm just trying to help my friend, Deputy. She's thinks she's in labor." He gestured to the girl beside him who, now that Rick could get a good look at her, didn't look so hot. He looked at Daryl over the top of the car with a raised eyebrow.

"You doin' ok, Ma'am?" Rick asked, his brow furrowing at the woman's odd behavior. She was slumped in the seat, eyes slitted, with a lazy smile that, if Rick remembered right, seemed much too comfortable for a woman in labor.

"Hey," Daryl said firmly when she offered no reply, "he asked you a question."

"She tell you she was in labor?" Rick asked the driver, who was starting to look more nervous by the minute. "Cause she sure as hell doesn't look like it."

"Look man," the young kid started, "she's just a friend of mine, it ain't my baby or nothing. She said she needed to get to the hospital, she wasn't feelin' good. I offered to take her."

"Yeah, well she's lucky you didn't kill her driving like that." Rick dipped his head again to look at the woman, then back at Daryl. "Better call Sasha," he said.

"This chick looks high as shit, Rick. She ain't in labor."

"Man, look at my seat," the driver yelled. "Her water broke or whatever."

"Shit," Daryl cursed, grabbing the radio on his shoulder and pressing the button to connect him to dispatch.

"Get another car for Romeo here," Rick said to Daryl. "You stay put." He pointed at the driver, then rushed around the passenger side of the car to help Daryl who was unbuckling the woman's seat belt.

The two of them assisted the barely conscious woman into a reclined position while Daryl continued to try to coax a response from her, grabbing a water bottle that was lying on the floor of the car and pouring a trickle out onto her chest. The white cotton dress she was wearing was soaked through with sweat from the heat of the day, and the exertion her body was putting forth without the benefit of her will, and the added moisture did nothing to rouse her senses. "They better step on it," Daryl mumbled to himself, glancing at the deserted road behind him.

Rick stood when he finally heard the long, whiny siren of the ambulance approaching, followed by the shorter chirps of a cruiser, and he traveled to the side of the road to flag down the responders.

"Whatta ya got?" Sasha asked, jumping out of the ambulance as soon as Tara ground it to a halt behind the parked vehicle. Rick followed her around to the woman, while Daryl met Shane who was hurrying out of his own car.

"Her friend here said she was in labor, but she's unresponsive, haven't been able to communicate with her at all," Rick said, standing back to let Sasha check the woman out.

"She's definitely in labor," Sasha said after a quick examination. "But she's out of it. We've got to get her to the hospital now."

"I'm coming," Rick said. "If she's on something while she's giving birth to this baby, I'm placing her under arrest as soon as she can hear me."

"Alright," Sasha agreed. "We'll load her up. See you in a minute."

"Shane, you got the driver?" Rick asked, as he hurried back to the other side of the car. "Dixon and I are escorting to the hospital."

"I got 'em man. Go on," Shane said, proceeding to place his cuffs on the young man who had already been removed from the car.

Rick nodded his appreciation, then turned to his partner. "You drive, I'll ride," he said, knowing Daryl was not fond of bouncing around in the back of the ambulance when Tara was driving.

"See you there," Daryl agreed, turning back to their cruiser and taking Rick's seat behind the wheel.

Rick hoisted himself up into the ambulance, taking a spot standing in the back corner where he could wait to be of use, and watched Sasha continue to work on the unconscious woman.

Tara pulled away, sirens blaring, and the sudden noise and motion finally seemed to startle the patient into a semi lucid state. "Where are we going?" she slurred, scanning the area with unfocused eyes.

"We're taking you to the hospital. You're in labor. How far along are you?" Sasha asked, strapping a blood pressure cuff on the woman while Rick watched for any signs he would need to step in. He had no idea what substance this woman was abusing, and though she looked like she was barely able to speak, let alone become combative, he wasn't taking any chances.

"I'm almost...I'm there," she stuttered, her eyes rolling back as Sasha pressed the small black bulb to get a reading.

"B.P. is 80 over 50," Sasha said aloud to herself. "I need to know if you have any drugs in your system." The woman's face was contorting in pain, unable to respond as a contraction gripped her body. "Ma'am," Sasha repeated.

Rick's eyes darted back and forth between Sasha and the woman, feeling the distress in the vehicle rising rapidly. They were about fifteen minutes from the hospital, give or take, and Sasha looked worried.

"It really hurts," the woman cried, the severity of the situation seemingly dawning on her by the minute.

Sasha peaked her head under the sheet she had draped over the patient's bare lower half, and looked back up at Rick with wide eyes. "This baby is coming now."

Rick raised his eyebrows in alarm, slightly dubious of Sasha's assessment despite her obvious training. When Carl was born, he and Lori had paced the halls of the hospital for hours after the contractions started, trying to coax him out. This woman was barely conscious ten minutes ago, and now she was pushing. "What do you need me to do?" he asked, the expression on both women's faces finally convincing him to get in gear.

"You remember how to coach her to breath?" Sasha glanced up at the woman who was starting to gasp in pain and claw at the gurney.

Rick nodded, somewhat unconfidently, and moved to crouch at the woman's head. "Alright now," he said, taking one of her hands and prying it from the sheet. "Take a deep breath, rest while you can."

Sasha went back to work, just as the ambulance hit a rather large bump, jostling the three of them like dice in a cup. "I'm gonna have to have her pull over," Sasha said, exasperated at the idea. Once they stopped they were definitely delivering that baby in the ambulance. Rick started to shake his head, hoping they could keep going just a little further, but Sasha's expression told him no amount of wishing was going to stop the baby from coming.

"I need to push," the woman yelled, bringing them back to the matter at hand.

"Ok," Sasha said, with a resolute nod. "Let's do this."

Rick yelled to Tara, telling her to pull to the side of the road and they lurched in place as they felt the vehicle come to a quick stop. They heard her on the radio, advising dispatch of their plan, before she rushed passed Rick and took a spot kneeling next to Sasha.

Rick continued to let whatever soothing words he could think of fly out of his mouth, his heart racing, but the woman screamed again, obviously not comforted by his attempt at support. He heard Sasha curse and his eyes locked onto his friends, watching them work. The two had accepted the situation far better than he had, calmly and professionally working to deliver the baby; he was still trying to catch up.

"Just a little more," she said, as encouragingly as she could.

Barely a moment later, a tiny cry floated out from beneath the sheet, mixing in a two part harmony with the relieved sobs of the woman on the gurney.

Rick watched in silent awe as Sasha cupped the tiny baby's head and bottom, her eyes like saucers as she brought her into view, just staring for a beat. "Well, hello little girl," she cooed, as she ran a gloved finger around the inside of the baby's mouth, clearing it of mucous and allowing her cries to gain some momentum.

The little blush colored infant squirmed in her grip, clenching her tiny fists like a boxer ready to take out whomever was responsible for her sudden appearance in the back of that ambulance, and Rick let out a small laugh at the sight. He silently took inventory of tiny fingers and toes, allowing himself a moment to take in what he had just witnessed, as his friends continued to work, drying and wrapping the baby in a blanket.

Tara smiled up at him, then at the mother, before her face fell. "Shit," she exclaimed, just as Rick felt the woman's hand go slack in his.

"Come here," Sasha ordered him, and he dropped his hold on the patient, coming around to meet them at the foot of the gurney. She quickly handed the still crying infant to Rick, as Tara rushed to separate the baby from her unconscious mother, cutting and clamping the cord while Rick cradled her. When she was done, she tucked the blanket tightly around the baby's body and Rick backed away, taking a seat on the long bench and watching as the women worked.

"Hold on," Tara called to him, as she rushed to the front of the ambulance, starting the engine and sirens up again. Rick clutched the baby to his chest, stabilizing himself against the wall as Tara took off. He was aware of Sasha's furious efforts in front of him, but he focused on shushing and patting the baby, her back barely larger than his hand. Her cries started to taper off and he moved her to the crook of his arm, staring into bright blue eyes that were trying to make sense of him and seemingly sharing in his disbelief at what they had just endured together.

...

Sasha and Tara pushed the gurney through the double doors of the hospital's emergency room, Rick following closely behind with the newborn cradled in his arms. As soon as their feet hit the tile floor, they were instantly surrounded by a team of nurses, who began examining the unconscious woman while Sasha rattled off her current stats. Rick stood, watching the group whisk away down the hall, before another nurse met him where he stood, scooping the baby out of his arms. A second team formed a circle around her, effectively pushing him aside.

"You're not arresting anyone right now, Deputy," a man in scrubs said to him, before rushing off behind them. "You can wait in there." He pointed over his shoulder toward the waiting room where a handful of people sat in various states of distress, and Rick meandered over, slumping into a chair against the wall.

After a few long moments of silence, save for the sound of a game show blaring from the tiny television in the corner, Sasha and Tara emerged from the triage corridor, at the same time as Daryl casually strolled through the front door, all three coming to meet where the first line of chairs began.

"Hey," Rick said, standing to alert them to his presence. "What's going on?"

"They're taking her to the O.R.," Tara said, looking like she had been completely drained over the last thirty minutes. "She's losing a lot of blood."

"And the baby?" he asked, searching their eyes for a sign.

"They took her to the NICU," Sasha said, avoiding his eyes. "No word yet."

Rick nodded and reclaimed his chair, as Sasha dropped into the seat beside him.

"I'm going to grab a coffee before we head out," Tara said, ambling off in a different direction.

"She talkin' at all before they wheeled her off?" Daryl asked, resting a booted foot on the chair beside his partner and leaning an elbow on his knee.

"Couple words. We'll wait."

"It's gonna be awhile," Sasha offered, knowing the two would probably be called out again before the woman was in recovery.

"We'll wait." Rick crossed an ankle over his knee and leaned back in his seat to punctuate his point.

Daryl regarded Rick's posture and decided to take a seat if they were getting comfortable, claiming the chair on his other side. "It's shit, right?" he said quietly.

"What's that?" Rick asked, keeping his eyes on the maroon and white tile floor.

"People like that having babies, while you and 'Chonne been trying all this time."

Rick swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He was trying to keep that opinion at bay, afraid that maybe spiteful thoughts could be bad luck. He believed in superstitious stuff like that these days, when cause and effect seemed to be more of a theory than a fact. "Can't look at it that way," he said after a moment. "That baby's got a right to try to make it in this world, just like any baby Michonne and I could have."

"Yeah, but still. Don't make it fair."

Rick nodded, accepting the vicarious satisfaction he got from Daryl's pettiness. "Does seem a little unfair," he offered with a shrug. "Maybe don't mention this to her, ok?" He glanced at Sasha, who returned his nod.

"Sure thing, Rick," she said, smiling with tight lips.

Tara came back then, sipping from a styrofoam cup and balancing her radio and a candy bar in her other hand. She held them up to Sasha after she swallowed her coffee. "Gotta go," she said, gesturing to the door. "Catch you guys later."

Sasha stood, resting a hand on Rick's shoulder and giving him a firm squeeze. "See you guys. Be careful out there."

"You too," Daryl called, watching the two women leave, before turning toward Rick. "How long we waiting?"

"Little while longer."

"Alright."

…

It was getting dark when Rick finally pulled onto his quiet, tree-lined road, the houses along the way glowing from the inside out against the warm night. His headlights bounced off of a long row of rectangular signs as he drove, stuck in the ground every five feet like soldiers in perfect formation. His wife and Maggie had spent hours canvassing the town with them, decorating all of their neighbors' lawns and every intersection in town with the bright blue banners carrying his name.

This had been a part of his plan since the day he put on the uniform, but now it seemed surreal: seeing 'Rick Grimes for Sheriff' in print, ubiquitously plastered along the streets of the town he used to run around in as a kid. Of course, his whole life seemed surreal to him now, in a good way. His path had been rocky and winding, but it had led to the kind of life that a man could be proud of, humbled by. He had everything he ever needed in his possession; he was married to his best friend, his son was growing into a mature and kind young man and he was doing what he was born to do in a place where he had earned back a good name. He wasn't sure his heart could be any more full, but Michonne wanted one more thing, and after everything she had given him, he was aching to give it to her.

The downstairs of the house was dark when he made it through the front door, except for the dim light that hung over the dining room table. Michonne had replaced the utilitarian fixture that used to hang there, hanging a more modern globe with a silver finish that dripped down from the top, creating a unique play of light on the ceiling above and the table below. She always left it on in the evenings, the dimmer turned down for ambiance she said. Rick smiled at the thought of the warmth she had injected into this house and his life over the past few years, before feeling the pull of that warmth beckoning him to their bedroom, where he figured she was.

"Michonne," he called, as he took the corner while loosening the buttons on his uniform shirt.

"I'm in here."

He opened the door to see her laying on her side on top of the duvet on their bed, already in her pajamas. "You feelin' sick?" he asked, trying to keep the eagerness from his voice, since sickness would be an unfortunate byproduct of what he was actually hoping for, and because eagerness was often met with disappointment these days. He didn't want to cause her anymore of that.

"No," she smiled wearily, curling her knees further in toward her stomach. "Just cramps."

"Oh," he said, realizing the disappointment would find its way in no matter his tempered tone of voice. He walked to the bed, leaning down to kiss her forehead, before carefully climbing over her to lay himself flush against her back. "I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair, feeling the triteness of his words, but not able to find a better replacement.

"Me too." She reached behind him, running her fingers through his hair while he nuzzled into her neck.

"What can I do?" he asked.

She pushed backwards, molding her body into the curve of his and covered his arm with hers, pulling him closer. "Nothing. Just stay."

He nodded against her shoulder, placing a kiss on her bare skin. "In two weeks, we'll try again," he said after a while, knowing she was probably expecting him to say that. He always said it.

"Maybe I'm too old for this, Rick" she sighed, tipping her head back slightly in an unsuccessful attempt to see his face.

"You know the doctor said you're not," he said, slightly confused at the defeat in her voice. They each had their common refrain on this day every month, and that wasn't hers.

She didn't respond and he craned his neck to see tiny tears glistening in the corner of her eyes waiting to be let free, but she kept them contained.

"Maybe you should take some time off from the campaign," he offered, carefully. He didn't want to give her the impression he thought any of her actions were to blame. "It will be one less stress."

"No," she said firmly. "Whatever happens here, I want to keep being there for you."

"You don't have to," he said, pushing up on his elbow to meet her gaze. "I'm always leaning on you, Michonne. Lean on me for once."

"Oh, Rick," she said, cupping his cheek in her hand. "I am leaning on you, you don't see it, but this is part of it. Let me do this, I need to. Besides, you know it's just the first day that's hard. I just need the day to be sad about it, then I'll be ok."

She sounded as if she was convincing herself and it broke his heart just a little more. "Ok," he whispered. "But if tomorrow comes and you need another day, you keep taking 'em, ok?"

"Ok," she agreed, with a hint of a smile.

"What time do I have to pick Carl up from his soccer thing?"

"The dinner ends at 8," she said, glancing at the clock.

"What do you want to eat?" he asked, placing his warm hand on her aching midriff and rubbing her skin with his thumb.

"I just ate half a pint of ice cream," she admitted, chuckling into the pillow.

He laughed with her, before rolling away and continuing to unbutton his shirt. "Guess I'm eating alone."

"Sorry," she smirked. "I'll come out and sit with you."

"I'm just going to make a sandwich, I'll come back and eat in here and you can tell me about your day." He kissed her cheek before hurrying off, hoping he could find a way to avoid telling her about his own day without having to lie, but knowing he would.

…

"How was the spaghetti?" Rick asked, as Carl hopped into the front seat of his SUV, throwing his backpack and gym bag over his shoulder and into the back.

"Not as good as Michonne's, but I'm stuffed." He strapped himself in and leaned back against the seat, pushing out his belly and patting it with his hand.

Rick chuckled at his son's joke. He couldn't help but marvel at the newly minted teenager beside him, his slimming face and deepening voice a testament to the fact that he wasn't a little kid anymore. Now instead of taking him fishing and out for ice cream, he took him to the shooting range and picked him up from team dinners at what used to be his bedtime.

"Make sure you tell her that," he answered, knowing Michonne would tell him not to be rude, but would secretly love the compliment.

"Where is she? You guys usually travel together." The sly look in Carl's eye was another sign of his maturing nature. He was getting better at giving his old man a hard time.

"She was already comfortable," he lied.

Carl shrugged, accepting the excuse. "How was work?" he asked.

"Long," Rick answered, dragging out the word to illustrate his point. Twelve hours on had turned to fourteen, when he had stopped back at the hospital before coming home, though the women who was currently responsible for the anger sitting uncomfortably in his stomach had still been unconscious. He knew his anger was exacerbated by his own personal situation, and maybe there would have been a little more empathy mixed in, if it hadn't been for the dampness of Michonne's eyes or her dimmed spirit that he had come home to. But he had come home to it, and he couldn't help but relish the thought of facilitating that woman's penance for her lack of regard for the tiny life that depended on her. He shook his head of the thought, deciding to focus on his son and wife for the night. "Michonne is picking out a movie, while she waits for us, if you're interested."

"Yeah, I suppose I could spend the night with the family," Carl said, as if he had the means to be anywhere else. Although, he had been known to lock himself in his room and ignore them for hours on end as a typical teenager was prone to. "As long as she picks something good and you guys don't laugh and flirt through the entire thing."

Rick squinted at his son, only vaguely annoyed since they did tend to do that. After a long day away from her, sitting silently through a movie was a difficult task. "I'm sure she'll pick somethin' you like, I'm the odd man out when it comes to that," he said.

"That's why you have your own Netflix profile, Dad," Carl smirked. "You're the only one who likes those cowboy movies."

Rick ignored Carl's ribbing, choosing instead to grill him about his school day for the rest of the short trip. Once they arrived home, Carl jumped out of the car, leaving Rick behind as he rushed to greet Michonne. He hadn't grown out of all his old habits, Rick mused as he followed behind, closing the door that Carl had failed to.

He came into the living room to see Carl's arms wrapped around Michonne's waist as she sat up on the couch to greet him, and just like that he looked like a little boy again.

"You pick something?" he asked, dropping into the seat on the other side of her and opening his arms to receive her when she let Carl go.

"I did." She smiled mischievously at him, all traces of her sullen mood having disappeared upon their son's arrival home. "You're not going to like it, but I couldn't find anything that you would."

He groaned emphatically for good measure, but in all honesty he couldn't care less. The contented thought that regularly swam around in his brain, settled upon him again: this was good.