Chapter 2

Rick gripped the rump of his horse to avoid wrapping his hands around Michonne's slim waist. She'd insisted on taking the lead, relegating him to the back seat. They rode bareback, the horse trotting along a back road, leaves crunching beneath its hooves. The brilliant scarlet of the red maple trees helped distract him from the fact that his groin was pressed against Michonne's firm behind. The chill autumn air helped to keep his growing excitement at bey. This was his first time riding a horse with Michonne and hopefully it wouldn't be the last. He could get used to this.

"I really appreciate the invitation back to your camp," Rick said.

"Only for the night," she said. "You saved my life, so I'm returning the favor. We don't have enough resources to support another person permanently."

"Understood," Rick said, amused by the bluntness that would remain constant over time. "How long have you been at the camp?"

He needed to establish his timeline. After waking from his comatose state in the hospital, he'd searched for calendars, cell phones - anything that could help him determine the exact day and time. The best he'd been able to conclude was that it was early October.

She peeked at him over her shoulder, assessing his trustworthiness before responding. "It's more of a stronghold than a camp. A small gated community tucked away in a secluded suburb, ten miles south of Atlanta. We've been there two months."

When discussing how Rick could best figure out when the attack would take place, Michonne struggled with providing an exact date. She did recall they'd been at the camp a little more than two months. So he could expect the horde to appear soon, if it hadn't already.

"With your family? Friends?"

She nodded. "My son, his father and a mutual friend. "

Rick noted that she referred to Mike as André's father and not her boyfriend. And that André still lived.

"And you? Are you traveling alone?"

This was Rick's opportunity to broach the subject she had expertly been evading. "I am. But I left my son and partner back in the future."

There was a long beat before she said, "What hospital did you say you woke up in?"

"Not a mental hospital, if that's what you're wondering."

"Of course not."

"You can ask me anything, Michonne, and I promise to be completely honest with you."

"To the best of your ability."

"Yes, to the best of my ability." Her lawyer was showing.

"Whoa," she said, pulling on the leather reins and bringing the horse to a halt. "We're here."

Rick peered up at the 20-foot chain link fence lined with barbed wire. "You should reinforce this. It won't stand up against a large enough horde."

"We're working on it." She faced him. "Before we go in, I need to warn you about something. My son's father, Mike, doesn't take well to outsiders."

"I can handle myself."

She crossed her arms. "I don't doubt that."

He sighed. "You have nothing to worry about, I won't cause any trouble. Unless, your boyfriend's looking for a fight."

"Ex-boyfriend."

Rick smiled. "Ex-boyfriend."

She held his gaze, her pupils dilating. She averted her eyes. "Just don't make me regret bringing you here."

Rick stood firm. "I promise you won't regret it. I won't put your family in jeopardy."

It was a promise he planned on keeping. The lives of both her sons depended on it.

-#-

Rick sat handcuffed to a radiator, watching the scene unfold before him. There had to be at least fifteen people crammed into Michonne's living room. The situation reminded him of the neighborhood watch meetings Lori would host, which usually degenerated into complaints about barking dogs and house parties. A blonde woman in her mid-30s pointed a finger in Michonne's face. "My husband's dead because of you."

Michonne remained calm, not flinching even once. "Step back, Erica."

This Michonne - years younger, with shoulder-length locs - was made of the same stuff as the woman he'd fought, and fallen in love, with. Not many people would dare to challenge her steely expression and the menacing calm she exuded.

Erica hesitated before returning to her spot on the sofa, sitting beside a scrawny kid with similar facial features. Another woman in a blood-stained t-shirt stood. "Michonne tried to warn Todd about the risk, but he wouldn't listen. And if it weren't for her, I wouldn't be here. She saved my life."

"Regardless of who was at fault," a man with tanned skin and greying sideburns said, "Todd is gone. We need to choose a new leader."

A twinge in Rick's heart drove him to act. He didn't know how long he had, or if time in the past moved at the same pace as time in the present. He needed to gain Michonne's trust quickly, in order to accomplish his mission in a short amount of time.

"It's an easy decision," Rick said, feeling all eyes on him. "If you want to survive, your leader needs to be someone with courage, strength, integrity. And a whole lotta smarts. Michonne's the obvious choice."

She locked eyes with him then, this ghost from his past and present. Suspicion melted away when he smiled at her. Her eyes briefly flitted to his lips.

"Michonne has enough on her plate." Mike leaned against the wall, separate from the group. His deep brown complexion matched Michonne's and his shifty eyes hinted at his vice. "Why are you listening to this guy anyway? He's not one of us." It had been his idea to handcuff Rick to the radiator when Michonne had brought him into her home.

In recounting her time at the camp preceding André's death, Michonne had mentioned that Mike spent most of his time snorting Xanax with his best friend, Terry. He'd developed the habit shortly after arriving at the camp, along with a debilitating, agoraphobic-like fear of leaving the safe haven. The responsibility of going on runs to contribute to the group and put food on their table rested solely on her shoulders. Her quickly turned into resentment, the only emotional connection between them.

Rick clenched his jaw remembering how she'd broken down recounting the anxiety and depression she'd suffered from during that time. She'd blamed herself for choosing the wrong man to father her son. It was clear now that Mike was nowhere near Michonne's equal, even though they appeared to be the perfectly matched couple on the outside.

"You don't know me. You have no reason to trust me," Rick said. "But if I can see Michonne's leadership potential after only a few hours, other folks have gotta see it too." A few nods and hushed whispers circulated throughout the group.

"It might've been wise to actually consult with the person you so readily volunteered," Michonne said, though she honestly seemed to be flattered by his proposal. Rick realized this was a side of Michonne he'd never seen before. All her years of litigation, commanding attention in a courtroom, persuading a jury - all of the characteristics that made her a natural leader, were dwelling just below the surface of her modest exterior.

"Mike is right, I have other responsibilities." Michonne addressed Rick directly.

"By leading the group," he responded, "you can better keep Peanut safe." Michonne frowned at him. He'd used André's nickname.

"What do you mean by that?" she asked, standing over him.

He gazed up at her. "Exactly what I said." He wanted to challenge her to believe in the impossible; to believe that he knew everything there was to know about her because they were lovers and partners in the future. He felt she was open to the possibility; open to him. Despite his revelation back at the pawn shop, she'd allowed him to accompany her back to the camp. She instinctually trusted him, even though she might not be able to admit or understand it. Their connection transcended time and logic.

Marsha took the floor again. "I say we take a vote."

"I second that," Erica said. She seemed to enjoy Michonne's discomfort at being put on the spot, probably assuming that no one would vote for her.

"This is ridiculous," Mike said, shaking his head. He gestured to the group. "All of this. What does it even matter anymore? The world has gone to shit and you people want to sit around and take a vote."

"Mike, calm down," Michonne said, grabbing his forearm.

He shook her hand away. "If you'd rather take care of these people than your own son, you're not the mother I thought you were."

She flinched then. Rick sucked at his teeth, itching to beat this cowardly bully to a bloody pulp.

"I'm outta here," Mike said. He retreated through the front door with Terry in tow.

Michonne watched him go, the hurt morphing into controlled anger. It was the same look she'd had whenever the Saviors paid them a visit.

Marsha broke the tense silence. "All those in favor of Michonne taking over for Todd, raise your hand." The vast majority of the group raised their hands, some more slowly than others. Marsha smiled. "Ok. All those opposed?" Erica and her son were the only ones to raise their hands; the others remaining neutral. "It's settled, then. Michonne will take Todd's place. Meeting adjourned." The group filed out, some offering congratulations to Michonne as they left.

Erica remained, confronting her once again. "Don't think I'll forget what you did. You'll get what's coming to you."

"Get some rest, Erica," Michonne responded. "You'll be able to think more clearly in the morning." Erica huffed as she left, her dejected son following her out of the house.

Marsha shook Michonne's hand before departing. "See you in the morning, boss," she called over her shoulder.

Rick silently watched her. Michonne placed her hands on her hips; hips with a little more fullness to them. He liked it. She closed her eyes, bowing her head slightly and silently mouthing a countdown from 10 to 1.

"You can do this," he said, gently.

She laughed to herself, shaking her head. "I knew bringing you home with me was a mistake."

"Why did you?"

She squatted in front of him, her dark brown eyes full of scrutiny. He caught the familiar scent of spearmint and cocoa butter. She unlocked the handcuffs, freeing him from the radiator. He rubbed his wrist as they stood there staring at each other.

"Thank you," Rick said, his eyes still holding hers. He was very aware of not being at liberty to touch her, wondering what she would do if he tried.

"Mommy," a tiny voice said. Rick looked down to see a 3-year-old boy with Michonne's round nose and pouty lips clinging to her leg.

"Hey, Peanut," she said, bending down to lift him into her arms. She smiled like Rick had never seen her smile - with her whole heart. "Ready for lunch?"

"Cookie," André said, gnawing on his miniature fist.

Michonne chuckled. "We're out of cookies. How about peanut butter and jelly, Peanut?" André nodded, watching Rick suspiciously. Michonne tickled him and he giggled. She gestured toward a door a few feet from them. "You're welcome to stay in the basement. For as long as you need."

"I thought you only wanted me here for the night."

She continued, as though she hadn't heard him. "We've got running water and there's a bathroom down there." Her tone was more cheery than before. She bounced André up and down in muscular arms free of the tiny scars he'd grown to love.

"You trust me?" he asked. "Around your family?"

She looked him up and down. "We'll see" she said, before heading into the kitchen.

Stopping in the doorway to the basement, he overheard Michonne singing what sounded like a nursery rhyme, but with gospel undertones, André following along as best he could in his child voice. He'd never heard Michonne sing. Her deep, soothing voice gave him chills. Encountering Michonne before she'd lost her son, a woman who smiled and sang with all her being, made him even more determined to ensure she never experienced the pain of losing any child.

-#-

Michonne lightly knocked on the basement door, not wanting to wake Rick if he was already asleep.

"Come in," he called from the other side.

She took her time descending the stairs, a flashlight in one hand and his dinner in the other. Though they still had running water, the electricity had been out for a few weeks. Rick sat on a futon facing the east wall of the basement. Her book - White Teeth by Zadie Smith - lay open and facedown on the coffee table, beside a small camping lantern. She sat down next to him, passing him a spoon and an opened Ready-to-Eat meal. "It's chili with mac and cheese. One of the better ones we've got."

"Thank you," Rick said, brushing her hand lightly as he accepted the meal. She felt an energy - a spark - where he touched her. The only contact she had nowadays was with André. Mike hadn't touched her in months. She welcomed the contact, even if there were no feelings behind it.

"Just try to make it last for a few meals. We've gone through most of the rations the National Guard left behind." Her gut twisted at the thought of running out of food, which was highly likely in the next few days.

Rick scooped out a small amount, bringing the spoon to his lips. "Mmm," he said, raising an eyebrow as he chewed.

Michonne was mesmerized by those pink lips, her cheeks flushing with heat. She squirmed in her seat. "Not bad, huh?"

"Not at all." After a few more bites, he folded over the top and placed the package on the coffee table. "That hit the spot." He ran a hand over his flat abs. She could almost see the lines of his sculpted muscles under his navy blue t-shirt.

She picked up the book. "This was the only book I brought with me when we abandoned our apartment. It's my favorite."

"It's a little much for me. I'm more of a shoot 'em up Westerns guy."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?"

He smiled with his eyes and her heart skipped a beat. "How long have you been at this camp?" he asked, leaning back and resting his arms on the back of the futon, his knees pointing in her direction.

"Only a few months." She pivoted slightly to face him.

"And the National Guard just left you here? Unprotected? The perimeter fences seem pretty secure, but those won't keep out a large enough horde. You'll need more weapons and reinforcements to better defend your territory."

She appreciated his ability to assess their situation so quickly. It should have worried her, that maybe he was trying to find their weak spot. But her gut dismissed the thought. "We've been on our own for about three weeks. They just up and left in the middle of the night, leaving behind enough food and water to last a couple of weeks. We've managed to stretch it out this long, but the rations will be completely exhausted in a few days."

He leaned back into the futon, putting his arm across the top. "What's the plan?"

Rick's confidence in her ability to lead was refreshing and in direct contrast to Mike's attitude. "There's a school a few miles from here. I think we'd have a good chance of finding food there, since it's off the main road."

"Could be full of walkers. Maybe children. Are you ready to deal with that?"

Michonne tensed. She'd had to put down a little boy not long after the Turn. She still had nightmares about it. "If that's what it comes to." But please don't let it come to that.

He placed a hand on her knee, caressing her with his thumb. "I'll go with you."

Her reaction to him was immediate, as though he'd touched her in the most intimate place.

"I'm not asking you to do that."

"I want to, 'Chonne."

She stood, putting some distance between the two of them. His familiarity left her feeling uncomfortable - and aroused. "Don't call me that. Who are you? Really."

"I told you who I am." His gaze never wavered. "And you love it when I call you that."

She rolled her eyes. "Just because the dead can walk the earth, doesn't mean that things like time travel exist."

"It's exactly what it means." He stood, facing her head-on.

Michonne crossed her arms over her chest. "Then prove it. Prove to me that you really are from the future."

Rick tilted his head to the side, not backing down from her challenge. "Ok. Your middle name is Anna and you were born on August 1st."

She scoffed. "That information isn't exactly secret. The fact that you know it makes me think you've been stalking me, maybe before the Turn."

He smirked. "You have a birthmark shaped like a maple leaf. On the inside of your right thigh."

Michonne blazed with embarrassment. "How could you…when did you…" She wracked her brain for some memory or image of Rick, maybe from some drunken one-night stand in college.

But she remembered the face of every man she'd slept with and definitely wouldn't have forgotten a face like Rick's. She took a step back. "I don't know what this is or how you know these things about me, but I was wrong to bring you here. I think it's best if you leave."

Rick stood his ground. "Forgive me, but you're giving me no choice." He paused. "When you found out you were pregnant with André, you drove to Savannah to have an abortion. But changed your mind at the last minute and never looked back."

Michonne froze. She'd never told a soul about that. She'd gotten pregnant during her last semester of law school and had struggled over whether or not to keep the baby. She hadn't even told Mike about the pregnancy, as he was just beginning his career as an art dealer. Sitting in the clinic, alone and afraid, she'd realized she wanted to be a mother, even though the timing was less than perfect. She'd walked out just as the nurse called her name.

Rick closed the distance between them, gripping her arms lightly. "I know how difficult that time was for you and I'm sorry to bring it up. But I need you to believe in me."

He looked at her, with so much love, that she couldn't turn away from him or from the truth he'd laid out in front of her. "What are we to each other, in the future?"

Rick's heated expression made her throb with desire. "You fall in love with me," he said in a low voice. He took both of her hands in his. And she let him. Lifting her hands to his lips, he placed a gentle kiss on the knuckles of one hand, and then the other, his sparkling eyes capturing hers. Michonne exhaled, shutting her eyes. He released her hands to cradle her face. And then his lips caressed the tip of her nose, her left cheek, the corner of her mouth.

"Rick," she breathed, keeping her eyes shut, wanting to sear this sensory experience into her memory.

And then he kissed her with those soft, full lips, quenching the thirst that had existed since meeting him.

-#-

Rick devoured the peanut butter and jelly sandwich Michonne had left for him. She and André would be at a play date for the next hour or so.

Mike walked into the kitchen, pausing when he noticed Rick sitting at the kitchen table. Based on his disheveled appearance, Rick guessed he'd just woken up.

"Afternoon," Rick said, licking peanut butter from his fingers.

"Hmmph," Mike grunted, joining Rick at the kitchen table. He pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. "You don't mind if I smoke."

"Naw," Rick said, though Mike had already lit a cigarette. He noticed the slightest tremor in Mike's hand as he took a long drag of nicotine and smoke. The men exchanged glares.

"Where did you say you're from?" Mike asked.

"I didn't," Rick responded. "But since you've invited me into your home, I don't mind sharing. King County."

"Just to be clear, I didn't invite you. Michonne did."

Rick crossed his arms. "Thanks for clarifying."

Mike took another drag from his cigarette. "King County, huh? Not much diversity out that way. And you were a cop?"

"Sheriff's deputy."

"Same difference."

Rick leaned forward, tired of the song and dance. "If you've got a problem with me, just come out and say it." Rick had encountered guys like Mike several times in his life. College-educated pricks who grew up in the city and assumed he was some ignorant country bumpkin because he grew up in a small town.

"Look, man," Mike said. "Michonne may trust you, but I can't have some stranger around my kid. It's best if you find somewhere else to stay."

"How about we leave that decision up to the person who's actually in charge?"

Mike put his cigarette out on the tabletop, heat behind his bloodshot eyes. "You better watch your tone, Andy Griffith."

"We both know Michonne has been holding it down, without any help from you. If you want to have some say in what goes on around here, you shouldn't let the drugs do the talking for you."

Mike stood slowly, towering over Rick. "You wanna say that again?" Rick clenched his fist, standing. Mike had a few inches on him, but he'd taken down guys bigger than him.

"Everything alright in here?" Michonne asked, breaking the tension. She held a sleeping André in her arms.

"Fine," Rick said, not taking his eyes off Mike.

Mike turned his back on Rick to face Michonne. "We need to talk," he said before leaving the kitchen.

Rick walked over to Michonne, arms outstretched. "I'll put him to bed for you."

She hesitated, but then handed André over. "Thanks." She really was starting to trust him. "Sorry about Mike. He's not…himself."

André stirred a little and Rick rocked him gently. "Don't be sorry. I'm here to help, in any way you need me."

She smiled suggestively. "I'll hold you to that."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Rick let himself enjoy the easy moment, knowing things were about to get a lot more difficult for the both of them really soon.

-#-

Michonne licked her lips as she watched a shirtless Rick work on installing a second fence just inside of the perimeter. He'd taken charge of the project, directing the group of folks who'd volunteered to help. She liked the way he led, how he managed to balance assertiveness with compassion, and listened as much as he commanded.

"My God," Marsha said, suddenly by her side. "That is one beautiful man. Please tell me you're hittin' that."

Michonne snorted, surprised by the kindergarten teacher's racy comments. "We're just friends. He's been a real asset to me and to the community, in the short time he's been here."

"Ok," Marsha said, though her tone suggested she believed otherwise. "Just don't let anything get in the way of your happiness. You deserve to let your hair down and have fun every once in a while. Plus, I've seen the way he looks at you. That men could fry bacon with the amount of heat behind his eyes. I wish Steve looked at me that way."

Michonne laughed. "Everyone here knows how much Steve loves you. He would literally kill for you."

"I know and I love him for it. I just wish he showed me even half the interest Rick shows you. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Michonne. Accept what life has so graciously dumped in your lap. And I've got a few extra condoms if you need them."

Michonne smiled, watching Marsha go. She turned to find Rick standing there, sweaty and lean, his pecs and abs cut in all the right places. "How long have you been standing there?" she asked, her cheeks blazing.

Rick smirked. "Not long. Just wanted to know if we had any mallets."

Michonne cleared her throat, hoping he hadn't caught Martha's departing comment. "You can check with Bob. He's always got extra tools lying around."

"Alright," Rick said, in that slow drawl that haunted her naughtiest dreams. He moved to leave and then turned back. "If you're going to borrow condoms, just make sure they're large enough."

Michonne inhaled deeply, her eyes dropping to his bowed legs as he walked away, wanting more than anything to find out just how large of a size he would need.