A/N: Came across this trope on Twitter from evi DRAGONSWEN and decided to give it a try.
Enjoy! 😃
"Untitled."
Rick Grimes couldn't believe his tired, bleary eyes.
On his way towards the lobby elevator, Rick's attentions were drawn in the direction of a dispute between the front desk clerk and, an irate woman, with a black blazer draped over one arm and a multi-colored, carry-on luggage clutched in the other.
It was her—Michonne Dandridge—his arch-nemesis.
Was he being overly dramatic? Viewing her as his chief rival? Even though, it had been three whole years, since he'd moved away, from Atlanta to New York city?
Uh, maybe. But for forever and a day this woman had an uncanny knack for aggravating his soul like no other, always taxing him and pushing him to his limits with such fervor and conviction, tormenting him was her religion.
So why? Why on earth did he take god out of his thoughts, and waltzed back over to the receptionist area, instead of minding his own damn business and continuing up to his beckoning hotel room?
Like a moth to a flame…
"Wait, what do you mean you don't see it?" asked Michonne, exhausted and frustrated, suffering from serious jet lag.
"Exactly as I just said Ma'am, there's no reservation here for a Michonne Dandridge."
"But there has to be," she insisted. "My assistant made these arrangements two months ago and he confirmed my booking just last week. So there has to be a mistake!"
'For crap's sake, why isn't anything going right today?' Michonne wondered, as she stood there ready to explode in front of this clerk who, looked at her with such complacent eyes, Michonne wanted to reach across the damn desk and gouge them out.
"Hey. Everything okay?"
Suddenly, a familiar self-righteous drawl, from a particularly irritating southern 'gentleman,' jerked her gaze towards his approaching form, in a metallic grey suit. Her body tensed and her eyes narrowed, as she consciously took a deep breath in to steady her already roiling emotions.
She knew he would be here in San Francisco this weekend. The financial investment firm they both worked for sent a representative from each of their five branches, as was customary, to the Financial Planning Association annual NorCal conference. This year would be her first trip, and despite seeing her ex co-worker's name on the assigned list, she looked forward to the convention. But how could it be possible, to run into this man at the very moment she felt like falling apart?
"Hey," she greeted tersely.
"Long time no see. Is there a problem here?" he asked, with his head cocked to the side, his grin broad and arrogant, his eyes blue and assessing, and his hair… perfect as friggin' usual.
"No, I'm good."
"Really? I mean…" He turned and pointed towards the elevator. "I heard you yelling is all."
"Oh I um I just need to find another hotel. There's been a mix up and this place is apparently booked up so…"
He glanced at his watch, "But it's late."
'No shit Grimes.' She rolled her eyes whilst stepping back. "Yeah so I better get a move on. See you tomorrow, okay?"
"Or not. We could share?" The words slipped out of his mouth before he knew what he was saying.
Her feet halted, and she shook her head. "Share what?"
"A room. C'mon we've done it before." Ages ago but still… "So it shouldn't be a problem."
Problem indeed. Not only did she have to endure a three-hour flight delay, due to technical issues, and being stuck with no place to rest at nine thirty in the god-damned night, now here this asshole comes, Mr. Rick 'hot-shot' Grimes, strutting like he's Marlon effing Brando, to do what? Save the day?
"No. No, thank you. I'll handle it."
"Michonne… don't be like that." Her stubborn expression clearly indicated for him to back off, but he couldn't help himself. For a fact, they didn't like each other. She didn't trust him and he, likewise, felt the same about her. But, Rick wondered if this chance meeting, after all the time that had passed, meant things could somehow change for the better between them. He was offering an olive branch, and he'd hoped she would take it.
"Come on," he said. "Look at the time. You must be tired."
Michonne sighed and glanced around at the empty lobby, besides the receptionist it was just the two of them. He was right. It was late, and she was tired… too tired to go hunting for other accommodations.
So, with much hesitancy, she agreed.
Afterward, in the elevator, she promptly informed him that this arrangement would only be for one night. The next day, right after the morning session ended, she would search out the closest hotel with available lodging.
"Suit yourself." Rick stepped out into the hallway first when they arrived up to his floor.
As soon as they located his room, and trudged through the door, they both took immediate note, not of the elegant gold and white décor, but of the lone king sized bed positioned in the center of the room.
"Don't worry," he said, slipping off his jacket. "I'll sleep on the chair."
"But of course."
In need of a hot shower, Michonne didn't hesitate to excuse herself to the bathroom with her luggage in tow.
Meanwhile, in need of a hot meal, Rick perused the hotel's menu as he undid his tie and collar button, and ordered dinner, grateful for the hotel's provision of 24 hour room service.
Sitting on the edge of the bed he hollered that if she was hungry, food would be arriving in half an hour.
She opened up and came out. "Thanks."
Rick nearly swallowed his tongue as she exited the bathroom dressed in a silk beige pajamas, which left very little to the imagination— not that he wanted to imagine her at all in that way… of course not.
During the years they worked together at the same branch in Atlanta, they were both competitive with one another over signing up big clients and, impressing the bosses. At first their work relationship was more collaborative, supportive, and even fun. But at some point their ambitions started to get the better of them both. With their manager expertly pitting them against each other, their friendship corroded and a full-blown rivalry was born.
Still, from the corner of his eyes he trailed every movement of her bare legs as she strolled up and down, from one end of room to the next, inspecting the amenities, all the while purposefully ignoring him as he sat quietly in the corner armchair unpacking his bag on the ottoman.
Finally, with a small white container in her hand, which she retrieved from her bag, she planted herself on the seating area in front of the wall to wall windows overlooking the city, creaming her face and her hands and securing her locs in a high bun.
Michonne eyed Rick's reflection as he watched her. She felt incredibly uncomfortable in her Pjs, but what else was she to do? She couldn't very well sleep in her suits now could she? Despite Rick's leering, and the crimson flush creeping up his neck, she tried her utmost to play it cool. She was supposed to be in her own room alone after all, and her being there was his brilliant idea.
"So…" She twisted her torso a bit to look back at him, breaking the awkward silence. "New York, you like it?"
"The winters are too cold, and the summers are too hot. And the people are too… different," he muttered, deflecting his gaze to someplace else.
"Oh...oh I'm so sorry to hear that," She feigned pity with a huge grin that was impossible to fight back. Rick Grimes was miserable. Good!
"Heard Jadis got caught laundering money," he said.
"Yes. So stupid of her to try and run a racket right under Phillip's nose. You remember… the man is paranoia personified."
Rick chuckled. His old manager's irrational ways often elicited theories and rumors about the stableness of his sanity. "Nice to know some things haven't changed."
She turned fully and took a seat to glare at him. "A lot of things have changed Rick. With you no longer around I'm the top agent at my branch, uncontested, and I don't have to worry about getting stabbed in the back."
He pulled up his shirt sleeve and peered at his watch in a dramatic fashion. "Oh, look at that. It took you less than an hour to get that one out."
She shrugged and folded her legs underneath her. "Yeah well, you trying to be nice to me is throwing me off of my game."
"Like you said before, it's just for one night, so don't get used to it."
"Wouldn't even dream to."
"Good," he shot back.
"Good." She slammed her cream down next to where she sat, Michonne couldn't help but be amazed at how easily Rick Grimes irritated her.
Soon thereafter, the food arrived. Rick joined her by the window with their meals in a tray, and to her surprise he'd ordered a Black Bean & Mushroom Vegan Burger for her to eat.
Noticing her staring at her plate, "What?" he asked. "What is it?" 'Please don't make the food an issue now.'
"Nothing, it's just I almost always have this when staying at hotels."
He stuck a fork in his pasta dish and twirled the tagliatelle. "Well you did eat it every night on that retreat in Miami…"
She looked at him, puzzled, not because she couldn't recall the occasion to which he was referring to, but because he did.
"Out of everything that happened, during that four day trip, you remembered that?"
"You're a creature of habit… predictable. But, what was unpredictable, was you trying to kiss me late one night." With a smug grin his finger tapped his temple. "Didn't forget that either."
"Are you kidding me?" Michonne's jaw went slack and her gaze plummeted to the floor. "That, that was nothing. I was drunk and you know it. You don't even…" She shook her head as she fumbled to explain. "Look, Carol dared me to guzzle those three mojitos, that's what happened. And I wasn't about to back down from that bet... Made a hundred bucks too, which, as I recalled, I spent on your broke cowboy ass the very next day."
"Had to have those boots Michonne, the design was one of a kind. And I paid you back."
"Mmhm... Took your time with it, didn't you?"
"With interest."
"A box of honey-nut cheerios? Seriously?"
He laughed at the fond memory of when things were good between them. "Yeah." In the three years he'd lived out in New York, he was yet to make a connection with anyone like he had with Michonne. Maybe, that's why he took this opportunity to be 'nice' to her… he missed home.
For a few minutes, they ate their food in silence.
Michonne, however, kept stealing furtive glances at Rick, trying to figure out the real meaning behind his cordiality. The tension between them was still there—crackling—and rightfully so as they'd said and done one too many unfriendly things to each other in the past, which, she felt, they could never prevail over. At least for her, it would be too much of a challenge.
Everything about this man made her want to jump out of her skin and, run in the opposite direction, but, here they were, sharing a meal, talking and reminiscing like they used to in the early days of their friendship.
"So MDRT huh?" Rick asked after awhile, referring to the elite 'Million Dollar Round Table' group all financial advisors aspired to be a part of. Michonne became a member the year before, after she'd sold more than a million dollars of life insurance within a single twelve-month period.
Setting aside her burger, she picked up her bottled water and took a sip. "Yeah… you too. But the status isn't all that it's cracked up to be."
"True."
"I attended the Morningstar Investment Conference last month, though. I'm concentrated on designing investment portfolios for my clients, and I'm aiming to get a seat on the firm's Investment Committee within the next year or two… hopefully."
He reached across and gripped her arm. "You will. Don't doubt yourself." Michonne's soft brown eyes blinked at him, and he let her go. "I mean…" he cleared his throat. "You're fierce, always focused…you're good at your job, so don't worry about it."
"Thanks," she said softly.
"And Andre? He must be what… five, six now?"
"Yeah, six in December. He's my big boy. Doesn't like it too much when I call him Peanut in front of his friends. Bothers him… When did that happen?" As she resumed eating she thought about how it wasn't so long ago when her little son couldn't get enough of his mother, he'd call her his own personal superhero. "I've got a million pictures of him on my Drive."
Rick's gaze followed hers to the other side of the room, to where her phone rested on the bedside table. "Well at least he still let's you do that. Carl's fifteen—too grown for his old man to take photos of him."
Michonne giggled and shook her head. "Not cool."
"That's what he says. But he's doing pretty good though… in school, and in general, considering all thangs."
"With the move?"
"That… and with us, Lori and I." He watched as Michonne stopped chewing and tilted her head, sincere curiosity flashed across her face. "So you haven't heard I guess. We uh, we broke up."
Rick went on to explain what transpired, and about how Lori left him. Incidentally, six months after moving to New York, she hooked up with a banker named Ishmael Maharaj and fell in love.
Michonne's eyes widened in disbelief. "You're joking..."
"No I am not."
"Yes you are. You're kidding me."
"I kid you not. She had a full blown Hindustani wedding and everythang. Looked ravishing in red."
"You went?"
"Why not? No hard feelings. Our marriage was on shaky ground for some time now, everyone knew that." The whole reason behind relocating to NY was to get a fresh start. He did everything he could to salvage their relationship, so, his conscience was clear.
But it was 'Too little too late.' Those were Lori's words as she walked out on him decisively ending their twenty year old relationship.
Glimpsing at Michonne's hands, no ring resided on her finger, but he inquired anyway if she'd settled with anyone.
She confessed, with a resigned sigh, that her current relationship was … complicated. "We're both afraid I think, so we're holding back. Playing it safe." More like they were on an extended break.
" 'With love there's no fear. Perfect love casts fear out.' It's a scripture my grandfather used to quote all the time."
"You believe that?"
He stopped and assessed his true feelings. For the first time he questioned himself on whether or not, in his heart, he'd adopted the belief as his own. "I don't know. No matter who we are I think, I think to be human is to be afraid… of the unknown, of the things we can't control."
"Like if the person we love, loves us back, the way we want them to?"
He nodded. "Or if they'll love us forever… even after you've both promised 'Till death do us part.' "
Michonne observed the forlorn look in his eyes, as he was drawn to some place distant, some place outside of this room and perhaps, to a different time altogether when he'd uttered those words wholeheartedly. "Rick?"
His attentions snapped back to the present and he glanced at her.
"I'm so sorry," she breathed.
He waved off her concern. "Don't worry about it. I'm okay."
She nodded, half accepting his reassurance, and half understanding his desire to not be granted any pity.
"Anyway…" He scooped up the last of his food and stuck it in to his mouth, and then placed his napkin over his cleared plate. "What about Abraham, and umm, Glenn... the new guy?"
"New guy?"
"Yeah the one who got hired right before—"
Michonne's expression darkened. "Right before you poached my dream job?"
Rick held her gaze, for a long, loaded moment. Both grew uncomfortable as a plague of emotions swarmed inside of them like locusts—Resentment. Hurt. Bewilderment. Regret.
Michonne couldn't believe it when she felt her eyes stinging under his glare. She sprung up, taking with her the tray to set their dishes outside the door.
"Hey," Rick followed suit and got up on his feet, ready to put a permanent rest to their squabble.
"No, forget it." She leaned over the bed and drew back the comforter.
But no, he didn't want to forget it. They were already there, and they needed to end this dispute once and for all. How long would they live on like that? At some point, wouldn't she prefer to move on and not be stuck in the past?
He marched over to her before she could climb into bed. "I'm sorry."
"Rick stop. I said to forget it."
But he didn't stop… he grasped her arm when she tried to turn away from him. "I know you've always questioned my ability to excel at this job, I get it. You think me succeeding, that it was easier for me."
"Because it was! It is!" She detached herself from his grip and took a step backwards. "You of all people saw the hoops I jumped through to prove myself, just to get an inkling of respect. And still you went behind my back—"
"For the last time I did not."
"Yes you did Rick. Don't lie to me. Don't lie to yourself. I slaved to organize those group plans for my sales presentation to LGC, the biggest client our firm ever had the chance to pitch to in like seven years. They were ready to make a switch for their eleven hundred employees and I am the one who met with the CEO three times, flying back and forth to New York at my own god damned expense. And in the middle of putting together my final proposal you just…" She snapped her fingers in his face, "…swooped in and you took it away from me."
"And I said I was sorry. But for the record, you weren't available when they—Mr. Wilson and the head of their HR department, Mrs. Porter—dropped by. I had no choice."
"Yeah right," she scoffed. They'd fought over lucrative clients over the years… hell, all the agents did. But Rick knew that signing LGC meant more to her. "Not only do I question your abilities, but I also question your integrity. You knew better. I needed that promotion."
"And you knew what I was going through. I needed to try something to save my marriage."
"And look at how that turned out," she countered. "I told you about Lori… long before."
"And I told you to stay the hell out of my business!"
"Well I was right wasn't I? You never listened to me, and I never understood why. I know you loved her, but I was only trying to be a friend and look out for you."
"By slamming on my marriage?"
"By speaking the truth!" she replied. "Out of genuine concern—"
He laughed. "Yeah right. You only had genuine concern about yourself. And about getting ahead at the firm. That is the truth. So don't try to bullshit me Michonne."
"Oh to hell with you Rick. Then you got what you deserved." Michonne spun around and crawled in between the crisp white sheets.
Squinting his eyes with disdain, he pointed a finger at her. "You're a god-damned she-devil, you know that?"
Snatching up his sleepwear, Rick stormed off to take a shower and slammed the bathroom door behind him.
Fifteen minutes later, when he walked out, the lights were off and her back was turned, but he noticed she was whispering in to her phone. Soon after, though, she hung up.
In silence, he set out the extra sheet and pillow on the armchair and settled in for the night, or at least he tried to. Even with his legs stretched out on the ottoman, he found it difficult to get comfortable, no matter how much he twisted himself, he simply couldn't relax.
Annoyed by his restlessness, Michonne shot up in the bed and scolded him for being too noisy.
"Oh shut up why don't you," Rick retorted. "Just shut the hell up Michonne. Remember why you're even here and that I could still put you out."
With that, she flew out of the bed with her pillow in hand, and proceeded to hit him over the head with it.
Stunned, Rick drew his arms over his face, taking cover from her blows. "Hey, hey, hey." He jumped up and darted to the other side of the bed. "What's the matter wit' you?"
"I can't stand your cocky, country ass."
"And you drive me crazy!" He grabbed another pillow and cautiously approached her. "Now, look here alright… I think you need to calm down—" With a flick of his wrist he whacked his pillow against her ribs.
"You son-of-a…" She hit him back in his face and scooted backwards out of his reach.
"Now look, Michonne, cut it out alright? You don't want to go there with me."
"What… you think I can't handle it?"
"Oh I know you can't."
"Ha. Try me Grimes. Come on…" she taunted, swinging her pillow around. "Show me what you got cowboy."
Rick watched her eyes gleam with pure malice. She was ready to tango, and so was he. Lunging forward, he smacked her hard with his pillow causing her to stumble back towards the door, and before she had time to catch herself he hit her again.
"Had enough?"
"No!" She retaliated and swung at him repeatedly, aiming for any and every part of his body, but he used his pillow as a shield.
Suddenly, he burst out laughing—at her and at himself—and she started laughing too.
Soon, Michonne was in a fit of giggles at the absurdity of their brawl. The ridiculousness of it all left her too weak to even lift her arms.
But then Rick grabbed her by her wrist, and pulled her closer to him. She hadn't realized he'd stopped cracking up.
Now he stared at her, he lowered his head, and pressed his lips against her mouth.
For a heart-stopping moment, she stood there frozen, her mind, for a split second, could not discern whether she was dreaming or if the kiss was real.
Rick dropped his feathered weapon, enfolded his arms around her waist, and kissed her again.
This time, she kissed him back—slowly and tentatively, both gauging each other's taste, each other's touch, each other's response. Until they found a rhythm that would uniquely be their own.
Michonne Dandridge hated Rick Grimes. So why was she now melting like butter in his arms? Why was she picturing herself running her hands beneath his white T-shirt against his lean chest? Why did she love this kiss?
Well to be honest the man was an expert with his mouth. Damn.
Was he thinking the same? That she was a good kisser too?
'Ugh, Michonne stop being so juvenile—'
In that moment, he had her on her back, sprawled across the bed.
Her eyes flew open and her hands gripped his shoulders for him to stop. 'No, no this isn't going to happen.'
He pulled back and peered down at her. "Is this okay?"
She didn't respond, contemplating the aftermath of venturing along this path with him.
He observed the wheels turning in her head. "Don't over think it." He leaned back onto his knees and dragged his T-shirt off over his head, his heart racing at the sight of her gaze flickering down over his torso. Lowering himself on top of her soft body, he slipped the flimsy straps of her top off of her narrow shoulders and placed a gentle kiss on her collar bone. God, she was so gorgeous. "Is this okay?"
Still, she said nothing. He stopped. Their gaze connected. A bevy of emotions flooded them both. He dragged the corner of her top down, further exposing one side of her chest, and his warm hand cupped her tenderly. "Is this okay?" he asked again, although her face reflected her genuine pleasure. "Say yes."
She bit her lip, as superb ecstasy pulsated down to her core, and nodded, "Yes."
~0~0~0~0~0~0~
Bright and early the next morning, Michonne, in a rush, pried herself from Rick's clutches, got up, and dressed to leave. On her way out she declared to him that what they did was an absolute mistake, and solemnly, he agreed. She was not a woman for one night-stands. On the other hand, how could this lead to anything substantial?
Rick concurred, but invited her, nonetheless, to stay the second night as he felt it wasn't necessary for her to find someplace else. Confused by the insurmountable temptation to accept his request, Michonne forced herself to walk out of his hotel room.
Not long after, she stood outside on the pavement in front of the building with her luggage leaning against her leg, and her cell-phone in hand, trying to decide which other hotel with availability was closest. The simple task seemed to be impossible, however, as memories of her night with Rick impounded all thoughts in her head.
Just then…
"Michonne! Wait!"
… Rick came barreling out of the hotel's glass entrance towards her barefoot and breathless.
"Wait…" he panted. "Listen… I, don't, do one-night stands either."
"Okay, so?"
"So… the weekend's ours. Why let it go to waste?" He hung his head and shook it slightly. "Look, I know, I know I'm in New York you're in Atlanta, we're hundreds of miles away from each other. But…" Lifting his gaze to meet hers he shrugged his shoulders. "…not today."
"What are you saying?"
"Screw this convention is what I'm saying. Stay with me. Let's go and, you know…" He spread his arms out and jutted his chin towards the bustling streets. "…take a tour of the city, sightseeing or something. Or not. We could just laze around or whatever. And I think we really need to talk."
"You want us—you and I—to spend more time, the whole weekend, together?"
"Yeah," He placed his hands on his hips. "You afraid?"
Flattered by his pursuit, a small smile tugged the corners of her mouth. "Actually, no… I'm not afraid Rick." Confounded, and strangely excited, yeah, but not a trace of fear threaded through her heart.
But why was that? She despised this man. And, furthermore— 'Wait.'
"Why aren't you? Afraid? I am a she-devil after all. You said so yourself."
He hovered nearer to her.
'With love there's no fear. Perfect love casts fear out.'
"No," he whispered. "I was wrong about that. You're divine. You've always been." And he'd always known that—Michonne Dandridge was an exceptional woman—No matter how much he tried to deny it. Or maybe he had to… he was a married man after all, and he needed to exercise self-control.
But this denial morphed into something else entirely, something poisonous.
Now though, here they were, right in front of each other, bathed in San Francisco's blazing sun after a night of personal revelations to themselves, and to each other. And Rick had no desire to go back.
"We kind of jumped the gun last night, didn't we?" she asked.
"Yeah, we sort of did. Everything that's been pent up between us exploded."
"And what is this between us?"
"I don't know. It's untitled, and it's new." He lifted her hand and pressed it softly to his lips. "Stick around. Let's make the best of this time now, alright? We'll figure something out... and then—"
"We'll see?" she asked.
He nodded and grinned, elated at the prospect of what the next forty-eight hours could bring. "We'll see."
END.