A/N: The writing bug bit me again, but this time with my favorite pairing from one of my favorite shows. The Walking Dead has been more depressing than usual lately, so I decided to write something a little lighter for my favorite couple. It's A/U, but uses the characters we all know and love. Please let me know what you think!
Disclaimer: I own none of these characters or settings. This is an exercise in creativity and not to be used for profit.
"Michonne!" Sasha came bursting into the office like a bat out of hell. "You have to see this!" The copper colored woman was breathing heavily, instantly setting her companion on guard.
"What is it?" Michonne leapt up from behind her desk, the skirt of her dress rising up to almost indecent levels as she made her way towards her coworker and friend. She did not bother to pull it down in her haste to come to her friend's assistance.
"There's two cops," Sasha was panting through her words. Her curly hair, normally in an orderly asymmetrical cut, was sticking to her signature crimson lipstick. "They're outside fighting in the street!"
"What?" Michonne was already en-route to the window. She tugged the skirt down on her dress as she yanked open the blinds to confirm what her friend was telling her.
"I know!" Sasha was behind her, scrambling to get a better look. "The car pulled over like it was about to crash and then these two came out swinging!"
"How did you see it?" Michonne questioned.
"I was coming back from a client meeting. They nearly clipped my car pulling in. I thought they had lost control of their vehicle." Sasha pointed down to where two men were yelling loudly at one another.
"They've lost control of something, all right," Michonne almost wanted to laugh. It was playing out like a scene from a sitcom. "Do you think they are partners?" Michonne's wide brown eyes were trained down on the street.
"Hell if I know," Sasha did laugh. "I'm wondering if they're only really policemen."
Michonne could see the glint of their gold badges from her vantage point. "They might not be for long after this."
"So what do you do when it's the police acting up?" her friend asked. "Who do you call?"
Michonne just shrugged. "What are they arguing about?"
"Let's open the window," Sasha suggested shamelessly. Michonne would have protested, but she was already tugging it open.
It was like someone had turned up the television. The officer's words came in all at once, colored by thick Southern accents. They sounded like country boys, not all together foreign in Atlanta, but a novelty nonetheless.
"She's my fucking wife, Shane!" the shorter of the two officers was yelling. He dragged the other man's name out in an almost derogatory manner.
"Oh shit," Sasha muttered under her breath. Both women leaned forward in order to hear better.
"You think I don't know that, man?!" The man called Shane seemed exasperated. "You think it's something I was trying to do?"
"Oh, you're going to tell me it was an accident?" Officer Number One seemed almost on the verge of laughing. "You just accidentally slept together?"
"You have no idea what it was like, man. While you were gone."
"Gone?" this time Officer Number One did laugh. He shoved his curly hair out of his face almost absentmindedly as he got in his partner's space. "I was in the fucking hospital!"
"We thought you were gonna die. I was watching out for your family. Like you said—" The officer called Shane reached out to touch his friend.
"Don't you dare," the curly-haired one snarled and smacked his friend's arm away. "Don't you dare act like this was something I did."
"You and Lori have been on the rocks for years. Even Carl noticed." Shane was starting to get worked up now.
"You leave my son out of this," Curly instructed, brandishing a finger in his friend's face.
"What are you gonna tell him about me?" all at once, Shane seemed to become unsure.
"That's what your worried about? What my son thinks? Christ, Shane. We've known each other since we were kids and you go and…" Officer Number One lost steam, seemingly succumbing to emotion as he doubled over, his head in his hands.
"Rick, man. I'm sorry. Look, we gotta talk about this. We gotta—"
Michonne and Sasha and the crowd gathering outside never got to hear what the officers had to do because the one called Rick swung up in one fluid motion and broke his friend's nose.
"Fuck," this time the curse word slipped from Michonne's lips as the blood downstairs went spraying. Cartilage and skin had given away in one sickening crack. Shane pulled away from his friend, clutching his nose. They could hear him laugh, a wry, humorless chuckle.
"All right, Rick. If that's what you want." And he lunged for his friend. Rick was ready for him, blocking and throwing as many blows as he was receiving.
Michonne was not about to stand and watch them kill each other. No one on the street was moving to do anything besides whip out their cellphones. "We should stop them."
"You want two black women to go downstairs and break up a fight between two white police officers?" Sasha's voice was dripping with sarcasm.
"We're lawyers. I think we can take them," Michonne had to smile, despite the situation. "They're embarrassing themselves out there."
"I say we let them," Sasha leaned out the window as a particularly loud crack sounded. "Oh, actually, yeah, we better go stop them." The woman pulled her head back in. "Someone's going to bleed to death."
The women forewent the elevator and clacked down the stairs in their heels. Michonne was thankful that she had worn sensible ankle boots to work today. The cold autumn air bit into her skin as she and Sasha burst out into the street.
Up close the battle looked even worse. The men were of reasonable equal height, but the darker haired of the two had at least 15 pounds on the other one. Still, his foe was putting up a formidable fight. His curly brown hair was plastered to his head and his eye was swollen shut, but he was swinging with a ferocity that scared Michonne.
"You're supposed to be my friend!" the curly headed man punctuated his well-thrown body shot with a stinging accusation.
"I am your damn friend!" the dark haired cop yelled back while wiping his face. Both of their dark uniforms were glinting at the collar from freshly-spilled blood.
People were gathered in the street watching. The entire staff of the deli across the street was shameless filming on their phones. Though several people looked apprehensive, no one was brave enough to break the two men up. The one whose nose was broken tackled his opponent around the knees, driving him into the pavement. The curly headed man braced himself but went down hard. He was taking blows to the face until he seemed to become one lump of bleeding flesh.
"Holy shit," Sasha groaned out loud. "What do we do?"
Michonne did the only thing she could think to do.
"Stop!" she ran into the street, ignoring the cold breeze prickling her dark brown skin. "Stop right now!" she kept screaming as she ran, until she was practically yelling into the dark haired man's ear. She caught his elbow as he drew it back to throw another punch. Behind her, Sasha was yelling something unintelligible. It occurred to Michonne what a predicament this was. People around her were all shouting at once.
"You two are police officers!" She dropped the man's arm and stood as tall as she could, assuming the tone she used to scold her son and address unruly witnesses. Her heart was pounding in her chest, rattling off a frantic tattoo. She hoped she looked more confident than she felt.
It must have worked because the dark haired man let the other one go. Rick fell limply to the street as his opponent stumbled away, bleeding profusely from his nose.
"Oh my God," Sasha thundered up behind her. "Do we…call the police?"
"An ambulance I think," Michonne knelt over the still form of the curly haired man. He was breathing shakily, but unable to open his eyes through the swelling. She was tempted to touch him, but unsure where. He looked like the human embodiment of wound.
"I'll dial 9-1-1," Sasha was already pulling out her phone.
"No need, ladies," Michonne nearly jumped out of her skin at the heavy Southern accent behind them. The two women turned quickly to see the broken-nosed officer reaching into his car. He mumbled a lot of unintelligible numbers and words into the police cruiser radio. "Help is on the way." He bent down next to the man he had just been beating, wiping some blood off of his face. The other man tried in vain to swipe his hand away, but couldn't seem to muster the strength.
"Leave it, Rick," Shane had the nerve to sound irritated, as if the whole thing had been a minor inconvenience.
Michonne met the police officer's eyes, ready to protest. She was startled by what she saw there. She was expecting anger, aggression even. She had not anticipated his calm. He coolly wiped the blood from his partner's face.
"Ma'am," his dark eyes found Michonne. "I can assure you, I can handle it from here."
Michonne glanced at the man lying in the street. With the blood wiped from his face, she could just make out two blue-grey irises staring up at her through hooded eyes.
"All right, Officer Walsh," Michonne read his badge as calmly as possible, already pulling Sasha away. "Looks like you have it handled." Sasha gave her a weird look as they crossed back out of the street and onto the sidewalk.
"Call anyway," Michonne instructed her in a low whisper. "I don't trust him," she glanced back at the bleeding officers.
"He's got crazy in his eyes," Sasha observed wearily.
"Go inside and call. I'll watch him," Michonne was determined not to take her eyes off of the scene.
The minutes stretched out as Sasha disappeared inside. Sirens began to wail in the distance, but as far as Michonne was concerned, they could not get there fast enough. There was something about the dark haired officer that was not sitting well with her at all. He was pulling the other man up into a sitting position and leaning him against the car when he looked up and caught her eye again. The sarcastic little smile would have put fear in a lesser woman's heart.
"Took them long enough," Sasha muttered as other officers finally arrived. It was clear that they were well-acquainted with the street brawlers. One of them helped the curly headed man to his feet, looking amused by the whole thing. Officer Shane Walsh was explaining something to a coworker. Other officers were milling around with clipboard and recorders, getting statements from the surrounding observers.
One such officer spotted the pair of them and gestured to another. She started walking over to the two women, when Michonne was struck with an idea.
"Give her a statement, I'll be right back," she told Sasha. To her friend's credit, she did not call Michonne out on her bossiness, but nodded and headed straight for the policewoman.
Michonne took advantage of the distraction to step out into the street. She walked casually towards the ambulance, where the curly headed officer called Rick was sitting with his head in his hands. He was alone for the first time since the whole debacle started.
"Excuse me, officer?" the sun was beginning to set and Michonne shivered in her thin blazer, but was resolved to get this done. The man looked surprised that she was even talking to him, much less being polite.
"Yeah?" his voice was colored with the same accent as his partner, but raspier. He sounded tired.
"I work at the law firm across the street," Michonne gestured to the glass building behind her.
"So you caught the whole show," Rick shook his head, as if he couldn't believe the absurdity of the situation. "Sorry you had to see that, ma'am."
Michonne could think of no response to this. The anger had seemed to seep out of the man in front of her. Now he just looked…broken. "I just wanted to give you my card." She fumbled in her pocket for her phone where she kept spare business cards tucked in the case.
To her great surprise, the police officer in front of her began to chuckle. His smile crinkled his face, highlighting just how much blood he was covered in and the fact that he had the most vibrant blue eyes that she had ever seen.
"Guess I'll be needing a lawyer for a few things," he mused, still laughing, and took the business card. "Thank you kindly."
"You're welcome," Michonne had a million questions, namely why he had just fought his partner in the middle of the road, but she felt now was not the time.
"Feel free to use it," she told him. A long silence stretched between the two of them.
"Hey Grimes!" one of the arriving officers shouted at him. "Let's get back to the station."
Officer Rick Grimes nodded at his coworker, and then turned back to her.
"Uh, thanks Miss…" he consulted her card. "Jackson."
"You're welcome, Officer Grimes." She chose to walk away first, suddenly aware of how cold it was outside. She hurried back to Sasha, clip clopping across the street in her sensible shoes.
"You gave him your card?" Sasha asked as they entered the building, adrenaline buzzing.
"Seems like he could use the help," Michonne glanced back over her shoulder. As quickly as the fight had started, all trace had been wiped away as the sun began to set.
"Think he'll call you?" Sasha thumbed the button on the elevator.
"I have no idea," Michonne shivered.
"He will if he knows what's good for him," Sasha observed. "Sounds like he's going to need a good lawyer."
Michonne could not disagree. "We'll see."
"Do you think one of the deli guys will give me the video?" Sasha asked with a laugh.
"Girl, you're shameless." Michonne had to giggle.
"You know you want it."
"We'll ask Abraham tomorrow. You know he's got a thing for you." Michonne teased, happy for a reprieve from the serious turn the day took.
"I hope he managed to take a good one. I hate when people don't turn their phone to landscape," Sasha griped as they ascended.
Michonne shook her head, still laughing. "You want to get a drink?" she asked her friend.
"Hell yeah. We just saw to police whooping on each other. We need a damn drink." Sasha grinned broadly as she headed to grab her purse. "I'll drive," she informed Michonne. "You've done your civic duty for today."
Michonne gathered her belongings. "I'm glad he stopped."
"Me too. Poor curly-haired boy. He was a cute little thing."
"I don't think he'd like to be called a 'little thing'," Michonne laughed.
"Whatever he wants to be called, he better call you. Sounds like he's got a divorce on the way. Maybe some criminal charges."
"Let's not think about it. I want a drink." Michonne seized her purse.
"I'll call Glenn. We can meet at the bar," Sasha was already pulling her phone out.
Her spirits lifted considerably, Michonne headed out the door, resolved to think no more of the fight today.
"Rick, how did you manage to get yourself in this mess?" The older man questioned him as he stitched him up with a well-practiced hand.
"Hershel, I just told you," Rick sighed. He was in no mood to be lectured right now, not even by one of his oldest friends. "Shane—"
"I understand what your friend did," Hershel cut him off in his best no-nonsense voice. "What I am failing to understand, Officer Grimes, is why you felt the middle of the street in the middle of the day was the proper time to discuss it."
"To be fair, we didn't do much talking," Rick winced as Hershel plunged the needle back in.
"I can see that," Hershel's tone held no humor. "Did you think about Carl before you decided to resort to fisticuffs? Did you consider your health?"
"Hershel…"
"No excuses, Rick. You were in a coma 3 months ago. You're barely back on your feet. And now Carl is going to see his father all busted up." Hershel snipped the medical thread expertly.
"She's sleeping with him. It started while I was in the coma. Didn't stop when I came out," Rick told him quietly. His head was pounding like he'd just drunk a bottle of Jim Beam. "I've been trying for months and she just let me. And the whole time she was…" Rick couldn't bring himself to say it.
Hershel gently touched Rick on the shoulder. "I'm sorry to hear that, son. I know what Lori means to you. Have you talked to her?"
"I ain't gone home yet," Rick didn't know what he was going to say to her, or worse, their son.
"Rick, you need to discuss it with your wife." Hershel sighed and regarded Rick seriously.
"She's not my wife. Not anymore," just saying it out loud brought back fresh pain. "Apparently, she hasn't been for a long time."
Hershel stared at him sadly. "You need to talk about it, nonetheless," he reminded him.
"Guess I'll do that now," Rick reached for his sweatshirt. His entire head seemed to be throbbing.
"You're welcome to stay the night," Hershel informed it. "The guest room is always there for you."
"Nah thank you. I don't want Maggie to see me like this," Rick hazarded a smile.
"Well, come on by tomorrow and let me take a look at those cuts. Can't have them getting infected." Hershel stood up to see him out.
"You should see the other guy," Rick took some small comfort in the fact that Shane's face would never quite be symmetrical ever again.
Hershel chuckled. "I'll see you tomorrow, son."
"See you tomorrow," Rick nodded at him.
Tomorrow, there would be hell to pay, Rick was sure of that. He and Shane were definitely suspended, there was no getting around that. He hoped he could at least still get paid. He had hospital bills up to the ceiling and a mortgage that never seemed to shrink. Plus, it looked like he was going to need a divorce lawyer now. He didn't see how their relationship was going to survive this. His mind wandered to their son. Carl was going to be so disappointed.
Lori was waiting up for him when he got home. He tossed his keys into the dish her parents had gotten them for their wedding.
"Rick," she was standing in the living room, wearing the robe he had bought for her two Christmases ago. Her brown hair was loose and damp around her shoulders, her face bare of makeup. "Oh my God, your face," she rushed forward to touch him, but he dodged her hand.
"Lori, you got something you want to tell me?" he cut straight to the chase. He folded his arms over his chest, pushing his emotions down deep.
"Rick, I…." to her credit, Lori at least managed to look ashamed.
"How long?" he needed to hear it from her.
"Rick, we were having problems before you got hurt…" Lori worried her lower lip between her teeth, a habit she had since they were 15.
"I don't want to hear your excuses, Lori. How long?" Rick was determined not to give into her tricks.
"It happened about a month into your coma," she said quietly. "We stopped for a while, when you came out. But then…"
"Then you decided to keep on fucking my best friend," Rick finished for her.
Lori began to cry. "It wasn't like that," she pleaded.
"The hell it wasn't," Rick struggled to keep his anger quiet. Carl was still sleeping. "You let me believe we were doing better. We were talking about another kid." Rick slammed his hand down on the china cabinet. The glassware inside rattled ominously.
"I didn't want to hurt you," Lori's tears were full blown now. "I wanted to tell you, but you were so happy."
"And if Shane didn't let it slip, would you ever had said something?" Rick questioned. "How many years would you have fucked my friend behind my back?" Rick hardly ever cursed, but they were coming fast and loose now.
"We were thinking of a way to tell you," she sobbed. "Rick, you have no idea what you'll always mean to me. But we haven't been in love in a long time. We both know it."
"I was willing to try," Rick whispered fiercely. "You let me believe that you were too. I know we had problems, Lori, but I would never have done this to you. I would never have hurt you like this." He was picking his keys up already.
"Rick," Lori's voice broke as she scrambled to catch his arm. "We didn't mean to do this to you. I swear it."
"Yeah," Rick shook her off of the sleeve of his favorite leather jacket. "That's what Shane said too." He briefly considered going upstairs and getting Carl, but decided against it. He didn't want to scare the boy. "You'll be hearing from my lawyer."
He left her crying in the house they bought together. He drove aimlessly for a while, cruising through the streets of Atlanta. They had moved here together from their tiny little town to give their son a better future. Shane had agreed to transfer with him. They had been best friends since the fourth grade.
And now his best friend was sleeping with his wife.
Rick swallowed the tears threatening to spill over. He pulled into a motel and paid cash for a room. Tomorrow he would have to return home to get his clothing and talk to Carl. He had to make his son understand. He would never tell him what his mother did, even though he was hurting. He couldn't tarnish hi son's view of his mother. But he needed to know why Rick was moving on.
Sighing, he kicked off his shoes and flopped down on the hard mattress. Layer by layer, he peeled his clothing off, grimacing at the stiffness of his blood stained uniform. As he pulled it over his head, he heard a crinkle. Fishing around in the front pocket, he extracted the card that the lawyer had given him earlier.
Michonne Jackson
Attorney at Law
Law Office of Harrison and Jones
555-8703
The sting of embarrassment hit him as he recalled all of the people who had seen his meltdown today. It wasn't his proudest moment and he wished he had put up a better fight against his former best friend. The sight of that woman, all decked out in a blood orange dress and blazer, speeding across the street to his rescue was going to stick with him for a long time. He wondered what compelled her to approach him. Pity probably. Even so, he tucked the card into his wallet. He might need someone like her, if he could afford her.
Exhausted, Rick fell backwards on the bed, ignoring the musty smell from the pillows, and fell into a restless sleep.