Author's Note: I am so grateful for the warm reception this story has received. All the reviews and feedback are just so inspiring. So thank you! :)
Onto chapter 7, this one has some highs and lows….
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7 – Love and Loss
The airy spring morning echoed Michonne's high spirits.
A breezy gust drifted in through the bedroom's half-open window, its curtains windswept and tangled. Dappled sunlight poured in too, full streaks blocked by the large, leafy tree beside the window. Every so often a car drove by or a dog out for a walk barked. Late morning now, the small town had awakened.
Michonne hardly noticed. She emerged from the bathroom with her locs wrapped in a towel and a silky robe hung open, and she hummed. The light vibration lingered in her throat as she laid her clothes onto the bed piece by piece.
In another hour and a half, she'd meet with the Winslows to recap the charity donations from the fair. After that, the rest of the day was hers—and she hoped more than anything to spend such a beautiful day with two of her favorite people in the world.
A smile which could only be described as silly came to her face as her phone pinged and she read the incoming message:
How about I was so distracted thinking about you, I almost burnt down the house cooking breakfast?
She must've reread the text five times, snickering along with the mental image conjured up. She replied:
I'm flattered, but maybe next time don't start a fire in my name, okay? ;)
After she pressed send, she knew she couldn't dawdle any longer. The towel dropped as she let her locs cascade down her back. Loose-fitted salmon tee and white shorts in hand, she changed, and slipped on some sandals. She was at the floor-length mirror applying a touch of make-up when the landline phone on the nightstand rang. Its jangled ring caused her to jump. She picked up the receiver to answer.
"Hello? Michonne?"
The nasally Georgian-pitched voice was distinguishable in a split second.
"Hey, good morning, Gina," said Michonne. "I was just getting ready for the charity wrap up—"
"—listen, about that," Gina said, slower than usual. "I'm sure you had your heart set on it, but…it's cancelled. We're rescheduling for another day. Stella's unwell."
Michonne's brows pushed together. She said, "oh, no…is she alright? Do you need me to bring by anything? Medicine—"
"—that's alright," interrupted Gina. "She has everything she needs. She's just a touch under the weather. Yesterday was a lot for her. You know she always does this—makes herself sick. Bless her. Guess that means your last day in town is yours…"
"Are you sure she's alright? I can come by—"
"—unfortunately, honey, she doesn't wanna be disturbed, so no need for any o' that. But I'll let her know your well wishes. She's gonna stay in bed today," said Gina. "Listen, I gotta go. You take care, alright?"
Michonne hung up a couple seconds later. Her earlier elation was pushed aside for a twisting, turning concern for Mike's mother. She picked up her cell and texted the sixty-something woman herself, too anxious not to.
Stella, I heard you were unwell, and I just wanted to let you know I'm thinking of you. If you need anything at all, please know I'm a text or call away. I hope you feel better. -Michonne
Even with the message sent, she questioned whether she should call. Perhaps a phone call would brighten her spirits or take her mind off things. Her finger hovered over Stella's number in her contact listing before she dropped her phone into her purse. Sunglasses and car keys also in hand, she went for the door as she decided to obey the mother's request and give her space.
Downstairs, the receptionist's greeting came only in the form of a head nod. It was a stark contrast to the previous two days, where her face crinkled into a gracious smile as she struck up conversation. Michonne thought about it fleetingly on her walk out the cramped foyer. She entered into the warm sun's endless territory and headed for the rental car to start her day.
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"Look how fast I'm going—you'll never catch me!"
Carl pumped his legs as he burst with maniacal laughter. He steered his bike down the grassy knoll with ease, a sizeable distance between him and the two grinning adults who tailed him. He tossed a look over his shoulder and laughed harder when he saw the gap increase.
"How the hell does he get his little legs to pedal so fast?" Rick asked, only a single hand on his bike handle. His bike moved in more of a lazy coast along the far-reaching, vibrant green meadow.
"Think about it, he's got the energy and the determination," said Michonne. Her bike stayed in pace with his. "Plus, it's been about fifteen years since I've rode a bike."
Rick chuckled. "Might be even longer for me."
"See—we're at an instant disadvantage," she replied. "At least that's what I'm telling myself."
"Look at him, he's still going," said Rick as their bikes curved a few trees and the riverbank inched into view. "I'm gonna let him—he'll have to tire out eventually, right?"
"You'd think."
"Watch this!" Carl's voice faintly called. He swerved his bike into an impressive figure eight.
Rick and Michonne steered to a steady halt fifteen feet off the bank. They dismounted and parked their bikes under the biggest tree which hung by the crystal waters. Michonne withdrew a blanket from the basket fixed to the front of her bike. Rick pulled out the food and drinks from his, and together the two laid the scene for their impromptu spring picnic.
"Thanks for joining us," he said, pouring her a glass of lemonade. "It means a lot to me and Carl."
"Are you kidding? It's how I wanted to spend my last day."
"Last day," he repeated. Though it was slight, as if he tried to mask the change, his tone shifted into disapproval. "I don't know if…how I'm gonna let you go."
She watched him pour the lemonade, legs curled and hands in her lap, and she tried not to think about it. Not then. When the late morning sun bathed them with radiance and the lively, cool air brushed their skin so intently. In the back of her mind only hovered thoughts she hoped to stave off for the next few hours, for the high the father and son provided her was too great.
"Let's make today count," she said, seconds later. Her fingers curved around his forearm as she captured his attention with an encouraging smile. "We'll worry about the rest later," she said, his eyes now on hers. "I don't want to think right now. I just want to sit here and be with you."
Rick forgot about the lemonade jug and glass in his hands, entranced by her glowing face and pretty smile. He slowly nodded, an even slower smile to match her own spreading onto his face. He freed his hands and set down the lemonade, then leaned in closer. His gaze lowered subtly, from her brown eyes to her full lips…
Her eyes fluttered to a close. Any tightness in her body softened. The mere anticipation of his kiss left her floating. Like cloud nine in all its fictional glory was real, and she sailed across the limitless sky, heart brimmed with elation and the hope to never come down again.
Rick's lips grazed hers when the awaited kiss ended before it began. Carl sprang up in his innocence, breathless and rambling about falling off his bike and scrapping his elbow. The two snapped out of their moment, turning and looking up at the ten-year-old.
"Oh man," said Carl, eyes wide, elbow bent and suspended in mid-air. "Were you guys gonna kiss? Like in the movies? Like mom's and dad's? Am I supposed to see that stuff? Why do people kiss anyway? Dad, your face is red—"
"—we were," Rick confirmed hesitantly. "Sometimes…sometimes when two people like each other…they give each other a kiss."
"Like how I like Sophia? Should I give her a kiss?" Carl tilted his head, confused.
"No! I mean…when the time is right," Rick said. "And you're old enough and the girl likes you too."
"Soooo…" Carl paused as a grin expanded to half the length of his small face. "Does this mean Michonne likes you like you like her?"
Rick seemed thrown by his son's astute observation while Michonne's eyebrows rose and she exploded into a snicker. Still, Carl continued to look most confused of all, as the ten-year-old genuinely tried to make sense of what was going on.
"I guess I'll let her answer that one," Rick said. Throat dry and cheeks flushed, he glanced her way.
She finished her small laugh and said to Carl, "I do like your dad—I like him very much."
"Oh. Okay! Cool," said Carl. The confusion slid off his face, replaced by excitement. "Does this mean you're moving here? Do you need help with your stuff? Are you my new mom?"
"Carl…" Rick drifted off. "How many times do I have to tell you about asking too many questions? Michonne and I are…we're talking about things right now, and we promise we won't keep you in the dark on anything. Alright?"
The boy moved his head up and down in a fervent nod.
"Good, now c'mere so I can look at your elbow," said Rick, standing. "Are you okay? How'd you fall?"
"I have Band-Aids," said Michonne. She reached for her purse and withdrew one from within a zipper.
"Well, I was trying out a new trick—one Patrick's older brother showed us," answered Carl. "Didn't work out too good. But it's okay, I'll try again."
"Trick? What kinda trick?"
"You find a big slanted rock—like that one over there." He pointed into the distance. "Then you speed up real fast and your bike flies off it and you do this cool spin like this." He twirled his body to mimic the motion. "And you land and keep going. I got the first part good, but messed up and fell off when I landed."
"Yeah, you're not trying that one again," Rick told him with a stern look. "It's too dangerous."
Carl huffed. "But…Lenny said he's been doing it for years."
"And wasn't Lenny the one who got six stitches a few months ago skateboarding?" Rick asked. "He's not somebody to copy."
"Carl, are you hungry?" she asked with a smile. "We have sandwiches—ham or turkey?"
"No…think I'm gonna go catch frogs by the river," he said moodily. He side-eyed his father. "Since I can't have no fun on my bike."
"Hey, watch your tone—and be careful," said Rick as the boy marched off.
"Is he okay?" she asked.
"He'll be alright, he's in one of his little fits," he said. "Give him fifteen minutes and I bet you he's gonna come running over like nothing—he's got too short of an attention span to be mad for long, just like his mother."
Michonne saw Rick pause for a millisecond, and then he lowered himself to the picnic blanket again. She said nothing as she instead reached for the lemonade glass he'd poured for her earlier. After a sip she scooted so that she could lay down flat on her back. Her view changed entirely, now of the cloudless sky, its impressively bright blue a shade matched to Rick's eyes.
"What was she like?" she asked in a hushed voice.
Rick looked down at her, startled by the question. He let her know as much by tone alone. He asked, "who? Lori?"
She nodded.
He thought about it, sat in silence as he allowed a few seconds to stare down to the riverbank, where Carl hopped after a frog. She watched him watch his son, every nuance in his ruggedly handsome face on display for her to take in. She was patient, hand on her belly and shapely legs sprawled.
"She was…a good woman," said Rick. "We fell in love young, high school sweethearts. She was the kinda person who'd lose her head if it weren't attached to her body, which always made me laugh. But she was…she was caring and thoughtful, and the kinda person who only wanted a family out of life—nothing else. I, uh, I wanted nothing more than to give her that."
Michonne never took her eyes off him, so when he glanced down at her, she was ready. She offered him a smile. She said, "she sounds amazing."
"She was…even in death," he agreed. "I'll never forget the last time she grabbed my hand—she told me everything'd be okay. I didn't know it, but it was the last time she'd be well enough to speak to me…"
"I guess we never know when it's the last time…until it is," Michonne pondered aloud. "Then everything's memory after that."
Rick nodded and let out a steady breath. He laid down beside her, on his back with his eyes up to the sky. She could almost feel his thoughts, his brain in motion as he stared into the infinite blue. She did the same.
"And Mike?" he asked finally. He turned his head to look at her.
She turned her head too. Tone at ease, she said, "you met him. What did you think?"
"I think he seemed like the kinda guy you'd want to be around," Rick answered sincerely. "My job requires me to judge people's character, and on that doorstep, I knew he was a good guy."
She smiled. "Yeah, he was. Everything I said about him yesterday? It was the truth. He was the positive one. Sometimes to a fault. It drove me crazy. We'd have a flat tire—Mike's take on the situation? It's not so bad, at least it's just a flat. Could be worse—could be two."
Rick chuckled along with her, and said, "I can imagine your face when he said that."
"You know I have no patience—I was done. He thought it was funny."
Another break happened, where they fell into a contemplative silence. The river's water frothed and crashed against the rocks arranged along the grassy bank. That coupled with Carl's hands clapping as he tried and failed to capture a frog became their momentary soundtrack.
"Did you ever think you'd fall in love again?" she asked quietly. Her voice was light but curious. "After you lost her?"
"No. I've never…I've never wanted to."
"Why?"
"I can't do it again," he said. His eyes found hers. "I can't lose another love."
She understood him completely, emotions welled up as the honest truth reflected itself at her. The high from earlier still existed, but so did a wistfulness which left her weighing every thought and every word. Much of it conflicted, and she saw it in his eyes. He knew what she knew.
"How do you love me?" she asked.
"Too easy—and out of my control." His hand reached over, his fingers trailing along her cheek then throat. "It's faster than I ever thought, but you…you already mean the world to me. I've told you before—all I want for you is happiness. No matter what. If you're happy, if you're safe…I can't ask for anything more."
They shared a smile then a kiss, soft, sweet and slow. Even after, she kept her eyes closed and sighed elatedly, face pressed into his chest as his hand smoothed circles on her back. Somewhere in the distance, standing between rocks, Carl cheered and said, "aha—finally caught one!"
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The town square was only mildly populated by the time they traveled over from the riverbank. Here and there people wandered in and out of shops. The occasional car drove by, unhurried as if the day offered endless time. Michonne and the father and son strolled along the sidewalk in the same way. The few passersby encountered seemed to slow up even more, almost stopping altogether, and threw the three a look.
The town movie theater came up after the drugstore and post office, and Rick led them to the ticket counter to pick a movie.
"I'm starving!" Carl held his tummy with both arms as they stood at the concession stand for popcorn. "Can I have a hot dog too?"
"You just ate thirty minutes ago," Rick said.
"Dad, you said it yourself—I'm a growing boy."
Rick and Michonne exploded into a laugh as Carl showcased an adorably wide smile himself. Too adorable to turn down. Rick sighed and conceded.
"Alright, but you better not try and guilt me into dessert later tonight."
"Here you go, three sodas, a large popcorn, and a hot dog," said the clerk. She stared at them with her big, almost bulging eyes. "Um, enjoy the film."
"Thanks," said Rick.
They turned and headed for their screen room, but not without Michonne throwing a last glimpse over her shoulder. The bulgy, bug-eyed redhead continued to stare. Striking her as odd, her lips downturned in a half-frown.
The theater itself was occupied by a few other movie-goers. Previews already started, the big room covered with rows of seating was shrouded in darkness. They chose their seats carefully, one of the middle rows facing the canopied screen. Carl gleefully sat in the row directly in front of them and slurped on his soda the instant his bottom touched the cushion.
"You don't fall asleep during movies, do you?" Michonne whispered when she spotted Rick, even in the shadowy room, looking heavy-lidded.
He grinned. "I'll do my best to make it to the end."
She giggled and rolled her eyes to herself as the preview wrapped up and the movie started.
Two hours later, the credits rolled on the lighthearted family comedy, and Carl climbed backwards into his seat to stare at the two. He snorted and shook his head at Michonne.
"He never stays awake!" he said. "Dad, dad—wake up!"
"I nudged him when he first fell asleep but I gave up after ten minutes," Michonne remarked. "He's hopeless."
Rick stirred as the overhead lighting gradually flicked on again. The others in the theater milled toward the exit. He stretched and yawned, looking refreshed and equally clueless.
"Good movie," he drawled.
"Are you kidding me?" Michonne asked.
Carl collapsed in his seat with laughter.
"What?" Rick blinked.
"You fell asleep during the first scene!"
"I was resting my eyes," he said. "I was listening all along."
Michonne folded her arms, left eyebrow extra sharp. "Oh, yeah? What was it about?"
Rick looked to Carl for the assist. The boy mimed a gleeful zipper across his lips.
"A family," he said vaguely. "And they, uh, they…go on a trip?"
"A trip? Really? Where?"
"Yeah, overseas somewhere and they forget their son, right? Something like that."
"You do know you just described Home Alone, right?"
Carl almost suffocated with laughter as he watched his father's face go pink.
"Oh. Well, I was…just testing you guys," he said, standing. "See if you were paying attention."
"Riiiight," said the boy.
The three were the last ones out the theater. Back outside in the May afternoon again, Carl haggled for some ice cream.
"What did I tell you about dessert?"
"But dad you said no dessert tonight—sun's still up!" Carl pointed out. He dashed ahead and stopped with palms pressed into the nearby ice cream shop window. "Come look, they really do have 31 flavors!"
"What just happened?" Rick asked.
"Looks like you got got," Michonne replied. "Smart kid."
"Yeah, and he's only ten," he said. He shook his head then chuckled. "Imagine when he's fourteen. We might need to draft up some sorta contract."
"You might need a lawyer," she teased.
"Funny, I seem to know one," Rick answered grinningly. "Name's Michonne Vause. Ever heard of her?"
"Actually, I have. She's good—the best in the game."
They laughed together with their eyes connected and sparked. The afternoon sun reflected brilliantly in her deep brown and his bright blue. In the short distance between their bodies hung the usual playful energy as they smirked and enjoyed the back-and-forth.
"Dad, how about it—a waffle cone!" Carl said. "Michonne, do you want one? What's your favorite flavor? Mine's fudge brownie."
"Carl, back away from the window. We're going to dinner."
"Okay, okay!" he said. "We'll have dessert at the restaurant."
Rick tossed an incredulous glance Michonne's way.
She shrugged, smirking, and said, "you have to give him credit—he doesn't give up easily."
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The Bell Jar was thought to be the best family restaurant for miles. People from all over the local area traveled to dine at the establishment, which meant it was almost always booked to max capacity on any given day. On the cusp between Rosewood and King's County, the parking lot alone hardly offered an opening.
It was as they crossed the asphalt to the front door that Michonne noticed two familiar cars. It was seconds after that, as they entered the restaurant, she spotted one of the bigger tables inside loaded with Winslows. The hostess promised to lead them to their table, but she stopped short. She didn't hide her long stare.
Gina cut off her conversation with Bob, rose from her chair, and rushed over. She said, "oh, hey, Michonne—out for some dinner?"
"Stella's feeling better?"
"She is. She's better," said Gina. "Well, enjoy your meal, alright? It was nice seeing you."
Michonne didn't return Gina's smile. "The charity wrap-up was never cancelled, was it?"
She watched firsthand as the shine on Gina's cordial face dimmed.
"Well…no," she answered. "It was this morning."
"Michonne, everything alright?" Rick came up from behind.
Neither woman moved, planted in the aisle between dining tables.
"Then why'd you tell me it was?" she asked.
"Look, Michonne, it was easier that way, okay?" Gina confessed. "We appreciate you coming all this way for the event. We do—you heard Uncle Ron—means the world to us you came. But…we think...it might be for the best if you…" she paused for her eyes to flicker from Rick to Michonne again. "We'd like to keep our distance from here on out. We don't want any messiness ruining things."
Completely caught off guard, Michonne's features changed, eyes narrowed and mouth tight. She could only manage an incredulous, "what are you talking about?"
"You're not from 'round here, so maybe you don't get it—everybody knows everybody. And we're trying to preserve Mike and J.J.'s memory. It's none of my business what you do on your own time, but when you bring it 'round my family, it is. Yesterday? At the event? How do you think that looked?"
"This is about Rick and I at the fair?" Michonne said, shock in her widened eyes. She glanced over her shoulder at him. "You can't be serious?"
Rick's head leaned to the side, his voice a growl. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Everybody saw you," said Gina with a headshake. "Look 'round you, Michonne."
Eyes still narrowed, teeth bit down onto her tongue, Michonne turned her head and looked around the restaurant. The neighboring tables tuned in to the confrontation as if it were a television drama. Most did so with scandalized faces, eyes doing once overs and heads shaking.
"People talk," Gina went on. "Cuddled up out in the open and then you get up on stage and talk about loving Mike—maybe in New York that's how y'all act, but we're big on family. It's not the kinda behavior we'd expect. Then you had the guts to leave with him last night."
Any residual clanging silverware or mumbled chatter died out as Gina reached the end of her sentence. It was as if every gaze in the place was glued onto Michonne.
But she couldn't move. Not for seconds after. The shock was a struggle to wear off as she tried to decipher the various emotions railroading her insides. There was the aforementioned shock then waves of confusion coming and going, flashes of anger, pangs of guilt, each one battling for supremacy in the tense silence.
"Lady, you've got some nerve," Rick snapped. "You don't know what you're—"
"—no use denying anything. I was at Bob's this morning. Guess who I saw coming out your house?" Gina interrupted loudly. "Michonne, I asked you not to come by this morning 'cuz a part of me still likes you—I was trying to make things easy—that way you don't have to worry about acting anymore. You can just run off and get into what you really—"
"—shut up!" Michonne snarled suddenly, anger the victor. Her hands curled inward to fists as she barely contained her flaring temper. She breathed heavily, shakily as she forced her tone to level itself. "Don't you ever try and say I didn't love that man—losing him almost made me give up on life, on everything. You don't know about that—the last year and a half of hell I've spent trying to work up the energy to even smile again. I don't give a fuck what you think, but you're not going to drag my relationship with Mike through the mud!"
Gina scoffed, arms folded. "You're a little late on the mud thing, don't cha think? I mean, honey, you've dragged it into the mud yourself with how you've conducted yourself. I can tell you this: Mike wouldn't've ever thought you'd be running around with that man—the man in the cabin across from us. The sheriff who responded to the car crash? And this past holiday when you revisited? What would Mike think? Was this a thing for y'all before or after he passed?"
Michonne almost blacked out as she moved to step forward, but Rick's hand seized her arm and held her in place. He said, "Michonne, let's go. She's not worth it—none of 'em are."
"Gina, enough!" shouted Aunt Beaty, rising. "You are outta line!"
"I'm saying what everybody's wondering," said Mike's cousin, unapologetic. "Y'all know it's true."
Michonne's blinding anger subsided as again the emotional storm she was lost in switched up on her. Her pulse sped into overdrive, heartbeat thunderous enough to batter her eardrums. The many stares blurred as the room itself tilted into a spin. She pivoted on her heel and made for the door.
"Michonne!" she heard someone call after her. The voice sounded like Stella's. She didn't turn to find out. "Honey, wait—"
"—NO!" Rick barked to the table. "You don't get to do this to her—you've done enough!" He glared at them and any other diners with venom, as if challenging them to speak up again. He turned and strode toward the exit, beckoning Carl along.
The perplexed ten-year-old hopped from the table the hostess had originally sat them at, and sprinted to meet his father at the door.
In the parking lot, Michonne stood by the truck, unsteady on her feet. She felt sick. When she tried to swallow, the thickness in her throat made her choke. She coughed and gasped for air. Rick's hand rubbed her back as he appeared at her side. Carl on her other side, looked desperate to make his friend smile again.
"I'm so…sorry," Rick whispered. "I never would've brought us here if…I had no idea…"
"Please just…," she said, voice strained. "Just…get me out of here."
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
They ordered pizza. It was enough to distract Carl as he chowed down on some cheese and pepperoni, and Rick sat with Michonne on the patio. Sun setting, the sky around them darkened from bronzed orange into deep purples and blues.
"I've been so naïve," Michonne said with a sigh. "I thought I could come here and say goodbye—I could make peace and maybe move on."
"Don't say that—there's nothing naïve about making peace and moving on," said Rick. He reached across the deck table and took her hand in his bigger one. "Hey, look at me, you've gotta remember that. You've done what you needed to do. This trip here is about you—not them. Honestly? Fuck them."
"I trusted them," she whispered tiredly. "All of them."
"Because you're a loving person…because you have a good heart," said Rick. "You didn't have to—you didn't have to keep them in your life, but you did because you cared. I love that about you. Don't let them in your head, alright? That Gina—she's…she's lashing out at you for her own shit dealing with everything. That's what that is. She doesn't wanna accept somebody else is finding closure."
She smiled at him, albeit a little dejectedly. She said, "you're always here for me. More than anyone. No matter what I'm going through."
"I want to be…"
"You said you want me to be happy," she told him. "I want that for you. You and Carl—you're both so special. I'm grateful for our time. I keep saying it, but…I am. Next time the sun comes up…"
"You don't gotta leave," said Rick. "Not yet. Stay longer—at least just a couple days."
The idea was wonderful. It made her heart swell. The image in her mind's eye, as Rick held her hand in his and her small, now watery smile lingered, was sublime. A moment in her head with no date or time stamp, and no one else to intrude. If only.
"I'd love that," she admitted. "I really would…"
The screen door slid open and Carl stuck his head out, ears perked with curiosity.
"That pizza was so good!" he exclaimed. "Michonne, are you sure you don't want some?"
"Hey, Carl," she said softly, throat still sore. "Thanks, but I think I'm good."
"Dad?"
"I'm alright too, thanks. Why don't you come on out?" he asked his son. "You've read enough comics the past few days."
"I didn't wanna see…" he looked hesitant and dug his sneaker into the ground. "I mean…Michonne, you're so sad…and I didn't wanna…"
"Oh, Carl, no," she said. She rose and went over to him, to pull him into a reassuring embrace. "I'm not sad. I'm happy to be here with you and your dad."
"But earlier…?"
"I'm sorry you had to see that. But…some people said some bad things."
"Is there anything I can do?"
His question was simple but earnest. So pure it touched Michonne's heart.
"Keep being you," she answered. "Because it makes me smile. Okay?"
"Okay. But only if it means you're not sad anymore. Promise?"
"It's a deal."
The two friends hooked pinkies on it. When Michonne returned to her seat, Rick gave her an appreciative nod.
"Fireflies," said Carl. He motioned to the grass, where buzzing, glowing insects flew spastic circles. "Wouldn't it be cool if I caught fireflies and frogs in the same day? Dad, can you teach me how?"
"Sure. Turn off the deck light and I'll teach you my secret," said Rick. He grinned across the table at Michonne next. "Both of you."
Five minutes passed them by, the backdrop darker than ever, dusk officially night, and they stood in the yard to catch fireflies. Carl hung on Rick's every word. He mimicked his body movements, but with extra flair. Any time Rick drifted forward to capture one in his palms, Carl added a leap to it.
"Now, trick is, you gotta be slow on approach—and quiet," said Rick. "You know what they say? Slow and steady. Jumping like that'll only scare 'em away, Carl."
"But I almost got him!" Carl panted. He hopped again with a flailing movement to snatch one, but missed.
Michonne released a laugh, tickled by the boy's silliness. Rick shushed them both.
"You'll never catch one if you don't keep quiet."
"Okay, okay…for real." Concentration fixed itself onto his freckly face. He moved Zenlike with his palms open, a miniature version of his dad. As one buzzed within his fingertips, he cupped his palms and entrapped him within. "Oh my god, how cool—look, look, here he is!"
"See, good job," said Rick, tousling his hair.
Michonne slowed up to watch them together. Her eyes became a camera and her memory the polaroid. Her breathing caught in her chest for a second or two. Inwardly, she fumbled to keep hold of the high. Each minute passed it felt slipperier and further out-of-reach…
"You alright?" Rick asked, turning to her. He kissed her cheek and squeezed her waist.
She nodded with the same small, watery smile from earlier. She said nothing.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
They played cards well past Carl's bedtime. Games like Gold Fish, Gin Rummy and mock poker with potato chips. That is, until they ate the bag. At some point, Carl fell asleep with his body swathed crookedly on the sofa. Rick and Michonne chuckled, and he moved to scoop up his son and carry him to his room.
Rick reentered the living room, and she witnessed him almost bracing for potential bad news. Maybe he thought it was then where she'd tell him she'd leave him.
"I'm exhausted," she said.
He gave an understanding nod. He said, "I'll drive you."
He walked for his keys on the mantle.
"If…if it's okay, I thought I'd stay here again…with you," she said quietly.
"Oh. Alright," he said. His smile was boyish. "I was hoping you would."
She stood up off the sofa and met him in the middle of the room. She cupped his face with her left hand, staring up at him as if studying him. He didn't shy from her searching eyes, but he did interrupt her study with a kiss that stole her breath away.
Her next breath of air didn't seemingly come 'til minutes later in his bed, her body under his. His lips left hers and ventured elsewhere. Each kiss planted drew something new out of her. A throaty moan escaped. Fingers combed through his wavy curls. The impatient pulse which throbbed between her thighs.
She'd never wanted anyone more than she wanted him. Never fallen so deeply in love like with him. That was the cruelest part of all, all things considered.
The thought floated through her mind as his hands roamed and worshipped her every curve. She helped him pull her tee over her head, and his mouth recaptured hers, hungrier than ever, his tongue tasting hers. She poured everything into the kiss, into him as she let his healing touch carry her away from her dread. Always in tune with her, he let her know with a breathy plea.
"Don't go."
The words mumbled between another heavy kiss were not lost on her.
"Rick…" she moaned, eyes flittering open as he moved to her neck again. His arousal pressed into her.
"Please," he said. He stopped altogether, out of breath as he hovered over her and looked her in the eye. "Tell me you're not gonna leave me."
"I don't want to," she whispered. Tears sprang to her eyes.
And just like that…the lustful haze vanished. Rick hung his head and then moved off her, to his side.
"How?"
She rolled onto her side to face him.
"How can we make it work?"
"Distance can't keep us apart," Rick said as his breath steadied. "We can still see each other."
"Will that grow old? A few times a year?" she asked. "Then what? One of us moves? I can't live here—not now, not after Mike, the Winslows. And you have Carl to think about. His school and his friends, your family…Lori's side."
"It can work," Rick promised. "We'll…we'll find a way…"
She rested her hand on his scruffy cheek. "I want us to…"
"Then we will. I love you."
"You shouldn't…because you'll lose me," she said. "It's not going to work. And…and the longer we try, the worse it'll be when it ends. When you told me you couldn't do it again—lose someone? I knew I couldn't hurt you..."
"Michonne…"
"I shouldn't have come here. I've made everything harder…on you, on Carl, Stella. I started over again. I should've stayed away."
"Shhh, c'mere." He pulled her into his arms as she buried her face into his chest. "Calm down, just breathe. It's alright, just…breathe."
By the time the last tear fell down her cheek, she was more drained than ever. But in the warm cocoon that were his arms, she felt safe. She clung to him as she savored his scent and pressed her lips to his chest. Her eyes grew heavy.
"You leaving is not gonna make me stop loving you," Rick said to her as she drifted off. "It doesn't work that way. I'm always gonna love you."
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Though sunrise came as magnificent as ever, with bright beams and a layered pastel horizon, it was lost on them in their weary silence.
There was not much left to say.
It felt like a morning of mourning.
She could see it in his blue eyes. He felt the same. Though he tried to respect her decision, she could tell it chipped away at him, and that made it hard to even meet his gaze.
"Are you sure you don't want anything?" he asked her.
She shook her head. "I'm good."
"Alright. Well…see you," he said. "Have a safe flight back."
"Thank you…" She hesitated and then hung her arms around his neck in a hug. "I appreciate everything, Rick…"
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him she loved him, but she kept it in. It'd only make her cry again.
"I've never wanted a 'thank you'," he said in reminder.
A ghost of a smile appeared on her face. She said, "I haven't forgotten."
"What's going on?"
The sleepy voice came from the hallway. A second later, Carl wandered into the living room with his hair disheveled and PJ's wrinkled. The astute ten-year-old, even in his half-asleep stupor, pieced together the scene right away.
"Michonne, are you leaving?"
She avoided looking his way as she tried to strength her resolve enough to manage doing so without becoming a mess.
Rick answered for her. "Carl, Michonne's plane leaves for New York."
"But…I thought…maybe…"
"I'm sorry," she said, turning to him at last. Her smile was weak. "I hoped I could stay longer, but it's for the best if I go now."
"Why?"
Michonne looked up at Rick. His jaw clenched. Neither answered for a few seconds.
"Aren't you guys together?" Carl asked. "Why would you leave?"
"I…I have to get back to my life in New York."
"And what about us? Will you come back?"
She tried to answer, but lost her voice. His eyes were big and round, and unrelenting.
"I don't know, but we'll always be friends," she said.
"You're sad again. You promised." The boy flipped his attention to his father for help. "Dad, do something."
"Carl, she's…gotta go," Rick said evenly. He exhaled a breath. "I'll walk you to the car."
"No…Michonne…"
"I'm sorry, Carl," she said sincerely, heart aching.
She gave the boy a parting hug then followed Rick out the door. They started down the path when Carl appeared in the doorway.
"I hope he doesn't…" she swallowed against a lump in her throat.
"He won't. He doesn't understand. I'll…talk to him."
"I'm so sorry," she whispered, halfway down the winded path. She stopped and turned to face him, to stare into his eyes one last time. "I heard what you said last night before I fell asleep."
Rick's hands burrowed deep in his jean pockets. He said, "it's true. You can walk away. But it's not gonna change how I feel."
"I know…"
"It's not gonna change how you feel."
She closed her eyes, more in a bid to hold in impending tears.
"What we have is real—and I wish you'd fight with me for us."
"Rick."
"We can make it—somehow—but it's not gonna come easy."
She shook her head again, opening her eyes to snap another photo of him. Then she couldn't resist herself and gave him a kiss. A tender one on the lips that voiced her goodbye.
Rick stayed where he was as she walked the rest of the way to the rental car. His face was pale, blue eyes glassy.
Michonne refused to look again. She turned the key in the ignition, hands shaking on the wheel, and pulled away from the curb. The drive to the airport was fifty-four miles, and she shed a tear for every single one traveled along the way.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Six and a half months later…
"You know what time it is," slurred Philip Blake over the microphone. "Christmas karaoke!"
Michonne and Andrea grinned at each other.
The jingle-jangle festive melody kicked off as the tall brown-haired man swayed to the music. Elsewhere, others cheered him on, sipped their drink, or sat and judged. Michonne being the latter, nudged her friend every time the man stumbled over a lyric or struggled to keep pacing.
"I know…I know…" Andrea groaned. "But, god, is he amazing in bed."
Michonne merely shook her head and nursed her drink.
Blake's cringeworthy karaoke thankfully ended, and another coworker named Eugene Porter took centerstage. Perhaps worse than Philip, Eugene's idea of karaoke was Weird Al sung monotone. Luckily, Andrea got up to meet Philip at the drinks table, and Michonne seized the opening to slip away unnoticed.
In her office, she gently shut the door and dropped into her seat behind her desk. The clock crept up on 6 P.M., so if she hurried she'd manage to fire off a few emails before the Christmas holiday. Her fingers worked their magic over the keyboard, moving at a lightning speed pace to churn out email after email. She clicked send on the last one and then looked out the window.
It flurried out, the busy streets sparsely dusted with white flakes. The sight made her yearn for her sofa, a glass of wine and a good movie. And P nagging her from whatever bookshelf he arbitrarily chose that evening. That was the extent of her holiday.
But then another thought struck her as her eyes returned to the computer screen. She clicked on the internet browser and in the box, she typed 'last minute ticket prices for Gainesville, Georgia'. She paused, conflicted even looking at the words typed out on the screen, and then hit the search button.
She scrolled through the airlines, an uptick in her heartrate.
An airline page loaded and the arrow hovered over the purchase button. Under her desk her right knee bounced. Her insides were knots. She breathed out then swallowed.
Never did she feel more like some sort of addict, compelled to give in to what she'd yearned for for so long.
"No," she whispered. She clicked the 'X' in the upper righthand corner. The airline ticket page disappeared in an instant, leaving her to stare at her desktop wallpaper. She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing.
There was a tap on the door. It opened, and the head cleaning lady popped her head in.
"Okay to come in?" she asked hopefully.
Michonne nodded. She said, "yes, of course. I was just, um, going home."
She walked out into the wintry street to the blear of horns and blinking red-green lights. She quickly wrapped her scarf and slid on her gloves as she set off down the two blocks to the next subway. It only took a few minutes in her brisk stride. She waited patiently on the platform amid the other busy subway riders. Beside her a child cried for a new toy. In front of her a businessman chatted away on his cell. Somewhere further off, out of her line of vision, a Salvation Army volunteer clanged a bell and asked for donations.
None of it was out-the-ordinary. That evening was easily interchangeable with many before it, and she was certain it'd be with the many after it, too.
She boarded when the train arrived and snagged a spot standing in the corner. Along the way, she did what she usually did on the subway. She entertained whatever musings came to her. That evening it happened to be the past few holidays. Two years later, it seemed longer since Mike had passed. Her memories remained, but they also seemed like another lifetime in a way.
Through her love and loss, she'd learned to live again. However fleetingly, she'd found another soul to connect with, and though things were too complicated to ever work with Rick, she knew she didn't regret falling for him. She knew she'd wait for the day where maybe things would be different, and maybe they could find some sort of loophole to be together again. She smiled to herself.
Maybe she would buy that ticket after all…
The train delivered her to her stop within twenty minutes. She held onto the rail as she climbed the steps onto the street-level again, and after a few more paces, she arrived at her apartment building.
Michonne joined the elevator already full with a family of four. The two kids bickered while the mother scolded. The father chuckled. She smiled politely at them and pressed the number 8. The family got off before her on floor 6.
"Can we have eggnog tonight?" asked the boy.
"Of course! I bought extra," the father answered as the elevator doors closed.
Alone again, the temptation rose higher than ever, alive in her veins and fluttering in her heart. Her mind was made up. The elevator doors parted and she stepped out in the hall, footsteps fast as she pulled out her keys.
Then she stopped. A sharp gasp escaped her.
Rick nudged Carl, and the two stood up from where they sat waiting in the hall.
Her vision tunneled, knees weak. She didn't move. She imagined things. She closed her eyes in a lengthy blink and looked again.
The father and son stood before her, as real as ever.
"Surprise," Rick drawled with a half-shrug. "We…we refuse to give up on you."
Michonne stifled her cry with her gloved hand, any speech a foreign concept to her as her head reeled.
"C'mere," said Rick. He opened his arms wide, pulling her in to a warm group hug with Carl. She dissolved into happy tears in their arms. "I told you you leaving wasn't gonna change a thing," he whispered to her. His lips came to her forehead. "Merry Christmas, Michonne."
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Author's Note: Okay, we have one full chapter and a epilogue left to go. Rick, Michonne and Carl will enjoy Christmas and finally find a way to be together. :) Thanks for reading. I always appreciate reviews, so please leave me one. Otherwise, I hope to update within the week. HAPPY HOLIDAYS! :)
