This is a chapter from a big collaboration I did with CarribeanQueen, Sophiasown, jonesywrites, Fik Freak, Tigerwalk, Nyese3529, thematsaidwelcome & Winterscorpion for We'reTheOnesWhoWrite called "Room 2469". The entire story follows Rick and Michonne as they meet, fall in love and grow. Every year they come back to the same hotel room where they met. I am very proud of this entire story.
This chapter centers on their 4th anniversary. The traditional gifts for this year are fruits or flowers. After being together for 6 years, they experience a bit of angst but still prove that nothing can stop their love. Written to: "Cause I Love You" by Lenny Williams
Rain was coming down in buckets outside when Rick trudged into the hotel from his car, looking like a wet dog. He felt worse than one, like a sick old stray left battered to the world. He simply wanted to shake and get out of the tortured headspace he'd been in on the way to the hotel.
He never should have said what he said. He wasn't snooping. He saw what he saw, but he never should have said what he said.
He'd been stabbed in the heart, though, with the smoothness of a katana's blade. It was a deathblow delivered without a ripple in the monotony of the morning, he'd barely noticed it at first.
….
That day started like any other- in a happy sort of chaos. Rick could hear Michonne chasing their toddler down the hall, trying to get his shoes on. Their oldest boy had an aversion to footwear and catching him to put on his sneakers was always the last ordeal of the morning. He left his wife to that conquest while he stood watch on Andre duty.
The baby boy sat, fully dressed in a tiny pair of khaki cargo pants and a boldly printed navy t-shirt, his big brown curls sitting like a halo on his head. The blanket he sat on in the middle of their bedroom was surrounded by noisy, blinking toys, all of which were taking turns being covered with the goo of his saliva. The little guy had only been a Grimes for six months, but he and Rick got along great. Even teething, he was a breeze. His father glanced at him, meeting his wide, dripping smile with an adoring chuckle.
"Hey buddy." Rick engaged the baby, "You hear your big brother givin' mama a hard time?" Andre's eyes brightened in response as his dad lifted the bottom of his white t-shirt and swiped deodorant under both arms. Michonne's phone sat on their dresser and the flash of a message called his attention to the screen.
He knew his wife was on a serious grind to catch up on cases after her maternity leave. She had also agreed to handle the annual conference presentations, chomping at the carrot of Negan's mention that she was his favorite and well on her way to becoming a partner quicker than anyone he'd ever seen. Rick didn't like that she had to put in double the amount of everyone's effort at work, determined to prove that being a mother of two would not make her less effective in the courtroom. Still, knowing Michonne's ambitions, her husband made an effort to support her fully and that meant re-adjusting his attitude on how much her work life spilled over into their home life. Rick was just about to tell her she had a new text as he went for a pair of socks. But his voice went dry when he cocked his head and read,
Good morning, beautiful
His heartbeat seemed to slow but it's drubbing intensified as he snatched up her phone and the device read his fingerprint to unlock. There it was, big and blatant as a mushroom cloud. Good morning, beautiful. Someone, he looked at the sender's name: Michael Murray… was way out of pocket with his wife. It wasn't unusual for men to come on to Michonne. She was beautiful. Michael wasn't lying. For Rick, though, reading this as he stood in their bedroom, where he made love to her and where his son was playing innocently, was an intrusion that made his blood boil.
He looked back at Andre who was contentedly occupied as he scrolled up to see what else Michael had been saying to his wife. He saw six more early morning texts identical to the one he'd just come across. Other conversations read like-
8:34 Michonne: Lots of cream and lots of sugar
8:35 Michael: Sounds good to me
11:56 Michael: Can't take my eyes off you today.
12:34 Michonne: Please review the file again
4:17 Michael: I'm hitting a dead end with this. Do you mind staying late? I need you.
Rick pulled his hand over his face slowly depressing his toned chest with a sigh. He looked at Andre again. The baby's smile was gone and father and son looked at each other with the same suddenly doleful expression.
When Michonne came to the door smiling at Rick, summoning him to help her strap the boys in their carseats, he simply nodded and followed her with the baby in his arms. He kissed them all goodbye and watched them pull out of the driveway. Ten minutes later he realized he was standing in the same spot smothered by the thick bombardment of his agonizing thoughts.
He had thought they were happy. He thought his wife loved him. No, she did. He knew she did. He always felt that in her touch, in her kiss. He knew she did. But if she did, she hadn't informed this man at her job, apparently.
A shard of doubt about the mother of his precious children seemed to slice wildly at the idyllic family portrait in his mind and he teetered on the verge of a blinding migraine. Rick would have staked his life on the fact that his wife was incorruptible in her practice, but even more so in their marriage. She was not only dutiful, but a fierce defender of their family… of their love.
In the short threads of daily texts, Rick could see that Michonne gave her admirer no amenable responses. That made Rick somewhat hopeful. But nowhere did he read one line of refusal from his mate. Her lack of resistance explained his rival's persistence and Rick didn't know if hope, in the face of textual proof, could be sustained.
He knew Michonne was clever, wily even. He would never forget the weekend they met and her unflappable shrewdness in the face of the harsh badgering he and his colleagues put her through during her first go as a lead presenter. Her quickness and ability to pivot and turn the tables when she was pressed, always amazed and, honestly, intimidated him. He would often joke that he was glad she was on his side.
Rick had no doubt that she was smart enough to avoid texting anything that could make her seem at fault. But she didn't seem to care enough to delete the messages she was receiving, even though she knew he had access to her phone. Somehow that felt intentional, and it stung even more that she didn't care enough about his feelings to make sure that he never caught wind. He wondered what Michonne and Michael said to each other when they were face to face. He couldn't help putting on his investigative hat and questioning whether her late nights at work were really about work.
….
"Tell me about that new guy at your job." Rick asked her, trying to find his most civil tone. The tender tone he'd normally take with the love of his life faltered as he forced his way into a line of questioning. He broke into a nervous sweat as he felt his inability to be objective with the person he was closest to ramping up his aggression. He leaned against their dresser, watching her shuffle about the room gathering her last bit of essentials for her overnight trip to New York.
Michonne threw her plastic bagged toothbrush into her suitcase and raised a quizzical brow. "Who, Mike?"
"Yeah. He's goin' to New York with you for the conference, right?"
"Yeah, with me, Andrea and Aaron."
"So tell me about him."
Mike Murray had been with the firm going on two months. Working directly with her, learning the ins and outs of the agency. Michonne had mentioned the new hire to her husband and his name was often deposited here and there in her tales of lawyering, but it had never set off any alarms for Rick.
If he would have had reservations about any of the guys she worked with, Negan's name would have been at the top of the list. But Rick knew his wife couldn't stand the man- and not the kind of dislike that throws you for a loop and then turns to love after a hotel mix up. Michonne despised the managing partner, often referring to him as a "jackal in pinstripes".
Now, Rick was racking his brain trying to access a mental transcript of her many courtroom tales in which her male coworker was referenced. But the blankness of his recollection proved that he wasn't absorbing anything she'd shared with him over the past few months.
He had been preoccupied with his work as a liason, coordinating with DC Police for the upcoming Cherry Blossom Festival. He had been trying to keep the construction of their new home on track. He never knew when he had those blueprints drawn up that providing her with the home of her dreams would turn out to be a nightmare. One step forward in construction would somehow result in two steps back. When he factored in the strain he'd been under picking up the slack at home because of the demands she faced at work, he saw now that he should've been paying his wife more attention.
He knew that most men in his situation would expect a pass, with all they had going on as a couple. But he didn't ever want to be "most men" when it came to Michonne. And yet, in spite of that conscious decision to be an extraordinary husband, he was feeling like most men would as he waited for his wife to fill him in on the details of her connection to Michael Murray.
"You want me to tell you about Mike? For what?" She chuckled, genuinely confused by his sudden curiosity.
"What's funny about that Michonne? You don't wanna tell me about 'em?" He asked exhibiting a little frustration. It was like she was making him the butt of an inside joke and the feeling it gave him was one he never thought he'd have with the woman who always made him smile. "Why? Is he a secret?"
Rick was trying to ease into a civilized conversation about this, but he was failing miserably. Without much calculating, Michonne realized that her husband must have seen the texts on her phone. She went quiet to study his reaction. And Rick went quiet as well when he saw recognition on Michonne's face- that she knew what he knew. Her guilty expression was an instant blow to his already floundering heart.
"What do you want me to say, Rick?" she finally spoke up after what seemed like an entire season. A season where life began to wither. A season that would leave them in a bleak and barren landscape. "If you listened to anything I say, you could compile an entire dossier on Mike Murray. He's a young buck trying to navigate the real world." She began a run down of the things about him that Rick should know from her recently lopsided conversations with him. "He's studying to take the bar. He's ambitious... he's saved Andrea's ass multiple times. He makes a decent cup of coffee. He's the only black guy at the firm…"
"And he can't take his eyes off of you, right?" Michonne's list was interrupted by Rick's unexpected contribution. Her mouth immediately closed and he repeated himself, nearly out of breath from the effort it took to expose her, "He can't take his eyes off you… which means he can see."
"So, he has a crush." Michonne shrugged. "I don't give him the time of day."
Rick continued as though she hadn't said anything, "He's not blind. Right, Michonne? Which means he can see that ring on your finger. But maybe you're blind?" He suggested over the cracking of his mournful voice. "Maybe you didn't see those texts he's been sending you every day. Maybe I need my eyes checked… because I didn't see any texts from you telling him to stop…"
She could not abide his obvious disappointment in her, justified or not, when she'd been immersed in her own silent disappointment with him for months. Her emotions boiled over. "And I haven't seen one text from you in months telling me that I'm beautiful or that you're thinking about me during the day! We can check your texts right now! " She screamed back at him and then quieted, "You used to... "
Rick lost his voice, ashamed that she was right. He had promised her when Carl was born that no matter how things changed, he would always make sure she knew how beautiful she was. He promised her he'd always prove how much he loved her, that they were still a "we", still an "us". It was obvious he hadn't kept that promise. He didn't need to read through the texts between he and his wife to see that their positions at home had depreciated from devoted lovers to the overworked operations managers of their family.
He could fix that and he would. But there was no way in hell he was going to send her off to an overnight trip with a guy trying to take his place.
"Don't go to New York."
"What?"
"Don't go to New York… get somebody to fill in for you."
"I have to go, Rick. I'm the senior associate…"
"Look," he said taking one long stride away from the dresser toward her, "this conference is already stealin' one of our nights at the hotel."
"Sometimes we can't do the whole weekend. You said that was okay. It's not like we're not doing it this year. I'm still meeting you there." She softened her voice, "I would never miss our weekend for anything."
Again he bulldozed over her words, finding little meaning to them now, "I don't like it, how much you're gone... But I'm used to it. Your job is always stealin' you away. I know we gotta make sacrifices as a family… as a couple… but this is one thang I won't sacrifice." Michonne scoffed, but Rick was heading toward a foolish ultimatum. He reached out on a gentle grasp of her arms to ensure her full attention and it worked as her eyes whipped back and forth between his own in anticipation for what he was about to say. "If you love me you wont go… Michonne…"
She snatched away from him in disbelief. "I can't not go! At the last minute? Negan would have my head." She hyperbolized. "This conference is more important than the ones we've had in Alexandria and he hand picked me to do this… I'd be dumping everything on Andrea if I don't go…" She understood that maybe he felt a little threatened. The knowledge that her actions finally mattered to him again, that he saw her, gave her a warmness that she felt wrong for feeling, but asking her to skip the conference was ridiculous. "What do you think, Rick?" A dry, incredulous laugh prefaced the glibness to follow, "Do you think I'm going to go to New York and fuck this guy? You think I would do that?"
Mike was a nice guy. In a firm where there were 40 employees and only 4 were black, Michonne couldn't deny that he was somewhat of a comfort to talk to. Them working so closely together, her being his mentor of sorts, had made it easy for him to develop feelings for her. Not to mention she was just a gorgeous, intelligent woman. But his infatuation with her was where any impulsiveness stopped.
"I don't know what to think Michonne." He took a step back from her then as his gaze fell to the plush carpet under their feet. "I didn't think you'd entertain this guy at all. I woulda put my life on that… our sons..." An accusation was poorly stitched between the lines of his words.
"Rick…look at me." His eyes fell on her then fell away as if the sight of her were a gruesome crime scene. She swallowed, nervously readying herself to give him a chance to change the doomed direction of this conversation. "You really think I would..."
"You've done it before…" His words took a nosedive into the cesspool soup that was made up of her passive aggressive indiscretions mixed with his scars from past betrayals, guilt and insecurities, all simmering on the heat of a hectic life.
The whitecaps of his insinuation swept over his wife leaving her aghast and stifling her sobs while spilling a flash of tears. She couldn't believe he would throw their first time together back in her face. She couldn't comprehend a scenario where her husband would use their magnetic attraction to each other, all those years ago, as a weapon against her. She squinted to filter some of the affliction in his storm blue eyes and nodded her head reflexively, surrendering weakly to his implications.
Michonne could not release another word through the convulsive cries bubbling up and pushing past her resolve. She closed and zipped her luggage as Rick offered a hollow, tepid retraction. She went downstairs to wait in the dark for Andrea to pick her up.
Stubbornly, Rick sat on their bed behind his line in the sand. The house was eerily quiet as their boys slept in their beds unaware of the turmoil breaking over seven years of love. Mr. and Mrs. Grimes' hearts pinged like a dull chisel against the hardened walls of guilt heavy on both their chests.
Ten minutes later Rick heard the single beep of Andrea's horn followed by the slow quiet shut of their front door. He stood pacing and wringing his hands to his chest. Michonne did not say goodbye.
….
Rick awoke in the mid-afternoon.
Last night, when he hadn't heard a word from his wife, his anger turned to worry. He couldn't sleep thinking of all manner of tragedies that could befall them, effectively making their last conversation their final conversation. He bit the bullet and texted Andrea after his texts to Michonne went unanswered and her friend confirmed that they'd arrived safely to their destination.
After one night alone in the hotel room where they celebrated so many milestones, he was keenly aware that staying there any longer would simply be torture. This was where he proposed. This was where she had trusted him to breakthrough her disillusioned self-image after she gave him his first son. This was where she'd jumped his bones without mercy while she carried their second. This room served as an actual marker to the most cherished events on their shared timeline.
He knew there had been plenty of opportunities for her to get in touch with him if she wanted to. Seeing the time, he knew her presentations were over. If she was still too pissed to text or call, he knew she wouldn't make the effort to come to him. He knew she would be eager to get back home to the boys. So he cut his losses and rolled out of bed on an amble to the shower where he could think of a way to make it alright again.
In his restless state last night, he went a bit stir crazy and decided to defy the rain, walking the streets of Alexandria. He passed the courtyard where he'd been jealous of her dancing with Aaron and, even in his mood, he had to laugh at how his officer's intuition failed him completely in reading that situation. He passed the empty restaurant where he'd enjoyed the burn of a particularly good scotch, but his reminiscing kept drifting to the heat of the sweet honey Michonne served him the next morning. And now he saw the light from an open sign in the row of dark storefronts and he obeyed his impulse to get her another anniversary gift to go along with the peach tree he had planted on his grandparents gifted land. He entered the establishment and flipped through a catalog in search of something worthy of her name.
Rick had become even more certain of the fundamental truths in his life. The most important truth was that he loved Michonne more than anything. His pride, his fears, his sanity- all paled in comparison to the torch of love he carried for her, a blaze he would never put down. He realized that regardless of their mistakes, they shared one heart. He counted his blessings, that seven years in, this was their first big fight and it was nothing knot they tied could never be undone.
He had thought they had the perfect marriage. But on further reflection, so many things considered perfect are fragile, teetering on collapse. But their kind of perfection was real. He had the epiphany that their Garden of Eden had weathered a natural disaster. The more he thought about it, the more he realized this was a chance to make them stronger, to get a tighter grasp on their changing needs and adapt accordingly. It was time to rebuild.
Now, he stepped out of the shower and wiped the fog from the mirror, dripping like he'd been when he arrived in the rain yesterday. But today, he could look himself in the eye, feeling less like a stray. He was invigorated and anxious to get home to see her face, but there was also a caveat of sadness that their tradition of a yearly romantic rendezvous had been broken.
Rick made a few deft passes over his chest and hair with the thick cotton towel, then wrapped it around his waist to leave the humidity of the bathroom. He draped another towel around his neck hanging over the width of his chest. Grabbing a handful of his toiletries to pack, he opened the door to the sight of his wife in the swivel chair across the room.
Her black trench coat was still decorated with the glimmer of droplets of rain as she sat, shoulders slumped pulling nervously at her thumb. The clouds in the roiling sky outside added to the gloom the drawn curtains created. The soft white glow of light from the bathroom's fluorescent bulbs framed his tall stature in the threshold. He regretted the darkness that gave him comfort in her absence as the flawless motif of her garnet eyes was veiled in the shadowy room. He flipped the light switch on the wall next to him. She looked up at him and a low rumble of thunder seemed to shake the walls from within. Rick stood fixed in his place by the desperation in her voice,
"Rick, please, let me talk." she said putting up a palm to shield herself from any resentments she thought he might still be nursing. "I was wrong not to put Mike in his place. That's on me 100%. I don't even know what I was thinking. Looking back, it's like an out of body experience. But I want you to know that nothing ever happened between us. Really. I never said one word to him that I would take back… it's the things I should have told him…" She sniffled and wiped her tears with her fingertips. "I did tell him, before the conference, that our relationship is and always will be a professional one. He knows that I mean it." She said strongly. "He doesn't want an issue with HR and he apologized for his behavior."
A smile crept to Rick's lips. This was his wife. She was back. This was the woman he never doubted. He could just imagine the stern tone she took with Mike as she laid down the law and took a stand for their love and their future.
"Michonne…" he stepped forward, needing to console her as she burst into tears.
"How can I ever apologize for my behavior?" She held her face in her hands as he knelt before her, rubbing the side of her thigh through the light suede fabric of her dress. "I would never hurt you, Rick. I love you so much."
He pulled her hands from her face with a determined grip, "Look at me, Michonne." he demanded gruffly. "Whatever you regret as my wife are my failings as your husband. I gave him that opening. I was neglectful of your heart. I always promised you it would never be that way between us and I let you down." He spoke softly now, nuzzling his face to hers and he squeezed hard at the space just above her hip bone to emphasize his point. "I'm so sorry, baby."
Rick kissed her. It was just a brief touch to her plump lips, just a breeze from the hurricane to come.
"I need you, Rick." She kissed him back hungrily, the soapy scent of his skin filling her nostrils with almond and sandalwood. "I only want you." she assured him between the roaming movements of their tongues. "I belong to you… always."
"Always, baby." Rick knew that, no matter what the story was between her and Mike. Michonne belonged to him as much as his own skin did. He stood up pulling her out of her chair. He had to feel her body pressed against him. He had to feel her in his arms, where she was supposed to be. "Always."
He pushed her thin overcoat away from the smooth skin of her shoulders and it dropped to the floor at her bare feet. He looked down at her, the low simple scoop neck of her deep red midi length dress gave him a view that made his mouth water. On measured bites and kisses to her neck, he expertly found the side zipper and pulled the garment away trying not to rip one of his favorites the way his burly hands often could. She placed her arms on the towel around his neck as he gathered her up, now in her red and black rose patterned thong and push up bra, resting her thick cheeks in his dominating clutch.
The jostling of her thighs around his waist loosened the tuck of his towel there and he lost it as he made his way to the bed. His whopping cock was tickled pink, happy to be free and wrapped in the caress of her soft fingers as she reached behind and under her to feel the power of the champion set to enter the ring and batter her walls to a TKO.
Laying her down on the bed, Rick hovered over her on the brace of his ropy arms. Michonne splayed her fingers across his chest, still so addicted to the feel of him after all these years. She moved the towel away to see his broad upper body, when her hand grazed the gauze taped to his chest.
"What's this?" she gasped, sitting up a little to examine the bandage, "What happened, Rick? Were you hurt?"
"I'm okay." Rick looked down, remembering the dressing his wife was eyeing with concern then went right back to feeding on her supple skin. He rolled his hips, pressing her clit with his erection, King County rolling off his tongue, vibrating the surface of her neck as he spoke into her ear, "This is for you, Princess. Flowers for anniversary number four."
"For me?" She had no clue what he could mean. "What is it?"
He pulled away from her and stared into her eyes. "Peel it off and see."
Following his instructions, she uncovered the protected spot over his heart to find a shiny patch of skin boasting his first and only tattoo. The scrolling calligraphy spelled her name below a large, black blossoming rose flanked by two smaller ones. It was gorgeous and sleek against his creamy complexion.
Michonne took it in. The reference to her and their children was not lost on her. She couldn't believe he'd committed to such a permanent gesture after the blow up they'd had. "It's beautiful, Rick." she said as her voice crackled with emotion. I can't believe… after everything…"
He kissed her lips to stop her from saying anything else. "After everythang, I still love you. That'll never change." Rick promised, releasing her breasts from the cups of her bra and savoring the taste of her stiffened nipples, pressing them between his lips and circling them with his warm wet tongue. "How much I want you…" he pulled her thong to the side and pushed into her with a passive grind and a drowsy declaration, "How much I need you, that'll never change."
"I need you too, Rick." she told him through a breathy moan as he filled her up, causing her to arch her back and spread her knees wider to accommodate him.
"I need to work this wet pussy, baby." he hissed, charging past the eager grip of her inner walls. "I wanna feel you break apart, Michonne. I wanna see you cry for this dick…" he went deeper, banging against her with a resolute force, "C'mon, Princess. Tell me that's what you want."
"Yes…" she managed, pulling him closer for another absorbing attack of his lips. "That's what I want."
The sound of her asking for everything he wanted to give her made him groan as he quickened his pace, growing harder inside her. Her toes stretched along with her walls and her juices wet up his balls as they smacked against her ass. "I wanna make you scream." he confessed, his breathing intensifying with every knocking thrust.
"Ah… ah… ah… unh! Unh!"
Knowing exactly how to achieve his goal, he pulled out of her and flipped her over. Pulling her to the edge of the bed on all fours, he stood behind her, ready to go.
Michonne winced when her husband smacked her ass while she backed it up on his slippery dick, begging with her winding hips to feel him again. He tweaked her nipple as he wrapped an arm around her, sliding his hand down to rub her tingling nexus of nerves until her legs shook and she saw stars behind the hoods of her eyes.
She held her position with one hand and reached between her legs trying desperately to guide him back inside her but he knocked her hand away,
"Say you want it like that, Michonne."
She only whimpered and tried again, but he pushed her hand out of reach. He leaned over her body with her disobedient wrist in a vice grip, grounded to the mattress
"Say it." he growled letting her breast go in favor of a fistful of her locs.
"Oh, God! I want it like that!" she answered him frantically and he entered her again, resuming his punishing labor. "Please make me, daddy! Make me scream… make me… make me… make me..." she chanted mindlessly completely lost in her lust.
Rick grabbed her face ,he firmly squeezed her cheeks with one hand, holding her hip in the other. He put three of his fingers in her mouth, stretching her mouth open, sliding along her pearly white teeth, slipping over her tongue, while she sucked her essence from his digits. She moaned at the taste of her sex, sticky on his fingers as he made another announcement into her ear. "I wanna hear you scream my name when l beat this cream outta you. You hear me?" He pulled his fingers wet from her mouth and went back to play at her clit.
"Yes, Rick. Yes." Michonne agreed as he squeezed and pummeled her body inside and out. He kept going, stoking her deep enough to make her hum from the pleasure and run from the pain. Directing her hips back on his bone hard shaft over and over again, he heard it, "Riiiiiiiick!" she heaved out on a shrilly breath as she fell into the deep end of desire. Her husband took the same numbing dive a heartbeat later.
Landing on her stomach after falling from the stratosphere, she turned on her side and wiggled into Rick's freshly inked chest as he cuddled up beside her.
"You want your gift now? It's over on the table." She told him still trying to normalize her breathing.
"No. It ain't." He curled his damp body around hers and rocked her through his next words, "My gift is right here in my arms."
