Author's Note: Quick reminder that if teen Richonne dealing with 'M' rated situations makes you uncomfortable, I totally understand. There's a scene that's a callback to one of the darker ones from the show, so just want to kind of put that warning out there.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
3 – Hurricanes
"How're you feeling?"
Rick shrugged, elbows dug into his thighs. Michonne plopped down beside him.
"It could be worse," she mumbled.
He glared. "Yeah? How?"
"You could lose your job," she pondered. Smirking at his skepticism, she kicked things up a notch. "Your truck could get towed. Sparky could run away."
"Now you're crossing the line."
"But it's worse, right? Worse than some stupid breakup."
He seemed to consider her point, weighing it as his head tilted side-to-side. "Guess so."
"Think of it this way," she said encouragingly, "in a couple months, it'll be Lori, who? You'll probably have some crush on some new girl. Lori will be just a memory."
"You mean like how you've crushed on Mike Dion for 4 years?"
She sat boltlike, eyes wide. "That's a low blow and you know it, you ass."
Rick chuckled throatily. That gritty guttural sound that signaled manhood. It seemed like just yesterday his voice had been softer, less thick and weighty. How time sped them by…
"Nah, I get what you're saying. Things with Lori ain't end all, be all."
"Exactly."
"I wish I hadn't spent money on this tux or on that corsage." He sighed, picking up the carnation flowers only to toss it far across the front lawn. "Saved up for two paychecks to buy 'em. Then she wants to go with Dwight Wheldon. Screw that."
"If it helps, you look nice," she said. She smirked as he perked up slightly, his blue eyes brightening in a last shred of hope.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Thanks…" he trailed off, staring at the grass again. A long pause passed between them as he sulked on the porch steps and she waited out his sour mood. Then he turned to glance at her as if struck by a sudden idea that intrigued him. "It's too bad you didn't go tonight."
"I had important stuff going on," she said, folding her arms haughtily. "Student council elections. The newspaper revamp. Scholarship applications. Homecoming doesn't exactly hold up. I didn't even pick out a dress."
"We could've gone together, yanno," he proposed boldly. He eyed her closely to her immediate flush.
"Me and you?"
"Yeah, why not? I'm no Mike Dion, but I'd do my best to show you a good time." He straightened his bow tie and grinned as if convincing her now mattered.
She couldn't help laughing. Rick had a cute charm about him. Even back when they were twelve, she'd noticed so. "Remember when we were fourteen and you said going out with me would be like going out with your sister?"
"My sister I don't have? Yeah."
"Either way, not exactly what a girl wants to hear," she said.
"I was fourteen. I was dumb."
"And now you're seventeen and, what?"
"Dumb," he admitted to their laughs. "But, seriously, I think we woulda had a good time. Don't you?"
"I always have a good time with you," she admitted bashfully. She ran her hands over her knee tops and stared out at the dark street, lit only by the street lamps. Their neighbors had retreated inside for the night, locked up in their homes with windows aglow. "That doesn't mean we should've been each other's date."
Rick nodded and whatever momentary courage he'd had seeped away. He glared at the cracks in the cement and said nothing else. She watched him closely, panged by quick guilt as maybe her rebuff had been too blunt. Standing, she stretched her hand out to take hold of his. He merely blinked.
"C'mon," she said. "Let's dance."
"Dance? That's it. I knew you goody-goodies on student council were up to something. What are y'all smoking?"
"Rick. Take my hand," she said. He rose, his hand enclosing hers, towering over her by several inches as she remembered how tall he'd gotten over the past year. She positioned herself against him, hands clasped and her arm propped on his shoulder, facing him as slowly she started to sway. "Pretend we're at homecoming," she urged. "And some cheesy song to slow dance to is playing."
"Backstreet Boys or Nsync?"
"Backstreet. You know this."
He laughed. His hand clutched hers tighter, frayed from a couple years' worth of baseball. Still, her much suppler hand felt nice resting in his. There was an unexpected sturdiness in his grasp. She supposed from the baseball. That thought exhilarated her as she couldn't help wondering what strength they held. How else the coarse, rough patches felt on soft skin. How tightly they could squeeze and clutch, providing a sense of security of their own…
"This is nice," he mused as they swayed slowly. He looked down at her with lids heavy, pupils thoughtfully dilated. "Who woulda thought I could go this long without stepping on your foot?"
"You've improved," she snickered.
"Learned from the best. Looks like those lessons paid off."
"The ones I gave you before your first dance with Sherry Hornby?"
"Yup."
"Could be it's easier without the music."
He rolled his eyes in another throaty chuckle. "You've always gotta be a smartass, don't you?"
"You've known me long enough to already know the answer to that."
They were caught in another mutual laugh as they moved to the imaginary music. Rick held her close to him with little hesitancy as she swayed along and inhaled the pine scent of his aftershave. Their self-created school dance abruptly ended thanks to the honk of a horn. The teens parted as if caught red-handed in the middle of illegal activity. In a way, they had been, as best friends like them weren't supposed to be alone dancing in the dark. Glancing this way and that, a Honda Civic idled against the sidewalk's curb.
Mike Dion stuck his head out the driver side window. "Michonne! A bunch of us are headed to Fatty's for chili cheese fries and sodas. You in?"
In an instant, her hand slipped from Rick's. Her eyes fell on Mike. Her lips parted and her tongue moistened them as she considered the offer. She glanced to Rick for input. He'd shrugged her off, hands already burrowed in his tuxedo's pockets.
"You can go," he'd told her. "Go with your friends. I get it. I'll be 'round."
"Rick do you wanna com—"
"Have fun. I'm gonna go inside. See you."
He didn't wait for anything else to be said as he turned around and headed up the porch steps. The screen door swung shut after him and the inside light ate him up, out of view. Michonne stared after him, swallowing uncertainly. Mike honked his horn to recapture her attention.
"Coming or nah?" he called impatiently.
She nodded, caught between the unfinished slow dance with her good friend and the usual teenage outing to Fatty's. Mike waited for her as she trotted toward the car, popped open the passenger door and slid inside.
"Took you long enough, Chonne." Mike turned up the stereo and slammed on the gas.
The Honda Civic shot forward, racing down the street and leaving home behind…
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
In a moment caught between sleep and waking life, Michonne lay comforted by the warmth at her side. For the briefest few seconds as her lids hung mostly closed and the shadowy room took on a hallucinatory effect, a heartbeat thudded in her ears. She curled closer, chasing slumber as faint thoughts dissolved. Reality warped into dreams like a gentle ocean wave lapping at her. The dark room and the warmth she clung to fell away, soon replaced by the dreamy surroundings of college and the outlandish adventures awaiting her…
White noise woke her. The ambient sound stirred her as she stretched and rolled. The bed that looked sunken, barely enough for two the night before, felt as wide as a football field. She struggled her way out of the sheets twisted around her body and sat up. It took a few seconds, but raking her eyes across the empty motel room brought last night's memories back.
Where was Rick?
That's when she put two and two together. The staticky background noise was the shower. The clock on the mantle read 5:11 A.M. He must've gotten up and hopped into the shower without waking her. She scratched her head, turning to look at the messy bed again. Her skin warmed recalling how it felt to settle beside him. How nice it'd been to lay next to him and relax. They'd fallen asleep in minutes and she'd slept the whole night through…
Her eyes widened. Fragmented bits trickled in of the cold in the room and her snuggling closer to the warmth at her side. Warmth she hadn't questioned while in the throes of sleep, but that suddenly were clear in the light of day. Was she imagining things? Had Rick been that warmth?
The bathroom door opened as if in answer and Rick emerged already changed. He wore a fresh white t-shirt and some jeans. His normally wavy brown hair slicked back as wet tendrils against his scalp. He strode over to his bag and her stomach clenched. By the looks of him, he'd set his mind onto their travels. He was too busy thinking about the journey ahead to notice how she stared, wide-eyed and mortified.
In need of a moment to collect herself, Michonne snatched her toiletry bag and retreated into the bathroom. There, she rested against the sink and breathed slowly in then out. It always annoyed her when she let others affect her. She should've been going about her business like any other morning. Getting dressed and ready for the day so that they could hit the road. They needed to cover a lot of mileage in order to make it to Houston tomorrow.
It was easier said than done. She'd specifically laid out a boundary that she'd crossed. Even if she'd been half asleep, it was hard not to wonder what Rick thought. He must've noticed she snuggled with him, right? It seemed cruel, giving off mixed signals after what they'd been through. That was exactly what she didn't want.
The only thing to do would be to address it head-on. She took her time in the bathroom, collecting herself and sorting out what to say. Then she pulled open the door and marched into the room. He sat on the armchair, boots in hand. He looked up at her and his blue eyes startled.
"Morning," he said without a seeming care in the world. It obnoxiously contrasted her stilted mood. "Are you alright with us leaving in a few?"
She stammered. "Yeah…sure. I'll change."
"Good. Sorry if I didn't wake you. I thought 'bout it, but…" red splotches colored his neck. "You…you looked like you were comfortable."
"Oh…thanks," she said, feeling awkward. She didn't know where to stare or how to stand. The thought that he'd taken note of how she looked as she slept made her strangely self-conscious. She fiddled with the zipper on her toiletry bag. "Well, um, I'm sorry if I turned you into a stuffed animal last night. I'm sure that was weird. I usually hug a pillow or something when I sleep. I guess I got confused."
"It's alright. I…I didn't mind it," he said. His expression read as vague as he slipped on his boots. "Besides, it was a freezer in here. Damn portable heater didn't do a thing."
"Not surprised. This whole place needs to be shut down."
"Shut down? How about knocked down? Throw the whole Fiddler's Inn away," he joked.
His low laugh relieved her. It told her that she'd overreacted. As usual, overanalyzing created a hundred and one scenarios, none of which turned out to be true. Rick had noticed she cuddled him, but he said he hadn't minded. Time to drop the matter altogether. There were more important things to think about. She grabbed a sweater and jeans from her suitcase and went to change for the long trip ahead.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Rick insisted they stop and watch the sunrise at a place called Crestview Cliff. The infamous landmark boasted one of the best views of the sunrise. He cited his usual reasoning, mentioning how they might as well since it was in passing. Michonne went along with it without protest. At first, she sat beside him and yawned sleepily, shuddering from the cold and craving a hot beverage to drink, but then she fell silent.
The winter sun rose in a brilliant burst of golden light. It illuminated the otherwise mellow blue and pink hues and scattered clouds. They watched as it cast a much-needed warmth across the snowy landscape so many feet below. Today would be a brighter day.
She smiled, heart lulled into a light cadence. Sightseeing these landmarks wasn't so wasteful after all…
Later that morning, they stopped at a gas station for a breakfast on-the-go. Rick fumbled with the coffee machine and spilled half of his Styrofoam cup onto the counter. Michonne slapped a hand across her mouth to stifle her snicker. Eyes large as she assessed the mess, she said, "what are you, five? Hurry and clean it up before the clerk notices!"
"That lid didn't wanna go on," he replied, blushing. "They need better lids."
"Mine went on just fine," she teased. She hurried to the napkin dispenser and yanked a handful as Rick peeked over the top shelf and checked on the clerk. He stood at the register ringing up an off-duty cop. Rick quickly ducked at the last second and used the napkins to wipe the massive spill. Together they managed to dispense of most of the evidence, though admittedly the counter and floor remained sticky. On their walk to the front, the cop gone and the clerk no longer busy, Michonne shot Rick a smirk. "I can't take you anywhere."
On the road again, leaving Tennessee behind, their breakfast hit the spot. Michonne swallowed the last bite of her croissant and followed up with coffee. Rick had eaten his multitasking. One hand on the wheel, the other balanced the sausage and egg sandwich. For a while that's what they did, sitting side-by-side in comfortable silence as they enjoyed their food.
"We're making good time," Rick said. "Hell, who knows? At this rate, we might even be able to make it by tonight."
"I'm not going to lie, I'd much rather spend tonight asleep in my dad's townhouse than in another one of those motels," she confessed.
"Aw, c'mon, it wasn't that bad, was it? You survived, right? So there was some mold on the wall and blood on the carpet. No big deal."
"And roaches lurking in the room—did you see the roach traps by the TV?"
"You mean the TV with the missing remote?"
Michonne laughed incredulously. "I'll never forget Fiddler's Inn."
"I'm proud to say I brought you there." His sarcasm leaked from each word.
"You didn't know what it'd be like. I'm thinking that's how all of those motels were." She finished the last of her coffee and threw it into the plastic bag that served as their trash. A pensiveness washed over her as she glanced out the window and observed the melting snow. "Rick, can I ask you something?"
"Hmm?"
"Do you miss it? High school?"
He'd tensed up as he usually did whenever the attention fell on him. His shoulders relaxed seconds later, and he considered the question.
"Sometimes."
"Only sometimes?"
"I'm glad to be done with it," he said bluntly. "By the time graduation came, I was ready to move on. But I will say, things were kinda simpler compared to now."
She agreed. At the time high school let out, excitement for the future coursed through her. Possibilities felt limitless as she was certain she'd venture into the world beyond high school and excel as effortlessly as she had before. She hadn't admitted it to herself, out of fear of failure and disappointment, but college wasn't what she thought it'd be. In high school, she'd been a big fish in a little pond, easily rising to the top of her class both academically and socially.
College was different. She still performed above her peers, but nobody cared. Away from home, her meals largely consisted of cereal and sandwiches slapped together in her dorm kitchenette. Some friendships stood the test of time like her bond with Sasha, but she'd lost others. First with Rick late senior year then come college her relationship with Mike disintegrated into ash. He moved on to girls that turned out to be a lot more exciting and experimental than she was.
So, returning home for Christmas had been her last hope. Her last attempt to cling to something familiar again and serve as comfort. A reminder that she could brave the storm ahead. But even home had changed. Even home had been a lie as the wool covering her eyes fell away and Mom's deceit rose to the surface. The harsh reality was like a stab to the heart and she didn't know what else to do but lash out.
Now, here she was. Sitting beside a boy she never imagined seeing post-graduation. She sighed and pondered if that was the joke of it. That things never went as predicted. Quite the opposite in most cases as again and again things turned out to be not as they seemed.
"Me too," she admitted finally. "I miss how things were before."
Rick's brow creased. He glanced at her. "You do?"
"It feels like everything's falling apart and I'm standing by watching it."
"What do you mean 'everything'? I thought you liked college. Is this still 'bout your Mom?"
"It's just like I said—everything. I'm holed up in my dorm for hours studying because I took on a huge course load. I can barely make time for Sasha or to meet new people. Then Mike and his bullshit," she rambled forlornly. "Now Mom with hers. I couldn't wait for high school to end because I thought I'd go out and have these amazing experiences. But, so far, it's been me eating pop tarts and falling asleep on my laptop."
Rick listened patiently as the truck hustled down the highway. He'd always been the best listener of anyone in her life. Since they'd been 13-year-old, he gave her the time she needed to vent. He didn't grow tired, engaged from beginning to end as he drank in each word. When she'd talked herself out of breath and fell silent, he surprised her and reached across the truck to grab her hand.
"Hey, don't panic, alright? College is still new for you. I'm sure you need time to adjust. It's only been a couple months. We're all going through big changes right now. Comes with the territory after high school."
"When I came back to Alexandria, I expected to feel like I was home. Does that make sense?"
"It does. You wanted to feel something familiar—like not everything had changed on you."
"Everyone expects me to do well. You said it yourself. I'm Miss Perfect. It's embarrassing to admit that's not how I feel," she said glumly.
"I'm sorry I called you that. I was kidding. Never woulda said it if I'd—"
"It's not you making me feel embarrassed about it. It's everyone else. Mom bragging about me every chance she gets. Sasha trying to take me out to parties to meet guys, who turn out to be jerks. I'm the worst one, though. Nobody puts more pressure on me than I do."
"I know you're afraid of disappointment and how things are changing, but I wish you wouldn't be. You're always gonna be you—that alone puts you above everybody else," he said, shooting her a sideways grin. "That's my opinion, anyway. I might be biased."
"Rick," she breathed, hating how her eyes glazed with tears. She promptly rubbed them away.
"What?"
"Thanks. At least something hasn't changed. You still make me feel better after I talk your ear off about my problems."
He grinned and seized the chance for light teasing. "This one's a lot less awkward than some of the others. Like the time we were fourteen and you told me 'bout the retainer thing when Terry Brookes tried to kiss you."
Laughing now, she flushed thinking about the horrid mall date memory. "You're one to talk. I have plenty of dirt on you. Remember the ripped jeans incident?"
"'Course I do!" he joined her laughter. "Who else would bring me a spare pair?"
The rest of the morning sped by as outside the truck windows, the Alabamian landscape did the same. Before they knew it the clock struck noon. Signs advertising truck stops sprang up sparingly amongst the forest-covered hills and ridges. One after the other the numbers dwindled: 50 miles, 25 miles, 5 miles, next exit…
"I was thinking," said Rick slowly, "how 'bout another pitstop?"
"Pitstop as in for food and gas or pitstop as in sightseeing? It's hard to tell with you."
"The second."
Michonne imagined what other impromptu landmark he could bring her to.
"C'mon, it'll be good for you. It'll cheer you up a little. And it won't take too much time outta our trip. Thirty minutes at most. How 'bout it?"
The look he gave her caused heart palpitations. His tilted head and bright eyes, lit with genuine desire to show her a good time, made her smile.
For so many years, that's how their friendship worked. When he was down, she did everything in her power to cheer him up. Whether that was in the ninth grade and he was on the cusp of failing Algebra. She personally tutored him for hours late into the night, helping him scrape by that final exam and score a 71% in the class. There was summer after junior year where she helped him get over his first breakup with Lori by taking him to a local fair. They'd eaten funnel cake and drank milkshakes until their stomachs hurt. That afternoon they broke records for how many times they crashed the bumper cars.
He'd done the same for her, making it his mission any time someone or something upset her. In eighth grade, he fought Gavin Del Rossi after the boy stole her Walkman. He'd wound up with a blackeye, but he'd been proud to be the one to get it back for her. When she found out her parents were divorcing, he'd been there every step of the way as her greatest source of comfort. She'd lost count of how many times she snuck into his room and cried on his shoulder.
"Let's do it," she said and he beeped the horn with a loud whistle.
"That's what I'm talking 'bout! This is a throwback you're gonna love. It's one of your favorite things to do…"
The riddle bemused her for the next couple miles. Then the trees cleared and the mounds of snow deepened and soon a large iced lake panned into view. She laughed immediately, full of joy and disbelief that he'd call back to one of their first holidays as friends. Hands clasped together as she beamed like a school girl, she marveled how he knew something so small and trivial would instantly lift her spirits.
"But we don't have any skates," she said in afterthought.
"Yeah, we do. I've got a couple pairs in the truck bed. Went skating not that long ago. The second pair might be a little big, but you should be alright." He parked the pickup truck slightly off the snowy slope and turned off the engine. "This lake looks a lot like—"
"The one by Avondale," she finished for him. "We used to go all the time."
"Wore my skates out. My dad said he wasn't gonna buy me new ones if we didn't stop going so much."
Michonne opened the truck door first. Her boots sunk into the snow and she plodded to the truck bed so eagerly she about slipped. Rick had gotten out himself and rushed to catch her, but she held onto the side of the truck before he could. His brows were high and he grinned at her, saying, "you alright?"
"I'm more excited than I thought," she giggled, flushing. Standing on tiptoe, she stretched into the truck bed for the skates. Aside from their luggage, other items randomly scattered across the bed. A giant metal tool box and baseball bat with gloves and cleats were some of the items. Rolled along the right side was a weighty sleeping bag and folded tent. Michonne's hand enclosed around the smaller pair of skates and what lay beneath caught her eye. The black and red 'FOR SALE' sign advertised his truck.
She stepped away from the bed, back on flat feet as she eyed him. He reached in and grabbed his skates oblivious to her ignited curiosity. There were pros and cons to asking him about it. Over the course of their road trip, he'd been largely secretive. His entire reasoning for driving cross-country still hung in the air like a mystery, even with his familial answer.
But to sell his truck struck her as strange. Rick loved his truck. He considered the used Ford pick-up truck to be a family member; something of an adopted brother he bought after years of saving up thanks to his part-time job. It was impossible to forget the first day he'd gotten his own set of wheels. He'd banged on her screen door and insisted she abandon her homework to come with him for a long ride through Alexandria.
A beat passed and she couldn't hold off another second. She flat out asked. "You're selling your truck?"
"I might be. Dunno. Haven't decided yet." He didn't wait for her to think on his answer before he headed for the snowy hills. Ice skates limp at his side, his bow-legged stride told her he wouldn't be offering up any further info.
Michonne sighed and joined him. One way or another she'd suck it out of him. It might take a while, but she scarcely gave up. She'd simply have to work on getting him to divulge the truth.
They sat on the bank of the frozen lake, cold despite their layers, and tied on their skates. What had started out as a valiant effort by the sun had waned considerably. Its pale and weak light offered little to no warmth. Soon it'd set completely and temperatures would plummet lower.
Together with their arms cautiously out to reach for the other, they eased onto the ice. They'd been fairly good skaters in their youth, but that afternoon they moved a lot clumsier than usual. This amused them greatly as they glided across the ice in graceless circles and occasional flubs.
"Haven't fallen though!" Rick yelled above his skates scraping the ice.
"Yet!" she called back and he laughed again.
"Alright. Time to try something. You first."
Michonne slid by him, gaining speed as the skates began to feel more second nature. "Why me first?"
"'Cuz you're getting the hang of this a lot quicker than I am!"
"Fine. I'm going to try a spin." She let the momentum build then used her arms to rotate. The surrounding trees and ice whizzed by as her blades turned in a sharp spin that garnered applause from Rick.
"That was good. Now a double spin," he joked, clapping.
She slowed down, breathless with energy. "Maybe if I wanted to break my neck. Your turn. I want to see a jump."
"Yeah?" He grinned at her, now the one to pass her up. Michonne knew that grin. The daring spark that usually inspired butterflies in the stomach. She'd been on the receiving end of it many times in their past. He skated onward, his silver blades etching patterns in the thick ice. She hung back and observed, thoroughly entertained enough to smirk. "Alright," he said at last. "I'm gonna do it. Keep your eyes peeled. This is professional level ice skating right here."
The next moment started impressively then dissolved disastrously. Rick sped faster and swung his right foot up, jumping off his left. For a briefly glorious second, he executed the basic jump with precision, skates leaving the ice. On the land that changed as he miscalculated blade placement and slipped. He crashed onto the ice with a loud thud. Michonne's hands clapped to her mouth before she shot toward him.
Her worry sabotaged her and she fell too. For the last few feet it took to bring her to him, she slid onto her knees. She crawled to him just as he rolled over onto his back.
"Rick!" she gasped. "Are you okay?"
At first, he said nothing, blinking dazedly and staring up at the pale gray sky. Then he glanced at her and she couldn't breathe, absorbing the blank look in his eyes. Before she spiraled into full-blown panic mode, he broke out into throaty laughs and his arms tugged on her waist. He brought her down with him.
"I'm alright, I'm alright!" he choked out as she socked him angrily. "Ouch! I was playing 'round. Calm down."
"That's. Not. Funny." She gave him one last punch in the shoulder and then relaxed beside him. The ice hardly bothered them, bodies numbed to the harsh cold. What did occur to her, though, seconds into lying with him, was that passerby might take one look at them and think romantically. The casual observer would see them as two lovers caught in the moment. Her eyes flittered up to his face to study him if only for a second. His boyish good looks had started to slip away, replaced by a rugged handsomeness that made her flush. The perplexing attraction created a pulse that thrummed between her….
Michonne clenched her eyes shut and urged herself to breathe slowly, in and out. When she regained her senses and opened her eyes, she shot up. Rick did too, much more sluggishly but also more out of confusion.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Your nose. You're bleeding," she said, digging into her coat pocket.
He touched his nostrils and specks of blood colored his fingertips. He only eyed the red liquid as she handed him a tissue.
"It must be the fall. You hit the ice hard. I told you you weren't fine," she lectured.
"Guess I came down harder than I thought. Prolly a sign we should go."
They struggled to a stand on their skates, gliding across the ice the way they'd came.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Rick's rough tumble gave him a headache and he requested she drive for a bit. She reluctantly took the keys, noting how the snowfall had started up again. Over the course of freshmen year at college, she'd grown used to driving in normal weather, but her experience with the snow was little to none.
"An hour or two," she said and Rick nodded.
"Just 'til Louisiana and I'll take the wheel again."
It turned out to not be so bad. Michonne, sitting close to the wheel in the way that always made her friends laugh, steered the truck safely down the highway. She snuck proud, borderline triumphant smiles in his direction. He openly rolled his eyes and shook his head at her.
"Go ahead and say it," he said.
"See! I told you I've gotten better. I drive almost every day now."
"That didn't even take you a minute, yanno that? To brag," he chuckled.
The snow let up as the first hour passed and they edged toward the Mississippi border. Rick was talking about how Shane insisted on working out five times a week to prep for the police academy. It was the most forthcoming he'd been since their road trip began, so she eagerly listened, hoping for tidbits about himself. The biggest reveal he made was on the topic of Lori.
"She complained 'bout me going away. Said how was she expected to wait for me for 21 weeks?"
"Is that…a long time?" Michonne asked, offended for him. "There's these inventions called telephones. And letters."
"It's Lori. You know how fickle she is."
"More like boy crazy since the age of fifteen. She has the attention span of a dog with a new chew toy."
Rick's mild expression was not clear enough for her. She hastily backtracked.
"Sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I know you care about her."
"Not anymore," he dismissed. "This last breakup is the last time I'm gonna play her game. We're done."
"Good because you can do a lot better."
He quirked a brow at her and her cheeks warmed. "Yeah?"
"Uh, yeah. You were always out of her league. Even in high school. Even when I was her friend, I thought that," she rambled, nervous from his steady gaze. "You can find another girl that's more your speed. Someone who's going to wait for you and who will be happy for you pursuing a dream."
"Like who?"
Michonne opened her mouth to answer, but a deafening thump drowned her out. It was the truck skidding wildly out of control after striking a bump in the road. She struggled to right the wheel to no avail. Rick swiftly took over, seizing hold of it. A second too late, the sudden bend left the truck scrambling off-road.
"Brakes!" Rick shouted.
Her boots slammed on the pedal. The lurching truck screeched to a halt feet away from the trees. They sat there for at least a minute, breathing heavily out of utter shock. The truck had died on its own and the deflated front right end told them the tire was flat. Finally, Rick blinked away the heart-pumping suspense and opened the door.
"Tire's done for," he announced.
Michonne bit down on her lip. "I'm so sorry. I…I don't know how that happened."
"It's alright. There's a spare. I'll change it and we'll be on our way."
"Do you know how?"
She dashed around the truck as Rick hauled the spare.
"'Course I do. I've done it plenty of times. Matter of fact, I'll show you so you know."
Over the course of the next thirty-odd minutes, Rick changed the truck's tire. Along the way, he explained each step, showing her how to loosen the lug nuts and jack the vehicle. He finished by demonstrating how to check the tire pressure after the fact, to ensure the spare's drivability.
"And that's everything. Simple, right?"
"Thanks. Dad always said he'd show me, but he never got around to it. Then he moved."
"Good thing you've got the hang of it. Next one's on you," he teased, stowing the tools away.
She rolled her eyes at him and slipped behind the wheel. Turning the key, the truck didn't start. Rick's brows pushed together as he walked to the driver side to verify. The truck made no sound and twisting the key in the ignition only produced a clicking noise. Dread washed over them as he popped the hood and checked the engine.
"Don't know what's wrong with it," he said.
"Whatever it was we hit in the road could've messed up the engine." Michonne sighed.
Rick said nothing, but his frustration was evident. He tinkered with the engine for a while, too stubborn to give up. She sat behind the wheel and lamented the second she agreed to drive. Eventually, Rick returned to the passenger seat, face falling into his hands to brood.
"We were too busy talking to notice the roads," he grumbled.
"I was looking at the road! I didn't see anything."
"Shoulda never let you drive."
"I never wanted to drive. You said I should," she sniped.
"That's 'cuz I had a headache. And guess I thought you'd do a little better than wreck the truck sixty minutes in."
"I'm a bad driver—or have you forgotten? You've never stopped giving me shit about it before."
"Alright. Alright. Let's not argue," he said with a belabored sigh. Combing his wavy curls with his fingers, he sat and thought on their predicament for a few moments. They were miles from the next rest stop, surrounded by woodland, slowly sprinkled from above by thicker and thicker snowflakes. Worst still, neither were exactly rolling in the dough. If the truck really was wrecked, they were screwed.
Rick got out to assess the damage again, lifting the hood. Michonne crossed her arms and huffed. Mostly out of frustration, but also out of guilt as she'd ruined his truck. Now they were stranded for who knows how long. In a couple hours, the meager light that winter day offered would cease to exist. They'd be on foot in the dark after that.
The teens busied by lament and frustration meant they failed to take in the changes to their surroundings. Rick had his head under the hood, tinkering with the engine parts. Michonne stared absentmindedly out at the trees. Both missed the tow truck popping up on the road at a distance. It grew closer by the second, slowing down to a full stop inches behind their truck. That's when Rick glanced up from the hood and she twisted in her seat for a look.
Before either could gather their wits, the driver and passenger side doors opened. A man on each side hopped out and jogged over. Even from where she sat, they looked grungy. Their skin shone from the grime of car grease and motor oil. Mixed up with sweat produced after hours of toiling away on cars, it'd been too long since they'd showered.
"Need help?" the larger, fatter one asked. He wore a grin, but it never quite reached his eyes.
Rick hurried from the hood to meet him halfway, as if cutting him off before he got too close. "Who're you?"
"I'm Dan. This is Daryl. We were driving by and thought we saw you stuck on the side of the road. Thought to myself, what a shame. Gotta help these two stranded kids out. How old are y'all? Barely look a day over seventeen." He didn't wait for an answer, walking around Rick and shooting straight for the front of the truck. Letting out a whistle that frightened the birds in the nearby trees, he tugged on the collar of his coveralls. "Looks like you hit a bend a lil' too hard. Lemme guess, she was driving. It's always the girl." His lone laugh echoed in the frigid air as his gaze flittered to the windshield.
Through the glass, from behind the wheel, Michonne frowned curiously. Who were these men?
Rick didn't need to say another word to express his distrust. His narrowed eyes said enough, but he left no stone unturned. "Yeah, well, we've already called a tow truck. It's on its way."
"Nonsense. There ain't another auto place for miles and miles. Nobodies coming out here to get you but us," said Dan dismissively. "Daryl, hook up the truck. We'll tow 'em back to Joe's."
"No thanks," said Rick coldly. "We're good here."
The man named Daryl hung between them, mute but torn on what to do next. In the end he obeyed Dan's order, springing into action after the rotund man raised a brow at him.
Michonne could stand observing at a distance no longer. The truck was cold and their words were garbled. Based off his body language, Rick was being standoffish again. He made no qualms to hide his glare or the clench in his jaw. She hopped out the truck and strode over. Rick and the sweaty fat man looked at her.
"Well hello, sweetheart, we're here to help y'all out," said Dan loudly. He gestured to Daryl grabbing the chains and hooks from the bed of the tow truck. "Gonna tow you a couple miles down the road."
Michonne's brow furrowed. "I'm sorry…to where?"
"To Joe's. It's the only auto place for miles. I'm assuming y'all don't wanna sit out and freeze in the cold, right?"
"No…of course not," murmured Michonne. She glanced to Rick, but he hardly seemed open for compromise. He didn't bother mincing words.
"Look, we're not going anywhere. We're waiting on somebody to come pick us up. Got it?"
"Can I talk to you for a second?" Michonne asked. When he didn't move, she grabbed his hand and pulled him off toward the trees, further out of earshot. The last thing they needed was an argument in front of strangers, but they also needed to get off the side of road and find a way to fix the truck. She rounded on him already annoyed. "What are you doing? We need a mechanic to fix the truck—these are mechanics that can fix the truck. See where I'm going with this?"
"They're bad news. We can find another—"
"Where? How? We're stuck! Let's have them fix the truck and then we can be back on the road. What other options do we have?"
"We don't have much money. Who knows what's the price—?"
"We'll put our money together. We'll skip another motel. Sleep in the truck tonight if we have to. Anything to get it fixed," she answered straightaway. Still unconvinced, he looked beyond her to where Dan circled the truck like a vulture. Daryl had started with the hooks on the axle. "Rick, we have to. We have no other choice."
Finally, he drew a breath and nodded. The tension didn't let up on his jaw. He followed her back to the truck to let Dan and Daryl know. Dan's grin reached new widths as he tugged some more on his coveralls.
"I knew you would. Not like there's much else you can do," he sneered. He propped open the passenger door to the tow truck. "Go on, pile inside. We'll have you on your way in no time."
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Joe's Auto Repair was a rundown concrete slab out in the middle of nowhere. An assortment of broke down, damaged cars littered the gravelly parking lot. Parked angularly, they created a maze to meander through on the way to the garage.
"People ditch their cars here all the time," Dan informed them. "Some cars just ain't fixable. Then there's the ones that try and pull a fast one when they can't pay up."
Rick stopped mid-step. "And how much is it gonna cost us?"
"We'll find out once Joe takes a look. Rest assured, it's the holidays. And y'all are so young, we get you might not have much to spend. We'll cut you a deal."
The stench of gasoline and grease polluted the air to the point of taste. The urge to gag rose, but Michonne fought it off and concentrated on the mechanics assessing the truck. Dan and Daryl had delivered the truck to the only open bay, where a motorized platform lifted it midair. Rick hovered close by, eavesdropping on their muttered conversation while also a buffer for her.
The door to the shop's office fell open and out walked a disheveled, grayed man. Much like his employee Dan, he carried the air of someone permanently amused. His eyes betrayed him, revealing beneath the surface there was an edge to him beyond basic good-natured humor. Striding by, his gaze flittered over them appraisingly. He continued on his way until he reached the truck's front end. It took him a second to eyeball the engine.
"Should be fixable," he announced in a brash voice. "Shouldn't cost you more than two hundred."
"Two hundred's fair," Dan parroted. "What d'you think, blue eyes? That work for you?"
A beat passed where Rick's irritation was again on display. He drew in a breath and bit back the retort on his mind. Instead he settled on a silent nod.
"Good," said Joe. Then his crinkly face cracked into a smile. "Dan, why don't you take 'em to the office? There's a waiting area there."
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
"So, where y'all off to?" Dan asked curiously.
"How long did he say it'll be for the truck to be fixed?" Michonne interrupted. She spoke inconspicuously, hoping to keep the conversation impersonal. Rick had retreated into sulking silence and Dan's constant leer was tiring.
"Didn't. Shouldn't be more than an hour or two," he said. "So y'all are students or something? It's hours before Christmas Eve. Hard to believe you're out in the middle of the boonies on your own. Don't get me wrong, I love it out here, but I'm a rural, lay of the land kinda guy. Shit luck y'all happened to get stranded out here."
Suddenly, zeroing in on him for the first time in minutes, Rick glared. "Yeah…real shit luck we happened to."
"You've been in a rut since we found you. Cheer up, blue eyes. Everything's gonna be alright. Sit tight. Pour yourself some coffee. Flip through those there magazines. Chat up your little girlfriend. And relax," he cackled. "It's the holidays. We're all friends here."
The instant he left them alone, Rick walked to the foggy window and peered outside. "Soon as the truck's fixed, we pay 'em and we're outta here."
"I can't wait. Dan has a staring problem," she confessed.
"They all do. You see the way the quiet one kept watching us? And the owner—Joe—when he walked out the office?"
"Let's just be polite and wait it out. It's the only thing we can do."
"We should've stayed on the road. We could've walked to the next rest stop. It mighta been some miles, but we woulda made it before dark."
Michonne rolled her eyes. His back was to her as he stood at the window. She refused to sit down in the rickety waiting area chairs, choosing to pace around the coffee table. "I know, you think it was a mistake to let them fix the truck. You wanted us to be stranded in the snow. How many miles was it to the next rest stop anyway?"
"Doesn't matter. It'd be better than this."
"They're weird, but they're fixing our truck," she said. "Calm down for once, okay? And we should tone down the attitude—they're giving us a deal."
"That's what they say."
"I'm tired of arguing. Give them all the dirty looks you want. I don't care." She huffed, digging in her peacoat pockets for change. The nickels and dimes were enough for the payphone. "I'm going outside really quick to make a call. I promised I'd let Sasha know how I'm doing. It's been over a day."
"It can wait 'til the next rest stop."
"There's nothing else to do here while we wait and you're not the easiest person to be around right now," Michonne snapped. She didn't wait for another word from him before she pulled open the office door and stepped into the frosty, snow-fluttered cold.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
The payphone wasn't far. Beyond the garage and underneath a light post, it had endured years' worth of abuse. Debased by gum and graffiti tag, the payphone also leaned to the side. No doubt caused by hard kicks from angry callers. Maybe those Dan referenced. The customers who hadn't been able to pay the bill.
She picked up the phone and slipped a dime through the slot. Sasha answered after a few rings.
"Oh my god, I'm so happy you called—I thought you were lost in some mountain cave," her best friend breathed in immediate relief. "I was one night away from telling your mom the truth."
"Wait, you've talked to her?"
"She called as soon as you didn't show up the next morning, Michonne. She's in hysterics. Pretty sure your dad knows now too."
"I'm fine," said Michonne. She glanced over her shoulder, looking toward the open garage. From there, Daryl toiled away at the truck while Joe supervised. As if sensing her gaze on them, the shop owner's mouth stopped directing his mechanic and he stared unblinkingly back. She ignored him, pressing on with her phone conversation. "Well, sort of. Rick and I are—"
"Back up a sec! Rick and you? Rick Grimes?"
"Uh, yeah. My Honda broke down and he offered to drive me to Texas."
"Wow," Sasha said in hushed shock. "How's that going?"
"Sometimes awkward. Sometimes like before. But mostly awkward. I feel like he's holding back," she said, sighing. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. I just want to make it to Texas. In another twist of cruel fate, now his truck is broke down. We're stuck at some car garage waiting for it to be fixed."
"Where?"
"Right on the border between Mississippi and Louisiana—I think the next city's called Harrisburg."
"Can I tell your mom this or are we still playing keep away?"
"No, please tell her. I'm pissed at her, but I don't want them to worry," she said quickly, shivering from the cold. The winds had picked up considerably, whistling distractingly in her ears. "I'm going to call her and Dad after I hang up with you, but in case I don't get a chance, can you let her know?"
"Sure. It'll help her sleep tonight."
"Tell her I'm safe and I'll be at Dad's tomorrow. I'm only staying for a few days. I'll probably be home in—"
The dial tone cut off her sentence. She frowned at first, but then her eyes traveled to the phone panel. Two thick fingers held down the switch hook. Alarmed enough that her heart leapt into her throat, she spun around and then stumbled backward into the payphone. Joe stood directly behind her, looking at her with an unnervingly empty expression.
"Who were you on the phone with, sweetheart?" he asked.
She swallowed and no matter how hard she tried, bravery failed her. Her voice shook. "My…My friend."
"A friend, huh? Sounded like you were telling her where you were," he said.
"Sorry…is the truck ready? I should go find Rick."
"He's inside the office. And truck's ready. Follow me. We'll take care of payment and set you on your way." He'd gone about five or six paces, but still she did not follow. She stayed pressed against the payphone unable to catch her next breath. He'd snuck up on her so quickly, so stonily that it was hard to calm down. After the distance between them grew by a couple more paces, she trailed behind him.
Inside, the front office was empty. Her mouth went dry.
"Where's Rick?"
"He's in the garage with Daryl. They're going over the damage."
She never took her eyes off him as he walked behind the counter, pulling out a clipboard that detailed the services rendered. Though he moved casually, the earlier edge she'd picked up on seeped from his pores. The dark tinge now rolled off him in waves as even the room itself felt like it dimmed.
"How…How much?"
"That'll be six hundred even."
"You said two hundred."
Voice suddenly loud, his eyes snapped up from the clipboard. "I said should cost you…not will cost you. Should. Now, I'm telling you the price is six hundred."
If she had her way, she'd unleash her temper, tell him off, and have the old coot feeling stupid for trying to swindle her, but the uncomfortable mood in the air called for appeasement. Dad's words about weighing options smartly and not carelessly came to mind. The stupidest thing she could do would be to argue with him.
"Oh. Okay. I'll go find Rick. We'll figure something out." Michonne turned to the door, but he beat her there. Sidestepping her in one stride, he twisted the lock. She backed away, putting the coffee table and a couple chairs between them. "Let me leave. You can't keep me here."
"I can if you can't pay," he said and he grinned.
"We will pay. I'm going to find Rick. We'll put our money together and—"
"No, you won't, sweetheart," he interrupted with a derisive laugh. "Y'all can't pay. Y'all don't have the six hundred. And if you do, the price just went up to eight hundred."
Gooseflesh sprang up on her skin. As he moved to close the space between them, she stepped behind more chairs, keeping the distance up. What had started out as perpetual humor on his face then shifted to cold severity now darkened into pure malice. Panic rose like bile up her chest and throat, but she swallowed it back down with everything she had.
Her resourceful mind quickly considered the items in her purse. Her wallet and compact were of no use, and she'd wished she'd listened to Sasha about carrying pepper spray. Only the ring of keys she had stashed away could serve a purpose as she unzipped her purse and dug inside, pretending to go for her wallet.
Joe looked unconvinced, closing the gap again. He said in a sinister attempt at kindness, "Sweetheart, we have other options. Other ways for y'all to make it up to us."
"Stay the hell away from me!" She dashed for the counter as he lunged forward, rounding it in time to escape his clawing hands. The abrupt movements sent the desk phone, candy dish, and piles of paper flying to the ground, but the flurrying hardly mattered. He wasn't giving up, cackling through another attempt to seize her. She missed his grasp again. This much more narrowly, his fingertips grazing her skin.
The door leading into the garage opened and Daryl froze in the doorway. He didn't need an explanation, finding the sight of knocked over chairs, a frantic Michonne and a predatory Joe. He also didn't seem as surprised as to be expected. For once he spoke. "What the fuck are you doing, Joe? So it's true? Is this what's been going on—"
"Mind your business, Daryl. You stay in the garage and keep lookout for me and Dan. Should be over soon enough."
"I ain't gonna stand by for it."
"Sounds to me like you're going against our agreement. Are you going against our agreement, Daryl?" Joe asked, turning his cold gaze onto him. "Dan!"
Michonne let the men bicker, backing away from the spotlight. She slipped her keyring from her purse and held each one between her fingers, prepping herself to use the jagged edges as weapons. She'd do whatever she needed to if it meant escaping. Where was Rick?
In the next second, her question was answered as Dan walked in from the closet door. He promptly shut it, tuning out what sounded like muffled grunts. Her heartbeat picked up speed again, racing as she assessed the helpless situation.
"What?" the chubby mechanic asked. He wiped his brow, looking feverish. "Was getting a couple licks in on blue eyes. Got him tied up. Wouldn't stop struggling."
"Remind Daryl the rules. He seems to be having some trouble with 'em."
Dan glanced at the mute. "Don't agree to pay a price you can't afford."
"That's right," Joe said with a sharp nod. "Now, these two agreed to pay our price, did they not?"
"They didn't agree to this. They didn't agree to—"
"Now, Daryl, that's a lie," Joe drowned him out. "Dan."
Dan advanced on Daryl without apology. Soon the two men wrangled against each other, falling over a row of chairs and onto the ground. Michonne's eyes darted to the open door leading into the garage, but Joe read her mind. He laughed scathingly, his attention now back on her.
"Sweetheart, you ain't going anywhere 'til we get our payment. Might as well make it easy. I'll even be nice and we'll go somewhere private—bathroom's out back."
Michonne swung at him as he sprang for her. Her fist connected with his face and he howled in pain from the jagged keys. On the floor, Daryl and Dan continued to struggle until Dan wound up on top, choking out Daryl with brutish ease. Joe doubled over and clutched his bleeding face. Michonne took off for the door, but the shop owner snatched her by the arm and yanked her backward fast enough to knock her off her feet. Her keys skidded far out of reach and she stretched her arm in absolute desperation to grab hold of them. He was lingering above her, shaking his head as if her frantic attempts were a joke.
"See, I was trying to be kind, offering you a private spot. But now, we're gonna get it out the way right here. In front of—"
Metal collided with skull in a crushing thud. Joe lost balance immediately, flopping face forward to the ground. She rolled over onto her back for a better look, watching in shock as a bruised Rick strode to the wrestling Daryl and Dan. He swung the pipe again, much like she'd witnessed him swing a baseball bat so many times in high school. It struck upside Dan's head, hitting him hard enough to knock him out cold. Daryl held his hands up and scooted away, mumbling about having no part in any of it.
"He's telling the truth," Michonne breathlessly echoed. "It's why they were—"
"Get in the truck. We've gotta go."
Rick's tone was rough, leaving zero room for anything else to be said. Fraught by jarring fear and shock, Michonne scrambled to her feet and ran to the garage. She never wanted to escape a place more than the demented auto shop. Rick was on her heels only after he snatched the truck keys from Daryl. In seconds, without even bothering to put on seatbelts, Rick spun the wheel and the truck's tires were screeching. They got the hell out of there and never looked back.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
That night, neither of them could take their minds off earlier.
They'd driven for hours, putting miles and miles between them and Joe's auto shop. Eventually as exhaustion set in, they stopped in a town distantly outside of Baton Rouge, and booked a room in a motel only marginally better in quality than Fiddler's. Called Pelican Inn, it at least didn't reek of cigarettes and the central heating worked. Rick wouldn't leave the window, peeking through the slit in the curtains.
"Are you alright?" Michonne asked for the dozenth time.
He'd been hit in the face by Dan, as evidenced by the bruise purpling on his left cheek. The cut above his brow also gave cause for worry. He hadn't let her fuss over him, insisting he was alright. Retaliation seemed to be a bigger concern for him, though he hadn't wanted to involve the police, citing it'd become a Joe's word versus theirs sort of thing.
"They were knocked out when we left. They have no idea where we went," she said.
"I don't put anything past 'em. I…I think it was a setup from the start."
"What do you mean 'set up'?"
"The sudden flat tire in the middle of the road? Making us swerve and round that bend? It's almost like it was by design," said Rick. "I had my truck checked out before this trip. It was in perfect condition—tires included."
Michonne breathed through the shiver spiking up her spine. "You think they set traps in the road to lure people to their auto shop?"
"I've heard of people putting nails or spikes in the road. Then they rob stranded drivers waiting for roadside assistance. So yeah, I think it's possible."
"They drove up so sure we needed their help," she said, mulling over the earlier events.
"Yep. And seemed to know we were alone."
"Rick, I'm so sorry. I never should've agreed to go with them."
"You didn't know."
"That's just it. I didn't know. I feel…I feel naïve. You were right," she said honestly, frowning. "All of the book smarts in the world doesn't matter, does it? Outside the school walls, I'm making mistake after mistake."
"I'm making mistakes too."
"Like, what? Volunteering to drive me?" She gave a self-depreciating laugh.
"No…plenty of others," he said vaguely, turning away from the window at last. He collapsed onto the bed, lying on his back with his eyes on the dusty ceiling fan. "Believe it or not, I still don't regret driving you."
"Yeah?"
A slow grin crept up on his face, once again proving how handsome he could be. "Yeah. Are you alright? You keep checking up on me, but…but that bastard attack—"
"I'm okay now," she said quietly. She let her finger trace the unevenly stitched comforter, following its ugly flower pattern. "But I've never been that scared in my life. There was a moment…I thought…it was over. For both of us."
He swallowed hard. The lost look in his eyes told her he felt the same. "Me too. I put up as much of a fight as I could in that closet. I knew I had to get back to you. That fat bastard had me tied with a sock in my mouth. Would've never escaped if I didn't have my army knife on me. I could hear your whole conversation with that twisted piece of shit. He was always gonna raise the price—we were never gonna be able to pay."
"Rick…can I…" she struggled to ask the question, mind now on old times. The memories of any solace they'd ever offered each other left her in want. "Would it…would it be okay if you hold me? Just for a little while."
"'Course." That was always his answer. His arms readily accepted her as she lay down beside him, snuggling close enough to rest her head on his chest. And it was like old times, before the lines had ever irrevocably blurred in their friendship. "This…This feels nice."
"Is it weird for you?" she asked, bravely candid. "After…"
"Yeah, a little…but you're always gonna be my friend. I told you that then and it's not changing now. No matter what happens, I'm always gonna care 'bout you."
"Me too. I'll always care about you too. I'm sorry."
His brows spasmed, curling in confusion. He said nothing, but beneath her, his body tensed.
"I never should've forgiven Mike," she went on ruefully.
"I mean…we agreed what it was. I, uh, I didn't hold up my end. It was a confusing time—Lori and I had broken up. Prom and graduation were coming up. I wasn't thinking straight."
Now her turn to pause, Michonne let his words linger for seconds on end. It relieved a part of her that he admitted he'd gotten more invested than he'd initially promised. That he recognized his jealousy had been uncalled for. Yet, it also disappointed another half of her. From the moment she patched things up with Mike and they focused on their relationship, distancing themselves from interfering friendships on both ends, she'd thought Rick's feelings hadn't changed. Was he right? Had his confession been mere confusion? Had she assumed he cared about her in a way beyond friendship?
"Right…" she mumbled. A topic change was needed or else she'd overthink herself silly. "Rick, what did you mean when you said you're making plenty of mistakes? Does it have to do with California?"
When silence answered her, she lifted her head to glance at him. He lay still with his eyes closed, having dozed off sometime after her pause. She sighed, again disappointed, and then lowered her cheek to his chest. It was in that moment, in the last few seconds before sleep claimed her, that a deep premonition ran through her. Troubling things lurked just around the corner.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Author's Note: Chapter 4 we're going to finally make it to Houston for X-Mas, which means we'll be meeting Mr. Monet, Michonne's dad. We're also going to find out WTF is up with Rick, so a lot's going to be laid on the table. Story's halfway over so I'll try to have the next update soon. Hopefully you're not sick of holiday stuff yet, lol.
Anyway, please feel free to drop me a review (always so stoked to read them!), and I really hope everyone enjoys their New Year!