Chapter 10:

Torn

"Thought we were going to eat? Where are we?"

"This is my place."

Rick held the elevator doors open, allowing Michonne and Carl to enter the cab before he pushed the button for the tenth floor. When the lift finally came to a stop, Rick inserted a special key into a security lock, entered his code, and stepped aside for them to exit the elevator entrance into the living room area.

He peeled off his denim jacket, rolled up his shirtsleeves, whilst watching Michonne thoughtfully scan his condo. It had the bare minimum, but it was comfortable enough. Before moving back home to the mansion, he was barely there in any case because many nights were in fact spent in his office. He even had a duffel bag beneath his desk, with a change of clothes. The company's gym on the ground floor provided the amenities to freshen up.

Rick peered inside his refrigerator. He always kept it fully stocked. "Sandwiches okay? That's my specialty. You and Carl are free to roam about, see the place while I throw something together."

Rick stood between the fridge and the kitchen island. Hands on hips, swaying from side to side, voice full of swagger to hide his nerves. Nerves yes. It was highly absurd. He could slap together bread and meat and vegetables with his eyes closed. But even pulling out the plates and cutlery felt awkward, as though he were struck with sudden arthritis, his wrist and fingers were stiff with jerky gestures. That was because Michonne stood on the opposite side gazing at him.

She shuffled towards the wicker sofa now, clutching Carl's hand as his head swung left and right, absorbing the new surroundings. The three-bedroom residence was very casual in its decor: buttercup walls, a light gray tiled floor, with white wicker furnishings that gave the place a beachy look. A stark contrast to the lavish mansion he'd, for most of his life, called home.

Together they set their meals on the black, wrought-iron patio set outside on the balcony. The mid-day Seabreeze was cool as it licked against Rick's skin, giving him a sense of tranquility

"Suppose I wanted chicken? Or tuna?" Michonne asked, inspecting the results of his culinary skills.

Rick placed three bottles of water down on top of the ornate table. "Unless I'm mistaken, you once specifically mentioned having a preference for turkey, did you not?"

"I can make my own choices."

He did a mental pause. Was she messing with him? Or... "And me feeding you is preventing you from doing that?"

She went quiet, settling Carl into the white padded seat to her right.

Okay, apparently not. "What? Think I'm being presumptuous, is that it?" Rick pulled out the chair opposite her. "Next time I won't be, alright? Happy? You simply could've said something before, just trying to take care of my… of you guys, is all."

They began eating without another word. After her second bite, Rick watched as she closed her eyes, relishing his tasty southwestern club sandwich.

"You enjoying that?" he teased.

"Mmhm." She licked her lips, then wiped her mouth with the napkin. "Thank you. This is outstanding. Really. And… I'm sorry, for being a bit much just now. I have to admit, it's hard to just let someone else take the lead sometimes. Honestly, I'm surprised I've allowed you so much control in my life. It's disconcerting, to say the least."

"Stop saying that," he blurted abruptly.

"What?"

"That I'm controlling. Don't think of me that way. I'm not that bad."

She arched her brow. "Dude, seriously?"

"Things between us haven't been horrible, right? We haven't thrown any punches thus far. I mean, I know that you like me, so…"

She groaned. "Oh god, please no." The heel of her palm pressed to her forehead as though an instant migraine was looming. A migraine caused by him?

Rick took a gulp of his drink as he thought back to the events of last night, and how she had the same reaction. Seemed to be a pattern.

"Don't even go there. I told you that… that," she stammered, unable to bring herself to say it.

"Kiss?" he supplied with glee.

She looked up. Her eyes grew to the size of saucers. To be honest, any larger and they were liable to pop out. "It was an isolated incident," she hissed. "Never to be repeated. Please, don't bring it up again."

Rick bristled with disappointment. Still, he couldn't help but break out into a grin. "You said you liked it."

She waved her hand dismissively. "I don't recall uttering those words."

Despite her strong reaction to the encounter, he threw his head back and laughed, hard and uncontrollable. "Okay. If you wanna play that game, I'll let it go… for now. But, with regards to what you said at first, may I be honest with you?"

"Always, I hope."

He fiddled with his napkin and nodded. "For me, when I see something that needs to be done, I don't hesitate about it. I just do it. I get it done. If that comes across as me being controlling, then…" he shrugged, "I can't help that."

"Have you ever tried? Or is diplomacy not a word in your vocabulary?"

He cleared his throat and lowered his gaze. "Fine," he said, feeling contrite. Plans already formulating in his head on how to make it up to her. "Guess I should just apologize then. I promise to try to be... better. To be diplomatic."

She bit her lower lip and glanced away. Focusing on breaking a piece of Carl's bread and feeding him.

This hangup that she had, maybe, Rick wondered, it was her way of protecting herself. Maybe once before, years ago, she'd trusted someone with a great measure of influence in her life, and that someone hurt her. Leaving her with thin scars over deeply embedded wounds.

"But sometimes," he whispered, hedging with caution, "Sometimes it's okay to let someone else take the lead. It doesn't in any way lessen your capability as an independent woman. Trust me, I see it. Clear as day, I know you're not a woman to trifle with."

Her eyes narrowed. "Mmm. Don't you forget it."

Throughout the rest of their meal together, he took note of everything she did, captivated by how graceful she looked under the direct sunlight, with her easy-going mannerisms. How she crossed her legs, clasped both hands over her knee and grinned, all teeth, perfect and white. How she dipped her head, peered up at him through her curled lashes. How she waved both hands and shook her head repeating 'No wait, no wait, no wait.' or 'Okay, okay, okay,' to make a point. And the simple way she knew how to use her body. By the end of their meal, they'd managed to set themselves back onto the comfortable path of friendship.

¥###¥

With Carl standing on the guest bed, Michonne lifted his small arms and removed his sticky sweatshirt, soiled with juice, mustard, and spit. "Can I ask you something?"

"Can you?" Rick smirked, as he rifled through the baby bag.

She rolled her eyes. "May I ask you something?"

He smiled and handed her a clean change of clothes. "Shoot."

"How come you're the only one who has a separate place? Your brothers, your Mom, you all are pretty close."

"I just do. That's normal, isn't it? For children to move out on their own? Be independent."

"Yeah, but at the mansion, it' so huge. Other than the regular meals, you're not really in each other's way. You have your own space."

"Well they're there at the office too, and… I mean," He shook his head knowing she probably wouldn't understand. "I just like peace and quiet. They can be overbearing when they want to, in case you haven't noticed." He's surprised he admitted that much to her. He's never confessed being irritated with his family to anyone before. "Here I get to keep to myself. Not even sure who my actual neighbors are. With the exception of Mrs. Elton in 3E."

She stuffed Carl's head through his Mighty Mouse t-shirt. "Who's that?"

"A widow I met one time handing out flyers in the parking lot for Tybee Island's Veteran's day celebration. Got an uncle, on my Dad's side, who is a retired soldier so we got to talking. She's great. Got the most mischievous 5-year-old daughter I've ever met, Regine. Also the most precocious. She already knows she wants to travel the world. France in particular for some reason. Whenever I fly overseas, I make sure to bring her back a memento for her collection."

"You've got a fondness for kids," Michonne said. It wasn't a question.

He smoothed his hand over Carl's disheveled hair. "Doesn't everyone?"

Her smile faded, expression settling into a grave frown and her eyes grew hard for a brief second. "No, not everyone."

He nodded, perceiving that he was getting something from her, a sliver of something personal. And he wasn't sure that if he pushed, she'd surrender more. Before he got the chance to, however, her posture loosened again and she fired off another question.

"Your father, how did he die?"

"Jet ski accident eight years ago. In the Caribbean on a "business trip.""

Michonne quirked her brow at his air quotes.

"There's no Romano-Grimes store on the island of Tobago," he explained, in as little words as possible. Still, she understood.

"Oh. You're not saying…"

"Yeah, let's just leave it at that. That's my mom's version anyhow. She married him when she was twenty, remained loyal down to the end and beyond." He slipped the strap of the bag onto his shoulder. "Ready to go home?"

"First let me do the dishes."

"No, you're my guest."

"You cooked. I wash."

Rick shook his head, replacing the bag onto the bed. "If you insist then I'll help."

Realizing that he wasn't about to back down, she yielded.

Given his freedom, Carl went scampering out the room as soon as his bare feet touched the ground. Rick and Michonne followed, keeping an eye on the toddler, shortly, they found themselves side by side at the sink.

"Have you thought about living anywhere else other than Savannah?"

Rick met Michonne's gaze. He stood too close. His arm brushed the back of her shoulder. "No, I don't mind staying in the Peach State. My family's here. You?"

"Maybe the Golden State, if I really had to choose. Love the coast, even though I haven't been much, which is odd. Think it has to do with my favorite memory of my birth mother." A wistful smile tugged at her mouth. "We'd spent an entire day at Long Beach. My sister, Shada, and I were eating cotton candy whilst Mom attempted to make a mermaid in the sand because we begged her to. But she was a lost cause. More looked like a whale, somehow."

In her file, he'd read about her being a New York native but moved to Georgia with her family when she was only seven. The tragic accident that made her an orphan occurred less than a year later. The pain must've been unimaginable.

He picked up the liquid detergent. "What was she like, your Mom?"

"Don't really remember. Sadly everything is almost a complete blank. If that makes any sense." She turned on the faucet and collected a plate. "What I do know is that she was an actress, mainly plays, loved the bright lights of the city, but detested the snow." She shrugged. "That's it. That's all I know. Favorite color; favorite food; favorite books... nothing. I remember none of it.

"Have you ever considered hiring an investigator?"

"What would be the purpose in doing that? She's dead."

"Knowing where you came from— your heritage—could fill a void."

"Void?" Giving him a look that clearly meant, 'What the fuck are you talking about?' she sighed, "The past is in the past, Rick. I mean I get it though. I understand where you're coming from having strong ties to your own family and all, but not everyone wants that. And just because you snooped into my background doesn't mean you know me either. Okay?" She picked up the sponge and held it out, signaling him to pour the soap on it. "You don't have a clue."

He hesitated. She avoided his gaze.

He was dredging up sunken pain and she fought against it. A hollowness took his breath away and immediately he regretted the thoughtless words that rolled passed his lips. Setting the bottle down again, he reached up and brushed his thumb against her soft cheek as he felt an urge to comfort her.

She sucked in a breath and froze.

"What if I do?" he asked. "What if I do want to know you? The real you. Not some random notes in a file. What would you say to that?" His gaze darted towards her lips. Looking back up, he found her staring at his mouth in return with a distinct longing and Rick knew, without a doubt, that she felt the same fist of desire that slammed into his chest every time he was near her. At the moment, she seemed to be contemplating the repercussions of leaning in for a curious second.

Unfortunately, though, she turned her face and pulled away, resuming the dishes.

Rick dropped his hand to his side. "What do you want, Michonne?"

"We're going to be raising Carl together, right?"

"That's what I want, yes."

"That's what I want too."

He hooked her chin and redirected her attention towards him. "What I meant was, what do you want for yourself?"

She didn't move. Her eyes flickered back and forth between his with a touch of apprehension.

He released her. His throat felt like sandpaper. Maybe he should hold off and pull back. But if he did, how long could he deny the many ways in which she was special; how she'd call him out in one moment, then had him laughing his head off in the next; how a charge would slice through his stomach whenever she'd roll back her petite shoulders, bold and unafraid, to challenge him; most importantly, how she was entirely devoted to a child she didn't plan for and was neither her flesh and blood.

Rick slid his fingers over her soapy hands and watched as her eyes fell closed for a moment. "Okay, hear me out. Let me tell you what it is that I want. I have an offer. You can take it, or you can leave it. But the choice is yours, I won't put you under any pressure."

"What… what kind of an offer?"

"Outside of my brothers, my mother, I don't have many people in my life. For the simple reason of being too busy. I don't have the time to build relationships, nothing meaningful anyway." And everyone's got ulterior motives, but he kept that part to himself.

"You make time for what's important," she countered, "You prioritize."

"I'm trying. I'm not at the office at this moment, now am I?"

She gave a thoughtful glance to Carl. "No, you're not.

"No, I'm not. Listen, I have financial success, now I have Carl; he's my gift, my legacy, but I want more." He gently removed the wet plate from her clutch and turned off the faucet. That hum of chemistry lured him nearer and he confessed, "I want you."

Her gaze shot up to his. "Ex-Excuse me?"

"Think you want me too. Feel differently about that?"

Her eyes plunged to his hands holding hers. "I uh… I just..."

Rick could see the pulse at her neck quickening with nerves, responding to him with matched excitement. Warmth spread throughout his stomach and ballooned into his chest. If this stubborn woman denied her attraction, he had no choice but to be patient; he wouldn't just relent.

A squeal of frustration erupted from Carl stealing their attention. He'd pitched his stuffed rabbit beneath the center table and he could barely reach it.

Michonne turned but Rick blocked her with his thigh against hers.

"He'll figure it out," he said.

And Carl did, by scrunching his tiny body into an awkward position, shifting himself closer to the toy till he got it into his grasp. Carl then slid back out, stood up, and waddled towards the television plopping himself in front of the flat screen to watch the cartoons they'd put on for him to watch.

When he grew silent again, Rick heard Michonne release the breath she'd been holding.

"What exactly do you mean?" she whispered.

He reached for the kitchen towel and proceeded to dry her hands. "Think you know what I mean." Tossing the linen to the countertop, he leaned closer taking in her scent of cinnamon, sending sparks of delight up and down his spine.

"How is that a good idea? I mean I'm not… I don't want…"

"Don't you? We're adults. Be honest." He cupped her neck and her eyes widened in surprise by his continuous blatant refusal to adhere to her no touching rule. "Have dinner with me tomorrow night."

He felt her swallow, felt her shaky breaths as she looked at him perplexed by his insistence. "No Rick. I can't. I won't."

"You can't, you won't, you don't want, you're not," he sighed, "That's a lot of no's coming out of that pretty mouth." Which he ached to taste again. Immediately the magnificent kiss they'd shared replayed in his mind. "But I think you will."

Her expression steeled.

Rick braced his body for impact. A knee to his groin, a punch to his gut. Something painful was coming.

But no. They stood there in silence, assessing each other.

He took her lack of resistance as an invitation and proceeded to caress her apple cheeks.

Her hands flew to his wrists and now she did stiffen a little, but still, she made no effort to draw back or to push him off. Again her gaze dropped to his mouth with heated interest. "I won't be your plaything."

"So just be mine." He shouldn't hold like her that, he knew he needed to stay focused, he needed to back the hell up before it's too late. But dammit, there's something irritatingly irresistible about her that had his body screaming.

Carl suddenly appeared tugging on his mother's leg, rubbing his droopy eyes raw.

She lowered herself, lifted him up, guiding his sleepy head to her shoulder.

Rick's eyes roamed her features once more before settling on her lips. They're slightly parted, her breaths coming out short and ragged and Rick decided, 'fuck it', what would it hurt to take just one more taste.

If she slapped him, so be it.

Michonne couldn't believe it. Here she was, kissing Rick Grimes. Again. When had she become so weak? Less than 24 hours ago they'd, okay she'd vowed to keep their relationship professional. The moment he positioned his lips on hers, instead of drawing away, she submitted to him, and goosebumps sprang up all over her flesh. If she felt herself lost before from gazing at him, now her sense of self, place, and time simply evaporated. Melted away into nothing until all that existed was him, her, and little Carl nestled between them. It was perfect.

She kissed him back. It was chaste. Sweet. Tender. Placing her hand behind his neck. His skin was so warm beneath her fingertips. His mouth so soft, yet so inviting, he made her feel alive. She wanted him. All of him. Badly.

But the truth was, he wasn't hers to have, now was he?

She pulled away, shame and guilt slamming into her like a reckoning. He moaned his displeasure as though breaking the kiss hurt him in some physical way. She clutched her chest because damn, she felt something too. It didn't mean it was right though, was it.

He reached for her hips but she stepped back, suddenly terrified of his allure. "I'm tired. I need to put Carl to rest."

"Stay." He gestured to one of the guest bedrooms.

She nodded. Even though she did want to stay, she said, "Prefer to go." And she prayed to god he wouldn't choose this moment to challenge her. "There's also somewhere I have to be this afternoon. I'd like to get my car if that's alright? I'd had it mind from before."

"Okay. But you didn't have to ask."

"I know, it's just you won't let me drive. I'm being chauffeured around everywhere because you want to keep track of my movements." She forced out a chuckle.

Still, his brows dipped. "To keep you safe."

She stared at his earnest expression. Her nerves jangled. Flickering and buzzing as her brain went haywire.

Rick took a step back. "Let's talk more tonight, okay? Anytime. When you're ready, I'll be in my room."

¥###¥

Sasha Williams, Michonne's lawyer, was pacing the floor phone in hand, when Ms. William's secretary let her into the office.

"Tough day?" Michonne asked, when Sasha finally hung up, frustration written all over her face.

"They're all tough days." She straightened her peach-colored silk blouse and bronze pencil skirt before taking a seat at the edge of her desk. "But it's nothing I can't handle. So, from your call this morning, things sounded... urgent." She gestured with her hand for Michonne to take the chair across from her.

"I want to move forward."

"Move forward as in…"

"As in setting up an official meeting with Rick's lawyer. Tomorrow."

Sasha's head jerked back in surprise. "Tomorrow? I'm not done building our case yet. And as far as I know, Gregory hasn't even filed a petition. What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

Except Rick's propositioned me and I'm losing my focus.

"Nothing?" She folded her arms. Her direct gaze indicated that the gears in her head were churning. "That means there's something. Spill it."

"I just want some semblance of normalcy again. So much is happening and I'm losing control."

"Aww honey, I hate to burst your bubble but normalcy, as you knew it, is long gone. The moment you decided you wanted Carl's father in his life. If it comes down to a custody battle, it could take months."

"I can't stay there for months Sasha."

"I know." She rose from her desk and took her seat behind it. After sifting through a pile of folders she eventually pulled one out, opening it. She leafed through the small stack of pages and stopped on the one she was interested in. "This bit here, about threats to the Grimes family, physical safety being a real issue, is great stuff."

Michonne sat forward in her seat. "What do you mean? I was just talking."

"What I mean is, if Carl's life could possibly come into harm's way with those people, it gives us another leg to do battle on. We have to play up to the better-parent standard if it comes down to that. We discussed this. He may want to take this child away from you."

She shook her head. "It doesn't seem that way to me."

"They're powerful people Michonne, don't forget what powerful people are capable of. But hey, we're getting ahead of ourselves. Like I said, your paperwork, your records—financial and medical—are all still being put together. That takes time. Also, I want to get the best judge in our favor, and it could take anywhere from three weeks to a month between filing a petition to our first appearance, then another month for a second appearance…" she huffed in annoyance. "Anyway, first things first, let me set up that meeting you're requesting and see where Rick's head is at."

Michonne breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me as yet, it won't be until I get back. That phone call you walked in on, it's my brother. Family emergency, so I have to fly down to Florida to sort some things out."

Michonne sunk back into her chair, deflated. "How long?" Then she mentally slapped herself for being insensitive. "Wait, I mean, it's not serious is it?"

Sasha tilted her head and smiled. "Not life or death, no. But thanks. And I should be gone for... a week?" She shrugged. "When I get back I'll call you and we'll talk more. In the meantime, promise me you'll keep things amicable as much as it depends on you. Seriously, if we could avoid a drawn-out hearing, that'll be preferable. Trust me."

Michonne plastered on a smile. She trusted Sasha, it was herself she had doubts about.

Sasha reached into the candy jar she kept next to a framed photo on her desk and swiped out a mini snickers bar. "How are you otherwise?" she asked, offering the treat to Michonne. "How's the baby adjusting?"

"He's carefree. Spending the afternoon with his grandmother and dad."

"That's good." Sasha popped a starburst into her mouth. "And what about you, when last have you spoken to your family? To Maggie?"

She toyed with the chocolate in her hand. "Not since I first came out here and she gave me your number."

Sasha met her gaze.

Michonne shrugged, ignoring the dose of guilt that settled in her stomach. "She's got a full unpredictable schedule. It's hard to keep in touch." Not a lie. Not the whole truth either. Michonne simply was not one to keep in touch.

"Yeah, I suppose. You know the plan was for her to be here with me as a partner, but she bailed and got married, traveling all over the world being a do-gooder as an Aid worker, making me feel bad. Ugh. She's dead to me."

Michonne laughed. Maybe she should give her only other relative a call. If things with Rick go South, and Sasha's right about going to battle, she'll need Maggie's help. "I'll tell her you said 'hi.'"