An abrupt knock at Michonne's bedroom door startled her from her typing. She paused her music.

It was him. It couldn't be anyone else but him. She contemplated pretending to have not heard the knock. The thought of having to face the person she'd been avoiding all day was as appealing as getting up from her warm spot on the bed.

Though, at this point, any distraction was a welcome one.

The article was a bust. Even with all the documents she'd sifted through on her USB, she had nothing. It made sense why Rick allowed her access. He'd found nothing substantial in months – or at least nothing substantial to report.

Unfortunately, she found as much as he did, if not less. Her highly-anticipated article consisted of two and half miserable sentences about the weather and a sardonic comment about the efficiency of customs and border protection. She was too embarrassed to even consider sending it to Carol to revise.

She needed to write something and soon. Her patience was wearing thin.

For now, she'd take what she could, starting with this visit.

The warmth of the laptop faded from her legs as she shut it and placed it next to her on the bed. She stretched her stiff limbs, her frustration blowing away with a huff. Taking a moment to compose herself, she cracked the door open.

Her roommate stood in the shadows, his back toward her, his head dipped as he pinched his full bottom lip. It was a gesture she was beginning to recognize as a nervous tick. He was so lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice her. A mercy, she decided as her eyes began to roam.

He looked good, even in a t-shirt and jeans. His now familiar scent rolled off of him, enticing her. She blinked, biting her bottom lip, her eyes sliding up to his curls. Why did he have to have curls? Of all the hairstyles in the world, he had to wear the one that always managed to break down her defenses. Once again, it took all her willpower to resist testing their softness with her fingers.

Before she did something she'd regret, she shook off the surge of desire and opened the door ajar. "Rick?"

Startled from his thoughts, he stared up at her.

Michonne was a gorgeous woman, it was undeniable. But the way she looked, standing in her bedroom doorway, jolted life into his entire being. She filled out a pair of lounging shorts like nobody's business. Her loose-fitting, cropped t-shirt revealed a hint of her toned abs, making him blush. Yes, she was gorgeous but right now, she was damn near irresistible.

Clearing his throat, he forced his eyes to look down at the patch of floor near her manicured bare feet. "You busy? I can come back later." He peeked up at her.

She'd avoided him since yesterday when he convinced her to be his assistant. He didn't blame her. Hell, he'd be pissed if someone had pulled something like that on him. Although, that wasn't the only reason she was upset with him: she found out about Gargulio. Maggie was keeping a close surveillance on her since that morning. She'd immediately texted him about the files she'd opened on his computer.

He should've known she would find out. He reneged on his oath to keep her in the loop. As expected, it drove a passive aggressive wedge between them – a wedge he was on a mission to eliminate. And judging by her stoic expression, he wasn't off to a great start.

Michonne sensed the guilty purpose of his visit emanating from him. He looked like a stray standing at her doorstep, cautiously sniffing for a hint of mercy. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't upset with him, though she came to realize the logic behind his actions. He kept information from her. What else could she expect from a government agent?

Though, it appeared that he was ready to come clean. She held back a smile. For being an agent, Rick Grimes was easy to read – almost too easy.

Holding back her comments on his lack of a poker face, she set a neutral expression. "I'm not too busy." She stepped back, wordlessly inviting him in.

He nodded effusively as he took a step closer, his hands jittery with nerves. "I, uh, I wanted to apologize for springing that job on you."

She rested her head against the door and quirked her eyebrows, gazing down at his black jeans and black socks. She'd almost forgotten. Though she didn't mind having a job to distract her, it would have been nice to have a heads up. At least today she went into the office feeling more prepared. Though that confidence had done little to mend the recent strain between the two of them.

Rick studied her. Aside from her clothing choice, she looked anything but relaxed. The creases between her brows and downturned mouth reassured him of that.

He fucked up. He knew it the moment he walked back into his office after his meeting. She'd done enough by agreeing to marry him and move into his house. Expecting her to work as his assistant was pushing things too far. It was why he waited until she had no choice but to accept.

It was a cowardly move on his part but one that was less complicated than giving her the chance to reject it. He was lucky she hadn't packed her things and told him to fuck off that very moment. He was lucky she wasn't telling him to fuck off right now.

When she remained silent, he continued explaining himself, "I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to talk me out of it."

She squinted at him.

"You could've." He nodded assuredly.

She tilted her head. "You think I'd refuse?"

He shrugged. "Most people would."

"Rick," she closed her eyes, seeking patience, "I'm here on assignment, I'm not here to play games with you. We agreed to work together and that's what we're going to do."

He scraped his bottom lip against his teeth, pondering why the thought of her referring to them as "we" made his ego inflate like a hot air balloon. He knew he didn't deserve her reassurance but it felt good to have it.

Quelling his elation, he finally nodded in agreement. "Okay." Giving her an even stare, he communicated his sincere remorse for acting like an ass. "I'm sorry."

The tension that had been building up since yesterday fell from her shoulders. There was no point in remaining upset. She could only reiterate her earlier point, "We're in this together. Both of us."

He nodded, gazing down with a softened expression. "Yeah." He looked up at her in determination. "We are."

The silence between them reaffirmed their commitment. Sensing the perfect moment to breach the topic that had plagued her mind all day, she added, "Anything else we need to clear up?"

He placed his hands on his hips, his fingers tapping against his jeans. Avoiding his duty was no longer an option. She had approached the point of no return and he would have to usher her past it. It was a daunting responsibility. It was one he wanted to take his time handling.

"Yeah. Yeah, there is something," he confirmed.

He studied her before his intense features melted away. Avoiding it wasn't an option but surely prolonging the inevitable was workable.

Making up his mind, he gave her a charming smile. "How about we eat dinner first?"


An hour later, they sat at a dimly lit dining table, their meal consumed. Enjoying a light conversation, they finished off their glasses of wine.

Michonne sat back in her chair, her stomach fully satisfied. "I had no idea you could cook." She took a sip from her glass.

Instead of claiming any culinary talent, he asked the question he was dying to ask her, "Did you like it?"

"I'd never tried chili mac n' cheese before," she admitted, amending her claim, "Together, anyway." It was a delicious combination she would never have tried on her own, a dish of Southern comfort and tastiness.

"Good?" His eyes sparkled, trying to pry out her opinion.

She gave him an unconvinced look. His face slightly fell before she broke into a wide smile. "It was the best tasting chili mac n' cheese I've ever had."

He gave her a boyish grin. Feeling nostalgic, he shared a sudden memory, "My mom used to make it for my birthday. She got the recipe off a package of noodles, way before my time. So when I left for the academy, she showed me how to make it."

"But it's not your birthday." She remarked, remembering the actual date. She arched her eyebrow. "Is it something you make often?" She glanced down at his flat stomach. If he ate this all the time, he had one hell of a metabolism.

Catching her wandering gaze, he laughed out loud. "Nah, it's too much for one person," he admitted, patting his stomach. "I only make it on occasion."

His laugh filled her with delight. "It's a good thing you balance it out with a salad then."

He tilted his head, looking away from her. "Well, when you get to be my age, eating vegetables stops being an option." His gaze settled on her, warming her body. "As does eating chili mac n' cheese by yourself."

She gave him a curious look, his last statement throwing her off.

Sensing her confusion, he winced, clarifying, "Weeks of leftovers."

She nodded in understanding, though she knew leftovers had nothing to do with his unusual declaration. She quietly drank her wine, choosing to ignore the suggestiveness of it.

He took a moment to collect his thoughts. Aside from that moment of brilliance, the evening had passed by rather enjoyable. He liked spending time with her. Not only was she intelligent and clever, she was warm, kind, and funny. The more he got to know her, the more entranced he became. If she wasn't already married to him, he'd ask her out on a proper date.

He peeked up at her. Her eyelashes brushed against the delicate skin of her cheeks as she sipped from her glass. A smile twitched at his lips. Less than a week ago, this breathtaking woman blew him off in a coffee shop. Now, she was sitting in front of him, enjoying a home-cooked meal. Who could've imagined?

He could laugh at the strangeness of it. Unfortunately, there was no time for musing over the quirks of life. And though he would have liked to spend the rest of the evening getting to know her better, work came first.

He cleared his throat and stood, collecting the dishes from the table. "You have questions," he stated, not wanting to waste any more time yet eager to avoid it.

She was taken aback by his quick change of pace. She watched him as he took the dishes to the sink. He busied himself rinsing out the dishes, pots, and pans, then loading them into the dishwasher.

Sensing his reluctance to face her, she retrieved the empty glasses from the table and joined him. She quietly took the sponge and began hand-washing the glasses, softly concurring, "I do have questions."

Feeling the warmth of her body near his arm, he sucked in his cheeks before letting out a steadying breath. He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she washed the fragile glasses. Once she finished, the stream of water stopped. The hum of the dishwasher and her calm demeanor filled the silence.

He took a deep breath. "Alright." He gave her a nod to proceed, passing the kitchen towel to her.

She took a moment to collect her thoughts, drying her hands on the towel. She turned to him and laid it out for him. "I read all your files. I know you've been going after La Leña and its leader, the Governor. You don't know who he is yet but he's powerful. You're thinking it could be someone in the department but you haven't officially declared anything. You're waiting for your moment because so far, every lead you've had has led to a dead end."

He studied her gaze, his silence reaffirming her analysis.

She pointedly added, "Except for this morning in Juarez."

He looked away, wondering if he was truly ready to tell her.

"What do you know about what happened to Neil Gargulio?"

His silence urged her to prod him to answer. "Rick?"

He leaned back against the counter, gripping the edge and closed his eyes. He couldn't continue lying to her, even if it was through omission.

His confession tumbled out, "Daryl, me, and a few others followed a lead a few days back. A produce truck was being used to transport drugs and guns through Juarez. Everything was in place until it wasn't."

He swallowed back the frustration that still resided in the back of his throat. "Somebody tipped 'em off. I thought I could find something if I went back to where it happened. I planned on taking a trip to Juarez to see what I could see. Then I got a tip this morning."

He eyed her, his fingers tapping nervously. "Gargulio, the driver, he was staying in Juarez, laying low. An entitled, American burnout who got in deep with the wrong people. He owed them – more than he thought. So I drove down there to talk to him, get more information, and convince him to give up some names."

She took a moment to process the information. "Did he?"

"Nah." He couldn't hold back a sneer. "Nah, he chose to say nothing but the wrong thing."

She squinted at him, unsure of what that meant.

He finally admitted the staggering truth. "He knew about you, about us."

Her heart pounded in her chest. The impact of his statement pushed her back against the counter, mimicking his stance. She crossed her arms, knitting her brow as all kinds of worst case scenarios ran through her mind.

He gauged her reaction. "He said they knew we were together. I don't know if that meant they knew about our arrangement but they know about you. The cartel, the Governor, they know."

Ice cold terror spread through her veins. She was on the radar of a very real, very dangerous cartel and their leader. She hadn't felt this kind of fear since Sierra Leone. She suppressed the panic that threatened to make her waver. "How can you be sure?"

"I'm not but it was a risk I wasn't willing to take. I increased our surveillance, had Maggie follow up on some leads. So far, nothing's out of the ordinary."

It couldn't be that uncomplicated. They were in danger now. Their anonymity was gone, possibly even their cover. The panic was beginning to set in as a sea of questions escaped her lips, "Then what happened? You went down to see this guy and he ends up dead? Did they think he was an informant? Were they watching him?"

Sensing her distress, he swallowed back the dread building inside him. "He didn't have ties with any agencies and the cartel was done with him."

She narrowed her eyes. "How do you know that?"

Unable to hide his fidgeting fingers, he pushed away from the counter. He began packing away the leftovers in the fridge, avoiding her question. "I looked into him."

She waited for an answer.

It took him a few moments to organize the containers of leftovers in the fridge. He closed the door and blinked down at the ground. "Then I killed him."

She stared at his back in silence, the impact of his words settling in her stomach.

Rasping out his revelation, he kept his gaze straight ahead. "Working in a cartel, he would have had eyes on him at all times. He didn't. He'd served his purpose. I wouldn't have been surprised if they'd already sent someone to finish him off. So I tried talking with him." He turned to look at her. "He wasn't interested."

She remained silent, still processing his words.

He took her silence as a judgment on him. Letting his frustration get the better of him, he huffed, "If it wasn't me, it would've been someone else."

A sour taste tingled on her tongue. As hard as she could, she couldn't wrap her mind around it. Rick killed someone. Plain and simple. He woke up that morning, killed a guy, went to the gym to wash away the evidence, and came home to give her a wedding ring.

How had it gotten to that point? What could have pushed him to murder someone in cold blood?

A major headache throbbed in her temples and behind her eyes. "Why?"

His jaw twitched. "It had to be done."

"That's not," she tempered her harsh tone, taking a calming breath, "That's not a reason."

He rested his hands on his hips. The tension in the room was thick. This was what he was trying to avoid.

He squeezed his eyes shut, providing his reasoning, "He wouldn't talk and the little he did, he wasted it on threats."

She blinked at him as he calmly stared back.

"He's not my first and he isn't my last. If I have to, I'll do it again."

His words were unwavering. She knew it was the truth. He wouldn't hesitate. It was his job. Yet, her thoughts were conflicted.

She understood the danger of threats. Threats had the potential to destroy, to get someone killed. She couldn't say she would have reacted the same but she couldn't say she would have reacted any differently. Murder was murder. Not allowing people to forget that was the main reason why she was still a journalist. She always stood up for what was right and fair but this situation wasn't as simple as it seemed.

Would she have done things differently if she were in Rick's exact position? She didn't know but she knew she couldn't hold it over his head.

She exhaled, resigned to accept his reality, their reality. "I know."

He gave her a look.

"Rick," she paused before carefully continuing, "You're going to do what you need to do. I know what you are and I know what that means."

He remained silent.

"I'm not here to stop you. I'm here to shine a light on the corruption that tears families apart and gets innocent people killed. I'm here to find the source of that corruption. As far as I can tell, you're not the source of it."

"I'm not."

"Good."

He paused a moment before apologizing, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"I know."

"It won't happen again," he vowed.

She nodded, accepting his promise.

Though they continued cleaning up in silence, her thoughts buzzed in her head. She could accept what was done was done but it didn't mean she was in favor of it happening again. She had to say something.

"You really didn't have a choice?"

He halted. "What?"

"Gargulio, you said it had to be done."

He set down the towel he was using to clean the counters, giving her his full attention.

"That choice, to decide if someone lives or dies, how do you make it?"

He narrowed his eyes. "You mean, eliminating threats?"

That's how. He saw them as threats. She looked down in understanding.

He sighed. "Sometimes that's the job, 'Chonne. It isn't about what's right or what's wrong; it's about who survives and what that means for everyone else left livin'."

When she glanced up at him with a neutral expression, he went on to further defend his reasoning. "Gargulio was a pawn. He was going to be sacrificed one way or another. That future was set. I just helped it along."

Her silence was unnerving. He couldn't tell if she understood or if she was judging him. Doubt finally set in. Could there ever be a good enough reason to kill someone? His uncertainty wasn't sitting well with him.

Backing himself into a corner, he lashed out, "Besides, why does it even matter? He was nobody. He meant nothing. Even the bullet that went through his head served a greater purpose than him. Why would you care?"

Noticing her body tense up, he immediately regretted his defensive tone. He wasn't upset at her: he was upset with himself.

Since she'd come into his life, he'd done a shit job of handling things. None of it was her fault but he was having a hell of a time coming to terms with the fact that he had no idea what he was doing. Being responsible for somebody else – somebody he'd grown to care about – was not his strong suit.

Before he could apologize for being harsh, she shut down any chance of him justifying himself.

She looked up at him with a pained expression, taking a breath to steady herself. After months of avoiding it, she finally revealed the reason behind her anguish.

"It's how Mike died."

Not waiting for a response, she excused herself, walking away before her emotions had a chance to overpower her.

Rick stood frozen, his heart falling to the floor. There was no way for him to have screwed up more than he had at that moment. Any chance of the night going the way he would've hoped was gone.

He closed his eyes and hung his head in shame.

"Fuck."


A few minutes later, he found her sitting in the dark, the images of the muted TV flashing in front of her. She sat cross-legged on the furthest end of the couch, hugging one of the pillows in front of her.

"Dessert's still in the fridge."

She remained silent.

"Homemade chocolate pudding. You said it was your favorite."

She continued blinking at the TV.

He sighed, wearily sitting on the other end of the couch. He scrubbed his hand over his face. Exhaustion settled in his bones. It had been a long day and it was turning into an even longer night.

He couldn't leave her like this. She needed to know he wasn't a cold-blooded killer who went around shooting people for fun. He scratched at his eye with his thumb and paused a moment before a confession spilled itself out.

"Five."

She knit her brow, her eyes sliding to his hunched over position.

"Five people in the ten years I've been an operative. Four of them were targets. Each one a terrorist in their own right."

He paused, remembering their faces. "They'd shed innocent blood, led corrupt lives, had no regret and no intentions of stopping. Each one was given a fair chance to make a change. I even gave them a second chance though I was going against my orders. And each time, they tried to kill me."

A sneer pulled at his lip, the moments invading his head. "But I killed them first."

It was easy to get overwhelmed with anger at the injustices and cruelty those men had imposed on others. They were people who were alive only because they had the money to keep themselves alive. He took a steadying breath, clearing his mind, letting go of the fury that came with their memory.

He continued his confession, "Gargulio, I sought him out myself. He had no one. No family, no friends, nobody who cared about him. It's why I thought intimidating him would be enough," he closed his eyes, reliving the moment, "but then he opened his mouth. He threatened me. He mentioned you. He threatened you."

She looked over at him, her breath short and fast. She had no idea.

His eyes hardened in resolve. "I can't…I can't take it back – I wouldn't if I could. I have to keep you safe. You're too important now." He gazed at her, honesty reflecting in his eyes.

She took a deep breath, pushing down the overwhelming emotions she was feeling. He did it to keep her safe. She didn't know how to process the idea that he was thinking of her well-being in a moment like that. She stared at him, her heart beating with an emotion she didn't want to recognize.

"Rick," she shook her head, looking down at her knees to steady herself, "I don't need you to do that. Not because of me."

He gazed at her sympathetically. He could see her fighting against her guilt but he knew that she understood. He was CIA, his job meant he couldn't take risks. He had a mission and she was part of that. His choices revolved around the both of them now. It was a responsibility he wouldn't take lightly.

He murmured, "I can't promise I won't."

She nodded, ready to reveal her story in the hopes of him understanding her request. She reluctantly released her grip on the pillow. It was time to share the burden she carried. She faced him, squaring her shoulders. Keeping her eyes closed, she relived the horrific experience that changed her life forever.

"Two years ago, Mike and I went to Sierra Leone on assignment. We were there for a few weeks, looking into the Ebola outbreak. Government officials weren't addressing the issue as effectively as they should've been. Hundreds of people, children, died. We suspected corruption but our goal was to bring attention to the issue through the people's stories. Mike would take the pictures and I would write."

She took a deep breath as everything surged forth. "One night, the village was visited by a group of uniformed men claiming to be government officials. Being that we were American journalists, we weren't welcome by the government at that time so we were told to hide. And we did, until they decided to round up a few kids."

Her face hardened. "I don't know if it was what he'd smoked that morning or if he was feeling particularly brave that day but Mike confronted them. He demanded to know where they were taking them."

Her lips trembled, the corner of her eyes stinging with tears. She spoke softly, "They forced him to his knees. They didn't even give him a chance to speak. They shot him close-range. Then they set fire to one of the homes and took the kids." She sharply inhaled at the cutting pain in her chest, her voice breaking, "All I could do was watch."

She cupped her mouth to hold back the terror threatening to overwhelm her. It was the first time she'd recounted the story in its entirety. She'd shared bits with Andrea and her therapist but he was the first person to get the full account. The dread that accompanied the memory, released itself through the unexpected sobs that wracked her body.

He immediately made his way to her, wrapping her huddled form in his arms. He pulled her against his solid chest as she cried out her grief after a year of holding back. He whispered soothing words, resting his lips against her locks.

The emotions that held up the walls between them came crumbling down. Their shared vulnerability mended the fractured trust between them. It had taken ripping off the masks they hid behind but they were finally on the same page. A sense of relief made its way into their hearts.

Rick held her close for several minutes until her sobs turned into soft hiccups. He didn't mind, he would've held her for hours if that's what she needed.

Realizing what she'd done to his shirt, she uneasily pulled away from his chest and roughly wiped away her tears. "Sorry, I didn't…"

"No," he firmly interrupted, indifferent to the damp spot on his chest, "You don't need to apologize."

His earnest tone left no room for argument. She nodded, wiping away a few more tears.

He stood up and mumbled, "Let me…" as he scurried away to retrieve a box of Kleenex. He handed it to her, resuming his position next to her, and gently rubbed her arm.

She pulled a few tissues out. "Thank you."

He'd made a complete ass of himself. He'd acted impulsively without any regard to how it would affect her. He didn't know the full story but now that he did, the regret choked him. "I'm sorry, Michonne."

She continued wiping her face and shook her head, sensing his remorse. "You didn't know."

She didn't need to make excuses for him. He should have thought things through, found another way. At any rate, this wasn't about him. This was about what she'd survived. "That shouldn't have happened. You shouldn't have had to see something like that," he asserted, "Mike was a good man for doing the right thing."

A small smile tugged at her lips. "He was." She looked up at him through her wet eyelashes. "But I know things aren't always that simple."

Seeing her upset did something to him. He felt angry; angry at the cruelty and trauma she had endured, angry at himself for being so obtuse. She deserved better. She deserved a safe and vibrant life. What he'd done had not afforded her with the trust and safety she needed.

He admonished himself, "I should've told you. I thought the less you knew, the safer you'd be."

She remained silent, sniffling away the last of her tears, pocketing the tissue.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, pleading for forgiveness with his gaze.

Looking into his dimly illuminated eyes, she knew she had nothing to forgive. He'd done his job in keeping them safe. She shakily inhaled, resting back against the couch. He didn't need to present her with an apology. Right now, all she needed from him was comfort, some way to ease the anxiety that was taking its time to fade away. She grabbed his hand, entwining their fingers, awaiting her apprehension to dissipate.

He held his breath at the feeling of her warm touch.

"I'm sorry about your shirt," she said softly.

Finding his voice, he hoarsely replied, "I'll be alright."

She nodded, contemplating his hand in hers. "I'll be alright, too."

Her words brought him a sense of relief. He hadn't totally screwed up things between them. From now on, whatever she needed, he'd be the one to give it to her.

Unwilling to allow their arrangement to fall into disarray again, she made a decisive request. "No more bullshit." She looked up at him expectantly.

He agreed without hesitation, "No more bullshit."

She nodded, stroking her thumb over his. She stared down at their intertwined hands again. His were strong and calloused, hers slender and smooth. The rage and sadness she expected to feel after sharing her dark moment didn't come. She felt at peace, calm and content. Sitting next to him on this couch, his hand in hers, felt natural. It was as if they'd done this in a past life and they were just picking up where they left off.

Reluctant to let go, she sighed, "I'm tired."

He maintained his silence for fear of ruining the moment with words.

She squeezed his hand and released it, standing up, ready to bring the long day to an end. He stood with her. Unease settled between them, a natural reaction to the intimacy of the moment. They laughed nervously before he put an end to it by offering her a hug. She tentatively buried her face in his firm shoulder and wrapped her arms around his back. Peace settled upon her as he soothingly rubbed her back.

After a moment, he pulled away and looked down at her. "You okay?"

"Yeah."

He squinted at her unsurely. "Are we okay?"

She closed her eyes with a smile. "Yeah, we're okay." She warmly gazed up at him.

He smiled at her tenderly. Something about his eyes unlocked the self-assurance she sealed away a year ago. She felt ready. She wasn't sure for what but her heart hammered in her throat in anticipation. The tension between them nearly caused sparks to emit from their bodies.

Seeing the openness of her gaze, his smile faltered. He searched her eyes, confirming that he wasn't just imagining the message she was sending. He tentatively leaned down, his eyelids growing heavy. She drew him in like a magnet. He paused near her lips, allowing her one last opportunity to set him straight.

She closed the distance.

The feel of her lips struck him, roaring through him like thunder. She was a summer storm, a sudden and mighty tempest. Her supple caress was both a welcome reprieve and refreshing renewal of life.

The kiss was tentative, at first. She gripped at his biceps as he lightly held her waist. Once they'd familiarized themselves with each other's' caress, they boldly plunged forward.

His lips glided across hers, testing her pliability with his tongue. She welcomed him, pulling him closer, edging her fingers into his curls. Her mouth was a warm and luscious retreat. He couldn't get enough.

The sound of their exploring lips filled the living room. Their deep intakes of breath added to the heavy ambiance of their newfound intimacy. The urges built up within them. It drew them closer, his hand finding its way to the slope of her ass, pulling her against his hard body.

It was his loud groan of pleasure that broke the trance.

She pulled away, catching her breath as she rested her forehead against his. He held her hips steady as she caressed his cheek. He leaned against her forehead, his parted mouth already yearning for her.

Her thumb dragged across the corner of his swollen lips and down his chin. "We shouldn't," she whispered, unwilling to step away from his addicting heat.

He swallowed back the desire pouring through his body. He knew she was right. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to follow through. "I know."

After a moment, her hands lowered to his chest. He watched her intently, looking for any sign that she'd changed her mind.

With her breath returning to normal, she pulled away and gazed up at him with a solemn look. "Goodnight, Rick."

She slid her hands down his forearms, easing his grip on her, and released his hands with a squeeze. Stepping back, she gave him a faint smile before sweeping her hair over her shoulder and padding away. The natural sway of her hips mesmerized him.

His heated gaze followed her until she vanished upstairs. When his brain cells finally reacted, he gulped down a breath of air, his eyelids fluttering in a daze. It took all his willpower to resist following her and exploring the desire that blazed in his belly.

His eyes wildly searched the dimly lit room, trying to find his balance. With one kiss, she'd knocked his world out of orbit. The boundary was crossed and there was no coming back.

Rick ran his fingers through his hair, gripping at his roots. An incredulous smile spread across his lips. Something was blooming inside of him. A myriad of unfamiliar emotions roared through him.

This woman would be the end of him, an end he'd be happy to embrace.


*shyly waves* Hi.

It's been a while, ay? I hope y'all don't mind an update.

I could write a list of reasons to explain my absence but I'd rather take some time to say thanks.

Thank you to every single one of you who reviewed and sent me messages about this story. You have no idea how much I depend on your support to help me produce something beyond incoherent jibberish. I love you all so much!

I will do my best to update this story soon but until then, I'm dying to hear what you thought. I know I promised a slow burn but is this slow enough? Does the burn have enough scorch to it? Are they moving too fast? Too slow? Where do you think Rick and Michonne are going to take it from here? Your thoughts are my inspiration. :)

Much love!

Your ever grateful writer,

semul