Chapter 1: Consequences of Bad Behavior

The faint sound of crickets could be heard in the distance. It was a sound that lent a sense of normality that was universal; regardless of the state of the world. She had the baby monitor in her hands as she approached him. There was a genuine sense of pride on her face as she showed him the movements of the baby on the screen. She's practicing in her sleep.

They sat next to each other on the cozy tan couch. The room was dim. The only light seemingly coming from a single lamp; it cast a yellowish hue over the intimate area. He removed his boots. They smiled at each other. It had been a long day. The quiet conversation briefly recounted the craziness they'd encountered since their separation that morning. He just wanted to turn off his brain. So did she. You found a guy?

They let out a simultaneous sigh expressing both the contentment of home, and the weariness of life in a world where the rules of feasibility no longer existed; up was down and down was up. Though the sphere that they currently inhabited did not allow for much peace - peace and relaxation is exactly what they currently shared. He handed her a single roll of mints. Is this instead of the toothpaste?

They both laughed. He tapped her hand with the mints, gingerly handing them off to her. Their hands interlaced – tentative and unsure. They looked into the eyes of the other; uncharted waters of which they were prepared to plunge. It took only about six seconds to bridge the distance between them; to venture into their first kiss. Their lips met. Her hands found their way into his hair. They giggled as the kiss appeared to deepen. She fell slowly backwards into the couch as he moved forward, on top of her; never losing physical contact. Only deep breathing could be heard in the room…

"Cut…" The director shouted into the congregate of necessary crew members positioned in and around the room. Kari stood mere feet away from the couch on the very unpretentious and homelike set.

The past few weeks of dealing with these two actors in regards to this particular scene had become tense and nearly untenable. The days leading up to the scene had become even tenser – if that was possible. Between dealing with the apprehensive actors, their agents, and their managers, she and the producers were more than a little overwrought. They all dreaded filming the scene. Everyone from crew to the top executives at the network was holding their breath. She purposely filmed the couch scene last, given all the angst leading up to it.

At this moment however, it seemed that episode 6x10 might just work out. The entire episode had been seamless. These are professionals, so of course it was seamless.

"That was great guys. Perfect," Kari informed them with her best forced smile. She almost laughed at herself; it was a smile not unlike the syrupy sweet smile that the Joan character from the show wore when she was hiding her true feelings. Just thinking about how ridiculous hers and everyone else's concerns had been made her smile. So much wasted stress. That scene was perfection. Her smile became more honest and less forced.

"Thank you everyone…" she looked around the room while making her announcement, "We can put this one in the can." There was applause, though guarded, and the beginnings of low chatter.

x-x-x

He quickly removed himself from her body. She backed away with equal haste and agility. The tranquility that existed just moments before was instantly replaced with tension; chatter ceased. The unease blanketed the room. The set became eerily quiet. Kari's short lived smile ended the moment her favorite actress spoke…

"Glad that's over," she quipped to no one in particular as she eased away from him.

"That makes two of us," he sniped with a tinge of sarcasm as he relaxed his body and watched her increase their distance. His chuckle was like nails on a chalkboard to her.

So damn arrogant, "Next time you might wanna pop one of those mints you're handing me," she snidely recommended; scampering farther away from him, bumping into the sofa's cushioned edge, "smells like a garbage dump in there."

"Sure thing darlin'," he smirked, "and maybe next time you can wax your mustache. Pretty sure you gave me a friction burn." He focused his glare at her before glancing back up to the director.

Her eyes grew large and then into a squinting ire as her hand found its way to her face, mindlessly ensuring that there was no hair above her lip. Smooth as always. She quickly stood and snapped back…

"Fine, I'll wax, as long as you find some kind of moisturizer for your cracked lips. I'm pretty sure you cut my lips with those raggedy things…" she grinned, annoyed, but also impressed by her quick retort.

In her career, Kari had worked on several television shows, with several actors. She found directing to be an artful and fulfilling experience. Her time with these particular thespians had been short but rewarding. Individually they were inspiring. The way they worked with their fellow cast mates was admirable. They were the best kinds of actors; professional, considerate and knowledgeable – which is why she stood there with her hand over her mouth in shock. She had looked forward to working with Michonne. She admired Michonne's social activism, playwriting success, flawless portrayal of the katana wielding survivor, and all her work in front of the camera. But this behavior…

She was dumbfounded; these two thoughtful adults had just morphed into what could only be described as petulant teens rehearsing for their first high school production of 'The Honeymooners'.

"Um…guys…" Kari attempted to interject as she stepped closer to the couch, her eyes bouncing back and forth between the two adult children before her. They were in the middle of a standoff, shooting metaphorical daggers at each other with their deadly stare.

"Undoubtedly those are the best cuts you've ever had," he smirked, touching his lips while never breaking his dark azure stare at his cast mate.

"You southern fried asshole." Michonne snapped, pulling off her mic and tossing it on the couch. There was an audible gasp and quiet laughter that could be heard in the open make-believe living room.

"At your service," Rick sarcastically quipped; tipping his head towards her with mock regard. She glared at him before turning to storm off the set. He faced his perplexed director…

"She threw the first punch." He told her before casually strolling off in the opposite direction – not bothering to remove his mic.

Kari was struck speechless. She looked over at two of the producers who were there for the taping. None said a word.

x-x-x

"I don't understand you two. He's one of the nicest men in show business. I haven't met anyone…besides you…who doesn't like him." Sasha Williams let out in an exasperated sigh. This was not the first time she'd said these words. The conversation had been ongoing for the past several months – since Michonne received the script. These talks had become longer and more intense as The Next World episode drew nearer.

"…And you're one of the sweetest people, not just actresses, but people, that I've ever been lucky enough to represent," she continued in a resigned frustration, "I just don't get it."

"What is there to get?" Michonne grimaced at her agent, "We just don't like each other. We're not the first…sure we won't be the last."

"Fine, that may be the case, but you have to find a way to work together. There's too much at stake here." Sasha attempted a smile. I need a serious drink.

x-x-x

"Exactly what are we talkin' about, Abe?" Rick was sitting in the worn brown leather ottoman in his manager's office. The conversation had been intense. Over an hour and a half arguing and still no progress; the actor seemed intent on not hearing what was being said.

Abraham Ford rose from his desk and stood by the window which overlooked the downtown Atlanta skyline. He ran his hand through his short, crop topped, red hair. He shook his head and took a deep breath.

"You're a smart guy, but for some reason, you seem to be stuck on stupid right now. So, let me put this in a nutshell for you, Rick," he drew in another frustrated breath, and then let it out, "The producers of the show, and the executives at AMC, are insisting that you do this. There are already rumors circulating that the two of you don't like each other. It'll be months before the episode with that kissing scene will air, and they don't want the viewers to know about this…uh…situation between the two of you."

"This is ridiculous. Makes no damn sense..." Rick responded without any acknowledgement of what his manager was attempting to relay.

"Rick!" Abe shouted. His patience was gone, "You're the main character on a fucking zombie show. Your contract is up for negotiation in three months. They can kill you off at any time." He stopped to take in the expression of his client. The wide questioning eyes looking back at him said that the conversation was long from over.

x-x-x

"I'm not doing it." She said with finality slightly shifting in her chair.

Sasha had been Michonne's agent for over ten years. They had seen each other through a lot. There were many times over the years that Sasha had considered getting out of the agent game. The only thing, or rather, the only person, that kept her from quitting had been Michonne. Of all the clients she'd had over the years, Michonne was the one that brought her peace and work satisfaction. They'd always worked with ease…until now.

"Michonne," she calmed her tone and reached across the table to grasp her client's hands, "you called him a deep fried…whatever, in front of the entire crew," she chuckled at her words, "and that has gotten back to the AMC executives…"

Sasha Williams, Agent Extraordinaire, didn't believe in a conventional office. She ran her agency out of an apartment that she rented in the downtown Atlanta area. The meetings that she held with her clients generally took place at a large handcrafted antique mahogany dining room table which sat in the open area between the kitchen and the living room. The entire area exuded the warmth that Sasha herself embodied. She took time to learn each of her client's likes and dislikes when it came to sweets and pastries. Michonne loved double fudge brownies and chocolate chip cookies. She'd ordered two dozen of each from arguably the best bakery in Atlanta. They were down to three of each – and the debate still waged on.

"This is some backroom deal kinda shit," Michonne interrupted in a huff, "I'm not doing it. It's ridiculous, patronizing and insulting," she furrowed her brow and peered back into her friends warm brown eyes. She was beginning to feel bad for giving Sasha such a hard time, but she refused to relent.

"Michonne, he's the lead character. He's the captain of the ship. Your character is important of course, but…if it comes down to you or him, who do you think they'll choose?" She posed the leading question with as much compassion possible, given her growing frustration.

x-x-x

"What the hell is it with you two?" Abe had sauntered over to the small mini bar in his office and poured himself a drink. He turned back to look at his flustered client, "She's an attractive woman; seems to get along with everyone on the set; never heard anything bad about her." He walked back to his desk, glass in hand, and sat on the edge of his desk.

"I've never seen you not get along with someone, Rick," he continued while attempting to decipher the defiant look on the other man's face.

"Not sure what you want me to say, Abe," Rick ran his hand over his face, squinting up at his longtime manager, "There ain't always a reason why people don't get along," he glanced over to the window.

"Look Rick, I know the divorce has been tough…"

"This doesn't…"

"Maybe this doesn't have anything to do with that," Abe interrupted, "but I know this has been a rough time for you." He lifted the glass to his lips and emptied its contents in two large gulps. Rick looked at him, expressionless. The divorce, though difficult, did not come as a surprise to Abe. Rick and Lori had been growing apart for years. RJ was the only true tie that held them together, but as their son grew older, that tie had loosened significantly. In the end, the distance – she'd made her home in California, and he'd made his in Georgia – sealed the fate of their marriage.

"I'm not trying to add to all the shit you're dealin' with right now, but you have to look at the bigger picture here…" he paused, attempting to measure his words before continuing, "It's not gonna look good…I mean…it might look like you have issues with her because…well…because she's black…"

"That's bullshit Abe and you know it," Rick snapped. His momentary reverie was lost and replaced with searing anger.

"I know. But we're talking about optics right now. Not truth…"

"Well, it's bullshit. Nearly half of the women I've kissed on screen have been black. They could easily make my love interest on the show…um…Debra or Jackie. I'd be just fine with that. This is bullshit," he rose from his seat and walked to the window, ignoring Abe's stare.

"I'm tired of this same conversation Rick. The fan base for your character and hers is off the charts. There's been a ship for this thing, damn near three years now. The producers want this. The fans want this. AMC wants this…Hell, your own mama is a part of that damn ship; she spent half your birthday dinner in my ear about your character getting together with hers." Mrs. Grimes was a little spit fire of a woman; she was stubborn and strong willed just like her son.

The alcohol had taken some of the edge off of Abe's irritation. He found a smile and expressed what he decided would be his final words on the subject…

"You're doing it." He turned around and picked up a small sheet of paper with words and numbers scribbled on it. He pushed himself off the desk and walked towards Rick; shoving the paper into his friend's hand before looking into the acrimonious stare…

"Be there tomorrow morning. Nine o'clock sharp."

x-x-x

"I want you to be happy, Love, but if you don't do this…I can't guarantee that your contract negotiations will go smoothly next month," the curly haired agent could see that the wheels were finally turning the right way. The dots were connecting.

"Sasha, I don't have a problem being his onscreen love interest. Though I'd prefer it was with someone else…it's fine," she grabbed one of the remaining brownies before continuing, "but what the network is requiring is just…Ridiculous." She focused her stare over the shoulders of her ever patient friend and focused on the abstract painting on the wall.

"Chonney," she softened, "how is Mike? How are your parents?"

"My parents are fine, Sasha," she gave a quick and curt answer, "and Mike's good." Though I'm pretty sure that relationship has reached its conclusion. He can't seem to handle my success the way that I thought he would.

Sasha looked at her face and seemed to hear the words that Michonne didn't say.

"Are you sure?"

"Sasha. I don't need you psychoanalyzing me. I'm fine. Mike's fine. My parents are fine. Life's great," her response was more biting than she'd intended. Though miffed, she attempted to not unload all her displeasure onto the caring woman sitting across from her.

"You have to look at the bigger picture," Sasha continued, "Your career is headed for the stars right now. Being a part of the Marvel Universe is freaking phenomenal. The last thing you need is for people to start thinking you're some kind of difficult prima donna and hard to work with." She looked past the final brownie that sat on the table between them, into her stubborn friends eyes and realized that she'd finally hit her mark.

"You know that's not me Sasha," her tone was the softest since they began this heated discussion, "I work well with everyone…" Well almost everyone. "I thought about throwing that horrible wig at him…but I didn't…Did I?" Her enlarged eyes coupled with her cocked head told Sasha that she completely missed the obvious incongruity in her confession.

Michonne ran her hands through her hair – it was about three inches high twisted into perfectly manicured and styled sister locs. She shrugged her shoulders and flashed a large bright smile, "What?"

Sasha twisted her lips and nodded her head. Mid eye roll she grabbed the last remaining cookie, and then burst out into laugher. Michonne followed suit with unfettered mirth. They both began laughing so hard that they were doubled over. After a few seconds Michonne's head was thrown back as she gasped for air, holding her stomach as it constricted – Sasha was leaned over, holding onto her thighs as she shook her head. The laugh fest continued for the next few minutes.

"You're insane, you know that?" Sasha mumbled mid snort. They continued laughing.

"I'm not," Michonne choked out, "Okay. Maybe I am," she agreed, wiping the free falling tears from her eyes as she continued to crack-up.

"You're going by the way…" the caramel colored agent informed her client as her chuckle slowed its pace.

Michonne stopped laughing enough to shoot the agent her own special evil eye. She wanted to argue but she couldn't get the words out.

Sasha pushed the business card, which had been at the point of contention for the past couple of hours, directly in front of Michonne.

"Tomorrow at nine o'clock, My Love," she smiled.

Michonne glared down at the business card.

Denise Cloyd, PhD, Specializing in non-couple Couples Counseling

A/N: Thank you so much for taking a chance on this story, even without a description, and reading to the end. The idea came to me a few days ago and I just went with it. It will only be a few chapters. Please let me know what you think. Up next, Couples Counseling.