A/N: Hi everyone, I hurried to get this chapter posted today specifically for Trinrichonnetrash because of her lovely DM. Thanks to all of you who have contacted me, here or on Tumblr, with kind words for this story. I am having a blast writing this and your comments are the best part. With the holiday weekend, the next update might be a little slower to come (which you might kill me for once you see where this one ends lol) but I am working on it and will try to update again soon. Thanks for reviewing!

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"I knew it, Michonne. I knew something was up from the minute you got back. How could you do this to me?"

"Mike, please," she said, holding her hands up to try to convince him to lower his voice. They were standing outside the bar on the sidewalk, busy with college kids who were getting a head start on the weekend. Andrea was hovering a safe distance away, watching it all unfold. "I know you think this is about Rick, but it's not."

"Bullshit. You sneak off to call him behind my back, and I'm supposed to believe that? I'm the only reason you even had the opportunity to take this job, and you used it to cheat on me."

"I didn't cheat on you," she said, her voice losing its conviction as she remembered how close she had come. "I wouldn't let anything like that happen. Neither would Rick. But I did start to realize some things while I was gone."

"Like what? That you had a shot to climb the ladder a little higher? Some bigger coattails to ride on?"

Michonne took a step back, narrowing her eyes. "Mike, you're hurt, so I'm going to let that slide," she said, but her tone had lost all of its trepidation. "You know I don't care about climbing any ladder. You're the one always begging me to go with you to mingle, and wine and dine."

"That's right, Michonne. When it comes to my job, I have to beg. He goes around trashing his own career and you rush off to...to...what? Save him?"

"I'm sorry if it felt like that to you," she said. "I didn't mean for it to. But you're right; it wasn't fair to you. Don't you see that is what I'm trying to fix?"

"By breaking up with me for the guy who you want me to run an exclusive story on in my magazine? Do you even know how that is going to make me look?" He shook his head and glared at her. "It's not like people don't know who we are."

"I'm not breaking up with you for him," she said, cautiously. There was another edge to this sword that she hadn't fully allowed herself to contemplate yet, but she felt it getting sharper by the second. "I'm just...breaking up with you for me."

"You know what? Go ahead, Michonne. Hitch your wagon to that falling star. But you can forget about printing your little story in my magazine. If you think I'm doing either of you any favors, you're insane."

"Mike, please. Don't be like this. None of this is his fault."

"Listen to yourself, Michonne. A month ago you would have been shaking your damn head at a guy like that. What was it you said? Entitled jerks, right? Maybe I got a new story idea." He waved his hand across the air, as if highlighting a headline. "Entitled jerk punches his teammate in the jaw for stealing his girl, then turns around and steals someone else's."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I? I guess we'll see. Have a nice life, Michonne. I'm sure it's about to get real exciting, just like you hate."

Mike stormed off down the sidewalk, his phone to his ear, summoning a ride, and Andrea came rushing to her side.

"Well, that went terribly," Michonne said, her hands shaking as she fumbled for her keys. Despite herself, she felt the tears beginning to spill from her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Michonne," Andrea said, wrapping an arm around her. "I know you didn't want it to go down like that, but I think he just proved exactly what kind of guy he is."

She nodded, wiping at her eyes, before letting the air out of her lungs. "Maybe so, but how am I going to break this to Rick...and Hershel?"

It was early morning when Rick finally climbed under the covers, letting his head sink into the pillow, and his bleary eyes close. He'd been watching the DVR recording of the game since he arrived home, trying to study his own mechanics in an effort to find something concrete he could put his focus on. But focusing seemed to be the only problem he could identify. He could see it in his own eyes- his thoughts straying, the moment the crowd started to get to him- only now he could also see the look on Morgan's face before he pulled him from the game, and his teammates in the field as they watched him unravel.

Once he'd given up on watching himself pitch, and tried for sleep, the rest of the night began to haunt him-the incident with the autograph shark, the phone call from Michonne. He flipped over on his stomach, replaying the conversation in his head. He'd been sitting in his truck in the driveway, simmering in his own misery, when the phone began to ring through the Bluetooth. Her number flashed across the screen and his palms began to dampen with a nervous sweat. The last thing he needed was to dive backwards into the complicated feelings he had for her after successfully pushing them down since he got back from King County. He was tired of the 'tell him what he could have won' moments. But even from the depths of his self-pity, he'd been unable to resist hearing her voice. He was already laying on the rocky bottom, why not take just one more hit and bury himself there? he thought.

Of course Michonne had said exactly what he needed her to, even if he didn't want to hear it from her. He knew he had a tendency to eat his own heart; every woman he'd ever met had complained about it, from Lori, to Carol- even his mother, when she was still alive, had told him he was worse than a dog with a bone when he was wrestling with himself. But unlike Lori, Michonne didn't hide from it, and unlike Carol, her real-talk was forbearing, load-lightening. She hadn't let him off the hook, but there was clemency in her tone that made him want to give himself a break for once.

Then she'd confessed what he'd wanted to hear so badly-that she was still stuck on that porch the same way he was- and all at once the heaviness returned. Didn't she know he had spent the last few weeks telling himself it was in his head? Convincing himself that the feeling wasn't mutual? Because if it was, the fact that he couldn't have her was nothing more than the proof he needed that there were either/or's in life, despite Carol's optimistic pep-talk. He needed what Michonne gave him, but he also needed a little peace, and unless he had all of her, the two were mutually exclusive.

He glanced at the clock, counting the handful of hours he had until Carl would be up, and summoned some mental exercises he'd learned to force his mind to go blank. Tomorrow he would wake up to a new news cycle and fresh scrutiny, he might as well give tonight over to the past.

...

The next morning, Michonne flipped her phone over nervously in her hand, trying to gather the courage she needed to try Rick again. She hadn't slept more than a few hours the entire night, the fight outside of the bar replaying on a loop in her head, and keeping her from finding any solace in her comfortable bed. On the one hand, she was appalled at the scene Mike had made. On the other, he'd erased any lingering doubt that she was doing the right thing.

All she wanted was to see Rick and tell him what she had tried to tell him on the phone the night before, but the other side of that coin was weighing on her. After last night, Rick needed this story even more than before, and she'd put a huge wrench in the plan. He'd been an innocent bystander in this thing between her and Mike, and he somehow ended up with the most to lose. Maybe Mike would cool off, sleep off his petty retaliation, but she somehow didn't think so. She was going to have to have to tell him and she wanted to do it in person. She typed out a message to him, quickly hitting the send button before she could lose her nerve.

"I need to speak to you in person. Please, Rick. It's important."

Rick was waving Carl off to school from the cab of his truck when he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He pulled it out, reading the message and running a hand over his face. He had woken up, feeling guilty for the way he'd handled the conversation the night before. Avoiding Michonne was childish, he knew that, but hanging up on her was just uncalled for, and the few short hours of sleep he'd had the night before had made that more clear. He sucked in a steadying breath and told himself he needed to do what needed to be done to get through until print time on this story. Then he could start over with erasing her from his mind.

"I'll be in the city tomorrow," he typed. "I can meet you at the stadium."

A few moments went by before the phone vibrated again. "How about today? I can come to you."

Rick glanced at the time. It was still early morning and he had the whole day until he had to meet with his pitching coach for his off-day workout.

"OK. I'll be home all day." He sent her another message with his address and shoved the phone in his pocket. Putting the truck in gear, he maneuvered through the swarm of students making their way to class, and wondered just what exactly could be so important that she had to torture him with a face to face meeting.

...

Michonne slowed as her GPS informed her she was approaching his address. The town where he lived- just outside the city proper- was not nearly as rural as King County, but there was a clear division between the busy streets in town, and the winding, tree lined road she was currently driving. She came upon a black, wrought-iron fence, typical of the larger homes in the area, with stone columns that flanked the driveway, and the voice on her phone told her to turn. She did, the nose of her car pushing past the greenery that hid most of the home from the street, and traveled down a gravel driveway that made a loop in front of a sprawling, two-story estate. It was beautiful, she thought, though less extravagant than some of the other homes in the area. Given the neighborhood, it still probably cost a small fortune, and it took her a moment to reconcile the small-town, country boy whom she had spent the week with, with the man that lived here full time.

Her nerves began to show themselves with a shaky hand on her steering wheel as she came to a noisy stop on the gravel, but she managed to make it out of her car, and up to the front door. She was nervous to tell him what she had to say about the story, but also, she wasn't sure how he would take the news of her and Mike- if any of what they had almost had was still on the table. It helped that she was still peeved at him for practically hanging up on her the night before, and she reminded herself that wasn't the action of someone who felt indifference. He still cared just as much as she did.

Rick opened the door before she had a chance to ring the bell, and ushered her into a foyer where jackets hung on the wall and shoes, mens and boys, littered the floor.

"Hey," he greeted, stepping into her personal space. She wondered if he did that with everyone, or if he couldn't help himself, just like she all of a sudden couldn't. Even after more time spent apart than together, he still felt instantly familiar, like he was a room that she had a secret key to and she'd slipped inside for somewhere to rest. He was trying to keep his tone cool, she could tell, but that electric feeling reappeared like magic as soon as they were back in each other's orbit. He was looking down at her, doing a poor job of hiding the way her presence was affecting him. "What did you need to talk to me about?"

Her nerves were gone; she could already feel his reaction. "I broke up with Mike," she blurted out.

Rick blinked a few times, his lips parting in surprise as if he'd just been spun around and come to rest in a completely new place. "What? When?"

"I wanted to tell you last night, that it was over between me and him, but you hung up before I could."

His face washed with guilt as he bowed his head to answer. "I'm sorry," he said. "I was a jerk, Michonne. I just...it's really over?"

"Yes," she said, quietly, suddenly feeling small under his intense stare.

Rick took a step closer to her, a cautious smile creeping onto his face. "And that's what you came here to tell me?"

"Yes," she whispered, deciding the next part could wait another moment. "So…can I have that kiss now?"

Rick's grin spread across his face and he wasted no time wrapping an arm around her waist and crushing his mouth to hers in the kind of kiss that stole all of your breath and left you so lightheaded that you could barely remember your name, let alone any problems you had before it began.

Even after all the times she'd imagined it, the sheer number of which she could now admit to herself, she still wasn't prepared for the way he felt pressed against her. He was greedy and indulgent, his plump bottom lip dominating hers while his tongue swept her top. His strong nose nuzzled and brushed against her in a sexy, sidelong version of an Eskimo greeting, giving her hints of his desire, while his hands remained respectfully stationary, one on her jaw and one on her hip.

"I was worried I'd missed my chance," she whispered against his lips, when he gave her a chance to catch her breath.

He replied with another quick taste, before stopping to agree. "Me too."

She pulled him back in with a fistful of his shirt, determined to let him know what she now did; that not ending up like this was never an option. The boldness of her gesture had his intensity flaring again and he tightened his embrace, nearly lifting her off of her feet as he gently tugged at her lip with his teeth. She was about to lose herself completely in the moment, and forget about anything and everything besides making up for lost time, when her eyes flew open at the sound of a chipper voice just past Rick's shoulder.

"Hi, Michonne," Carol sang, breezing past them and into the kitchen, as if she hadn't just caught them pawing at each other in broad daylight. Michonne's cheeks began to burn instantly, but Rick barely reacted, keeping his tight grip on her, and a smile on his face, as he moved to kiss her cheek. "Will you be staying for lunch?"

Michonne released the grip she had on Rick's shirt and dropped her face against his shoulder. "That sounds great," she mumbled shyly, as he shook with laughter beneath her. Lunch sounded like the perfect time to tell him the rest of the news she had to share.

Michonne and Carol were both looking at him curiously, waiting for his response. Michonne had just finished telling him that the story Hershel had commissioned was about to die on the vine, and he knew he should be more concerned, but frankly he was still reeling over the fact that she was sitting at his table in the first place.

"Rick, this is a big deal after what happened last night," Michonne said, when he didn't answer. "The timing couldn't be worse. I'm so sorry."

He couldn't help the inopportune smile that burst onto his face; her apologizing for breaking up with Mike was laughable. "It's all going to work out," he said, suddenly sure of it. If this thing was what put him into retirement, so be it. After his conversation with Shane the previous night, he'd resigned himself to the deal he seemed to be beholden to- career or something more- and the terms hadn't changed, only the prize. As far as he was concerned, he'd just beat the house.

"I hope you're right," Michonne said. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, and he smiled at the fact that he could already read her signs. She was nervous.

"I am," he said, reaching under the table to squeeze her hand.

"So what's Plan B?" Carol asked Rick, from her spot leaning against the countertop. She glanced at Michonne and they shared a worried look that summoned him back to the issue at hand.

"Well, first things first, I guess we have to tell Hershel. This is his baby. After that, I'll let Gregory know and let him handle things from there." Michonne scoffed audibly at the mention of his publicist. "No?" he asked, intrigued.

"Sorry. It's just that...where did you get this guy? He doesn't seem to have the first idea about media exposure. Or at least the good kind."

"This is what I've been saying," Carol sighed.

Rick could feel a gang-up coming on, but it only made him smile. "He works with Walsh," he defended. "He came highly recommended."

The two women shook their heads simultaneously and he sat back in his chair, rethinking every decision he'd ever made on his own. "What do you two suggest?"

"Maybe Michonne should be your publicist," Carol offered.

"No," she countered with a visible wince. "I'm just a writer."

"A journalist…"

"A freelancer...sports isn't even my typical field."

"First time for everything."

Rick watched the two volley over the idea, becoming more convinced by the minute.

"You know the industry, and the client," Carol said, tossing a thumb over her shoulder at Rick who had been effectively forgotten in the conversation. "All you have to do is figure out how to work the two together."

"You obviously know what Gregory is doing wrong," Rick offered with a shrug. "That's a good place to start."

Michonne let out a long breath, still worrying her lip. "Let's tell Hershel about the story first, then we will decide what comes next."

Rick nodded. He didn't miss that she'd said 'we' and he considered that a win.

"Well," Carol said, "Good luck with that. You're going to need it." With that she left the room, pausing to tap her fingers on Rick's cheek in what he knew was her attempt at being discreet, while issuing an 'I told you so' in regards to Michonne. He didn't mind the call out, though.

When they were left alone, Rick ditched the restraint he'd been showing and reached across the table to take Michonne's hand. She turned to look at him, her pensive expression melting away into a pretty smile.

"So," she said, batting her eyelashes bashfully, "are we going to tell Hershel about this?" She glanced down at their intertwined fingers, then back at his face.

Rick blew out a breath. If Hershel was going to be upset, he didn't want to give him a reason to pin any blame on her. "How about this?" he offered. "We'll break things to him one at a time. We'll start with the story and see how he takes it."

"Alright," she agreed, with a bashful smile. "When?"

"After the game tomorrow. He already wants to talk to me about last night, and I fly out Sunday for four days on the road."

"I guess it's as good a plan as any," she sighed.

"Get in here!" Hershel boomed as soon as Rick appeared in the doorway of his spacious office. After the game, he'd changed into jeans and met Michonne in the lobby of the stadium and now he was standing in front of her, hoping to take the first blows. "For God's sakes, son. What in the hell were you-?" The old man paused when Rick took a step inside, revealing Michonne's additional presence. Rick let her step in front of him, ushering her to the chair in front of Hershel's desk with a hand on her back. If Hershel noticed the gesture, he didn't say anything, too caught up in the impending flogging.

"Michonne...why are you-?" His tone softened slightly when she entered, but he continued right on with his flustered tirade. "Oh it doesn't matter, it's good you're here. I know you've already given the story to your editor, but in light of recent developments-"

"Hershel, I asked her to come," Rick said, cutting him off. "I know what happened the other night looked bad-"

"Bad? Rick, do you have any idea what is being said now? At some point this thing is going to spiral far enough that we can't pull it back. We were trying to get out in front of that by hiring Michonne, but you just gave it a solid lead."

"Hershel," Michonne interrupted, with a quick glance in Rick's direction, "about the story...I have some more bad news."

He stopped pacing behind his desk then, tilting his head at her. "What is it? You said it went well; it was almost ready for press." He shot a look at Rick that he understood to be accusatory. For what he wasn't sure.

"The story is done," she said, "but it won't be printed. At least not by Mike...we...broke up."

"Broke up? Now? After all of this time, Michonne; you couldn't give it another week or so?" Hershel seemed genuinely pained by this information, and for a moment Rick thought he was going to need to suggest the aging man sit down. "And Mike," he continued, "Why on earth would he take it out on you professionally? That doesn't sound like him."

"It wasn't Michonne's fault," Rick said, wanting to keep the target firmly on his own head. Michonne could break it to him gently why Mike reacted the way he did, but Rick could at least make sure Hershel remembered who was really at fault in the first place.

Hershel's gaze bounced between the two of them. Michonne was seated on the edge of the chair looking up at Rick, while he perched on the edge of the desk, just inside of her personal space. He hadn't even noticed their legs were pressed together, until he felt the heat of Hershel's stare.

Realization was dawning on Hershel's face, and he brought a hand to his head, massaging his greying temples and letting out a long sigh before speaking. "I guess maybe I should have thought this through a little, before I sent two of my favorite people off to spend the week together." Despite his blooming anger, he chuckled quietly under his breath, turning toward her. "Michonne," he said, smiling at her in that paternal way he had about him. "Honey, I want you to know I chose you for this on purpose."

Michonne questioned him with her eyes, her posture straightening.

"Oh, I could have hired anyone to write this, and I'm sure if I had asked him myself, Mike would have run it. He and I have spent enough time together. But, I wanted this for you. I wanted to see you get a byline in something bigger than the current events section in the Times. I know this isn't your field, but The Sporting News is a big publication and it would have opened up a lot of doors for you."

Rick shifted his gaze to Michonne as Hershel explained his master plan. He had been so focused on the fallout for him, he hadn't even considered that not having the story printed could be bad for her as well. He wove his hand underneath his cap and scratched at his head, trying to think of any possible way that they could get things back on track. Maybe he could talk to Mike himself, man to man, but he realized how a conversation like that would have gone if Negan had approached him after Jessie. Probably pretty poorly, considering how he reacted over a girl whom he'd had a fraction of the feelings for that Michonne elicited.

"Hershel," she said. "I appreciate that, but this thing with me and Mike was a long time coming. Sure, the timing sucks, but I don't regret it. I'm sure I'll get my chance, but right now we need to worry about Rick. What happened the other night wasn't as bad as it looks, even without the story, there has to be a way to rein this in."

Rick smiled at the way she was ready to go to bat for him; he had never experienced that kind of loyalty from a woman and it intrigued him. He'd told Michonne what happened wasn't what it seemed, and she'd believed him, just like that. "It's true, Hersh," he said, sitting up just a little bit taller. "The guy was a shark. He was in my face. He wasn't some dad waiting on a momento for his kid."

"Well, I'm glad to hear that, son. But it doesn't matter much now, does it?" Hershel finally sank down into his own leather chair, placing his elbows on the desk. "The world is only as real as our perception, and right now the perception is that you've got a anger problem, and it's affecting your ability to play. Keep your stats high and your image higher, I've told you that since you joined this club."

"Yes, sir," Rick nodded, plunging back into diffidence under Hershel's strong gaze.

"Maybe I can work on Mike," Michonne said, her fingernail between her teeth.

Rick almost jumped off the desk. "No," he said, adamantly. Maybe he was still in the process of convincing himself that this was real, but the idea of her groveling to her ex over him didn't sit right.

"Rick," Hershel said, "be reasonable."

"I am. Any coverage we have to beg for isn't going to have the same effect. At this point they're already scrambling to fill the slot the story was going to take. Everyone at the magazine knows it's been pulled, and if it reappears all of a sudden, the rumors will fly from there. They'll say he did it as a favor for Michonne and that isn't good for either one of us."

Michonne's shoulders slumped again. "He's right."

"And what do you think the rumors are going to be when his people catch sight of the two of you together after the story is cut last minute? This city is smaller than it looks. You two are a tabloid headline waiting to happen."

"We'll keep it under wraps," Michonne said. Rick spun around to look at her, irritated that he was going to have to deny the best thing to happen to him in a long time. "Just until it blows over," she said, noticing the change in his expression. "And it will."

"Alright," he agreed. "For now."

"In the meantime, you see what Gregory can do for you," Hershel said to Rick.

It was Michonne's turn to spin around in her seat. "Speaking of that…"

"Well so much for me taking you out," Rick said, glancing around the empty parking lot as he held open his truck door for her to climb in. He'd picked her up outside of her apartment before their mandated sequester, with the intention of sharing dinner and drinks together after what they knew would be a tough conversation. Now Michonne was getting back in his vehicle for what she still hoped would be more than just a ride home.

"I don't mind," she offered. "I could go for a do-over in the movie night category...since we have to stay in."

"No way." Rick shut her door and came around to climb into the driver's seat. "You're still on suspension."

"What?" she squealed, surprising herself with her girlish tone. "My suspension is longer than yours, and you decked a guy."

"I don't make the rules," he said, with a grin.

She crossed her arms in playful dissent, though inwardly smiling at how easy he was to joke with. It was refreshing to be with someone who didn't take themselves so seriously. "Alright then, take-out and a bottle of wine? I know you're not so impressed with the city, but there's a nice view of the river from my apartment, and there's lots of places with delivery."

"All that's missing is the thunder and lighting," he drawled. Somehow, she didn't think they would need it.