Written to the musical score of...
-'The Terminator Theme (Extended Version)', Brad Fiedel
Preface
The year is 2077.
After the tragic fall of societies worldwide and long years of bloody conflict among the Earth's survivors, the defeat of the walkers yielded the discovery of a new technology.
The birth of artificial intelligence. Cybernetic sentience.
With the aid of this innovation human survivors colonized, rebuilt, and forged a new world out of the ashes of the old one. One of brilliant lights, intimidating towers, advances in weaponry and machinery the likes of which the modern world had never seen, and a bold, terrifying new understanding - not to mention command - of life itself.
The world sprung up anew, and in what was once America, two territories remain locked in a perpetual battle of wills. The Safe Zone, and the Gates of Hell.
The Safe Zone is a brilliant city of towers, wonders, and nouveau indulgences. It's patrolled day and night by some of the world's most effective peacekeepers. Including the legendary Rick Grimes, his partner Michonne Snow, and his tightknit unit, reverently branded The Family.
They are due this reverence in part because they are the last completely (mostly) human peacekeeping unit remaining in the world.
The Gates of Hell may as well be the Thunderdome. Here, the worst of humankind (along with walker and cyborg, too) fight for not just survival, but dominance. Chaos and violence reign under the deranged, watchful eye of the leader of The Saviors, Negan. In his world, he is the ringmaster, blood is shed for sport, and everyone tunes in on time.
Since the walkers have given birth to artificial intelligence, the Powers That Be allow their paranoia of another world's end to drive them in its use. They plug this new technology into everything. And as the years pass, their control of the new life they've discovered slips, under their very noses. So vigilant, they're rendered blind.
Tonight, the first strike in a new war begins. The war between man and machine-kind.
The world doesn't know it yet, but Rick Grimes will be its savior.
Rick doesn't know it yet either, but one woman - or rather, the cyborg replicant of the woman he's loved since the day they met - will become his savior.
But first...he must fall.
[Booting]
...
Safe Zone City Cloud Archives..
5/12/2071...
File Code: GATUS..
...
21:06
If you weren't paying too much attention, the B-District Peacekeepers precinct on the twelfth level of Alexandria City (a.k.a. The Safe Zone) was going about business as usual.
It was a cozy, tightknit precinct, you might observe. It was merely a series of tunnels with rooms carved out for various functions - arms lockup, forensics lab, training gym, gun range, shower and locker room, and the bullpen where calls came in from every level, just about. Except the Skyscraper at the tip of the T-District, of course. That was patrolled by a special force, handpicked by Mayor Monroe.
If you walked into the B-DP, you'd see it's worn, frayed edges clinging to the rusty but still brilliant combo of old and new tech, marking the place of its history. A small band of misfits ran the joint, but the glue was The Family. Rick Grimes and Michonne Snow's pride and joy.
The Family kept this place running. Kept The Bottom and the levels above defended against walkers, malicious cybernetic hybrids, criminals, maniacs and any number of other threats.
So you might think things were business as usual - calls coming in, conversations being had, the latest episode of The Grid on repeat, as was the night shift's way. Negan's maniacal, grinning face, followed by mute violence on the holoscreen in the bullpen.
Until you caught the sound of a practically ancient song - Thin Lizzy's 'The Boys Are Back In Town' - wafting out to the common area, that is. And noticed the steam beginning to seep into the atmosphere from the shower room down the main tunnel.
And inside, Abraham Ford's booming voice could be heard above the blasting music: "GODDAMN, I love my job!"
Stick around a little longer, and you'd see that this was business as usual, too.
Ensconced in the thick plumes of hot, sticky steam from the large shower chamber in the locker room, six of the twelve members of The Family were cleansing themselves of their latest fight. And Abraham loved his classic rock after a good old fashioned, nasty, hellacious roundup. Blood, dirt, road grease and lord knew what else washed away at their flip-flop clad feet, down the drain as he howled the lyrics of the song at the top of his lungs:
Guess who just got back in toooown today!
Those wide-eyed boys that've been awaaay!
The boys are back in town!
Yeah, the boys are back in tooow-oown!
The music blasted from their COMPANION™ LIZZY's surround sound, shrouding them in bass, treble, and upbeat, zinging guitar riffs. The hard-fighting team let the music lift their fatigued spirits and indulged in the high of the hunt and capture before they took an extended break for the night to let the others take over their shifts.
"Yeah, yeah - me too, now pipe that tonedeaf shit down a bit, will ya?" Rick rolled his eyes and winced tightly against the sound of Abe's terrible singing, the blasting music, and the steamy water cascading over his neck and shoulders.
He couldn't help a surreptitious grin at his buddy's elation, though. Rick was usually the grouch of the operation, so he was secretly grateful to Abe for keeping everyone's morale up.
Next to him (grinning and mouthing the words as he shook his face and hair out under the rushing water like a puppy) was Rick's best friend, Shane Walsh. Then Shane's girlfriend, the hotheaded, blonde sharpshooter Andrea Jones. She ignored everyone as she stood with her hair hanging behind her to rinse out her shampoo, eyes closed, gathering her peace to her in the blanket of steam. Across from her, Abraham (ignoring just Rick) scrubba-dub-dubbed with bubbles aplenty as he bellowed and washed himself vigorously. As was his way, he was energized and anxious to meet up with his little darlin' Sasha so he could plant a big, sloppy kiss on her.
Next to him, Glenn washed out his jet black hair, soap getting in his eyes, tapping his foot and swaying his narrow hips a little to the beat. He, too was eager for some face time with his girl and their team member, Maggie Greene. She was out on patrol of the upper M-District with Sasha, Mike, and Rosita.
"I like your singing, Abe. Keep it up." Two stalls down from their serenader, the slick, pearlescent bubbles falling across her flawless body like a frothy waterfall, was Michonne Snow - lovingly nicknamed The Samurai for her refusal to use anything but an old souped up katana in hand-to-hand combat.
Snow was also mouthing the words passionately with her lovely heart-shaped lips, in her zen space, soaping herself as her muscles relaxed. Her locs hung down her back as she ran her hands through them, letting them breathe, ridding them of the soot, blood and gunsmoke from her job.
Behind her, his back to her, Rick felt the music and everything else drop away as he tried and failed to ignore her. Showering was their ritual after work, but in all three of the years they'd been partners, Rick could never bring himself to look at Michonne like that in front of people. Not for longer than a few captivating seconds when no one was paying attention, anyway.
He had never uttered the words aloud, but he found his partner to be one of the sexiest creatures he'd ever seen on hell's scorched earth. Not only was she a fierce fighter and brutally efficient peacekeeper, she was gorgeous, with a perfect, perfect body. She was whip smart, funny as hell, and tough as shit since she'd survived a world of hurt to get to where she was at just thirty years old. Most humans from their time didn't live that long. She was a survivor, just like he was, like they all were. Except before she'd stumbled upon them, she'd done it all on her own. At least Rick had had his family - Lori, Carl, the others, and now baby Judith. Michonne had no one. Not even her son anymore, when they'd met three years ago.
But damn, none of that could dim her beautiful, dazzling smile.
After witnessing firsthand what she was capable of for three tumultuous yet bonding years, Rick had grown to respect Michonne. He trusted her with his life.
He was attracted to her. No, more than that.
He was falling in love with her.
Day by day...slowly but surely.
That was complicated for a number of reasons.
She was his partner and best friend, not his girl.
She was dating their fellow peacekeeper, Mike.
And he was a married man.
So Rick ignored it all. His feelings, their situation. Her intimacy with Mike in front of him.
Instead he just gritted his jaw and put his hands against the warm, wet tile. He tried to let the water wash away his disconcerting thoughts. The music echoed and crescendoed around him, and he tried not to picture himself in here alone with Michonne.
Swallowed by steam...fucking her like an animal against the slippery walls.
"Hey. Psst, Rick." Shane nudged him with a pruny elbow. Rick forced his eyes open (abandoning the fantasy that had invaded his mind anyway) to look over at his tall, handsome friend. Shane grinned at him, running his hands through his wet hair to get the water and his thick, dark bangs out of his face. "Pencils down, buddy. Lori don't get off 'til past oh-one hundred, there, stud."
Rick rolled his eyes and clenched his jaw at Shane's mischievous wink. The hardened gunslinger had a poker face like the best of 'em, but he couldn't hide how he felt from Shane. And he certainly couldn't hide the evidence of his developing erection, not even in the steam. It didn't help that Shane was an asshole about it at the best of times, either.
"Fuck you." Rick muttered, done with his shower.
"That's my job…" Andrea deadpanned, walking up to Shane naked in the steam. She nuzzled his muscular shoulder and wrapped her arms around his strong torso.
Rick turned away as they kissed happily and stalked in a bow-legged stride toward the locker room.
Michonne could see him retreating out of the corner of her eye, and she breathed a tiny sigh of relief, inhaling the minty scent of the cleansing solution in the water. Good. He was finally gonna put some damn clothes on and stop distracting the hell out of her.
Being around Rick these days was an exercise in serious self-restraint. She tried to pretend she wasn't watching him go, admiring his cute, dimpled little ass and his long, sturdy legs. That leaning cowboy's gait of his...those taught muscles carved into him like he was made of marble. Those wet, thick curls at the nape of his neck and his eyes...that thick, swinging dick with a perfect, pink head...
She didn't know when it happened, she mused as she finished up her wash and rung out her hair. When exactly she'd started secretly falling for Rick. She couldn't pinpoint the moment that she starting looking at him and really seeing the galaxies burning in those fierce blue eyes of his. But she knew how it felt.
For weeks, now, whenever they weren't fighting or hunting or answering to The Powers That Be, she'd been feeling herself wanting to be closer and closer to him. Close enough to kiss. And keep kissing, until it turned into something more.
It was all very inconvenient. And aggravating.
"Party pooper!" Andrea called after Rick, her sea green eyes glinting, now thoroughly relaxed from the down time.
The night had just started. She was satisfied from her kills, relaxed, horny, and ready to get drunk. She just wished her boss would stop being a stiff old bore and loosen the fuck up for once. Yeah, his eighteen-year marriage was in the shitter, he was getting older, and he had a secret (Andrea's ass) crush on his partner. But sooner or later the dude was just gonna have to say 'fuck it' and let the chips fall where they may.
"I keep forgettin' how well you know me, 'Drea." Rick retorted in a sarcastic drawl.
Their leader tossed a crooked, unaffected grin over his shoulder as he grabbed a towel and started drying his dick and balls, his dog tags swinging across his slightly pink, toned chest, his curls hanging wetly in his eyes. Then those mighty blues shifted for a millisecond toward Michonne, raking over her amazing body and perfect breasts as she emerged from the steam behind him. He felt his breath catch in his throat and desire punch him in the gut as their eyes met and lingered. Fear passed through him like a slingshot that she'd caught him looking. He gave her a dutiful nod, rolling his eyes at Abe's antics for cover, and dropped his gaze. Rick couldn't turn around fast enough to wrap his towel around his waist and pluck out another one to dry off his hair.
Michonne smirked, still wringing her locs out. She'd definitely caught him. She hadn't quite figured out what she was going to do about it yet, though.
"Toss me a towel, there, boss." The statuesque samurai gestured with her chin, standing in all her full, naked, utterly spellbinding glory behind him, unfazed by his sudden shyness.
She found it utterly amusing that he preferred to use real towels instead of just stepping into the Dyson, but Rick was probably the last luddite left in the western hemisphere (with the exception of the perpetually brooding Daryl, of course). She liked to tease him by indulging his old-fashioned ways.
Rick blushed but his cool, unaffected grin remained fixed in place as he grabbed a towel for her too. He turned to face her again, tossing it into her quick, deft hands.
"Good work out there today, 'Chonne."
He cast about for something else to say, shifting on his feet and leaning to the side as he toweled off his salt and pepper mop.
She rewarded him with a radiant smile. "Thanks. You've still got some pretty good moves yourself, for an old man. I thought we were gonna have to sit through a stakeout but you charged right in there." Rick rolled his eyes again as her smooth voice reached his ears under the booming music. "That hand cannon needs a spit shine, though. It's rusty as hell."
She gestured to the locker room at large, where Rick's old school (but also souped up) Colt Python was hanging in its holster in his rusty green locker.
"Hey, I respect the sword - you respect the hand cannon, okay?" He drawled defensively, secretly grateful for her teasing. "And that ain't rust, that's the blood of all my numerous kills. That gun aims better'n any of these high velocity shooters all day long. Know your history, youngin'."
Michonne had been giving him plenty of opportunities to ease back into the friendly, easygoing rapport they'd established working together for so long. She was glad to hear him return her serve without hesitation now.
"Sure - as soon as your kill count even gets within wind of mine. Admit it, Rick. The sword's more efficient that the antique."
"Ohhh-hoho!" Glenn called from the shower room, grinning at the competitive insult as the rest of the gang hooped and hollered for Rick to jab back. "BURN!"
"Them's fightin' words, I do believe, Rick." Shane called over the last, long guitar medley in the song as he let Andrea shampoo his hair, bent over with his face practically growing out of her buoyant tits. "You g'on let her get away with that, brother?"
"She's right, though." Andrea shrugged, using her nails to scratch Shane's scalp (if he had a tail, it would be wagging). "You're slippin', old man. By my last walker count, you've got seven-sixty-four to 'Chonne's eight."
"Eight-oh-one." Glenn corrected, spitting water out of his mouth like a missile launcher.
Michonne's smirk grew, but she remained silent and let the praise float over her head in the thinning steam. She folded her towel over herself and waited patiently for Rick to disprove her claim.
"Oh hell yeah, that big gnarly fucker she took down tonight, like a BEAST!" Abe saluted the kill by thrusting his dick at the wall obscenely.
Rick just stared at Michonne, his blue eyes sparkling, stuck for how to respond. Usually, he'd have a ready quip to toss back, but he was off his game in a big way with her these days. He was so damned attracted to her right now that her witty insults drove a spike of arousal through him more often than not.
Michonne was a tough nut to crack, but she knew people - she knew Rick. Maybe she couldn't understand exactly why he was acting different, but she knew something was up with him.
He needed to get his damn head together, pronto.
He didn't realize that she was working so hard to maintain their status quo because she was feeling pretty much the same way he was.
"Actually - Michonne's kill count is at eight-hundred and fifteen, including walkers, humans, and human-cybernetic hybrids."
COMPANION™ LIZZY's elegant, English-accented, disembodied voice interrupted the fun as the music stopped abruptly.
Abraham's mustache twitched in a huff and he raised his hands in exasperation as the noisy rush of water and the hiss of steam now filled their ears. "Just an f-fuckin-y-i, that was the best damned part, LIZZY!"
"As entertained as I always am by your infantile obsession with prehistoric rock music, Carrot Top, there's a call coming in from Maggie's patrol unit."
If COMPANION™ LIZZY had a face, Rick imagined she'd be smirking flirtatiously.
"Besides, you are very off-key, mate. Had I ears, they'd be bleeding." She quipped, then added cheerfully before he could retort: "Patching Maggie through…"
Her voice had a way of painting a complete picture of her personality for them, as was imbedded into her programming. Like with all COMPANION™ programs in this day and age. Once you installed them, they were with you for life, wherever you roamed.
They were smart phones, GPS trackers, personal computers, encyclopedias, friends, parents, guardians, educators, entertainers, and even provided the simple pleasure of company when you needed it. Their sentience was designed to age with yours, growing attached to you as a best friend, coworker, or family member. Some people treated them as pets, therapists - even spouses.
LIZZY had been with The Family since the beginning. She knew them inside and out.
The ups and downs of the new technological boom they had all been born into manifested in sentient beings they came to depend on for everything - but that they could never completely know.
That Rick could never completely trust.
For a man like Rick Grimes, trusting sentient machines was not part of his hard wiring, so to speak. He had been born out in the wilds before he found the Safe Zone. He had seen many horrible, traumatizing things (and done more) to protect his family and finally find a safe place to make a decent home.
Peacekeeping, the dead, bad people, and bad deeds were all he knew from life.
So even though he liked LIZZY alright, and she had never given him any reason to distrust her programming - let alone rip her insides out of the B-DP mainframe and be done with it - every day was a struggle for him.
"Yeah I love you, too, sweetheart." Abe rolled his eyes but didn't argue any further. Seeing Maggie meant seeing Sasha. They spent so much time on opposite shifts, on opposite levels, getting a glimpse of her gorgeous face any time or place was always alright with him.
"Yes - yep, we'll take it right in here, thanks LIZZY!" Glenn piped up, already slipping and sliding to side-step Abraham as the holoscreen was illuminated smack in the middle of the shower room amongst the billowing steam.
"Hey, it's me. We're done for the night." A tough, but kind southern twang sounded out in the humid room.
Everyone crowded around the holoscreen as Maggie's pretty, though dead-serious face appeared on either side of it - opaque but also translucent. Sasha and Rosita were sitting next to and behind her in their fully-armored prowler as it bumped and rolled along. Maggie hated flyers, preferring do her patrolling on the solid ground where she had sure footing.
The young Southern spitfire scanned the side of the room she could see and smiled finally, as soon as she saw Glenn among her other naked teammates. She snorted, her cap shadowing her deep green eyes. "I see you slowpokes aren't done gettin' ready yet. Y'all gonna get mani-pedis together next or what?"
"Hey baby, sorry no - the water's extra hot tonight." Glenn confessed.
"Yeah and I was right in the middle of a concert." Abe boomed irritably for LIZZY'S benefit.
Everyone rolled their eyes at him and Rick spoke up. "We're almost done, here, too, don't worry. We'll meet you up at Rovia's in twenty minutes."
"I call dibs on the jukebox!" Mike chimed in as Maggie nodded that she heard Rick's instructions, even though she couldn't see him from her viewpoint. The good looking, cocky young peacekeeper stuck his head into the view screen from the back seat of the prowler, glaring at Abraham defiantly.
"No. No. Mike. No." Abe countered, jabbing a finger at the holoscreen. "It's classic R&B night tonight, man."
"Yes, big guy, yessss! Fuck your lil' classic R&B. I'm goin' vintage rap on you, boy." Mike tossed back. "You promised last time. Jesus'll back me up. Give Michonne a kiss for me, and tell her to wear that sexy ass skirt I like. See y'all in twenty. Be on time."
"Oh, goodie. The music nerds are gonna rumble tonight. Can't wait." Rosita rolled her eyes from his side, cleaning her giant, high velocity shooter. Her dark pigtails sprouted out from underneath her ubiquitous army cap as she blew a big bubble with her gum before allowing it to pop against her smirking lips.
Maggie and Sasha shooed him away as Sasha got in a quick air kiss to her big boo and Maggie ended the call.
Rick was grateful for the distraction and the excuse to move on, already backing up to head to his locker.
"Alright, outta the pool, kids. It's drinkin' time, let's move out!" He ordered, now actively avoiding Michonne's gaze.
Michonne watched him go, finally releasing the moment and allowing her desire to drink and dance overpower her desire to crack Rick's head open and figure out what the hell he wanted from her.
She forced herself to relax. She was going to see her boyfriend soon, and she needed to not be preoccupied with Rick when she did. The well-fit warrior headed to her own side of the locker room, skin glowing, brow furrowed, lips pursed.
Abraham was the last to file out of the shower chamber, fetching a fresh cigar out of the vending machine by Rick's towel rack. He ignored the towels and lit his cigar, stepping into the Dyson. His thick, freckled ass dripping, preferring to auto-air dry.
"Why don't you strike my road music back up, LIZZY?" He called over the warm blasts of air swirling around his beefy body. "Come on, darlin', I promise, I won't sing this time. And you can even turn it down a smidge, how 'bout that?"
After a long pause, LIZZY finally answered.
"I find these terms acceptable. Go on, get your rocks off, love. I'm starting a ten-minute clock, Rick."
He had no doubt she would. She knew him inside and out.
'The Boys Are Back In Town' started up again, a little quieter this time. Everyone groaned but Abe as they all dried off and got dressed. In ten minutes, as promised, LIZZY announced that it was time to head to their favorite local dive, Rovia's.
Rick grabbed his jacket, holstered his gun and slammed his locker shut. His entire body - now wrapped in a black button-down, snug black jeans, and his trusty brown boots - was relaxed and feeling clean thanks to the shower.
Glenn checked his two souped up auto-pistols and holstered them. He rigged his wrist daggers and flipped on his suspenders, an adorable yet fierce assassin if ever there was one.
Andrea and Shane got dressed together, joking and flirting with each other - Shane smacking her ass and 'Drea pulling his head down to her level to take a kiss as he pulled on his pants. They checked and loaded their big ass guns, holstered them, sheathed their bowie knife and machete respectively and were ready to roll. Lastly, Abe tossed on his army-green cargo jeans and tank, kissed his dogtags, grabbed his rocket launcher of a high-velocity shooter and followed everyone out.
Their leader dutifully ignored Michonne's now dried and oiled skin wrapped inside her body-hugging reddish-orange tube skirt, not to mention the sight of those shapely breasts perched elegantly inside her black tank and leather biker vest. To add insult to injury, tonight she was also wearing those sexy ass black thighhighs attached to garters gliding out of her black boots.
He could see her toned silhouette and shining, freshly oiled locs hanging across her exquisitely-shaped shoulders out of the corner of her eye as the gang traipsed down the tunnel and out to the bull pen.
As irritating as he found Mike these days, Rick had to give him credit for being the only one able to get 'Chonne to pull out all the stops. Her otherworldly ass switching around in that skirt alone was making her boss and best friend's jeans uncomfortably tight, and the night hadn't even really gotten started yet.
He now just gave it up and surreptitiously watched her ass move and sway, the guitar licks of the music echoing in his mind.
Michonne walked in her usually unhurried, graceful feline stride, feeling Rick's eyes all over her, her sword hanging around her back (where it always remained, pretty much).
Eugene and Heath were out front as usual, leaned back lazily at their desks, staring at replays of barbaric, bloody kills on The Grid. "We're out and on call for the night. Don't party too hard, fellas…" Rick drawled as they passed the pen.
"Yeah, no jizz on the linoleum!" Shane added, pounding a desk on his way out as Andrea snorted from her comfy position under his arm.
"Fuck you, caterpillar dick." Heath called back, not tearing his eyes from the holoscreen, sipping his coffee sludge.
"Caterpillars are extinct, bitch." Shane called back absurdly.
"That's actually kinda sad, you ask me…" Eugene intoned thoughtfully. "I liked caterpillars. Real ones, anyway."
"You ain't never even seen a real one in person, man, shut up." Heath retorted.
"Still…" the eccentric programmer and ops facilitator shrugged. "Think about the resources we could save if we didn't have to manufacture 'em."
Rick and Michonne laughed simultaneously, finding themselves walking at the same pace, side-by-side, like they were used to. The gang filed out of the B-DP's auto-sliding metal doors, everyone heading for their respective flyers.
It was starting to rain.
It was perpetual night here on the twelfth level, The Bottom. The rain took ages to make it down to them because of everything that was happening above them to slow its descent. By the time the rainflow made it all the way down here, it was either mostly gone or it was a thick, heady mist that made everything around them practically glow.
Rick loved the way Michonne looked in the rain at true night. He peeled his eyes off of her glistening skin as they climbed into their flyer. Shane gave Rick a fist bump on the dirty curb through his window before letting Andrea lead him to their cargo flyer where Glenn and Abraham waited.
Rick's was modeled after a vintage Dodge Charger - sort of like the one on the Duke's of Hazard, an old fashioned TV show he's stumbled upon in the holoscreen archives when he was a kid. Except this one wasn't painted obnoxious, Confederate red. It was basically the color of the metal that virtually everything in their world was built out of these days.
It was almost indestructable, not flashy down here in the deep, as hard and almost comfortless as the lower levels themselves. The flyer's saving grace was its superior weapons and targeting, excellent navigation - and above all, favorite to Michonne - the worn-in bucket seats. They were a combination of vintage leather and sturdy upholstery on tough, buoyant springs.
Michonne always liked the way the springs hugged her ass when she settled in and her door slid shut for her. They'd put a lot of miles on and done a lot of damage with this old whip.
"Let's have some fun tonight, okay, boss?" She finally forced him to look directly at her as she reached over to brush her fingers against his hand. He gripped the steering wheel in response to the touch, but played it off by starting his flight process - bringing the flyer to blinking, rumbling, illuminated life, opening the holoscreen on the windshield, and pinpointing their destination on the map.
He simply grinned at her, wanting nothing more than to do just that. Relax. But really do that. Really allow himself to let go of his self-restraint and get as close to Michonne as he'd been fantasizing about for the last year. God help him, she was beautiful.
"You just watch those shots, princess…" He tossed back, finding his wit as he got them in the air and began to ascend to level ten, where Rovia's was located. "You fell flat on your ass before happy hour was even up last week."
"Ohhhh, fuck you for bringing that up!" She complained, relieved that he was going along, and they zoomed upward - the lights of the tall buildings, tunnels, bridges, and traffic all over Safe Zone zity looming around them.
Rick's mind was forming the secret, husky reply 'please do…' when:
"Actually, Michonne never made it on her arse last week, Rick."
LIZZY interrupted, apparently listening in on his Comm system as they zipped past a giant, building-wide billboard of a famous entertainer that was coming to town from what was once Japan.
"You caught her before she hit the curb and brought her home, remember? You'd been watching out for her, like always."
"Thank you, LIZZY, goodnight." Rick gritted sternly, his neck flushing red as he switched to manual Comm.
He sped up as he now had to avoid Michonne's gaze yet again, trying to concentrate on gunning it to Rovia's for a good, stiff drink.
Then maybe his hovering, very annoying hard-on would finally go away. He found himself hoping that Michonne would not look down and instead would get lost in the brilliant rainbow of lights and eclectic mixture of Safe Zone residents like she usually did when he drove.
Michonne just turned to face forward, her silence quite telling.
This was gonna be a long night.
22:49
Do you love me?
(Do you love me?)
Do you loooove me?
(Do you love me?)
Noooow that IIII can daaaance?
The classic R&B music blasted from Jesus' old-fashioned jukebox in the red-tinted, seedy little hole-in-the-tower dive bar - Abe's turn in a long bout of his and Mike's musical jousting.
Just about all twelve of The Family (save Daryl, who was running late as usual) was enthusiastically cruising into the hour and half mark of their much deserved downtime at Rovia's.
The owner, Paul a.k.a. 'Jesus' Rovia (on account of his long blond hair, empathetic blue eyes and neat beard) was a keen observer, excellent advice giver, and benevolent indulger of the infamous peacekeeper gang whenever they crossed his threshold.
For Abraham as an example, he kept an ancient jukebox that played the old hits from when the world was still alive, with aid from his COMPANION™ GREGORY's connection to the infinite cloud database.
Andrea, Shane, Rosita and Sasha were playing pool while Glenn and Maggie canoodled in a darkened booth at the back of the dive by the jukebox.
Rick was seated at the bar, listening to Abe regale Jesus with the tale of their roundup earlier this evening - a notorious ring of dirty tech dealers selling faulty, black market cybernetic weapons that had a penchant for using walkers as sentinels. Though he tried to pay attention and chime in every now and then, Rick was mostly silent as Jesus listened intently, smiling or shaking his head as he kept the shots and beers flowing.
"I laid down cover fire from my flyer and we lit those bastards up - in and out, clean sweep." Abraham was chortling. "Then Glenn slid in with those fuckin' killer daggers of his and Michonne with that sweet ass sword."
He pounded his meaty fist on the bartop, rattling the glasses.
"Wham, Bam, Thank You, Ma'am! We scored the loot, the credit and the guns with nothin' but a Coke and a smile!"
Jesus chuckled good-naturedly and gave Abe a slow clap. "Here, here. Well done. Your next shot's on me."
"I'll drink to that, amigo." Abe raised his scotch and downed it without waiting for anyone to agree.
That was one thing about humans - they always found a way to drink, no matter the time period.
"Yeah, it was a good night's work." Rick drawled, still nursing his beer despite Abe's rush. "We didn't even need LIZZY for much backup. Michonne hacked into the COMPANION™ they hijacked at their hideout, no problem."
"Damned skippy." Abe agreed. "That's why nobody fucks with The Family. Not on our turf, am I right, boys n'girls?"
He raised his empty tumbler to the bar at large, receiving whistles and 'amens' from the peanut gallery behind them.
Rick was trying not to stare at Michonne and Mike through the holoscreen behind Jesus that doubled as a mirror (or an aquarium full of holofish, or a viewer for The Grid depending on the bartender and owner's mood).
They were dancing together. Close.
He was trying - but he couldn't help his intense blue gaze from darting toward the cruel reflection of his best friend and one of his teammates all hugged up on each other under the red lights. Her shapely lips, visible even in the dim, atmospheric lighting, turning up into a girlish smile as Mike whispered something sweet into her ear and stole a kiss from her cheek. She rolled her eyes at him and kept dancing, her body moving perfectly in time to the beat. Mike happily followed her lead, twisting his hips and twirling her around as they grooved to the old school, feel good track.
Rick's heart thundered in his chest as he realized that he wanted to be the one on the dance floor with Michonne, not Mike. Dancing with her. Close. Touching and squeezing her lithe body to his in a glowing red heaven as she snapped her fingers to the music and bounced her hips sensually against his groin.
"Incoming call for Peacekeeper Grimes, Jesus. It's Lori."
GREGORY briefly turned down the music in the joint to announce matter-of-factly.
"I'll take it outside, thanks." Rick piped up, snapping out of his fixation on Mike and Michonne to take the call from his wife out in the back hallway leading to the alley behind the bar.
On the dancefloor, Michonne's eyes wandered toward Rick as he stood up from his stool and sauntered away, his jaw clenched and his shoulders stiff. She let Mike twirl her around again as the song began its closing crescendo.
Rick ambled out back, the red glow giving way to a cool, dim gloom that relieved him as he tried to clear his head of his desire for his partner. His wife was calling, he needed a strong poker face and all of his patience.
Their relationship had been going downhill for years, but they were hanging on for their children. They both worked around the clock, practically, leaving their boy Carl to pretty much fend for himself and his baby sister Judith. But Carl was like his father - he was stoic, responsible, and wise beyond his years.
It also meant they had to work more to afford their babysitter, Jessie. Her minor crush on Rick (he was telling himself) was another can of synthetic beans he definitely didn't want to get into, either.
They couldn't afford anyone else on their salaries, despite how much they worked. Jessie was a mother herself, and pretty good with the kids. She was a tad sycophantic, but she could be trusted - at least, with the kids. The other conundrum of her crush was enough to give Rick a headache and avoid dealing with indefinitely...until perhaps he'd have to be harsh and they'd have to find a new babysitter.
Needle in a haystack down here. Not least because Rick insisted on having a real, live, flesh-and-blood human watching after his son and daughter.
Rick took a deep breath and stood up to his full height, stopping in the middle of the hall under a pale, dirty light floating above his head. "Alright, GREGORY, put her through."
"Patching Lori through…"
Lori's pale face appeared on a holoscreen GREGORY had projected before Rick's eyes. She was on duty at the command center in the Skyscraper, as she'd been for going on eight hours now. She still had another four hours and some change to go.
Her beleaguered, yet elegant face regarded her husband's with fatigued restraint. Lori was perpetually annoyed with Rick these days - for a good number of reasons he'd lost count of. He could always tell when she was trying to be patient and not get angry at the sight of his him like she wanted to be.
"Hey, Rick." She sighed, running a thin hand through her fine dark bangs. "You finally off-duty?"
He nodded, shifting on his feet. "Yeah, you're patched through to Rovia's. I'm on call, but I'm just havin' a few beers with the guys before I head home. You alright? You need somethin'?"
Lori's brow furrowed testily at his words, annoyed that he always assumed she was calling to ask him to do something instead of just checking up on him because she loved him. She further hated it that he was usually right.
"Well, since you're askin', I need you to pick up Carl and Jude tomorrow and drop 'em off at Jessie's again. I was tryin' to find a way to wiggle out of takin' an extra shift all day. Couldn't be helped."
Rick clenched his jaw, instantly aggravated. He dipped his head, attempting to restrain the irritation in his low, husky voice. "You know, correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought we said you'd be off tomorrow to spend some time with the kids?" He finally turned his eyes again to glare directly at her image on the holoscreen projected before him.
Lori bit her lip, blinking patiently at him.
"I know. But the Mayor has some last minute diplomatic meeting, and we're short staffed since Katie got sick…" She huffed out a breath, losing her patience. "We need the money, Rick. And it's not like you're makin' any kind of effort to pull back on your shifts at the B-DP!"
That was another thing about humankind - no matter the time or space - capitalism and industry would likely forever reign supreme. Wreaking just as much havoc in their lives as it always had done, even after the walkers had destroyed them and the technology they yielded had supposedly saved them.
Rick raised a hand to interrupt her, fed up with this. Anxious to get back inside and forget about it.
(Anxious to settle down at the bar facing the mirror again so he could continue secretly torturing himself watching Michonne in peace.)
"Look - it's fine, Lori. Okay? I'll pick 'em up, don't worry about it." She looked like she was itching to argue some more but he cut her off before she could start up again. "I'll see you later. End call, GREG."
"Goodnight, Lori. Love to the kids. And it's GREGORY, Rick. On twenty-two separate occasions, I've asked you…"
The holoscreen faded and Rick stalked back toward the red light bleeding out into the dark hall from the bar, ignoring GREGORY.
Van Morrison's 'T.B. Sheets' was slithering out of the jukebox like the intricate plumes of smoke filling the red air. Another of Abe's classics.
It was nearing forty minutes later and the gang all sat around a booth with a table slammed up against it, drinking, smoking, laughing, and telling bullshit stories of all their kills.
"I'll never forget that shit..." Glenn mused, one arm wrapped around Maggie's shoulders as he twirled his beer on the table under the lone, pale illuminator above their booth. It broke up the red air cloaking them in the now near-empty bar as they reminisced about the last time Abraham saved his life.
Maggie rolled her eyes but gazed at her fiance fondly as he lifted his arm from around her neck to mimic an automatic HV-machine gun, torpedoing invisible rounds.
"Boom-boom-boom-BOOM! Walkers dropping like flies all around me, man. Shit was wild. I thought I was a goner for sure."
"You almost peed your pants, geek." Daryl chimed in, his low, scratchy drawl sounding from the entrance as he sauntered in, late as usual.
They all booed and cheered him simultaneously as he made his way to their booth/table and dumped his bow on the surface.
"'Sup, mole people. How's life down here in the underground?" He growled, his slick, black hair hanging in his face as he shimmied his big arms out of his damp leather jacket.
"Where the hell have you been, asshole?" Rick grunted good-naturedly, leaning back in his seat.
Daryl shrugged and slumped down next to him, reaching over for one of the pitchers of beer in the center of their table. "Snuck across the border to pay a lil' family visit with my blue ass big brother."
Everyone moaned and shifted around uncomfortably at Daryl's fondness for casually breaking the law to stroll over to The Gates of Hell.
"You're gonna get caught and thrown onto The Grid, you keep pulling shit like that. Dumbass…" Glenn griped, dragging beer from his bottle.
"Ass licker." Daryl shot back coolly.
"Hey. Don't knock it til you've tried it, fucker." Maggie cut into him. "Maybe if you did, you'd be able to score more than hybrid prostitutes every full moon with those hairy armpits of yours."
"Yeah. What she said." Glenn gestured with his beer, grinning as he wiggled his eyebrows and took a swig. He leaned back again and wrapped his arm around his woman.
"I believe that used to be commonly referred to as a 'wicked burn' among you humans, wasn't it?"
GREGORY mused from out of nowhere.
"You know it was, GREGORY." Jesus intoned, rolling his eyes. Shane burst into a drunken chuckle.
That was that.
They all moved on once Daryl had recovered from Maggie's wicked burn. Now the topic of conversation was Rick and Michonne's neverending kill competition.
Shane shook his head, blowing air through his lips around his toothpick as he sat back and let his girl 'Drea play with his jet black hair.
"Boy, I ain't never seen nobody handle a weapon like 'Chonne and that damn sword. When you turn on that laser blade in the back and do your 'Kill Bill' thang?" He whistled low, referencing one of his favorite classic action movies.
"Yeah...you're a badass, babe." A tipsy Andrea agreed, winking at her friend across the table where she sat cozied up with Mike adjacent to Rick and Daryl. "I think she's got you beat, old man."
"Oooh, do y'all remember those pet walkers she had before they were outlawed?" Maggie sang reverently, her keen eyes widening as big as saucers.
Abe, Sasha and Rosita pounded their fists on the table, remember the 'pets' fondly.
"Bad-ASS, girl!" Abe whistled low.
"Score one Rick, Michonne infinity." Sasha and Rosita agreed, clinking shot glasses and tipping them back.
"Pfft. Y'all must've forgotten that time Rick 'The Savage' Grimes bit a dude's motherfuckin' throat out." Daryl grumbled in disagreement as Rick and Michonne's gazes found each other's and didn't let go. "I love you, 'Chonne, but you gotta give it up for that one, sweetheart. You were there. You remember."
"Nope. I think I blocked that out, seriously!" Michonne burst into radiant laughter as Rick's pink lips sprouted into a crooked grin, rudely watching her, ignoring Mike.
The boyfriend in question (and teammate, Rick had to remember that) sat up straight from his slightly sprawled position leaning next to Michonne, his dark eyes darting from his girl to his boss in the red tinted shadows.
He was getting more and more noticeably (at least, to everyone but Rick, it seemed) uncomfortable, despite Michonne's attempts to soothe him with her attentions whenever she could.
"Yes, Rick is quite a successful killer…" Jesus agreed, his keen, observant eyes darting from Rick to Michonne and back again as he sipped his scotch, having joined the group for a break of his own. "And so is Michonne. Cheers to them both, I say. To you all - you keep this place going. And you'll always have my gratitude."
He raised his glass to the table. "To The Family."
"To The Family." They all chimed, raising their drinks.
"Aww, thanks cupcake." Abraham reached over and tried to wiggle Jesus' beard with his meaty fingers, but the eloquent bartender dodged his efforts easily.
"Yo, Rick, why don't you go ahead and take a fuckin' picture, huh?" Mike suddenly growled out of nowhere, bringing the amicable conversation to a screeching halt. "It might last you fuckin longer, you know what I'm sayin', man?"
Michonne's heart jumped into her throat and started pounding away as Mike's strong arm tightened around her waist, his fingers digging into her thigh.
All eyes turned to Rick, Mike, and Michonne as the chilled out music suddenly didn't seem to matter in the tense, red quiet.
Michonne's lips parted and she wanted to say something - anything - to stop what was about to happen, but she couldn't think straight. She was helplessly pinned against Mike's hard, warm (and getting warmer as he got angrier, she could tell) body, her gaze landing on Rick and not being able to turn away.
"Mike…" She managed, but he ignored her.
For his part, Rick simply sat back in his chair again, his fingers playing idly with the dewy neck of his beer bottle. His prismatic blues glinted under the pale illuminator above the table as they peeled slowly away from Michonne's nervous, beautiful face to land on Mike's cold, hard one.
"Uh, no...I don't know what you're sayin', Mike." He drawled quietly, tilting his head at his young teammate.
In bold truth, he did know exactly what the kid was getting at. Still, he waited, holding his ground.
"Shit." Andrea muttered under her breath, shrinking down in her seat, attempting to hide behind Shane's muscular arm. Shane was glued to the stand-off like it was a soccer match.
Who the fuck was gonna score one first?
No one could say they hadn't seen this coming.
If she thought about it, least of all Michonne. For days, maybe even weeks, this had been brewing.
Mike wasn't stupid. He had definitely noticed, and been trying put up with, his boss ogling his girl every chance he got. He was tired, he had just come off a long, tedious-ass shift listening to Rosita pop gum all goddamned day, and all he wanted was some quality time with Michonne.
But no. Rick Savage-Ass Grimes was the one who got to ride around with her every shift like they were Bonnie and fuckin' Clyde out this bitch. Now he was staring at her - like he'd always stared at her since even before Mike and Michonne hooked up - and Mike was sick of it. It was time to knuckle up.
Sittin' there lookin' all rugged, white, and smug with that rusty ass wedding ring and that hidden hard-on under the table. Rick uttered: "Why don't you enlighten us? What's got you so riled up?"
Mike exploded. "FUCK YOU, RICK!" He shot up from the table like a canon, tipping Michonne off her butt onto the booth into Glenn.
"Yikes!" Maggie hiccupped, scooting over to get the hell out of the way.
"Hey, why don't you just chill out, man?" Daryl muttered patiently. "We're tryin' to kick back, here."
Rick was still sitting there, staring up at Mike with a half-grin on his pink lips.
"Why don't you try to kick my ass in the back, how about that, Daryl?" Mike retorted heatedly.
"I think you should quit while you're ahead." Rick scoffed, shaking his head, trying to quell the volcano of anger threatening to boil over inside him.
His eyes darted to Michonne, who recognized the testy look inside that crystal blue sea instantly. Fuck, fuck, fuck, this was bad.
"Trust me, you don't want none o'that, Mike." Daryl answered, his steel eyes observing the young man keenly, his quick, nimble fingers itching for his bow.
"Yeah, well fuck you, too, D. Let's go, Rick. Come on, old man!" Mike was moving away from the booth, causing everyone to lift themselves out of their riveted stupor in protest. "You afraid to loose in front of Michonne, is that it? My mother fuckin' girlfriend!? Or you don't wanna explain why you got your ass beat the hell down to your wife later?"
"Fuck a duck in the summertime." Abe almost choked on his beer, impressed (and terrified) that Mike had actually gone there.
"Now, hold the fuckin' phone, Mike." Shane piped up, his nostrils flaring. "Leave Lori the hell outta this, would ya? Low blow, man, come on."
"Y'all better get him…" Sasha warned, having witnessed first hand how vicious Rick could be when he was backed into a corner. The throat jerky from a couple years ago wasn't even the half of it.
Mike was a good fighter, a loyal and supportive team member, and a skilled tactician - but he was letting Rick's greying beard and unhurried ways fool him. He didn't stand a chance.
Peacekeeper Grimes knew how to take any man down. Even her boo Abraham's big ass.
"Alright, then." Rick nodded, still smiling. He stood up from his chair. "Let's go."
"Jesus, I would not advise this course of action. Rick's body temperature is well above - "
GREGORY attempted to intervene.
"MIKE." Michonne interrupted finally, her angry, chilling voice cutting through the thick air like the fatally sharp edge of her katana. Mike stiffened, his fists balling at his sides, but he ripped his gaze from Rick's to look at her. "You're right - you do need some air. Why don't you and me step outside for a minute, okay?"
Michonne rose gracefully, forbiddingly, from the booth, stepping out of it with one shapely, garter-clad leg exposed after the other. Her expression and body language brooked no refusal.
She ran a hand through her loose locs, waiting for Mike, now actively avoiding Rick's gaze. She held on to her anger, needing to set Mike straight on some shit. Needing to clear her own head and escape this room full of staring eyes - especially Rick's. And the way they made her body feel. And the way that was affecting her relationship with her actual boyfriend.
Finally, Mike relented, huffing out a breath and nodding harshly in her direction. He dropped his gaze to his combat boots and stalked out ahead of her - his jaw clenched, not looking at or speaking to anyone.
Rick watched her go, her alluring form gliding through the hazy cigar smoke in the red glare as she followed her boyfriend out of Rovia's for some 'fresh air'.
Then he realized what had just happened - what he'd just been caught doing - and what had almost just transpired because of it. In front of his entire unit.
His wedding ring felt like it was gonna burn his finger off as he slowly sat back down in his seat again, reaching over to drain the last of his beer for something to do.
"Well, that was a hell of a lot more entertaining than I expected…" Rosita deadpanned, propping her boot-clad feet up on the table. "Who knew Mike was such a drama queen?"
"Rick - I told you man." Shane leaned forward and half-heartedly tried to whisper across the table at Rick. "You can't go dippin' your pen in the company ink. 'Specially not when it's on loan from a hothead like Mike. I mean, Michonne's hot, and all, but..."
"Shut the fuck up, would ya, babe?"Andrea groaned, feeling kinda bad for Rick.
"What?" Shane didn't get it. "I'm just giving him advice he needs!"
"Shane, he's fuckin' married." Andrea gritted under her breath, slapping his arm. "Stick a sock in it!"
"Listen to your girlfriend, Shane." Daryl replied raspily, putting the kibosh on it so Rick wouldn't have to.
Though the bossman knew, deep down, his childhood friend was right. So was Andrea.
He was a married man and he had no business eyeballing someone else's girlfriend all night, where anyone could catch him - let alone the man she was currently sleeping with. Even if he weren't married, and Lori wasn't working her ass off right now to put money into their savings for a bigger place, it would still be ridiculously inappropriate. Michonne was his partner, his second in command, his right hand. Not his property or his wet dream. He had to straighten the fuck up and act like he had some sense.
Although he could've beaten Mike's ass to within an inch of his young, arrogant life, it wasn't worth it.
Michonne had no idea how Rick felt about her. It wasn't her fault, or her problem.
He wanted her, badly. He knew this with certainty as he tried not to stare at the door every chance he got for any sign of her. But the minutes ticked by, and the conversation slowly, awkwardly got going again without her.
"GREGORY…" Jesus called politely, watching Rick with empathy and concern from the end of the table.
"Now you call, Jesus. What can I do for you?"
"Dial your sarcasm levels down a bit, first. Then play something for us. Anything...funky." Jesus answered, still eyeing his most valued regular (and friend) as he sat pensively waiting for Michonne.
"Roger that. I believe the next song is Mike's choice. In the mood for another round on the house?"
GREGORY sounded much more professional, now. Though still a tad bitchy.
He saw that Rick Grimes was in love with his partner Michonne Snow. Everyone could. But it was Jesus would could also plainly see that working overtime to hide it was taking its toll on him.
The least he could do, while his doors were still open, was make sure the man had plenty of alcohol to drown his sorrows and soothe his pining heart.
"Absolutely. And keep them coming."
A/N:
This is just the opening credits, folks.
I was going for a sort of homage to the kind of scenes I loved from the opening of 'Alien'.
Or even old-school treasures like 'Leviathan' (I know, I'm old, heh).
Abe's music love is inspired by classic scenes in movies like 'Predator', or 'Forrest Gump'.
Even recently, 'The Watchmen', or 'Guardians of the Galaxy'.
I know. I am insane. And this may not be everyone's cup of tea.
But if I've done my job right, this will be a romantic, dark, melancholy, sweeping, crazy adventure. Based on my love of sci-fi, and dripping with a steamy, heaping, sexy helping of RICHONNE!
If you decide to bail, understandable, and thanks for stopping by.
If you stick with me, thank you so much. Buckle up, this is only the beginning.
Next...a drunken confession in a dark hallway.
Intense, hypnotic smut.
And the fall.
Hold onto your butts.
-Kendra
P.S. Check my tumblr for OC face claims and gifs (for all my stories) that paint more of a visual of what's going on in my inexplicable head...plus updates on my Spotify playlists. If you're into that sort of thing. ::scurries away::