Chapter 7 – Acts of Kindness


"Thank you so much. I owe you big. My life. My family's life. Everything," he told her. There was so much sincerity in his words. He took her hand in his for a moment. There was so much love and respect in his touch; a touch with hands that were all but sculpted by the man above to become board certified. He adjusted the tassel on his cap and zipped up his long red gown.

"You owe me nothing," she insisted, giving his hand a squeeze, "all of this is because you worked hard."

He began staying with neighbors during the very heated and public case. What was supposed to be temporary, eventually became permanent.

After his family won their civil case they divided up the money. He was the youngest, thus his needs were never considered. He wanted to be a doctor, but they had made no financial provisions for Med School.

Michonne began giving him money. insignificant amounts at first – then larger. It was not intended to be a secret; though she never mentioned it to anyone except Sasha. With her monetary gifts, financial aid and loans, he made it through school.

Having a surname that was different from that of his family's, he was able to be his own person and write his own story.

"If you hadn't helped me when my family forgot I existed, I wouldn't be here right now," Glenn's eyes glistened with tears as he looked at his silent friend and benefactor.


x-x-x-x


"...All I'm sayin' is you two been meetin' here for the last three months. You sit in the corner and make silly ass googly-eyes at each other. You flirt like I ain't never seen b'fore. Then you walk 'er out. Looks like y'all make some kinda stupid conversation and then she leaves. You come back in here lookin' like a lost puppy dog," Daryl grumbled out his observation. These were the most words Rick had heard his friend string together at one time.

"I'm not gonna...I mean, I can't ask her somethin' like that," Rick told him with a lot less surety than he would've preferred.

"Just know it's there if you need it...privacy if nothin' else," the uncharacteristically chatty pub owner said.

Rick laughed, "You never have customers in here. It's already completely private."

"Dumbass. Try bein' nice to some people...fuck off," Daryl grunted and then stormed towards the bar.

Rick followed behind him.

"Don't get all mad," Rick said, smacking his friend on the back, "I really do appreciate the offer but..."

"But you just a scared little girl," Daryl finished the sentence for him.

"Your words, not mine," Rick laughed, "truth is I don't wanna scare her off. I don't think either of us are ready to cross that bridge. She's not that kinda woman."

"Look, Im'a tell you somethin' that I'm sure you already know...yo' stupid ass is just too chicken shit to say," he grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the behind bar while Rick sat on a barstool, "believe me, she feels the same way you do."

"We're both married, Dixon," he said emphatically, bowing his head and staring at the immaculate black countertop.

"I'm aware," Daryl said. There was no judgement in his words or tone, "offer is still there."

"Let me go outside and wait for her. She should be here any minute..."

Before he could turn towards the door, she was walking in. He strolled quickly to her side, lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it.

"Hi there, beautiful lady," he said.

She glanced around the room. It was as empty as always, with the exception of Daryl who was walking through the doorway which leads to that storeroom.

Her eyes landed back on Rick; on the lips that she'd been watching for the past few months, "Hi," she smiled.

"C'mon, let's sit down. I'll get your favorite drink."

"You've become my favorite bartender," she said happily, "Don't tell Daryl."

She sat at their favorite table in the corner. Rick walked behind the bar and took a bottle of Sangria out of the small fridge.

"How was your day?" She asked as he took his seat and placed her drink in front of her.

"It was good."

"How about yours? How much longer before the Sheriff makes his decision about the job?" She asked.

Rick was one of two final candidates in contention for the Desk Sergeant position. Even though everyone knew the job was his, for some reason Sheriff Jones was dragging the whole thing out.

"Seems like he wants to do some kinda big reveal, like an awards ceremony," she lifted his beer bottle in a mocking stance, "And the winner is...Deputy Rick Grimes," she announced.

He tried not to gawk but couldn't take his eyes off of her, You are the most incredible woman I've ever known, he smiled, trying not to oblige his wayward thoughts.

"Somethin' like that I think. He's gonna make the announcement at Friday's meeting. Presumably whomever he selects will meet with him before the meeting."

"He's really making you guys sweat isn't he?" She giggled, reaching across the table and tapping his hand.

Before she could pull her hand away he turned his hand, his palm facing hers, and interlaced their finger. He lightly caressed the back of her hand with his fingers.

They had graduated to intermittently holding hands about a month ago; if no one else was in the darkly lit bar.

He looked down at his beer and pulled his hand away from hers.

"How about you, how's the case going?" He asked distractedly.

"It's fine. There's some evidence that I need to review, and a witness that I need to depose. I think it's gonna work out..."

While she was recanting her day and the intricacies of her case, she was watching him. He was barely paying attention; thoughtlessly using his thumb nail to pick at the label on the beer bottle. It was one of his nervous ticks that she'd taken note of. If he was bothered by something or a little stressed he tended to do it.

There was a tightness in her chest as she rattled on. An aberrant flash went through her. Initially she didn't know what the feeling was. Could it be...fear? Maybe he came to his senses. Maybe he doesn't want to meet with me any longer. Her heart started beating quickly at the thought. What if she couldn't see him anymore?

Getting together with him on these nights was the highlight of her week. Laughing and talking with him was everything.

"That's interesting," he mumbled, staring out into space.

"What's interesting, Rick?" She challenged.

"Huh?"

"I'm asking you what's interesting," she tilted her head towards him; her eyes ladened with suspicion.

"Uh," he mumbled, attempting to offer an apology with his smile.

"You haven't been listing. Where did your mind go? Is something wrong?"

He didn't answer right away; trying to figure out the best way to even broach this subject. It was innocent - an innocent suggestion. Except that it was anything but innocent. He knew it, and she would too.

They had been skirting that conversation since the day they met.

"Rick," she lowered her voice, "you're making me nervous."

He reached across the table and took her hand again, looking into her eyes, "I'm sorry...I don't want you to be nervous," he said.

"Then tell me what's going on in your head," she said, placing her hand on her face; her French-tipped fingernails landing on her lips.

"Uh...Dixon has made us an offer, and I'm not sure what you'll think about it," he couldn't look into her eyes.

"What's the offer?" Her nerves were still on edge.

"He has a small apartment upstairs. I've crashed there a couple of times in the past...if I thought I had too much to drink. He doesn't use it otherwise," he still couldn't look her in the face; his eyes were downcast, "he's offered it to us..."

He kept his eyes on his beer but didn't let go of her hand. He almost expected that she would yank her hand away - possibly curse him out and leave. He hoped that his words had not ruined whatever was happening between them.

"...Thought we might want more privacy..." He laughed, "It's kinda ridiculous since this place is about the most private-public place you can ever go to," he chuckled again; finally daring to look up at her face. For the first time he was unable to read her expression.

Quiet overtook the room. The light hum of the appliances was the only sound in the room. He wanted to just slink away, or just disappear altogether, You're a damned fool Grimes, he frowned, pulling his hand away. She reached for his hand, not allowing him to move it too far. She interlaced their fingers and waited a moment for him to look back in her face...

"I thought...maybe you were going to end things," she confessed.

"You don't ever need to worry about that," he smiled.

"I think that...the, uh, apartment would be nice," she said, her voice low and quiet although there was no one else in the tavern.

"You do?" Though a large smile now brightened his face, the look of surprise was all too present.

"Yes…Don't you?" She asked hesitantly.

"Of course I do. I just..," he shook his head, "Are you sure?"

"Truthfully, I'm not sure about a lot of things. I'm scared. I just like spending time with you."

"So do I..." he looked down at the table; taking a moment to gather together his thoughts and words. He couldn't look her in the face; continuing to scratch the remainder of the label off the bottle, "...It's wrong and I feel guilty as hell but I wanna be with you. Completely."

He breathed deep, "We've been honest with each other about everything...feels like lyin' to not say what's been in my head..."

"Thank you, Rick. Thanks for being honest," she shyly told him.

"If we go up there," he squeezed her hand staring into her eyes, "there's a line that we'll probably cross. I don't know if either of us are really ready to cross yet."

"I'm not naïve. I want the same thing that you do," she whispered, "I can't stop thinking about you. I want to. I swear I want to. I just can't stop."

With Mike winning the seat in Congress she had been flying back-and-forth between Atlanta and D.C. Mike was originally from the Capital and owned an apartment in Northwest D.C. She flew there for photo ops and big ticket dinners, but she always made it back to Atlanta in time to meet with Rick for their one night a week get together.

"I know. I can't either," he probed her eyes, "We've been courtin' Michonne. It's ridiculous…the idea of married people courtin' is ridiculous. But…that's what we've been doin'."

"I know...guess Daryl saw what we weren't ready to," she said, feeling a sense of relief that they were finally putting all their cards on the table.

"We've never really talked about them..." they always steered clear of the topic of them.

"Yeah," she groaned, "I don't have the right, but it makes me jealous just thinking about you with her."

"Don't be…" He looked back into her face, into the most beautiful brown eyes he'd ever known, "she and I haven't...well...in a lot of months. I don't want you to think that that has anything to do with this though. This is so much more than that."

"I don't think that," she told him without hesitation.

"I, uh, try not to think about you and..."

"Don't," she interrupted, "we stopped that several months ago. Even when we're in the same city. We just haven't." She had not been intimate with anyone other than Mike in nearly nine years. He knew her body. Or at least he used to, it was a passing thought.

"Hmm," he wasn't sure what to say.

"We've led separate lives for over a year. Probably longer than that if I were to really think about it. He's a good man. It's just...I don't know." What if you don't like the way I feel, taste, everything? It was a thought that didn't pass quite as quickly.

"I understand. Believe me," he assured her.

Opening up about their individual marital truths was liberating. Throughout their time of knowing each other their spouses had been in the shadows. They kept their entire friendship focused only on each other; learning only about each other. The problem with that was they could never truly learn all there was to know about each other without opening up about everything.

"Do you think that…" she looked down at the table, squirming in her seat," do you think that we could go up there tonight? Just hold each other."

He was surprised. Pleasantly.

"We can do that," he said.

"And thank you for using the word 'courtin'," she stroked his hand and smiled her widest and whitest smile, "I've waited my whole life to hear a southern man say that in real life," she joked.

"You're hilarious," he said sarcastically, raising his eye brow, and then bursting into laugher.

They walked towards the back of the pub and up the stairs.

The nervousness that should've been there wasn't. She stood beside him as he unlocked the door.

Much like the bar, and the man, the large one room apartment was anything but fancy. There was a bed, a chair, a small kitchenette, and a small brown dresser.

He took her hand and walked her to the bed. They sat down.

"Wanna take off your shoes?" He asked

"Okay," she said, slipping off her heels.

He bent over and pulled off his boots. They looked at each other. She placed her hands on her lap.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked, "I wanna kiss you while we're sittin'. I don't know if I can control myself if I kiss you once we lie down," he moved closer; their knees bumped.

"I've been watching your lips for two months," he whispered, dropping his stare from her eyes to her mouth, "I've never wanted to do anything more than put my lips onto yours."

She nodded, giving her permission.

He ran his fingers down her face. She closed her eyes as he scooted even closer. His lips touched hers - lightly at first. She let out a breath. She parted her mouth as did he. He pulled her closer and then slightly turned his head; their noses pressed against each other as their tongues touched. It only took a moment before they were lost in each other. The kiss deepened. He began gently sucking her bottom lip. She began sucking his.

"Mmm," she moaned into his mouth as their tongues passionately intertwined.

He gingerly backed away, "I knew you'd taste good…" his chuckle was light, "We'd better stop. I'm a gentleman, but even gentlemen have their limits."

Her giggle was quiet, "Yeah. I can't rightly say that I'm a gentle lady," she agreed using her best playfully-mocking southern accent.

He lightly kissed her cheek, "I'm gonna hold you to that," he said flirtatiously.

"You trying to get frisky deputy?"

"You'll find out."

"That I will," she leaned closer lightly touching his lips with her hers; placing her hand on his knee. She took a deep breath, inhaling his scent.

"Who's the bad influence here, me or you? I'm not sure right now," he backed away and watched her wide smile glow in the poorly lit room.

"I think it's a tossup," she said running her hands over his face. He grabbed her hand and kissed it.

"C'mon, let's lie down so I can hold you in my arms," he said. They moved towards the middle of the bed.

"It's a little embarrassin'…but…you did some things to me. You might feel, you know..."

"I think I can handle that," she laid her head on his chest.

"I'm certainly hopin' you can handle that," he moved her locs and kissed her temple.

"Rick, you are so bad."

"I'm gonna plead the fifth on that, counselor."


x-x-x-x


"Thank you for coming in, Mrs. Grimes," Beth said; standing to meet the visitor.

"Of course," the widow said, "I was happy to get your call."

"Detective Greene and Miss Greene will be right with you," the young blonde informed her.

She knocked on her father's office door and then opened it; leaning her head in. Her two bosses were seated, having a conversation about a possible new case; or so it seemed.

"Mrs. Grimes is here," she informed them.

"Be right there, Bethy," he told his youngest daughter.

Maggie remained seated as her father left the office to retrieve their would-be client.

"It's good to see you Ma'am," Hershel said, as he took her hand.

"You said you'd have some kind of an answer for me in three days," she smiled, "you're certainly a man of your word Mr. Greene."

"Come on into my office," he ushered her to his more intimate office, "would you like something to drink?" he offered.

"No, thank you," she said, as they entered the small and much less adorned space.

Maggie stood and shook Mrs. Grimes' hand, "I'm Maggie Greene. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you too," Lori said.

They took their seats across from the lead investigators desk. He took his seat.

"I'll get right to the point," he told her, picking up his trusty notepad and quickly glancing down at it...

"We've had an opportunity to dissect reports, question witnesses; including those in law-enforcement..."

He looked into her large probing brown eyes. She reminded him so much of Dorothy. Even her mannerisms were like his deceased wife's. He was momentarily at a loss for words, This is right...it's the right thing to do. I wish I could've saved you Dottie, he blinked away the rumination.

Maggie regarded her father. At the end of the day, he was much more than her partner; he was her dad. No one else would notice, but she could see that he was struggling with something.

"I can tell you with the utmost surety that the bodies in that vehicle were those of Deputy Richard Grimes and Mrs. Michonne Anthony."

He watched as her shoulders slumped and her eyes quickly well with tears.

"I know that was Rick in the picture," she asserted with a sniffle.

"Mrs. Grimes," his expression was soft, his eyes kind, "I'm not going to discount what you saw in that photograph. I believe you're right. That person looks an awful lot like your husband. Anyone who says otherwise is sorely mistaken."

She glanced back at him. Her expression was not quite as sorrowful.

"Don't let anyone make you believe that you're seeing things. There are people that look like other people. They even have the exact same mannerisms," he smiled, "with over seven billion people in the world, it only makes sense that we all probably have a few doppelgängers..." he chuckled for a moment.

"...but that is not your husband."

She kept her eyes focused on him and ran her hands down her jean clad legs. Her long dark hair gently cascading down her chest.

"This is your opportunity," he began, "this is an opportunity for you to truly move on with your life. You had a husband that loved you. With all our research, we never found anything to the contrary."

The corners of her mouth gradually rose.

"From what I could see, your husband was a good man. There's no doubt that he'd want you to be happy; to have a good and decent life."

He continued to observe her body movements.

"This is your new beginning. This is your time," he told her with all the warmth and sincerity he'd garnered through years of consoling worried and grieving families.

"Is there any chance..." she began; her hopefulness not quite as strong.

"There is no doubting the evidence..." he interrupted her persistent plea...

"...Believe me when I tell you that life is so short. Losing someone is difficult. I know," he was again speaking from experience tucked away in his life's experience, "and it's okay...it's okay to move on and find some joy," he told her a truth that he learned many years ago...

She stood, "Thank you Mr. Greene," her face was neither happy nor sad; vacant of any discerning emotion. The angst-ridden woman that the investigator met a few days ago seemed to be gone. There was not just an uncomfortable acceptance that she now seemed to have; there was an aura of relief surrounding her, Maybe I can really be happy with Phil, was her transitory thought.

He walked her out of his office and to the outer door.

"You take care of yourself Mrs. Grimes," he told her.

"Thank you Mr. Greene…for all your time. I really appreciate it," she leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before turning on her heels and exiting the office.

He watched her exit and then walked back into his office and closed the door. Maggie was sitting in the same spot.

"You gonna tell me what that was all about?" She asked, dumbfounded, "I've never seen you lie to a client before."

He took a brief moment to behold his daughters face. She looked more like him than her mother but she still resembled his first wife.

"I hope to never have to do that again," he told her, taking his seat.

Maggie knew her father. He was the most honest man she'd ever known. He was almost too honest in her opinion. If there is such a thing. She'd never known him to not do the right thing. There was a code that he lived by. Even if everyone around him skirted the rules and the laws, he never did.

He was lost in a reverie, she could see it.

"I don't blame you for her you know? It's not your fault. You've been an incredible father and I'm sure you did the best you could do...given the circumstances at the time."

They very rarely, if ever, spoke of Dorothy Greene. She had always been that elephant in the room. She was the boogie man that they just didn't acknowledge.

It was rare that Retired Detective Private Investigator Hershel Greene was left at a loss for words. This was one of those times. He simply nodded and smiled at his daughter. The lump In his throat was all but foreign.

"So, is Mom of the reason that you lied to Mrs. Grimes?"

He chuckled, swallowing slowly before speaking. "You certainly have your father's way with words."

"Yep," she concurred with a grin, "my father raised me right," she winked.

Her smile and whit had always been a beacon of light to him. In the darkest and loneliest times of his life, his little Margaret had unknowingly brought him through. He watched his little girls face for a moment more, before letting her in on his thought process.

"Mrs. Grimes is chasing a ghost. Not just a literal ghost either. She's done what I think lots of people do. The sad widow has romanticized the truth. I think that she's convinced herself that her marriage was something other than what it really was. It was important that I confirm what she believed about her marriage..."

There was no way to change what happened to Dorothy. Time machines and crystal balls only existed in the movies. Real life meant accepting that the past can't be changed. He would never be able to change his past actions, inactions and indiscretions. But this simple act of kindness was something he could do.

He ran his hand across his face,"...She needed someone to tell her that it's okay to move on and be happy. It seemed like she had lots of respect for me, and lots of trust in this agency; maybe hearing those words from me is what she needed..." he presupposed, keeping his eyes on his daughter.

"...Truth is, no matter how this pans out, she was never gonna get what she wants; absolution for either what she did or didn't do in her marriage," he said, taking a breath.

"From what I can see, Mrs. Grimes and Congressman Anthony are good decent folks. Hopefully they both can find happiness…and peace."

"What about Deputy Grimes and Mrs. Anthony? What do you think?" She knew what he was saying, but the question remained.

"From all the information we've gathered, seems like Michonne Anthony and Deputy Grimes were good folks as well…" he paused, watching his daughter follow his train of thought.

"…Maybe we'll never know exactly what happened that night; don't rightly know for sure if they were involved with each other," his expression mildly woeful...

"...I do know that within any relationship there's lots of gray. No one is ever all right or all wrong. I can't pass judgment on them, even if they did have an affair," an imperceptible smile crossing his lips at the fleeting thoughts of his past transgressions.

He was looking in the face of his daughter but speaking more to himself with those words. Exorcising all of the demons that he'd carried for years.

"What are you thinking really happened?" Maggie asked, "We know things aren't what they seem. I still can't figure out exactly what everything means though."

"I'm not 100% sure either. I do think that the answer to this, if there is one, is gonna to be in California."

"You still wanna go on with this?" She asked; surprise and a little bit of shock evident in her question.

"It's something that I have to follow to its conclusion. Whatever that might be."


The question went through his head without much consternation, 'what would he do to protect her and his children?' The answer was easy, he didn't have to really think about it. He'd do anything. He'd do whatever it took to protect his family.

He sized up the older man the moment he opened the door and saw him standing on his doorstep. He was certain that not only had the determined detective come alone; he was also unarmed. The former deputy would do anything. Maybe he wouldn't even have to murder the man. Maybe just knock him out, giving himself enough time to get his wife and kids out safely. He planned an elaborate crime. He'd broken laws and involved close friends. Was murder that big of a jump?


A/N: Thank you for reading. Only 3 chapters left. See ya tomorrow :-)