I know, I don't know you

but I want you

so bad

everyone has a secret

but can they keep it?

oh no, they can't

-Maroon 5, 'Secret'


The energy in Atlanta, Georgia was starting to turn electric.

The air was thicker, the skies were getting darker sooner, the trees were starting to come alive and sing at night. The lights of the city seemed somehow more vibrant and menacing. People seemed more unpredictable. The daytime was for sleeping and the nighttime buzzed with life. Loneliness felt lonelier and the thirst for pleasure (if only for temporary escape from the discomfort of the heat) felt on the verge of becoming downright unhinged.

That's how you knew. It was summertime in Atlanta.

Rick Grimes had spent last year getting used to the feeling when he first arrived - the electric charge that the burgeoning summer heat generated in a man's bones. It made a man restless. It turned him feral, deep down. In some cases, that feeling caused Rick to make decisions he might later regret, but that he was inexplicably drawn to. Like this case; the one he'd just accepted.

The woman who hired him, a civil rights attorney, Andrea Jones, came off a little paranoid and obsessed, but the money she was offering was too good to refuse. Also, the case was riveting from the start. He knew as soon as she started telling the story that he would take it. Though he couldn't quite name specifically why.

She paid him half of the fifty thousand she promised him upfront, and they had a deal.

It was little after ten on a Thursday night. Rick pulled his aging black Ford Bronco into the driveway of his modest, modern single-family home.

He had made enough doing this soulless gig as a private investigator to buy a place in a nice neighborhood, the still-developing Atlanta suburb of Reece Park. He didn't have a lot of furniture or many belongings still, but that suited him just fine. Rick wasn't a guy who needed to be in a hurry for much. At least, not these days. He focused on his job, and knew by doing that, he would get his shit together for good eventually. Step by laborious step.

It didn't look as if he'd be short of clients any time soon, anyway. Summertime in Atlanta was good for business, he discovered. The electric charge in the air brought out the good and the bad with equal fervor.

As soon as he pulled into his driveway, he noticed that there was a party going on at the identical two-story loft home next door. Rick immediately felt a headache coming on. It wasn't just the faint noise of music and talking that had his palms sweaty and his head beginning to throb, though.

There was a feeling in his gut, pulling him toward this new case. It was identical to the feeling pulling him toward the case that drove him off the force. The case he never solved. The one he'd been working on when his wife and son were brutally murdered.

The serial killer who raped and killed at least a dozen women, the last four in King's County. Rick had been so consumed with it. So obsessed with solving it and avenging those poor women - until his wife Lori and his teenaged son Carl were murdered for sixty bucks and a few credit cards, turning his entire world upside down.

Rick crushed his eyes shut as he cut the engine on the truck, willing his encroaching headache away.

This was always how it started. First the headache. Then the need to self-medicate. Then...wherever the night took him. Sometimes that was down a spiraling tunnel of anguish and unbearable sorrow. Sometimes he lost his mind for a bit. There had been times, when things were at their worst, when he would wake up not knowing where he was or how he got there. Back then, his whole town had started looking at him differently - he was the crazy, troubled Sheriff's Deputy who lost his family. Unhinged. Hopeless. Pretty much a pariah.

Rick forced himself to stop thinking, his head beginning to feel the intense pressure of an oncoming episode. He climbed stiffly out of the Bronco, taking the case files Andrea had given him out of the passenger seat. He had been prepared to stay up for a few hours looking over this stuff, but right now he had a headache and his thoughts were starting to turn dark. Thinking of Lori and Carl brought the iron grip of pain and grief back, and he couldn't have that.

The music and talking persisted, but it wasn't unbearable, he found, now that he was outside the car. Just loud enough to know something was going on, but not blaring or chaotic. It sounded like there was a pretty standard, "suburban adult party" going on in there. Husbands and wives and people with kids trying to recreate some semblance of carefree fun. Generic pop and R&B music, with a little bit of classic rock thrown in for kicks. It was kind of...cute. He remembered a time when he had been one of those parents, feeling relieved and even a little proud to have made it to a social function with no curfew. But that was a long time ago. A different Rick Grimes.

Rick glanced over at his neighbor's house, his eyes doing a quick sweep to discern her location, but she wasn't anywhere he could see her.

Michonne.

He didn't know her last name. They'd only actually spoken twice since he moved in three months ago. But he knew she had a cat, worked as a nurse, took the bus into the city every morning even though she had a car, was single as far he could tell, and didn't get out much.

He knew all this because he'd been unable to stop himself from watching her. She was, in a word, captivating. The moment he saw her that first day he moved in - squinting at him curiously, her hand shielding her eyes from the blaring Atlanta sun - he was instantly attracted to her. She'd been picking up her mail as he was transferring his modest collection of belongings from his small U-Haul truck into the house. There were many things that took his breath away about her, but the first was how her skin glowed in the sun that day. He had been unable to get her out of his mind ever since.

Now the former sheriff's deputy sauntered up his front walkway, fishing his keys out of his pocket as he juggled the files. He made it to the door and balanced the files in one arm while he unlocked it with his free hand.

Rick took one more glance up at what he could see of Michonne's house over his fence and hedges. He saw lights on and silhouettes moving around upstairs, but no obvious signs of her. He didn't know what he expected to do if he caught sight of her, anyway. Stand there holding his files, watching her in full view of the rest of the neighborhood?

Rick got himself inside, closing and locking the door.

He walked through the house, knowing his way by memory, not bothering to turn on any of the lights. Preferring the darkness, Rick kept his blinds closed during the day and open at night.

Sometimes he saw things in the shadows, but that was usually curable with a good few rounds of whiskey or vodka. Speaking of which. Rick dumped the files on his coffee table and headed to his kitchen. The glare of the refrigerator light only contributed to the steadily intensifying pounding in his head, but he ignored it as he reached inside, grabbed the bottle of vodka, and slammed the door shut.

Rick felt the memories threatening to invade his brain, creeping into his bloodstream, forcing their way into his consciousness like bile rising inside his throat. He sloshed a huge helping of vodka into a glass, added a drop or two of sparkling soda and some ice, and drank it down like lemonade.

He'd have to be careful. If he went too far, he'd end up pushing himself further into the dark place, and he'd go a little mad again. It was always a risk, but going to a shrink wasn't an option. With herculean effort, Rick had managed to keep a firm handle on it for over a year, now.

Keeping his house dark, his lifestyle simple, and his days and nights focused on work usually kept the demons at bay.

Tonight, however, even as he tried to drown out the memories with the ice cold, harsh vodka soda, he knew he was going to listen to the voicemail again. Just this once. He had to.

Rick took the bottle along with his glass out of the kitchen, over to his couch. He sat down and put his booze on the table in whatever clear space he could find among the Jones case files already crowding the surface. As if operating on autopilot, the disgraced cop and hardened widower pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and scrolled through all of his saved voicemail messages until he came upon the last one his late wife Lori ever left him. The one he'd listened to so many times over the last two years, he'd lost count. Her voice on that message had been full of urgency - there was something about it that he could never shake. He never found out what she wanted to tell him. He had guessed at everything under the sun, but it would always remain a thorny, painful mystery.

Rick pressed play and held his phone up to his ear, a single tear finding its way to the surface of his right eye before falling to freedom down his stubbled cheek. He listened. The first thing he heard - the thing that always killed him the most - was that deep, impatient sigh she let out when it went to voicemail. He'd been unavailable, yet again, because he was working that case.

"Hey, Rick. Look, I know you're working, but I've got somethin' to tell you. And I need us to talk in person, okay? As soon as possible. Can you do that for me? I wouldn't ask if it wasn't really, really important. It-it's gonna sound crazy but you have to listen to me. I'm gonna drop Carl off and come up there. Please, Rick."

Then Carl's voice, interrupting. "Mom! The light's changed."

Some honking and then Lori cursing. And finally the dial tone. Rick laughed sadly, more tears falling down his cheeks like shadows. He hated it when Lori used her cell phone while she was driving. Where Rick took to lecturing her about it, Carl was always trying to act as an extra pair of eyes and ears. He was a good, sweet kid. Rick felt like the floor would open up and swallow him whole if he let another thought enter his head of his beautiful, dead son.

He felt the weight of his grief threatening to crush him then, and he forced himself to snap out of it. He put his cell phone down, wiped his face with his hands, and reached for his vodka again.

He poured himself another helping and took a swallow, shuddering as the harsh liquid did its job. His headache would ease off, soon. Then the dark thoughts. As long as he didn't go overboard.

Feeling microscopically better for that last ice-cold swig, he opened the first file sitting on top of the pile of information about the girl, Amy Jones. She was his client Andrea's younger sister. She had just turned twenty before she was kidnapped. She had disappeared over a year ago, right around the time Rick was being gently thrown out of the Sheriff's department. The local police had very few leads and eventually the case went cold.

A senior yearbook picture of Amy greeted him on the first page of the file he opened. This was the one Andrea was showing him at the bar where they met.

Amy was pretty. Blonde. Looked sweet, relatively unassuming. Andrea said they'd been very close. She was a good student, a popular girl, worked hard, didn't bother anybody. The same story you hear from every family member whose daughter or sister is cruelly snatched from them with little to no hope of a safe return.

She'd been leaving her job at a local gas station when she was taken around two in the morning. Her car had been driven off the road, and she'd been shot, the forensic and ballistics reports said. No body was ever found, though. No weapon. No second car, either.

"My friend told me your thing is infiltrating sex trafficking rings," Andrea had insisted at the dive bar with the red bulbs in the ceiling. "Bringing girls home. The police aren't doing dick - as far as they're concerned the case is cold. But I know my sister is alive, Mr. Grimes. And possibly suffering through unspeakable shit no young girl should have to experience. Please. Help me find her."

She didn't have any proof that Amy was alive. She had a whole lot of delusional hope. But something in her eyes, and something in his gut, drove him to take the case.

"If she's alive...I'll find her." Rick promised, leaving it at that. Andrea knew that was the best she was going to get.

Rick sat in his dark house, the lights of passing cars illuminating his walls every now and then, the sounds of the party next door floating in through the vents. He drank his vodka, studying the files, taking notes under the dim light of his one lamp, diving into every detail of her kidnapping.

Something about this case. Something about it nagged at him. Tugged at him. But there was silence on the other end of that feeling. The way she was taken. Something about it was not only chilling, but it was inconsistent with most of the known sex trafficking rings operating in this area. The implications of that eluded him at the moment, but he knew that they weren't good.

After a couple of hours, the sounds of the party had gotten louder, and Rick's eyes were starting to blur.

He stopped taking notes, closed the files, turned off the lamp, and poured himself more vodka - deciding to go upstairs and spend some time in front of his favorite window.


Rick splashed cold water on his face, then carried his glass and half-empty bottle into his bedroom.

He crossed the room in the dark, opened the blinds at his favorite window just enough to see without being seen, and stood there, watching.

He always resisted the urge to do this for as long as possible when he got home, because he knew it made him a creep. The guilt was an inescapable part of the experience. Sometimes he resisted doing it for days at a time, but he could never resist for longer than a couple. He mentally kicked himself over and over for not just finding the nerve to talk to her. Really try to get to know her. Try to be normal again. But the more he watched her, the more he started to feel that it was safer this way. Easier to get to know her this way, rather than taking the risk of her discovering the exposed nerve that was his past. She was one of the sexiest, most intriguing women he had ever seen. The more he watched her, the deeper he fell. And the more he convinced himself that she wouldn't want anything to do with him. Not if she knew how dark his world could get. And especially not if she ever knew he stood here at night, in the dark, watching.

From this vantage point, he could see into her kitchen downstairs, her upstairs bedroom, and her back yard. Rick didn't know her last name, but he was starting to convince himself that he knew her. And what he knew, he found just as captivating as her physical attributes. She was a normal, single mother. She did normal things. But the underlying sadness about her was really what drew him to her; the melancholy that seemed to cloak her day to night.

She had a cat; an orange and gold furball with a huge tail. She seemed to love it like family, and gave it a lot of affection, especially when she was alone. Her son was about ten or eleven as far as Rick could tell. Rick had only seen the kid once when he first moved in. He seemed to live part time with his father or some other family member.

Michonne loved to eat, and she usually did so standing up. She loved wine. He saw her walking around her house carrying a glass of red wine at least four times a week, sometimes more. She read a lot. She liked to do that in her backyard, usually with wine. She got really sad sometimes, staring off into space, sometimes even crying. It was during those times when Rick felt the strongest connection to her, even though it was one sided. She was also fun sometimes, though. She laughed a lot when she was talking on the phone. Her laughter was not timid. It looked rather boisterous, lighting up her face so beautifully that whenever he was fortunate enough to catch a glimpse, it made his heart pound in his chest. She exercised a lot. Cardio. Yoga. Usually in her bedroom. He could only stand to watch her doing that for a minute or two before he found himself becoming intensely aroused and had to close the blinds and step away.

He never watched her for longer than a few minutes. He never watched her undress.

He told himself he was just checking up on her. She didn't have anyone else, aside from one woman he saw stopping by every now and then. She was alone most of the time since he'd been watching, which led Rick to deduce that her son was gone for the summer. Even though it was the suburbs, Rick knew all too well that a woman alone in this world was a magnet for danger. Sometimes her signal was weaker than others, but her burden was never knowing when she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Rick stood at his window, smoking a cigarette, sipping his vodka, peering over into Michonne's backyard in search of her.

There was some pounding eighties electronic song playing now. Something kinda intense. He could almost feel the vibration of the subwoofers they were using back there. She had string lights hanging from lantern poles positioned all around the yard, which was pretty well groomed (his was a mess). People were mingling and talking, laughing and dancing. Eating and joking around. The most people he'd ever seen there. She never entertained, as far as he could tell. But he'd only been there for three months. Maybe they were coworkers.

Finally, Rick spotted her, talking animatedly with some guy. He felt an instant pang of jealousy, but he decided to focus on solely on her. He tried to discern how she felt about the guy from way over here - if he was just a friend, or more. She looked stunning. She was dressed casually, in a short white sundress, her body a smooth valley of dark, glowing skin and toned curves.

Her dreadlocs were loose and falling in her eyes. He couldn't really see them in detail from his viewpoint yards away in his practically empty, dark house. But he had a feeling they were sparkling. She looked carefree in a way he hadn't seen since he moved in. It made heat develop in his chest, and it began a slow, steady spread downward.

Rick's breath grew shallow as he let the vodka dance around in his bloodstream, watching Michonne smile and laugh at the guy's jokes. He wished, with a searing longing, that he was that guy. Or that he could take her attention away from that guy and keep it all to himself.

He took a drag of his cigarette and began to fall into fantasy, imagining what it could be like to be down there, in the warm, slightly crowded backyard on this early summer evening. Flirting with Michonne.


Instead of standing in his window, he is now standing in the middle of her backyard, watching her.

Michonne is right across from him, pouring herself a glass of water to cool off. Atlanta is sometimes sweltering at night. Tonight is no exception.

Her dress is low cut with spaghetti straps. She isn't wearing a bra. He can see perspiration making her skin look dewy all along her collarbone, trickling down to find a dark, warm home out of sight between her breasts. Her nipples are not hard, but he can still just make them out, pushing against the soft fabric.

Rick's cock begins to awaken in his jeans as he watches her drink the water - the rim of the glass pressed against her thick, soft-looking lips making him desperate to feel them against his own.

She finally spots him, her eyes locking onto his as she finishes the last few swallows of her water.

Rick feels as if his body is on fire under her gaze, and he knows he won't be able to stop himself from testing the waters as she makes her way toward him, that same curiosity in her expression as she had the first day he saw her. Her brow furrows, her eyes sparkling under the lights hanging from the lantern poles. Her body moves so exquisitely in the short white dress, he's mesmerized by it as she approaches him.

"Hi...you're the guy from next door, right?" Her smooth, sexy voice floats toward him as he stands there holding his beer tightly to keep himself from leaning into her.

He feels so physically drawn to her that it's all he can to do respect her personal space - or keep from giving himself away with the slowly intensifying erection developing in his jeans.

"Yeah. I'm Rick. Grimes." He manages to drawl, unable to keep his roving blue eyes from cataloging every detail of her up close. "Sorry. I crashed your party."

Michonne runs a hand through her dreads, moving the wayward locs back so they aren't obscuring her gorgeous face. Rick feels slightly nervous under her scrutiny, but he knows he's giving her as well as he's getting, so he's in no position to complain. "It's okay, Rick. It's a party. I've been meaning to extend an invite for...something...since you moved in. New meat and all…"

Her eyes are slightly mischievous as she steals his beer (well, technically hers since he crashed the beer cooler, too) and takes a swallow. The way she utters 'new meat' makes his dick twitch in his pants. He watches as the liquid goes down her elegant throat. Her lips are perched on the rim...just so. He fights against his body - he wants to move closer to her. He wants her away from these lights, these people's prying eyes. He wants her in the dark.

"I'm Michonne. Again." She says as she hands him the beer back. "Welcome to Reece Park."

He takes it and tips it in her direction as a thank you before taking a swallow himself. He feels warmth on the rim from where her lips were, just before the cold, frothy liquid invades his mouth and throat. He licks his own lips when he's done, for some way to expel the restless energy roiling through his body.

"Do you like it? The neighborhood, I mean?" She asks casually, gesturing with her long, slender fingers. "It's still pretty new, but it's coming along."

"It's not bad." He offers, taking an obligatory lap around the party scene with his eyes before they land back on her, where he likes them. She is a vision. The white dress is simple, but it makes her figure call out to him. He takes a marginal step closer, pretending to make sure she can hear him over the music. "I like the people."

Rick is decidedly pointed in his statement, eying her, letting her see a glimpse of the stormy lust behind his eyes. She blinks, her lips parting slightly. "Oh yeah?" She challenges, recovering from the affect of his voice. "Who've you met so far?"

He can see that she can tell he's focused no one else here. So he decides to be honest; see where it gets him. He smiles with slight embarrassment and scratches his chin. "Well, actually, just you so far…"

"Ahhh, okay…" She returns his smile pleasantly, brushing her hand against his shoulder, causing yearning to shoot through him from the slight contact. "We have to introduce you to some folks here, then."

"Do we?" He counters, staring at her. Michonne pauses - the look in her eyes lets him know. She is picking up on what he's no longer trying to hide. He takes another step closer as she tries to formulate an appropriate response. He's close enough to smell her, now. He has no idea what she smells like in real life, outside this fantasy, but he imagines it's something elusive, but intoxicating. Something delicious. Like coconut or cinnamon. Maybe she tastes like it too. "I was kinda hopin' I could just get to know you better, Michonne."

Michonne looks up into his eyes fully for the first time since they started talking. She can tell. He can feel almost identical energy wafting from her body, crashing into his. The heat oppressing the air makes their proximity seem charged, almost like they're human magnets. He's pulling her into his orbit, and she isn't resisting.

"What did you have in mind, Rick?" She simply utters quietly, her voice almost drowned out by the hypnotizing eighties bassline and enigmatic synths pulsing out across her backyard. The voices of the party guests shroud them as they stand there, staring at each other, sparks gathering in their mingling physical energy.

He heard her. He's been waiting for it from the moment he laid eyes on her.

Rick doesn't speak. He simply leans over and deposits his half-finished beer onto a table set up with snacks, turns back, and grabs her hand.

He leads her through the crowd of people - all of them thankfully oblivious to their departure - out of the gate in her fence, and around the side of her house. It's darker out here, and instantly cooler, though still a Georgia summer's version of "cool".

He spots a gap in the bushes lining the house, just under her kitchen window, where (unbeknownst to her of course) he's watched her eat standing up a dozen times.

Rick pulls Michonne from behind him and pushes her roughly against the panelled exterior of her house.

Finally, he has her in the dark. Her chest is heaving silently in the heat - she's breathing heavily, her lips still parted, her eyes large and round and shining in the faint light that reaches them from the street and the backyard.

His heart pounding in his chest, his dick so hard by now that it's almost painful, Rick presses himself into her. Her curves mold to his body - she's soft, and plush, yet toned. Her breasts push into his hard chest, their heartbeats almost identically rapid. Exhaling long and hard, Rick angles his face up to hers as he sinks down in his stance to reach under her skirt and touch her delectable-looking skin.

She simply watches his face, waiting for him to do what he wants with intense anticipation. There is unabashed desire for him in her eyes. It emboldens him.

Their lips brush against each others' as he runs his hands up her smooth thighs and grabs hold of her. She gasps as he lifts her up easily, positioning himself between her legs, pushing his engorged erection into her pulsing heat. His hands slide further along until he's gripping her plump, pronounced ass in both strong hands. She's wearing a thong.

Rick closes the miniscule space between them finally, grinding himself into her as he kisses her against the wall of her house, in the dark. Michonne opens her mouth and lets him slip his tongue inside as he continues to grind into her. As he does, his right hand inches closer to her sex, his other still gripping her ass, caressing it as he gradually moves his kisses from her mouth to her neck.

She wraps her legs around him, pulling him even closer to her, and seconds later she's got her fingers laced into the thick hair at the nape of his neck. Rick's fingers find their way underneath the front of her thong, and he finally feels how wet she is. The sensation of her slick heat against his fingers sends desire shooting through him. He wastes no time massaging her clit while he thrusts two fingers inside her. She is very wet already, and very warm, and very tight.

"Mmm...shit!" She gasps, gripping his hair as his kisses make their way toward her breasts, still hidden from him by the thin fabric of her dress.

Rick begins to fuck her slowly with his fingers, his tongue slithering underneath her top, finding one of her nipples, and circling it intensely to the rhythm of his thrusts. He sucks her nipple into her mouth and she thrusts her chest into his face, writhing around against him, barely able to stand the pleasure.

He works her with fingers and tongue for a short while, getting her wetter, reveling in the sound of her gasping and quiet moaning. Her voice gets lost in the music once it makes it past his ears, but it's enough to drive him crazy with lust. He's ravenous.

When he feels her tug on his hair impatiently, going mad with the need to have him inside her, he pulls his soaked fingers from her heated sex and lifts his head. They stare into each other's eyes as he prepares her silently for what's coming next. Michonne bites her lip, her grip around his waist tightening as she reaches down and begins to hastily unbuckle his belt.

By the time she gets it undone, and his zipper seconds later, they are both practically panting with impatience to join. Rick's cock springs free from his pants, thick, hard, and long, resting against her stomach. It's so hard that it's tinged with purplish-blue and leaking precum profusely.

Michonne wraps her cool, soft hand around him and he almost buckles at the contact. She guides him toward her opening, and once he finds it - he thrusts, hard. Michonne lets out a soft whimper and cradles his head against her breasts as his powerful entrance drives her into the wall again.

She feels like a dream. She is a dream. She is perfect, and all-consuming. He sinks into her slick, tight pussy and begins to fuck her against the harsh wood paneling - her plump ass vibrates in his hands as his knuckles brush against the unforgiving wood through the fabric of her dress.

They find each other's mouths and try to devour each other as Rick fucks Michonne hard, bouncing her on his shaft against the wall. He rolls his body into hers, his back bowing over as he plunges into her over and over again, utterly lost inside her.

Her fingers in his hair, her legs around him, her ass in his hands, his cock buried to the hilt inside her...he wants to feel her cum. So desperately. Finally, she does. She moans into his mouth as her tight pussy beginning to quiver and quake around him, her breasts heaving against him. And he quickly follows, grunting her name like a mantra into her damp, warm neck, his voice muffled by her locs.

He doesn't want it to be over. He wants to keep going. He wants her against this wall until the sun comes up. He's been wanting her for months. Michonne rides him against the wall, her hips crashing into his, making him cum even harder.

When he finally calms down and very slowly, reluctantly pulls out of her, they stare at each other again.

"Nice to meet you, Rick Grimes…" she whispers, her eyes glazed with languid satisfaction.

"Pleasure's all mine, Michonne." Is all he can think to say. It's the truth.


this is my try at an AU walking dead thriller.

part "drive."

part "kiss the girls."

all richonne.

enjoy.

more to come very soon. ;)