...written to the musical score of…
'Yes (Symmetry Remix)', by Chromatics
Rick stood in his driveway, trying to recover from Michonne. And failing spectacularly.
His breath was shallow and his dick was hard, straining for freedom and getting harder by the second. He kept picturing her beautiful smile in the light of the street lamps. The entire time she spoke to him out here on the concrete, he fought with himself. The sound of crickets offered a faint chorus as she invited him for dinner and he tried one more time to make her laugh. He had wanted to press her against the side of his truck, lean into her - close. Kiss her slowly. Let her feel how much he wanted her. How much power she held over him.
But he had simply stood there, studying her. He couldn't keep his eyes from roaming, taking in the curve of her lips, the slope of her neck, listening to her smooth voice. The shape of her body, discernable even through her uniform, was perfect. She was lean, curvy, and graceful. Her ass was amazing. Rick shifted on his feet, backing up slowly, staring after her in the dark. He watched her go, then listened out for her until she got about halfway across the yard. He finally had to snap himself out of it.
As he sauntered up his front walkway, he gripped his keys hard in his palm to try and stave off the steadily intensifying erection in his snug jeans. He wondered what she would feel like in his grip. Her thighs. Her ass. Her breasts. He wanted to touch and squeeze every inch of her. He wanted to open her up and see what she tasted like, too. Judging by the pleasant smell of coconut and something earthy and sweet that he couldn't place...this line of thinking was not helping.
Rick sighed roughly and got his front door open. Once inside he locked it harshly, distracted and frustrated with himself. He had told himself he wasn't going to watch her if he could get her to ride with him tonight. But as Rick tossed his keys and walked through his dark house, he knew that he would.
He had to.
The haunted former cop made it into his kitchen, opened his fridge, and grabbed a beer this time. He needed to relax from the day, but he didn't need to induce a coma tonight. As he got the bottle open and made his way upstairs, his mind wandered toward tasting Michonne again. His dick was still hard as he thought about spreading her legs and settling in. The sheer thought of burying his face between her legs (smelling her and getting her all over his tongue and lips and chin) produced a hunger in him that was almost overpowering. Nah, his hardon wasn't going anywhere. He picked up his pace as he made it up to his bedroom.
Rick took a drag of his beer and sat it down on the table by the window. The ice cold, frothy liquid felt good going down his throat and settling in his belly in this Georgia heat. He removed his denim button down and tossed it across the chair at the table, untucking his white undershirt. Feeling better, he reached for his cigarettes and opened his blinds just enough to see without being seen. He lit the cigarette, took a drag, and looked down at Michonne's house. Her kitchen light was on, her practically sheer curtains revealing her to him, shimmying out of her pants in front of her big kitchen island.
Goddamn.
Rick exhaled cigarette smoke through his nostrils, squinting down at her as she poured her usual glass of red wine. He raised a hand to lean against the window frame, the cigarette dangling from his lip, transfixed by her body. His cock twitched watching her, but he forced himself to just stand there instead of doing something about it.
He tried to focus, distracted by the cigarette. He took a second and final drag, put it out, and watched Michonne walk around in nothing but her top and some little black panties. She looked distracted, too. He wondered if she was thinking about him. She had invited him over for dinner. She had no idea how badly he wanted her, but maybe she wanted him, too. He was going to find out. He was determined.
He followed her with his eyes, intensely concentrating on the grace to her steps, the shapeliness of her legs and the brief little glimpses he got of her gorgeous ass from under her uniform top. Her cat followed her out of sight, where he knew she was going upstairs. He waited, his eyes rising to her bedroom window in anticipation.
He was immediately struck by the sight of something that sent alarm bells dinging around in his head.
A shadow, moving quickly across the dark room. Rick leaned in close to his window, gripping the wooden frame, his heart pounding, his focus now razor sharp. Her closet doors opened slowly and the shadow disappeared inside it. They closed again slowly. Rick forgot about his erection as white hot alarm flooded over him from head to foot, making the hairs on his skin stand on end and his temples pulse. He clenched his jaw, his heart racing, and saw Michonne enter her bedroom.
There was someone in there with her.
He wasn't seeing things. Was he? He hadn't felt it coming on. He wasn't having headaches or dark thoughts. Being with Michonne had driven all of that away. There was someone in there. Rick watched Michonne take off her shirt and walk toward her window. The closet doors remained closed behind her as she turned on the lamp. She looked up as she started to remove her bra. She was looking right up at his window. But he could tell she couldn't see him.
She had no idea. She was in danger.
Rick backed up without another thought, turned, and bolted for his door. He grabbed his gun from its holster, removed the safety, and tucked it in the back of his jeans as he went.
He didn't bother to close his front door as he ran in long, nimble strides down his driveway, around his fence, and along the side of her house. Fuck! Hold on, Michonne! Rick thought as he ran, intent on reaching her as fast as he could, however he had to get there. His heart still racing, anger and fear sending adrenaline rushing through his bloodstream, he darted through the darkness, raising his eyes to her window every other second. At first he could only see her light glowing down at him from this vantage point, but then he saw shadows moving across it. Rick doubled down, his boots hitting the ground faster now. He got her fence open and wheeled around the house, stalking warily toward her patio doors.
He had to be careful. He had to be quick.
Taking a deep breath, Rick searched hurriedly around the yard, trying to find something to break one of the glass doors. His movement triggered the lights. He looked down at her patio door and got a hunch. Rick abandoned his plan to break in and simply tried it. It opened easily, and her alarm went off.
Probably how whoever the fuck that was upstairs with Michonne got inside. Except that time the entrance hadn't triggered the alarm.
Rick wasted no time getting it open and slipping through it, pulling his Python from his jeans. He ignored the blaring siren of the alarm as he stalked through the house quickly, alert around every corner in case there were more of them lurking around. The alarm didn't seem to be driving any surprise intruders out. He had to get to Michonne. He heard the noises when he reached the stairs. Loud thumps and bangs, like furniture moving around.
Then Michonne's muffled scream. Rick bolted up the stairs, his gun drawn, a red veil of fury falling across his vision.
Michonne froze where she stood.
The stranger just stood there at first, breathing, watching her. He was wearing a black ski mask; his hateful eyes shown across at her as clear as day. He leered at her, and she saw he was holding a switchblade knife. "Negan sends his regards, bitch." He hissed, flicking the blade open menacingly.
Her heart pounding, her throat clogged with fear, Michonne made a run for it.
The guy was quick, dashing from her closet and getting his strong arms around her. He tackled her, tossing her on the bed underneath him. She wasted no time putting what she learned in years of self defense classes in effect - she got her legs around his waist, her arms around her neck, and her hands hooked into his black shirt underneath his jacket. She flipped her arm around his head, trapping him in his own clothes, and pulled with all her might. He was choking, squirming, and trying to gain purchase, but she had him where she wanted him.
With an almighty cry, Michonne kicked and shoved him off of her as hard as she could, sending him crashing into her dresser. She had to get to her gun.
Suddenly, her house alarm went off. The sound was deafening, momentarily stopping her in her tracks. She clamped her hands over her ears and stumbled forward, trying to shake off the shock from the noise. The man was on his feet before she made it to the door, and he grabbed her again.
She wasn't going down easy. Michonne twisted and thrashed in his grip, elbowing him, kicking him. She got him in the ribs and he slapped her, causing her to stumble.
He laughed and made to come at her again, but Michonne saw the knife from where he'd dropped it and dove for it. She landed painfully on her stomach, knocking into the hardwood floor as she stretched and grabbed at it. Seconds later he was on top of her again. "Oh no you don't you fuckin' cunt!"
Michonne flipped around under him and jabbed the knife into any fleshy part she could get to. It was the tender meat just under his clavicle. He cried out when she twisted the knife, gritting her teeth and watching his face crumble underneath the black ski mask.
Then he reared back and slapped her again, hard. Michonne cried out at the impact, her face feeling as though it had exploded.
"Get offa her." A low, hard voice growled from above them, almost drowned out by the shrill sound of her house alarm. Then the unmistakable click of a hammer being drawn back. "You have three seconds. Two of 'em are gone." Rick drawled.
An avalanche of relief washing over her, Michonne pushed the bastard off her body, scrambling back on her hands and feet until she hit the wall. She grabbed an old t-shirt that had been tossed across her armchair, and threw it on. Her bottom lip was beginning to bleed from the hit she'd just taken.
Rick saw this, and fire rushed through his veins. "Are you okay?" He asked, his jaw clenched. She nodded. He turned to glare down at the intruder with murder behind his eyes, a volcano of fury fighting to erupt. "Get up. Now!"
The intruder in the ski mask turned around slowly, wincing with pain from being stabbed with his own knife, which was still buried in between his clavicle and shoulder. Rick was standing over him, his icy blues gleaming with cold fury, aiming his very large gun right between the man's eyes.
"Fuck you, asshole." The intruder rasped, leering.
Rick tilted his head. Then lifted his boot. He pushed it right up against the knife handle, pushing the blade deeper into the man's flesh. He cried out ferociously, but Rick only leaned harder, biting his lip with hardened intent to inflict as much pain as possible. Suddenly, the stranger in black grabbed for Rick's gun with his good hand, catching him off guard. Michonne gasped and shot to her feet as the two men began to fight over the weapon.
Rick got the Colt out of the guy's reach easily, having the use of both his arms. The gun fell on the bed, but Rick was so enraged that he didn't need it. He started punching.
Michonne stood with her hands pressed to her mouth as Rick practically beat the guy's head in with a few good punches to the face. The fury behind his eyes made the blue in them darken to the color of the ocean in a storm. But the stranger ducked Rick's last punch, lunging for his middle.
Michonne cried out, fearing for Rick's safety as the two men were driven out of the bedroom with that one forceful tackle. Rick lost his footing, but he recovered, twisting around and managing to use his momentum to fling the other guy away from him - down the stairs.
Acting on pure instinct, Michonne grabbed the huge, heavy Colt Python from the bed and flew out of the room after them, catching Rick knocking the guy down the stairs with a loud grunt. The sound of his body hitting the steps on the way down echoed around them under the alarm siren. Rick tore down the stairs in the intruder's wake, now blind with anger, firmly in protection mode, his fight overriding his flight.
The stranger rolled across the floor until his body crashed into the foyer wall. Rick stalked up to him before he could recover from the fall and began to kick his guts in. He landed several kicks to his stomach, chest, and wounded shoulder before the guy gurgled and spit blood out through the mouth hole in his ski mask. Rick snatched it off and punched him hard twice more, knocking him unconscious. Still furious, he kicked him again.
The alarm stopped. Everything went quiet.
The red veil lifted from his vision, and he looked up from the intruder's limp, bloody body to see Michonne standing near the alarm console. Holding his pistol. She was wearing nothing but a crumpled tee-shirt and her panties. Her lip was bleeding, dripping onto the shirt. Her eyes were large and round as she stared at him. She didn't look afraid. She was looking at him like she could see him clearly for the first time since they'd met, but she wasn't shrinking from what she saw.
He stepped back from the intruder, breathing hard, his knuckles bleeding, his anger melting as he gazed at Michonne. He had lost his mind again. For her.
Rick took cautious steps towards her, and she watched him coming. He reached out for his gun. She slowly handed it over. They didn't lose eye contact as he tucked it in the back of his jeans again and stepped back.
Police sirens called out to them in the distance as they stared at each other, some kind of recognition unfolding in their eyes.
"This is a bullshit case, ya know…" Special Agent Daryl Dixon grumbled as he blew on his hot coffee, staring resentfully through the windshield.
Special Agent Carol Peletier rolled her eyes but said nothing, keeping her gaze firmly planted on the warehouse across the street. They were on a stakeout. Daryl hated stakeouts. He got bored easily. He liked action. He liked results. Waiting around for hours for something - or more than likely, nothing - to happen just wasn't his idea of a productive use of his time. But it was his job. She let him get his gripes over with, knowing that he'd quiet down soon enough and focus on the task at hand.
"Yeah, well, it's too late to settle down and become a car salesman," she deadpanned, still staring straight ahead.
Though she had to admit, he was right about the case. It was just a brokerage scam. They operated out of this shitty warehouse on the outskirts of town. Their team had planted an informant, who told them of a massive document dump going down tonight. The firm members were supposed to show up at any minute to destroy evidence of them defrauding novice investors out of millions.
Daryl scoffed, ignoring her little jibe. "Fuckin' pencil pushers. Scammin' clueless rednecks outta their coffee jar money. This is amatuer bullshit, Carol." He continued in his raspy growl of a voice, sipping his coffee and biting his thumb nail irritably.
She turned to offer him a sardonic smile. "What if it was your family who lost all their savings?"
"What savings?" He retorted, frowning over at her. "They ain't got a pot to piss in, let alone enough money to invest in some scam."
Carol momentarily regretted bringing up Daryl's family. He was sensitive about his upbringing, his past as a poor, troubled kid before he joined the marines, got accepted to Quantico, and turned his life around. It was something they didn't talk about, like her past marriage to a man who beat her and the death of her daughter Sophia from leukemia.
She gazed at him, softening a little. "It'll be over in a few hours, tops, okay? Drink your damned coffee."
They sat in silence for a short while longer. Carol with her head leaning against her hand, bored stiff. Daryl sipping from his coffee every now and then purely for something to do. Suddenly Carol's phone went off, and she fished it out of her blazer pocket.
"Special Agent Peletier."
Daryl watched Carol while she spoke on the phone, trying to ascertain the situation based on her expressions. Whatever it was, it looked serious.
"When? Tonight? Shit. I'm on my way."
He frowned, sitting up straight in the passenger seat. "What's up?" he gestured with his chin to her phone as she hung it up.
"Michonne Williamson was just attacked," Carol informed him, dread collecting in her belly as she started the engine and buckled up. "We gotta go."
"Saved by the motherfuckin' bell," Daryl wasted no time putting his coffee in the cup holder between them and buckling his seatbelt, too. Carol rolled her eyes at him again and they drove off, headed for the suburb of Reece Park.
The sounds of cop radios interrupted the tense quiet every now and then as Rick stood in Michonne's kitchen and watched the police take her statement.
He'd be next.
He held his bleeding knuckles under cold water from the tap in her sink as he watched, until the blood clotted up and the pain began to fade somewhat.
As she recounted what had happened to her, Michonne's eyes kept darting to the floor where the intruder had been sprawled unconscious when the cops arrived. At first they had him sitting on his butt against the wall, cuffed, bleeding, and brooding while they searched the place, taking note of the damage and signs of struggle for their report.
He didn't say shit to the cops, just stared at Rick. Rick stared right back. He wanted to know who the fuck this guy was, too. He seemed uninterested in taking anything from the house. He had gone after Michonne. He was hostile about it. He sat there, ignoring the cops, his swollen, bruised, bloody face adorned with a smug expression.
When it was apparent he wasn't going to talk, they hauled him into custody. Now two remaining cops were taking Michonne's account of events. Rick hung back, allowing her her space, letting them do their job. He'd been in the middle of many scenes like this one when he was a deputy. He knew the drill. They had temporarily confiscated his gun and told him to stay put. So he would hang back in the kitchen until they came for him. He watched Michonne.
He didn't take his eyes off of her, relieved that he'd made it over here in time, wondering if that look of recognition in her eyes earlier meant she knew his secret, wanting to examine her for injuries himself. He wanted to explain himself, he wanted to comfort her. He wanted to not be like this. He could do nothing, he could have no answers yet, so he just stood there, ignoring the pain in his hand.
"He said…" Michonne uttered quietly, still staring at the floor where the stranger in black's blood was drying in angry streaks, "'Negan sends his regards, bitch'..." She swallowed, tearing her gaze away from the spot where she'd watched Rick kick the guy over and and over again in a blind rage.
She knew Rick was hovering somewhere in the background, watching her. Like he'd always been watching her, she realized. She could feel his eyes on her as she forced herself to look at the two police officers taking her statement. "I think my neighbor, Rick - I think he may have heard me scream. He came just in time. Fought the guy off."
"Was this before or after you stabbed the intruder in the chest, ma'am?" Asked one of the officers, a squat, sweaty, balding curmudgeon who refused to look her in the face, instead keeping his shiny bald head down as he scribbled notes from her answers. He still did not look up at her as he waited for her to answer. "When your neighbor showed up?"
"After." Michonne answered quietly, a flashback of Rick standing over the stranger, pushing the knife in deeper with his boot. The sight of it sent electricity shooting through her, head to toe. She was stunned, and on pins and needles, but more importantly she felt somehow...vindicated. He had witnessed what she'd been fearing for so long now, and he had defended her. Hearing Negan's name slither out of that asshole's mouth had raised every wild, terrible, unthinkable fear she'd buried or ignored for the last five years. She was trapped, exposed, and violated all over again. Just hearing his name. How did he know where she was? What did he want?
All she knew, all she could think, was that this wasn't the end of it.
"Ma'am?" The taller, younger cop's gruff voice brought her out of her thoughts. When she looked over at him, he stood down somewhat, clearing his throat. "I understand you've been through an ordeal tonight, ma'am - just a few more questions, I promise."
Michonne nodded but said nothing. She waited.
"And this Negan person he mentioned? You said this is Negan Wolfe? That arms dealer guy?"
"The one that was on the terrorist watch list? Isn't he in Guantanamo or somethin'?" The balding cop huffed, finally looking up from his notepad.
"Riker's…" said a low, serious female voice from behind them. Everyone turned to Michonne's open front door, finding Special Agents Peletier and Dixon crossing the threshold.
Carol came straight for Michonne while Daryl looked around shrewdly at the scene. His eyes landed on Rick's and they sized each other up immediately. Carol held up her badge to the cops, her eyes on Michonne's.
"Michonne. Are you alright?" She asked, not bothering to make further introductions. The two cops exchanged glances, looking torn for how to proceed.
Michonne was so relieved to see Carol that she almost broke down right then, but she held herself together as she nodded again, allowing Carol to embrace her.
"What happened?"
"Yeah, and who's this?" Daryl rasped, pointing with his thumb to Rick, who stood still in the kitchen, watching the entire scene unfold without uttering a word or making a move to insert himself.
Carol tore her eyes away from Michonne (who looked shaken and a little bruised up, but otherwise as strong as ever) toward her kitchen, where a tall, dark, and handsome stranger was standing, watching them all warily. Silently. She cataloged everything she could about him - maybe five-eleven, looked to be in his late thirties, fit build, keen eyes, grim but confident demeanor. He had nothing to hide, it seemed, but he probably had things to answer for. With a small nod of her head, she sicked Daryl on him, then turned to the two cops standing there like dildos. "Can I have a minute alone with Ms. Williamson, please?"
"You got some jurisdiction here we don't know about, lady?" The balding cop grunted.
Carol didn't miss a beat. "Yeah, Negan Wolfe. And it's Special. Agent. Peletier. If you don't like it, complain to your chief. My name's spelled 'P-e-l-e-t-i-e-r'. Or you could make yourselves useful and get his statement."
She jerked her silver-haired head in the silent stranger's direction, standing her ground. She was eyeing them as though they were nothing more than pests. After a moment in which the air was tense with thinly-veiled resentment and icy indifference, they begrudgingly made their way into the kitchen.
"Carol, it's okay. He saved me. He's my neighbor, his name's Rick."
"He's the one whose front door's wide the fuck open, then." Daryl rasped, raising his chin at Carol to remind her of what they'd observed as they pulled up to the scene.
Now every eye in the room was on Rick.
He shifted on his feet, his blood-stained knuckles still hovering over the sink, and nodded. "That's right. I live next door," he drawled, his eyes on Michonne's.
"Well aren't you a good samaritan. How did you know there was danger?" Carol crossed her arms, eyeing him with intense scrutiny. He pulled his gaze from Michonne's to meet hers.
"I was gettin' ready for bed, heard her scream, looked through my window...saw someone in here with her." Rick stood taller as he lied smoothly, flexing his fist, trying to keep his cool. He hoped Michonne would corroborate his story. It was technically half true. He hoped they wouldn't have to get any deeper into it than that.
"And you beat the shit out of 'im, by the looks o'that hand," Daryl remarked, impressed.
Rick's eyes flickered to acknowledge Daryl's true guess before they were back on Michonne again. "I'm lucky he showed up when he did. I don't know how long I could've fought that guy off."
They stared at each other across the space, both finding it hard to remember that they weren't alone. Michonne was on his side, he realized. She was defending his actions at every turn so far, and she still didn't look afraid. He wanted nothing more than to be alone with her, to explain himself, to find out if what he was reading in her eyes was just his imagination.
"Hey. I know you." Said the taller officer, suddenly recognizing Rick. "You're Rick Grimes."
Rick's gaze slid over to his face, his jaw clenched again. Shit. Here we go.
The other cop scoffed, shaking his head. "Holy shit, this motherfucker? The legend himself? I thought I recognized that gun."
His partner joined in, a smug smile unfolding on his dipshit face. "Ohhh yeeaaahhh. You're the crazy motherfucker who burned out back in King's County."
The room was focused solely on him again as the two cops snickered at each other like idiots, exposing his past to a bunch of strangers - and Michonne. "The one sneakin' around sex rings like a perv?"
Rick felt heat pulsing through his pores, but he stood as still as he could. He wouldn't have a tough time beatin' the shit out of both of them. The porky one would be the easiest to take down. But this redneck special agent standing in front of him had huge arms and a vicious look about him. Rick didn't want to risk Michonne getting hurt while he got jumped and arrested.
Besides which, judging by the looks of the petit, silver-haired Agent Peletier, she would just as soon put a bullet through his head as let anything get out of hand. Government agents were even more trigger happy (and untouchable) than cops.
"No, the one that shut down four of 'em in less than a year…I've heard about you, Mr. Grimes." Carol muttered, looking at him in a new light.
"Have you heard that this asshole's been sneakin' around cold cases, making cops look bad, takin' money from grieving, gullible family members?" The taller officer growled aggressively, stepping up to Rick, getting in his face.
"Well, retirement's pretty boring. I try to stay active…" was his only answer as he sniffed and shifted on his feet again. He did not back down, his eyes gleaming antagonistically at the young, brash cop in his personal space.
"I tell you what - thanks for your public service tonight, friend. But that's it for you, got it? You're not the law anymore. This is Atlanta, boy. This ain't the town to relive your old glory days in. You stay out of police business, or I swear you'll be gettin' another visit from us. This time to take you in and make sure you rot there. Do we understand each other?"
"That's enough." Carol interrupted. Rick simply gazed unwaveringly at the young cop, remaining silent.
Finally, the cops backed off.
Rick tried to be patient as the two federal agents huddled with the cops, taking jurisdiction.
Daryl did another sweep of the house, combing over everything the cops had done.
Once that was done, they sent the cops on their way. Then they spoke with Michonne. Well, the Peletier woman spoke. Dixon just stood there watching Rick. He didn't know if he should leave her be or stick around. He knew what he wanted, but what he wanted may not be appropriate given the ordeal she'd just been through. He still had to retrieve his gun, though.
And thank her for not disputing his story, not giving them any other excuse to hassle him. And make sure she was really alright. That she knew she could count on him - anytime, for anything she needed.
Michonne was still acutely aware of his presence as she spoke to Carol, the agent who'd been assigned to her case five years ago. The agent who had fought to protect her, get her a deal that set her free and kept her safe in exchange for handing over Negan. Carol had always treated Michonne like a sister or daughter, and it was because of Carol that Michonne found the strength to move on after she escaped Negan.
"What does he want, Carol?"
"I don't know…" Carol admitted quietly, her mind racing. "But he's behind bars, Michonne. Whatever he's after, he isn't coming for it himself."
"But what about Andre? How am I going to know he's safe? If Negan's found me, he's found my son."
"Michonne - don't panic. Don't run." Carol said firmly, catching Michonne off guard. But then she wasn't really surprised that Carol had figured out her Plan B. The older woman knew all too well what it was like to be in Michonne's shoes. "I already sent a unit out to Sabine's. I'm heading there as soon as we're done here."
Michonne nodded, but she needed to know for herself. "I need to call him."
Carol handed over her cell phone. She dialed and he picked up on the first ring. "Mama! Are you okay?"
It seemed as though the agents Carol had sent for arrived. Michonne breathed a heavy sigh of relief. "I'm fine peanut. Hey, calm down. Are you safe? Where's your Aunt Sabine?"
"She's talking to some men. They came in and started looking through all the rooms. They said you got hurt. What happened? Are you okay? Can I come see you?" he fired off, not taking a breath until he was finished.
Michonne fought off tears, wiping at her eyes as she sat up straighter and gripped the cell phone tightly. "Andre, listen to me. Don't worry about me. I'm a little shaken up, but I'm fine. It was just an intruder. I just wanted to hear your voice - make sure you're okay. Now I want you to stick close to your auntie and get some sleep. Those men will make sure you're safe."
"I wanna see you, ma." He insisted, his voice getting low and wavering - a sure indicator that he was mad and about to cry.
"Tomorrow, baby. I promise." Michonne held it together for him, trying to sooth him. "I'm fine. You believe me?"
There was a long pause. She could hear Sabine in the background, speaking with the agents. Finally, Andre said quietly: "Yes ma'am…"
"Good. Get some sleep and I'll see you tomorrow. Deal?"
"Deal."
When she gave the phone back to Carol, the older woman sighed and rubbed her shoulder. "Let me find out what's going on. In the meantime, I've got men on the 'll protect you. I just need to make some phone calls. In the meantime, call Sasha. Keep your gun by your bed."
Michonne nodded, taking a deep breath as Carol rubbed her shoulders through the blanket she'd been wrapped in. She escorted them out, saying goodnight to Carol and her partner.
"We'll be in touch, Mr. Grimes." Carol said to Rick before she stepped out, eyeing him with that intense curiosity in her greyish-blues as he tucked his gun back into his jeans again.
He simply nodded, knowing that she meant it. He also knew that the cops were going to be watching his every move for a little while. Being on their radar wasn't good. But it had been worth it. There was nothing that was going to stop him from kicking that fucker's teeth in for attacking Michonne.
Michonne locked the door behind her and turned around to face him, feeling pulled even now. There he stood in practically the same spot he'd been in since the cops arrived, gazing at her.
His white t-shirt exposed his muscular arms, which he held at his sides as though they anchored him to that spot. "Thank you…" she whispered, her eyes watering. She reached up to wipe harshly at her tears.
Rick took a step forward, the overhead light making his eyes shine, and then several more. He stopped just in front of her, swallowing hard. Michonne gazed up at him as he hesitantly raised his hand and gently touched her wounded lip with his thumb. "I didn't get here fast enough."
Hearing the low tinge of anger in his southern drawl took Michonne's breath away for a moment. She could feel his body heat pulling her closer as Rick eyed her lips. She had so many questions, her curiosity about him and her attraction to him almost overwhelming. She reached up and touched his hand, realizing that it was swollen and gashed. "You're hurt." She said softly, frowning as she took his hand in hers.
"It's nothin'..." He returned, gazing at her.
Michonne led him gently into the kitchen by the hand, then let him go and reached up to open one of her cabinets and retrieve a first aid kit. "You saved my life tonight. At least let me patch you up. I'm a nurse, I know a gash when I see one. It looks like you caught one of his teeth with all that punching you were doing."
It relieved him to hear her teasing him. Michonne turned back to him, her heart fluttering, her head reeling from the rollercoaster of emotions she was going through after what happened. What it all meant.
She set up a little medical station on her kitchen island and began to tend to Rick's wounded hand, lost in thought.
Rick watched as she went about cleaning and treating the gash in his knuckles, unable to keep his body from responding to how close she was to him. Michonne felt it, too, but she tried to ignore it and focus on what she was doing. His hands were beautiful. His fingers were long, and strong, but surprisingly smooth. Rick took a deep breath, inhaling her natural scent, trying to keep himself from leaning in closer.
"You know Negan Wolfe?" He asked, partially to distract himself, and partially because hearing that name earlier had sent a cold rush of dread down his spine. Negan Wolfe was notorious. He started out young, he was smart, and he was ruthless. He'd been on the F.B.I.'s Most Wanted list almost a decade before he was caught. If Michonne was in any way connected to a man like Negan Wolfe, or how he ended up behind bars, she really was in danger.
Michonne swallowed, avoiding his eyes. "Yeah. He's...not a nice guy." She didn't know how to explain the rest. She concentrated on wrapping Rick's hand in gauze.
"What are you to him, Michonne?" Why did her body respond to his voice so viscerally? So completely willingly? She found herself inching closer and closer to him, her blanket slipping further from her shoulders, pulled by his heat and energy, her naked legs brushing against his jeans.
Then his question registered. She finally looked up at him. "Why does it matter to you, Rick?"
Rick stared at her, stuck for how to go on. He finally gathered his nerve, shifting on his feet, adopting a protective stance. "Because he's also a dangerous guy. I know all about him. If you know him, and he's sendin' people after you, you need protection."
Michonne gazed up into his eyes, mesmerized, drawn to him. And immensely curious. She needed answers, herself. She could no longer ignore the chemistry between them, but she had to know what his deal was. She had been so relieved that he'd shown up. But his sadness, his story, his watchfulness...the way he looked at her. The words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop them. Nor could she stop the mildly accusatory tone that coated them. "Have you been watching me, Rick? Were you...were you watching me tonight? Is that how you knew I needed you?"
You could hear a pin drop as Rick's warm breath streamed silently from his nostrils, his eyes dropping from hers to her lips. He was so close that she could feel their bodies touching here and there. If he took a single step, he'd be on top of her. She found herself wanting him to press his warm, strong body into hers, but he kept just enough distance to keep himself in check. He couldn't lie to her. He didn't want to speak. He nodded slowly, his eyes flickering across her face.
Michonne frowned up at him, fascinated by him, exhilarated by him. "Why…?"
He averted his gaze this time, backing up slightly, pulling his hand from hers. He flexed it, wincing at the pain, finally meeting her gaze again. "I just want you to be safe, that's all." Came his deep, earnest voice as he stood a little taller. "I used to be a cop. I notice things. I noticed...you're always alone. I noticed you seemed sad. I wanted to keep an eye on you. I felt like somebody should. So I did."
She watched him for a while, and he had to allow her to see the truth in his eyes. "I'm glad you did…" she finally admitted. Rick could see true vulnerability in her now, standing in her crumpled t-shirt, bare legs and flimsy police blanket. Her bottom lip was cut from the impact of a backhand to the face, the sight of which made Rick boil with residual anger.
Suddenly he felt a warm, furry little body rubbing against his ankles and calves, and looked down to discover the cat had suddenly appeared. Michonne remembered Hercules darting under her bed when she discovered the stranger. She'd forgotten all about the little furball. Rick knelt down to give the fat thing a back rub, momentarily relieved for the distraction. When he looked up again however, Michonne was standing right over him. Her bare thighs were inches from his face. That's when he saw the bruise on her leg from her fight with the intruder.
Rick stopped rubbing the cat and turned fully to face her legs, looking up into her beautiful face. "He hurt you."
"I'm okay…" Michonne replied breathlessly as Rick touched her, his breath ghosting across her skin behind his fingers. The flesh there was tender, and she knew it would be terribly sore in the morning, but she could scarcely think of anything other than the man on his knees in her kitchen, touching her.
Rick was momentarily mesmerized, and daring. But then he forced himself to stand up and open her freezer. He retrieved a kitchen towel from her oven wrack and dumped some ice from the bucket he found into it. She watched him work, and finally he was standing near her again, where she liked him. He gently pressed the makeshift ice pack to her bruised thigh, gazing into her eyes. The cold made her gasp and wince. Michonne touched his hand the held the ice pack, looking up at him. "Thank you. That feels good."
Rick wanted to kiss her so badly. He warred with himself, standing over her, touching her, feeling her hand over his. But she'd been attacked tonight, he wasn't going to be that guy.
Hercules meowed and rubbed against them both, breaking the spell.
Rick stepped back, his hand slipping from underneath hers, and took a deep breath. "You shouldn't be alone tonight."
Michonne blinked, her mind slowly catching up to the moment. "It's okay. I'll call my friend Sasha in the morning. I'll be fine. Especially with you watching over me."
She was glad to see that slow grin of his again. He reached into his back pocket, retrieving his wallet. He pulled out one of his business cards and handed it to her. "Anything you need. Any time. Call me. Please."
She took the card and nodded, watching as he backed up slowly. He finally turned, his gun glinting under the dim overhead kitchen lights. When he was gone Michonne stood there for a long moment, staring at his card. Then she locked the door behind him and set her alarm.
Michonne felt the quiet closing in on her as she slowly made her way upstairs again. She held the ice towel to her leg, her eyes sweeping the area, observing the telltale signs of the fight Rick had had with the stranger in her closet. When she made it to her bedroom, she saw the signs of her fight with him all around her. She limped over to her practically caved in dresser and picked up her cell phone.
She stared at Sasha's contact information for a long time. Then she dialed the number on Rick's card instead.
He answered on the second ring.
Rick found his front door still wide open.
He dragged himself stiffly inside, his hand wrapped in gauze throbbing with dull pain. Closing and locking it behind him, Rick turned to face his dark, empty house. He had essentially run away from Michonne, at the same time that he wanted desperately to carry her up to her bed.
He wanted her. He wanted to protect her. He wanted to feel what it was like inside her. He wanted to eliminate every danger she faced. He was undone by her.
His cell phone rang.
He retrieved it from the coffee table in his living room, and saw an unrecognized number. On a hunch, he answered, his heart pounding. At first there was silence, and then her soft, quiet voice. "Rick?"
"I'm here."
"Can you see me?"
Rick frowned. He didn't know how to answer that. He had narrowly avoided having to admit just how much he watched her, or having to go into his obsession with her. But it seemed she was fully aware of everything he wasn't saying, and she was boldly calling his bluff. He decided to follow her lead, his voice low and steady.
"Not yet. Hold on."
Rick's blood pumped in a steady swell through his body to his groin as he climbed up his stairs. The effects of his fight tonight would assault him later, but right now his only concentration was on getting to his favorite window. The blinds were still open in the dark room as he crossed over to it, listening to Michonne breathing. Finally, he stood in the spot he'd occupied so often he may as well have worn out grooves in his floor. She was standing in her bedroom, looking up at his window.
She couldn't see him, but he could tell she could feel his eyes on her. He exhaled sharply. "Yeah. I can see you."
His voice came out deep and husky. He was already getting hard. It was an exhilarating, frightening feeling. What was she doing?
Michonne reached up and touched her window with her cold, wet hand. He didn't know where her ice towel had gone. She sighed into the phone. He saw her chest rise and fall as he hear her breath across the phone line. "How often do you watch me, Rick?"
His heart sped up and his dick got harder. He hesitated a long time, before finally uttering: "Any chance I get."
Across their lawns, inside her bedroom, Michonne felt herself reacting to the sound of his husky drawl. He sounded reluctant, but also firm at the same time. There was no denying the intensity of his meaning, and it sounded like he wanted to spare her from it. But of course, it only made her want to know more.
She stared up at the dark window. Unable to see him but acutely aware of his eyes all over her, she bit her lip and admitted: "I think I always knew."
Rick was surprised, and certainly aroused by this admission. "Ever since I saw you, Michonne...I wanted to know you."
His voice lulled her, made her skin tingle. She was growing wet, and he was getting hard. The adrenaline and the trauma from the night weighed them both down and lifted them both up. They were caught in some dangerously intimate whirlwind, and Michonne finally let go of her resistance. She gave in to her immense curiosity, her overwhelming attraction.
Rick down at her as she stared up at him. Finally, she spoke. "You said to call you, if I needed you."
His cock twitched. He waited, gripping his phone hard in his good hand, his wounded hand aching.
"I'll do anything you want."
"I want you to come back. I need you right now."
"Alright…" He growled, and she hung up, turning from the window.
Rick did the same. He remembered to close and lock his door this time. Then he stalked across their lawns in the humid darkness, headed for Michonne.