A/N: I've had a surge of creativity lately and I'm going to roll with it. This story is a response to two prompts on tumblr:
carlwritesbadsmut:Movie night? Only they can't see any movies so they describe the plots of one and get things mixed up...and freedomspeaks112:How about a journey or trip?
Thank you for the ideas! This story takes place in the six weeks between the herd arriving and the mints.
Without further ado...Enjoy!
"Favorite movie," Michonne prompted. The wind was rustling through her hair from the open window. Just behind her, the landscape of Virginia in the early spring whipped by.
"What?" Rick squinted at her, taking his eyes off the barren road to regard the woman riding shotgun.
"Come on," she coerced, the hint of a smile playing on her lips. "Favorite movie. You've never played a driving game before?"
"You know, there used to be a time where you didn't want to talk to me in the car," he couldn't resist the urge to tease, not when she was sitting there looking at him so earnestly.
She rolled her eyes, a well-practiced motion. Still, her lips quirked up a few centimeters more. "You were an asshole," she informed him matter-of-factly.
"I was," he laughed, agreeing wholeheartedly.
"You owe me. So," she adjusted in the passenger seat, turning her body away from the window and towards him. "Favorite movie."
Rick chuckled, shooting her another look. Her arms were folded expectantly in her lap, the sunlight of the early morning reflecting off her bronzed skin. Her hair was twisted back from her face, tucked into a thick braid behind her. She'd left her headband hanging out to dry on their porch in Alexandria. Rick enjoyed the novelty of seeing her without it.
"Pulp Fiction," he hadn't thought about that movie in years, but now it came to his lips almost unbidden.
"Never saw it," Michonne answered immediately.
"Really?" he glanced over at her again, chuckling a bit.
"You sound surprised," she observed.
"Everyone's seen Pulp Fiction," he informed her.
"So, you like what everybody likes then?" it was less of a question and more of a judgement.
"Oh," he scoffed, unable to contain his laughter. Michonne was clearly baiting him, hoping to get him riled up. It was a trick she'd employed often before they found Alexandria; she was the master of distraction when she set her mind to it. She'd often been able to regal Carl with her prattling games of Would You Rather and 21 Questions. Rick had most often been an observer, happy simply to spectate. Without Carl, she turned her attentions to him. "What's your favorite movie, then?" he challenged.
"The Color Purple," her answer came as quickly as his.
"I've seen that," he told her, grinning. "Sad movie."
"It's not sad," she disagreed, her fingers fiddling with a stray loc that had escaped her braid. Rick watched it dance in front of her face.
"It's pretty sad," he argued. "Lori cried."
"You didn't?" she seemed skeptical. She stopped playing with her hair just long enough to look at him.
"Might have," he acquiesced. "It's been a long time." In truth, he'd bawled like a damn baby, but he didn't need Michonne knowing that.
She grinned, looking for the world as though she could read his mind. "Parts of it are sad," she conceded.
"Like all the parts between the opening and closing credits?" he snorted.
Michonne laughed, the sound of her mirth filling the car. "Maybe you think it was sad. I don't."
"Clearly," he cocked a brow at her.
"Ok, smartass," she kicked his seat lightly, tilting her head back to catch the cool breeze through the window. "Why is Pulp Fiction your favorite?"
Rick shrugged. "I'd never seen anything like it. It's the kind of story that doesn't happen in King's County." He laughed, following the thread of the memory back to a time that seemed long off. "My best friend and I, we must have seen that movie ten times in theaters."
"Which one of you was Jules and who was Vince?" she asked, smiling widely.
"I thought you never saw it," he countered.
Her laugh tinkled out again, bringing a smile to his own face. "I've seen it. Not ten times," she teased. "Answer the question."
"Ten times in theaters," he stressed. "And I was Jules."
Her laughter escalated. She drew her legs up, hugging her knees to her chest in her amusement. "You're definitely Jules."
"Why do you say that?" he was curious about her assessment of him.
"Big speeches, intimidating stance, curly hair and a beard," she ticked the list off on her fingers. "You're Jules."
"I don't give dramatic speeches," he protested.
Michonne snorted outright in disbelief. "Oh, so who was it I had to punch in the back of the head a month back then? Out in the damn street, yelling…"
Rick felt a blush rise to his cheeks. "You might have a point."
"Why was your friend Vince?" she continued her line of questioning.
"He was the smooth one. Good with girls." Rick chuckled a bit at the understatement that was. Reminiscing about Shane didn't hurt as bad as he thought it would.
"My boyfriend, he was a Jules too," Michonne announced suddenly, turning her head to glance out of the front windshield. "He had a Vince."
Rick resisted the urge to look at her. Michonne rarely spoke openly with him of her past. He tried his best to stay still, hoping not to startle her into stopping.
"Jules made it out of that movie," she sighed, her fingers tracing the handle of her katana absently. "Mike didn't."
"Neither did Shane," Rick swallowed hard. She didn't need to know all that story, not yet.
"We had a son," her next declaration was so quiet that Rick almost didn't hear it. He felt his heart tighten. He knew she had to have been a mom; her reluctance to hold Judith in the early days of their association gave her away. Rick had been grieving deeply then. He knew how to recognize the same in someone else.
"What's his name?" he asked, chancing a glance at her.
Michonne wiped her face, "Andre. Andre Anthony."
"That's a good name. Strong name." He smiled just the slightest, wondering if her son had looked like her.
She bit her lip. "I wonder if he would have been a Jules or a Vince."
"Neither," Rick turned his face towards hers. Michonne met his eyes, her expression prompting him to continue. "You're not a Pulp Fiction character," he told her. "Andre couldn't have been. You're both characters in another movie. A better one." He licked his lips nervously, hoping his idiotic parable sounded wise to her ears.
She chuckled wetly, swallowing hard. "What movie do I belong in?"
"Daryl called you the Last Samurai," Rick seized the opportunity to lighten the mood. "But I'm not sure about that. I think you'd be in a movie all of your own."
"How does it end?" she asked. Her wide eyes brown eyes caught his, waiting as though his answer was the most important thing in the world.
"You're the hero. You decide that," he grinned at her, slowing the car as an abandoned strip mall came into view. Michonne immediately went into work mode, unsheathing her sword and unbuckling her seatbelt.
"Together?" she asked, slipping out of the car. Rick tucked the keys into his back pocket and un-holstered his python.
"Together," he agreed. He led the way, carefully clearing the shops as they came across them. Conversation ceased as they worked systematically, gathering everything useful in their paths. A walker or two made an appearance, but Michonne made short work of them. She was bent over, perusing a shelf of canned goods when Rick decided to continue their car game.
"Why is the Color Purple your favorite?" he questioned, taking a bag from her and tossing it over his shoulder.
"I thought you didn't like my car questions?" she smirked at him.
"You got me intrigued," he admitted. He paused in his work, staring at her. "Well?" he prompted.
She rolled her eyes again, but answered, her eyes still on the shelves around them. "It has hope," she explained. "Even through everything that character went through, what her family and her friends went through, they had hope." She turned to him, brandishing a can of peas. With a smile, she tucked it into their rucksack. "Come on," she continued scouring the building.
"Hope," Rick echoed, his mind racing. Perhaps that's what the last few weeks had been. It'd been so long since he had felt it, that he almost didn't recognize the emotion. But there it was, after the herd and the Wolves, and the deaths….hope. He pondered the phenomenon as they went about their run. The last shop in the string was a secondhand bookstore. Rick approached it first, knowing Michonne would want to bring Carl back the comic books he so loved. Sure enough, she headed to that section directly, kneeling to search the titles. Rick was struck by an idea. He skirted through the shelves quickly, drawing on a memory that he wasn't sure was accurate, his eyes flying across stacks and stacks of musty paperbacks.
"Rick?" Michonne stood up from across the store, looking curiously for him. Panicking, he searched quicker, knowing he only had seconds before she made her way towards him.
"Over here," he waved at her from over the shelves. "Maybe we should look for some health books for Denise or something."
Michonne nodded thoughtfully, already beginning the task he suggested. Rick sighed in relief, continuing his search. All at once he saw it, sandwiched in a pile of battered books, the cover so faded that he almost couldn't make out the title. He grabbed at it eagerly, nearly toppling the whole stack in his haste. Michonne looked back up at him, grinning at his clumsiness.
"Careful," she cautioned with another smirk.
Rick nodded, shoving the book into the back of his jeans underneath his shirt. "You ready?" he asked.
"It's a good haul today," she inspected her own bag. "That's good enough for me." She smiled as he walked towards her.
"Then let's get back on the road," he led the way back into the parking lot.
The trunk of their SUV was full to bursting by the time they packed it all in.
"There's some nice books for Carl," Michonne mused. "Maybe Enid would like a few." She walked to the passenger side door and climbed back in. Rick mirrored her.
Their ride back was silent, punctuated only by the rustling of the warm wind through the trees lining the road and the leaves as they crunched beneath their vehicle's tires. The book was digging into the small of Rick's back as he drove, begging to be exposed. If Michonne noticed his discomfort, she charitably did not mention it. She was lost in thought, her head resting against the frame of the door, her eyes trained out on their surroundings.
"Michonne," he called to her as they pulled up the gates of Alexandria, hesitant to interrupt her musings.
She turned to him, smiling gently. Rick fumbled behind him. "What's this?" she asked, accepting the dingy book.
"It's not the movie, but I thought…" he paused, oddly flustered. Michonne read the title out loud.
"The Color Purple by Alice Walker," her smile made Rick want to sigh with relief.
"Maybe you can read it to me," he suggested.
Michonne wiped her face again, shielding it from his eyes. "Maybe I will," she agreed. She was out of the car before Rick could say anything further, already waving at Carl as he made his way to them. He was holding Judith, looking delighted. Rick watched his son hug Michonne without hesitation, watched her hug Carl tightly to her, rocking him slightly.
"What's that?" Carl traded Michonne Judith for the bag of comic books in her hand.
"Just a book I love," she kissed Judith's head, bouncing the baby in her arms. Michonne glanced back at Rick as their family and neighbors fell on the car, appraising the items from the run.
Rick stared back at her, grinning at the smile that played on her lips.
"What are you staring at?" Glenn broke him out of his reverie.
"Nothing," Rick snapped back to reality, helping move boxes of supplies. "I was thinking, do we have a TV anywhere around here? And a DVD player?"
"I think so…" Glenn sounded confused. "Why?"
"Might be nice to start having movie nights," Rick told him, glancing up at the space Michonne had just been standing in.
"I'll look into it," the younger man nodded. "Was that Michonne's idea?"
Rick chuckled. "Indirectly," he told Glenn.
"I think people will like that. It'll be nice, doing normal things." Glenn moved off, arms full of food.
"I think they will," he said agreed. The shadows on the streets of Alexandria were growing long in the low light of the day.
"Dad!" Carl called to him from their porch. "Come inside. Michonne's cooking."
Rick grinned at his son, "Coming son," he called back. He paused to take a deep breath of the warm spring air, inhaling the scent of the plants coming back to life around them. With a slow exhale, Rick followed his family into his house.