Author's Note: Happy Friday, guys! This is a fic I've started writing over the past couple weeks. It's a slow-burn romantic drama about unexpected friendship and love, alternating between Rick and Michonne's point of views. The first chapter is Michonne. Thanks in advance for reading.

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Tybee Island, Georgia – October 1994

The Sugarhouse café sat on the pier with perhaps the most perfect waterfront view on Tybee Island. The glorious rise and set of the sun was not only to be seen through the café's wide windows, but truly appreciated for its breathtaking beauty. It was a sight Michonne Lawrence welcomed every morning and night.

Because every morning and night she stood in the window and watched the spectacle unfold. She could tell the time of the year by its sunrise and sunset. The colors largely varied depending on the season and she'd memorized them all. The bright pinks, burning oranges and golds, deep blues, and even deeper purples were ingrained into her mind like the most colorful memory imaginable. She often painted them so, in her spare time, in the studio above the garage.

Much to her chagrin, those days were few and far between. Since Daddy's latest breakdown, she'd taken over running things around Sugarhouse full-time. That meant she was oftentimes spending her days at the café than anywhere else. If Sugarhouse hadn't already been like a second home, it sure enough became one as soon as she took on Daddy's duties.

She rarely complained, though. The way she saw it, if she didn't step in and help out, no one else would. It was the story of her life growing up. Stuck between two sisters as the middle child, her role in the family commonly became picking up everyone else's slack. Meesha distanced herself from the family and Mariah preoccupied herself with many failed relationships. Daddy called her the reliable one for a reason.

Choosing to see things as a glass half-full rather than empty, Michonne found the good in overseeing Sugarhouse. For one, she kept incredibly busy. The coffee and pastry café well known about Tybee posed as the place to grab a cup of Joe and a sugary treat to sate any sweet tooth. The modestly-sized business ended up as one of the most successful on the island and that didn't seem to be changing anytime soon.

The other good in that half-full glass came from the regulars. Most could brighten any gloomy day. Local mailman Theodore "T-Dog" Watts came in on his mail route every weekday and ordered a mocha Frappuccino with extra whip. Carol Peletier and her sweetly polite daughter Sophia visited on Sundays after church for cupcakes. Close friends Noah Benson and Patrick Howzell would sit for hours in the comfy armchairs over coffee and textbooks, cramming for some exam or another.

Then there was her regular who was perhaps the most 'regular' of all. His frequent visits spanned most days of the week except for Sundays. On the cusp of dawn, never fail Sheriff Deputy Rick Grimes walked into Sugarhouse and sat at the counter. Often tired but always with a grin to greet her, he rarely bothered looking at the menu as he placed his order. She knew it by heart, referring to the order as "the usual".

When she opened Sugarhouse on a miserably wet and gusty October morning, she walked into the café expecting for the day to be stressful but brightened by her favorite customers. First to show, turning up minutes after six before the inky sky even lightened into pewter blues and grays, was supposed to be Deputy Rick Grimes. The door would chime, she would look up, and the two would exchange a friendly 'hello'.

The hands on the clock pointed to 6:06 A.M. when that bell above the door dinged. Michonne finished tying her apron behind her back and walked out of the kitchen to wish him a good morning. She stopped in mid-step, slightly startled to find that there was no grin to be seen on the Deputy's stubbly face. He merely gave a nod, claimed the same stool, and plucked the menu off the counter.

Michonne blinked, still immobile. She didn't know what to do or say with this Rick Grimes. She'd never seen him in such a mood. Truth be told, she'd known Rick Grimes for most of her life. Tybee Island was a small city which meant people in the same age-range were familiar. They'd never been close—they'd never even been friends—but what they always were was cordial. The kind of interaction where they used to pass each other in the hall at school and exchange a polite smile or share quick niceties while in line at the bank. Ever since they'd graduated to friendly conversation over coffee, but it was never anything less. Never anything short of a kind smile or hello in the very least.

"Rough night?" Michonne asked once the shock wore off. She walked behind the counter and up to the fancy, new, state-of-the-air coffee machine Daddy bought months ago. It'd taken him a year to save up for, but boy did everyone, customer and employee alike, agree it was worth its weight in gold. She'd decided he didn't need to ask for the usual. She would pour his large black coffee and grab his favorite pastry regardless.

"Yeah, something like that," Rick said. He sighed and set the menu back down. Though he usually showed up to Sugarhouse with the lines of exhaustion on his face, that dawn he looked particularly weathered. He accepted the mug without another word but rather a nod and minor twitch to his lips. It seemed even if he wanted to he couldn't smile.

Michonne didn't want to pry. She didn't like poking her nose into people's business. Daddy had warned her long ago about doing so. His deep, froggy voice trickled into her ear…

Sticking yourself where you don't belong is like wandering into a lion's den; it's asking for trouble.

With his words to back her up, she chose to play it safe. She said, "sorry to hear that. I'll grab you your Buttercup and give you some space."

Buttercups were Rick Grimes' favorite. The sweet treat was a favorite of most. The dessert made every peanut butter and chocolate lover's dream come true. In the kitchen, she delicately placed the first Buttercup on the plate and then paused. She moved to the door, where through a small port window she could see out into the frontend of the café. There she could spot the Deputy where she'd left him, as glum as ever. She returned to the kitchen table with the tray of Buttercups and gave him an extra on his plate as a small surprise.

"That's my good deed of the day," she joked to only herself. Back outside, she slid the plate across the counter and told him, "maybe two buttercups will cheer you up."

Rick was zoned out. The plate sliding toward him, and her voice stirred him out his head. He gazed down and noticed the second Buttercup, coming alive a bit more by the sight. The slightest grin cracked on his face and he looked up at her with a sliver of the usual brightness in his eyes.

"Thanks," he said. "Guess a second can't hurt."

"Now's as good a time as any to eat your feelings," Michonne said, smiling lightly. Knowing he wanted his privacy, she moved on as the door chimed again. The Millers came in shaking their umbrellas and wiping their feet. They walked up to the counter and she took their order between small talk. Out the corner of her eye, the downtrodden Deputy stuck out to her like a sore thumb. It only set a pattern, as she continued to peek in his direction as she whipped up the Millers' order.

The morning rush happened about a quarter to seven, with it now obvious the sun had foregone its rising for the day. In its place was a pale whitish gray sky heavy with angry clouds to threaten more downpour. Michonne only partly noticed as she bustled about Sugarhouse. While she held it down solo, the second her star barista Sasha Williams walked into the door, she let out a breath of relief.

"I know…I know…sorry I'm late. Grady didn't want to get on the school bus," apologized the petite barista by day, personal friend by night. She tied her apron on and joined the fray with little question. "Is it just me or is it extra crazy in here this morning?"

Michonne cast a look that said it all. Sasha stifled her laugh with a snort but said nothing else. The line at the counter of those waiting for a coffee-on-the-go was too long and the tables were far too full for much dilly dallying. Michonne disappeared into the back to check on the croissants in the oven, thinking not for the first time that they would have to hire addition help, and soon.

She exited with the batch of freshly baked, buttery croissants and her eyes pinpointed one customer out of the chaos. She'd forgotten about Rick Grimes with how busy she'd been, but as she made it to the counter, she noticed his plate and mug were empty. He was putting back on his wide-brimmed brown hat. He was about to go. The golden-brown croissants were placed a lot less carefully in the case than usual in her haste to cut across the counter and make it to him.

"How was everything?" she asked, sneaking a look at him out of curiosity. If double the chocolate peanut butter goodness didn't make him feel a little bit better, she didn't know what else would.

"As delicious as always," he said. Still, no smile came. No twinkle in his eye. In fact, he somehow looked paler now that she got a closer look. He fished his keys out his pocket and started to turn. "Give your father my well wishes. See you tomorrow."

"See you."

There was something distinctly depressing about his exit. The clack of his boots against the tile and his lone bow-legged gait out the glass doors and into the gloomy morning wasn't an easy sight to digest. Michonne, like Daddy, cared about her regulars, so their hard times rarely went unnoticed. A green-eyed blonde knocked her senses back into place by waving a hand before her unfocused eyes.

"Hi," she said. "I'm Jessie. You must be Murray's daughter, Michonne."

Michonne's confusion filled out in her expression. Jessie gave a small laugh.

"I'm new to town and saw Sugarhouse's job ad in the paper. I called the number and your father answered," she explained. "He told me y'all are understaffed and need a new barista. Here I am."

"Oh." Michonne wanted to carry on, mention how Daddy hadn't told her he'd put an ad out, but she refrained. The blonde seemed harmless, smiling unrelentingly at her with big, optimistic eyes. She said, "okay…in that case, I need you to fill out an appli—"

"—well, actually, Murray says I'm good to go," interrupted Jessie. "He told me to show up for my first shift today."

Michonne fought off the urge to sigh in exasperation. Daddy's fickleness plunged into frustrating territory long ago. One day he was his old self, about to return to heading Sugarhouse and running things, but the very next he shriveled up into his shell and got lost in his triggers. She gave up hope he would be the same again.

"Fine," said Michonne. She beckoned the blonde to follow, zipping for the kitchen through the crowded café. She snatched an apron off the nearest hook and thrust it into Jessie's arms. "Put this on. I'll give you a tour and explain how Sugarhouse works. Sasha works the day shifts Monday through Friday, so you'll have to take the evenings on those days. We have two part-timers who work the weekends. After I show you around, you'll shadow Sasha at the counter."

"Evening shifts," said Jessie. "How late will I be working? I should've mentioned I'm a single mom."

"We close at 9 P.M.," answered Michonne. "And, so is Sasha. Since she has seniority—"

"—Murray said my hours would be flexible," Jessie said, frowning.

"I'm sorry but until we get more staff that's not possible."

Jessie's face pinched with discontent. Michonne sensed this would not be the only time the matter was addressed. She made a mental note to phone Daddy and give him a piece of her mind. His lack of communication tired her. No longer heading Sugarhouse seemed to be a hard pill to swallow when in his right frame of mind, but he needed to let go if he expected her to manage.

"Anyway," she said with a smile tacked onto her lips, "I'll show you around. Follow me."

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Michonne didn't get a chance to rest until midday. She'd spent the day filling in for their pastry chef Glenn Rhee, who happened to call in sick. Bouncing between that and managerial duties, she wanted to rip her hair out. Her small fruit salad sat readily in her lap, about to be devoured. Her beeper going off interrupted.

Glancing down and seeing the three digits '1-4-3', she smiled. It was Zeke. Her fruit salad lay forgotten about as she stood up and walked to the phone on the wall. His work day at the bank wore down and now that he had his own office, she knew he only paged her because he would answer if called.

"Hello, sweet," he said on the second ring. The squelch of leather could be heard as he shifted in his chair, reclining back with the phone to his ear. "How are things? I've been thinking about you nonstop."

"Leave it to you to make me smile," she replied. "Thanks, Zeke. It's been a long day and it's only two. I think I'm going to call it early today."

"You should. Know why?"

"No, but I bet you're going to tell me."

"I sure am. It's been too long since we've had a night out—just me and you. What do you think? Dinner at Tail Fin's? Maybe a movie then nightcap?"

"Zeke," she breathed, slightly excited despite equal parts hesitant. "I have to get up early…"

"Oh, come now. What's a little rule breaking?"

Her smile sounded in her voice and the phone cord twisted at her side. She said, "a little or a lot?"

Zeke's laugh was croaky and contagious. Her smile widened, and she caved with a sigh.

"You know what? I need a night out. Pick me up at six."

"That's my girl," he said, pleased. "Just remember to coverup. Now that it's October, shouldn't be a problem."

Her fervor dialed down, to include her smile faltering for a split second. She rarely didn't, but even thinking about it made her want to quickly change the subject. Luckily, Zeke did it for her, moving on to explain about the likelihood he would soon be promoted. The couple hung up minutes later and only then did she return to her fruit salad.

It had been far too long since they had enjoyed a real night out. The prospect felt like a strange treat as she thought about the many nights she'd spent stuck at Sugarhouse or at home, keeping the household together by the skin of her teeth.

For once, for the first time in a long while, she was taking a night for herself.

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Opening Sugarhouse the next day came with a yawn. She unlocked the door, hurried past the threshold to escape the drizzle, and lowered the hoodie to her raincoat only when safely inside. The lights she flicked on along the way, moving slower than usual thanks to the late night. Another yawn and she vowed to never go out with Zeke again when she had to work the next day. What started out as 'a little trouble' careened into the realm of nothing but. Running on only three hours, she groaned to herself thinking about the droning day ahead.

In the kitchen, a tap on the glass door outside made her flinch. She arranged the trays to carry out to the case, but the tap caused her to question if maybe her pace mimicked a slug's. She glanced to the clock to check if it were six. Her brows bunched together as she realized she hadn't gone over schedule at all. With twenty minutes to go 'til opening, she hadn't fallen behind at all.

Michonne wiped her hands on her apron and walked out into the café's frontend. Out of the deep purplish-blue background where sky met sea, on the pier's sidewalk outside stood Rick Grimes. She paused for a millisecond, startled to see him earlier than his regular showtime. Swallowing that momentary surprise, she finished the walk to the door and let him in from the rain.

"Sorry to come by early," he drawled soon as he stepped onto the mat to wipe his boots. "My shift ended and I figured…"

"No…no…it's okay," she said. "If you don't mind waiting on your Buttercup. I'll grab you your coffee now."

"Take your time," he said. His hat came off and he headed for his stool. "No rush. I don't have anywhere else to be."

Michonne tried to glean what his inflection meant. His gritty tone differed from yesterday but also from the other days he'd been in brighter spirits. His twang seemed to be undercut by despair he'd come to accept in the last 24 hours. Through exhaustion, she distantly strung together possible explanations why.

"Thanks," Rick told her when she handed him his coffee.

She wanted to reply, but instead she dissolved into a fight to fend off a yawn. The cold, dreary, darkness of the morning did nothing to help invigorate her. She reached for the pot again. This time to pour herself a cup. She checked the wall clock and decided a couple minutes could be spared.

"Tired?" he asked.

She nodded, clutched the ceramic in her hands in her wait for the Java to cool.

"I know the feeling. I haven't slept much lately either."

"Well," she sighed, "it's not that I couldn't sleep. It's that I didn't get the chance to. My boyfriend and I went out last night. He's kind of a smooth talker. I really shouldn't've let him talk me into it."

"Oh…right…" he cleared his throat and sipped his coffee in place of a reply.

"Sorry, I also probably shouldn't complain to customers," she said. "Let me go grab your Buttercup."

Michonne disappeared into the kitchen cringing. She could almost see the reprimanding look from Daddy. He always stressed the importance of staying courteous yet professional with customers. Rarely if ever did he reveal much personal details to his patrons. She supposed she'd fashioned her behavior at Sugarhouse to be similar. No customer wanted to hear her gripes. They didn't come by to listen to employees with loose lips.

She returned to the frontend with a plate loaded with two Buttercups. Rick's surprise mirrored yesterday's. For the quickest second, the true-blue spark alive in them flashed and then blinked out again. However, this time his lips spread into a grin from under his scruff.

"You don't have to keep giving me an extra," he said. "Not that I'm complaining."

"I think you'll get one for as long as you're different," she said kindly. She meant for that to be the end of their exchange, turning away to busy herself with the glass case.

"So, last night," he said half a minute later, "did you at least have fun?"

"Excuse me?"

"Last night—your date with your boyfriend. Did you two have a good time? Yanno, to make losing sleep worth it," Rick explained.

"Oh…um…" she debated whether to answer. In truth, last night had been more vexing than anything, but he didn't need to know that. Too personal. Too much info. She said in her upbeat customer service voice, "it was nice. Thanks for asking."

Standing, Michonne grabbed the empty tray and began to head into the kitchen.

"What d'you mean I'm different?"

She stopped. The metal tray pressed into her side as her torso twisted to glance at him.

"When I said what?"

"Earlier, you said I'm getting two Buttercups as long as I'm different."

Michonne broke out into a minor laugh and waved her free hand. "It was a joke. I wasn't trying to imply anything. I thought it would cheer you up."

Rick sat and stared into his coffee cup for so long she questioned if the conversation were over. Her left leather boots rose to take a step, but he looked up and gave his late reply.

"You'd be right to say I've been different. The guys at the station said the same. Guess everybody's noticed," he said glumly. He dug around in the pockets of his deep brown slacks and pulled out a carefully folded letter. "My fiancé wrote me a Dear John letter. We were supposed to get married in four weeks."

Michonne's jaw pried itself open on its own accord. She caught on a second too late, closing it to swallow. Her mind raced for the right words to say, as Rick's dejection suddenly felt ten times weightier in the room. Setting down the tray and walking back to the counter, Daddy's 'T.M.I.' rule slipped out of sight, out of mind.

"I'm so sorry to hear," she said. "That's…that's terrible."

"Don't know if you remember her," he said. He unfolded the paper and his eyes scanned the prettily scribbled letter. "Lori Ackerman—she went to our high school freshman year before she moved away."

"Lori Ackerman, yeah, of course," Michonne said with a shake. "I didn't know her well, but I remember her."

"We kept in touch and couple years after we graduated, we gave things a shot. It went from there. Thought we were happy, but I guess…" he folded the letter again and clenched his jaw. "Guess she felt differently."

"Did she say why?"

"All she wrote was she's changed her mind—she's sorry," he said. "She left the island by the time I read the letter."

Something in the back of Michonne's head poked at her, serving as a reminder to keep out of his business. Her job was to serve him 'the usual' and move on to her other customers. Job duties did not entail listening to his woeful tales of heartbreak, offering him advice and her condolences. Yet, standing across the café counter from him overpowered any urge to drop the topic and walk away. In her heart, she knew it would be cruel to disregard him now.

"I'm sorry this happened to you," she told him. "But…I think you're off to a good start."

"What?" he tilted his head, utterly puzzled.

"You're letting yourself feel the heartbreak. That's the only way you're going to get through it," she said, shrugging. "It's okay for you to be upset she left you—it's okay for you to wonder what went wrong and think about her. It would be worse in the end if you didn't. It's only been a couple days. Everything's still fresh."

"Yeah…yeah, I guess that makes sense," he mumbled. His skin burned red. "One of my pillowcases smells like her conditioner…and I've been putting off washing it."

Michonne nodded in understanding. She said, "you're trying to hold onto the relationship. Her conditioner reminds you of her."

"The guys at work said I need to wash it. I need to dump the stuff she left behind."

"I don't know," said Michonne, shrugging. "These things are difficult. She was your fiancé. Throwing out everything that reminds you of her isn't going to magically make you feel better. Try to focus on taking care of yourself. Take some time to process everything. Maybe it'll do you some good."

Rick merely acknowledged her words with a nod, delving into his thoughts otherwise. Time was lost on them until someone raked their knuckles against the glass. Michonne jerked and hurried to unlock the door as it dawned on her she'd spent the last twenty minutes chatting with Rick Grimes. Her morning prep had gone half-finished. She let in the Millers, apologized profusely, and shot into overdrive to play catchup.

The tempo akin to yesterday, Michonne didn't have a free second to spare. Sasha showed not long after. Together the two women fulfilled every to-go order and serviced each dine-in patron. Her conversation with the Deputy never picked back up again, but as he lay bills on the counter he did wave her over. Breathless and hands grasping two hot cups of Joe, she swung by.

"Thanks for earlier," he said shortly. "You might be right. I need time. Take it easy."

He disappeared through the glass doors, down the slick and ever-crowding pier. Michonne's eyes followed him go, eventually rising to the sky above. Finally breaking through the wall of clouds was the morning sun, arriving in a burst of bright light. She put the heartbroken Sheriff Deputy out of her mind and decided no matter what, today was looking up already.

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Michonne called it early that day. She hopped into her clunky Toyota Camry and headed home with thoughts of her bed. Zeke had paged her, but she ignored him. The risk he would talk her into another late night was too great. She needed more than just shuteye. She needed a clear head if she were going to deal with Zeke.

The thing about their relationship was that it never failed to be in constant flux. Over the last six years, they'd been on and off more times than she could remember. At some point after year two, she stopped counting as their mutual indecisiveness borderlined on ridiculous. But, somehow, after their 'off' they would find a way to be 'on' again, starting the cycle over in another never-ending roundabout.

She didn't know if anyone else could handle her. She supposed Zeke felt the same about himself. They were stuck with each other. He was familiar, and he knew her baggage. Keeping to what she knew made things simpler. He had Daddy's approval and despite his arrogance, he fit into her life. Anything else was unnecessary and irrelevant.

Outside their house, cars filled the drive. She parked against the curb and listened to the chaos on her walk up. Soon as the door opened, Mikel waddled over to her and clamped onto her leg. For being so little, his grip was ironclad. She gave a soft laugh and eventually managed to scoop him up into her arms. The other two, Wesley and Devon, bickered in the living room about the tv remote. Mariah was nowhere to be found. Neither was Daddy. She called out to them.

Mariah appeared with her hair in curlers and two dresses on hangers. She held up the first, a glittery gold number that must've stopped at her upper thigh when worn. She said, "gold or black?"

"Black. It covers your ass," said Michonne. "What's it for?"

"Date tonight," Mariah gushed. "Me and Tray."

"Who?"

"Tray! The guy who I met a couple weeks ago at the club?" said Mariah. "He's taking me out."

"And the boys?"

Mariah looked guilty, turning her back as she admired both outfits.

"The boys, Mariah," said Michonne.

"You're staying home tonight, right?" she asked. "So is Daddy. I figured—"

"—I'm not watching them," Michonne interrupted, tone severe. She set Mikel on his feet and let him wander off to the other two. "I'm exhausted. I spent the whole day at Sugarhouse and I need sleep. What've you been doing all day? You didn't clean up. The boys are dirty. Did you make sure Daddy took his medicine?"

"Job hunting."

Michonne rolled her eyes and didn't dignify the lie with an answer. She walked down the hall, putting space between herself and the ruckus in the living room. A boom rumbled through the house not a minute after, followed by Mariah screeching at the boys for knocking something over. She stopped at Daddy's door and knocked twice.

"Come on in," he called.

"Hey, Daddy, how are you doing?" she asked.

He sat in his chair by the window with a book in hand. He took off his reading glasses and beamed at her, replying, "there she is! I was wondering when you'd make it home."

"Busy day at Sugarhouse."

"October always is," Daddy said. He snapped shut the book and stood up, gesturing to the window. "Beautiful day out, ain't it? Makes me want to go for a walk."

"That's a good idea. Did you take your medicine?"

He balked. "You know that's not mandatory—not when I've been feeling so much better lately."

Michonne neglected to bring up the breakdown he'd had only three weeks ago. His spirits were too high and she didn't want to depress him.

"I know that, Daddy," she said softly, moving to his nightstand. She pulled the drawer open and pulled out two pill bottles. "But Doctor Cloyd said—"

"—ahh, phooey, Cloyd doesn't have a clue." He swatted his hand midair.

"Daddy."

"Hey, how was your big night out with Zeke?" he asked zealously. His eyes lit up. "Fine young man—spoke to him over the phone today and he told me you two had a great time."

"Your meds, daddy."

"Alright, alright, alright." He upturned his palm for her to dole out the prescription, begrudging as he popped the pills in his mouth and chugged some water. His face turned sourer with each pill. "Anywho, you and Zeke," he pressed. "I think it's time, honey. Zeke and I were talking—"

"—I think now's not the time," she said. She flashed him a smile to keep his spirits up, knowing how sensitive he could be. "I'm really tired. I need some sleep."

"Of course, get some winks. But, hey, looks like it's me and you tonight babysitting the boys," he said enthusiastically.

Michonne sighed. "Right."

Bitter over how Mariah had once again weaseled her way to Daddy and gotten what she wanted, Michonne closed the door to his bedroom. Her footsteps to her room felt like she dreamily floated in the air. In the minute to follow, as soon as her head touched the pillow, she did.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Next morning, Michonne received the surprise of the week. Sheriff Deputy Rick Grimes did not show. She glanced at the time. She double checked the calendar. Her second guesses on the date and time were interrupted when eventually other customers turned up to Sugarhouse. Forgetting all about his strange absence, she immersed herself in keeping the café afloat another day.

Jessie Anderson proved to be more trouble than she was worth. Several customers came in complaining about their visits while she worked the counter. Some cited her poor efforts making drinks. Others complained her customer service itself was lackluster. Sasha tossed her hat into the ring, griping about how Jessie failed to properly wash the utensils and coffee machines.

Michonne sat the blonde down and she burst into tears. She explained how stressed she'd been learning a new job. She promised to do better as Michonne told her she had one more chance to shape up and improve on the job. That was regardless if 'Murray' agreed or not, much to the blonde's dismay.

The day after that was Thursday. Again, Michonne stood at the counter and kept the clock in view as it struck 6 A.M. No Deputy Grimes in sight. She pondered what could possibly keep Rick Grimes away from Sugarhouse for two days in a row. That's when the theories started up. Maybe he'd been so heartbroken he'd decided to take some time away from his daily life. There was the chance her advice had been offensive or awful enough to drive him away.

In the afternoon, another Deputy stopped by and she casually slipped the topic into conversation. Deputy Simon Riggs shrugged and revealed her guess was as good as his. As far as he knew, Grimes had put in for a temporary leave of absence. Though she knew to keep her nose out of his personal life, her stomach sunk at the news. Mornings wouldn't be the same without Rick Grimes walking in with his grin.

Friday was more of the same. Michonne gave up on thinking too much about it. Instead she concentrated on putting out other fires. Zeke pestered the house phone and her pager until she gave in and returned his calls. They agreed to another night out on Saturday, as he claimed it would be a special occasion. Deep down a part of her agreed because if she were home, Mariah would snatch up the opportunity to try and saddle her with the boys.

Early Saturday, Michonne strolled up to Sugarhouse under the lamp posts on the pier. On autopilot, she moved through the café faster than usual. In no time she had the place set up, ready to go for the morning rush. With the extra time leftover, she poured herself some coffee and lamented over how it'd been six days since she'd touched a paint brush. Her muse took note and vanished, nowhere to be found.

The wall clock ticked away 'til its big and little hand reached 5:56 A.M.

Someone tapped on the glass. Michonne set down her mug and spun around, eager for the sound she'd missed the past couple days. The dark outside left the windows looking like black blocks from afar. She crossed the café and grew closer to the door. A couple footsteps away, the figure became visible and taking in the willowy frame, her assumption had been misguided. Unlocking the door, she pulled it open and found herself face-to-face with someone she hadn't seen in years.

"Hello, Michonne," said Lori Ackerman. She stepped into Sugarhouse with a sheepish smile. "Long time no see. I hate to bother you this early, but I heard Rick comes here every morning."

"Uhh…yes…" Michonne said hesitantly. The slender woman walked past her to one of the stools. She shut the door and went to the counter to face her. "Yes, he usually comes by every morning when I open."

"I heard this was the last place he was seen," Lori said, frowning. "You were the last person to talk to him. I've realized I've made a mistake and I've looked everywhere. Tell me you'll help me find him?"

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Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think. :)

Chapter 2 will focus on Rick and what he's been up to.