BLURRED LINES

Chapter 10

Michonne cell phone buzzes in her back pocket. She stands from where she has been sitting in silence beside Rick on T-Dog's back steps. She walks away from Rick, further into the dark backyard and looks at the phone. SSA Monroe lights up the screen. Michonne sighs and taps the green accept.

"Ma'am," Michonne says.

"Report, agent. Because what I'm hearing is not good. So, tell me your side."

Michonne takes a deep breath. "At approximately twenty-two hundred hours, civilian Grimes and myself were preparing to make another appearance at the local bar where TWD congregates. We were accosted in our living quarters by a sub-section of the gang—approximately seven men. It is then that we learned our identities had been exposed by sheriff Walsh."

"Is your cover blown?" supervisory special agent Deanna Monroe asks.

Michonne pinches the bridge of her nose. "I…I don't know, ma'am. I know this is a complete cluster-fuck right now, but we had no time to move, or even think the gang knew about the Grimes' family. We literally fought our way out of the situation with the sub-section and got alerted to the incident going down at the Grimes resident. If I had a moment in between to think, to consider, I would have—"

"Enough, agent. I don't need a litany on what you would have done. I understand. Have the children been moved, protected?"

"For now, they are safe. Rick—civilian Grimes—will relocate them to Florida with his parents after the funerals. I'm asking that every agent in and around our area be plain-clothes, biker-look if possible, on the off chance that my cover is still solid. I'd also like to send agents with the Grimes children and get the Florida bureau to assign agents until this is over." The guilt over her part in this will live with her for the rest of her life.

"Three agents to travel with them," Monroe says. "Your choice. I'll contact the Florida bureau for replacements. I expect a full debriefing tomorrow. That better include details on why you felt the need to use a katana in the field."

Michonne swallows. How does she know everything? "Yes, ma'am." She ends the call, glad to have been let off relatively easy about the sword. She fires off a quick text to agent Williams, Rhee and Espinosa asking if they'd be willing to escort the Grimes children to Florida. She gets back three yeses before she makes it back over to Rick, still sitting silently on the porch steps.

Michonne doesn't join him this time. She leans against the railing, looks up at the stars. They are so bright in the south. The kids are asleep, T-Dog too. The house is quiet but she finds it so very loud.

"You should get some sleep," she whispers, but still seems to startle Rick. He looks at her like he has just noticed her presence. His jaw is set. His eyes are narrowed. He's angry. Michonne swallows and says, "I'm sorry. It's…it's a small meaningless word in comparison with what happened tonight. But I am sorry."

His face clears some, but he doesn't speak, only returns his gaze to the dark yard and the trees at the edge of T-Dog's property.

"I know you're angry, Rick."

"Yeah," he says in a gravelly voice.

"You have every right to be. We'll get these guys. All of them. But I can't let you go off on a murdering spree. I know that's what you're thinking."

He scrubs a hand over his face, rakes it through his hair. "That's not what I'm thinkin'. Should be what I'm thinkin'. But what's been going through my mind for the last hour is so much more fucked up than that."

Michonne sits on the step beside him, waits patiently for him to continue. He takes his time.

"I'm still angry…with her."

Oh, Michonne thinks. This has to do with Lori.

"I don't forgive her. I know I said it, but I wanted her to hear it. If there was some part of her left in there, I wanted her to hear me say that I forgave her. She wanted it so bad. But I don't forgive her. I don't forgive Shane. I keep thinkin' how none of this would've happened if Lori hadn't slept with Shane. I would've never attacked him. Would've never gotten suspended. Would've never been demoted. You may have still come to town lookin' for me, but there's no way you would've been able to convince me to leave my family and pretend to be in a biker gang…even with the problems me and Lori had. No one in this town would've believed I'd do somethin' like that. But once she irreparably broke our marriage, it all fell into place. It's fucked up to be thinkin' this 'cause they're dead and it's petty and mean for me to still feel like this, but I do."

He is breathing hard by the time he finishes. Michonne sits quietly, waiting to see if he will speak again. When he doesn't, she says, "Your feelings aren't wrong. They're yours. You have to feel them until you don't anymore. Death isn't some great eraser that wipes away all sins. The living still have to carry the anger, betrayal and resentment felt when the person was alive, only now there's guilt and sadness and heartbreak. Feel your feelings, Rick, for as long as you need to no matter how fucked up they may be. When you want to talk about them, I'll be here to listen." She stands, pats him on the shoulder and heads inside to try and catch a few hours of sleep on the couch.

**Two Weeks Later**

A single knuckle wrap on the door wakes Michonne with a start. Her mom's voice breeches the room through the bedroom door.

"Chonnie, you gonna sleep the day away, or you gonna be productive? Don't make me have to come back up here."

Michonne rolls over, looks at the clock. 7:42 am. Sleep the day away? She sighs and sits up. Her internal clock usually wakes her at 5:30, no matter what her night was like, but being back home, back in this bed reverts her to childhood when she slept until 8 am every weekend. She grabs her phone from the nightstand. Three texts are waiting for her. Daryl, Glenn and Abraham. None from Rick. Not one word from him in thirteen days. It was a tough pill to swallow, but about 7 days after he left for Florida with his kids and no word from him, she knew he was out. Not only was he out, but he wanted nothing else to do with her. She accepts this. Doesn't blame him. And yet…she checks her phone constantly.

After a quick shower, she slips on yoga pants and a tank-top then heads down to the kitchen. Daryl is at the table hunched over a massive amount of food in front of him. He still eats like someone is about to take his plate. They have tried to break him of the habit, but some things go too deep. It's why their mom over feeds him. She wants him to know that he will never be hungry as long as there is life in her body. Michonne sees Daryl's face whenever he is presented with a buffet all to himself. It's like only then does he understand how much he is loved. Words were never the key to him. Her thoughts are confirmed when their mom places three more pancakes on Daryl's plate and he closes his eyes as if in prayer.

Because she loves messing with her brother, and she's feeling a bit nostalgic, Michonne walks into the kitchen and snatches a pancake off Daryl's plate.

"Ma! She took my pancake! Give it back!"

Michonne barely gets one bite before it is ripped out of her hand and Daryl shoves it into his mouth.

"Cut it out, you two," Ophelia Prescott says, pointing at her children with a spatula. "Stay off your brother's plate, Chonnie. You have your own food."

"He's got enough for seven people." Michonne sits across from Daryl. "Why are you up so early anyway?"

"I'm always up early," Daryl says around a mouthful of food.

Before Michonne can call him out for lying, their mom cuts in while flipping a pancake. "He just got here. Probably been up under some skirt all night and ain't been to sleep yet."

Judging by the pinking of his cheeks, Ophelia hit the nail on the head. Michonne mouth's "who" to him. He mouths back, "later" and continues to eat. But Michonne thinks she knows who the woman is and smirks which makes Daryl scowl.

Ophelia places a less loaded plate in front of Michonne and takes a seat between her two kids. She is a petite woman. Ample bosom, curvaceous hips with a short, neat afro. Michonne gets her height, coloring and build from her father.

Ophelia looks at Michonne then at Daryl. "Okay, spill it."

Michonne stops chewing, Daryl too. "Spill what," she asks.

"Both my kids are home in the middle of the week. And you, Chonnie, with a suitcase? Something's wrong. Spill it." Ophelia waits patiently, sips her tea.

"Go'on, Daryl. Why you here?" Michonne says. "It better be to lay low, get a haircut and some of daddy's clothes so you can look different on the rare occasions you need to go out."

Ophelia's eyes widen. "Why he need to lay low and look different.

"He's supposed to be dead, but he's been avoiding me for two weeks because he knows I'm going to make him change his look and go to a safe house."

Daryl glares at Michonne, but she knows a sure-fire way to get him to fall in line is to tell on him like they are kids again.

"Do I even want to know why you're faking like you're dead?" their mom asks.

"Charlie," he says.

It's all he has to say. Ophelia shed a river of tears the year her son joined that gang. She was also crying for another reason, crying for her daughter at that time too. Michonne can see that old fear creeping over her mother again. It was a tough year all around when Daryl joined TWD. She doesn't want to think about that now.

"You caught the man who killed Charlie?" Ophelia asks.

Daryl shakes his head. "No."

"We're close," Michonne says.

"No we ain't."

Michonne sets her fork down and meets her brother's eyes. "We are close. Closer than we've ever been. You're just pissed because I got you out of the gang."

"He's out?" Ophelia leans forward, looks at both her children in turn.

"Yeah," Michonne answers while Daryl glowers at her. "I made it so they think he's dead. That's why he needs to cut his hair and change the way he dresses. He needs to look different. Drive a car and not a motorcycle. Maybe move here, to Atlanta until this is done completely."

"You can stay right here, baby." Ophelia squeezes Daryl's hand.

He sends her a tight smile. "Thank you, Ma, but—"

"No buts about it. You're staying." She pushes back her chair and stands. "Now let me go get my haircutting kit. Meet me in the powder room when you're done eating."

They sit quietly as their mother leaves the room. Michonne knows her brother won't say a word until they hear Ophelia's footsteps over their head. She has sonar for hearing and as long as she is on the same floor, she will hear any and everything said.

"That was seriously fucked up!" Daryl hisses, obviously still not trusting the ceiling between him and his mother being enough to muffle his words.

"I knew you wouldn't say no to her and if for some reason you did, she wouldn't take no for an answer. Sorry, not sorry."

"You think you gonna cut me out of this?" He stands, takes his empty plate to the sink and begins to wash it. "No fuckin' way! He was my nephew not yours!"

Michonne stares at his back. When she doesn't speak, he must replay his words, realize how fucked up they were and turns to face her.

"I'm sorry. I ain't mean it like that." He looks down at his shoes.

"I'm not shutting you out, Daryl. I just want you to be alive to actually help me."

"I don't need to cut my hair and hide here under Ma's apron."

"You don't need to be in Union either. You don't need to be riding around on your bike, letting people see you. Three years, Daryl and you're finally out. I know the sacrifice you made. I'm not going to take this guy down without you. But you have to trust me. My investigation is stalled. I've been back to that bar at least half a dozen times. No one will even look at me. It's not because I've been made either. They would've just killed me if they knew I was a FED. That blonde chick, Jessie, behind the bar was more than happy to tell me that I'm poison. I'm a woman and I'm linked to Rick, a former sheriff who killed eight of their men and, in their minds, cause them to kill an active sheriff. Maybe I can get back in with Rick but he's gone. And now…now…I don't know what to do." She throws her hands in the air and lets them flop down to her lap.

"You ain't heard from him at all?"

Michonne shakes her head.

"You called him?"

"No. I was waiting for him to reach out."

Daryl squints at her. "You ain't that stupid are you? Yeah, you are."

"I'm not stupid. I was giving him time to grieve."

"He probably thinkin' the same thing. She'll call," Daryl says in a stupid voice. "Both of ya'll dumb as fuck."

"Shut up," she says, but begins to wonder if Daryl is right. "No," she says. "He would've called by now. I have to go on the assumption that he's out. That he wants nothing more to do with me. Can't say I blame—"

"Who doesn't want anything more to do with you?" Ophelia asks as she enters the kitchen with a leather barber's bag.

Michonne glances at Daryl with a plea in her eyes. She does not want to talk about Rick with her mom. Ophelia has a way of seeing right through the bullshit and zeroing in on the truth. Michonne is not in the mood or mind space to be read like a wide opened book.

"Some guy," Daryl says. "Ain't good enough for her. Plus, get this, Ma…he's a white boy."

Ophelia snorts. "I know it's hard to tell under all that dirt, but you're a white boy too."

Daryl gasps and looks down at his hands. "You don't say?"

"Get your simple behind in this bathroom, boy, so I can make you look halfway decent."

Michonne sends him a silent "thanks" as he follows their mom into the powder room.

**Two Days Later**

Michonne jogs down the steps. "I got it, Ma." She pulls the front door open and sucks in a breath of surprise.

Rick.

Michonne stops, stares at him. He stares at her. He's wearing a blue denim shirt and black jeans. His hair is mussed like he has been running his hand through it. He looks good, well, still sad and angry, but he's been eating. Rick smiles sheepishly at her. She returns it, sweeps her hair off her shoulder.

"You two gonna grin at each other all day, or you gonna invite your friend in, Chonnie?"

Michonne starts at the sound of her mother's voice. Ophelia wears a smirk on her lips as she stands a few feet behind her daughter. Michonne steps aside. Rick enters, a blush on his cheeks and his hand extended to Michonne's mom.

"How do you do, ma'am? I'm Rick Grimes."

"Oh, so you're Civilian Grimes?" she takes his hand, meets his eyes, but speaks to Michonne. "This the white boy your brother was telling me about?"

"Ma, don't start," Michonne warns.

Rick smiles. "Well, I am a white boy, ma'am. But probably not the one in question."

Ophelia raises an eyebrow, looks Rick up and down. "Well if you aren't, you should be."

"Ma."

Ophelia shoos Michonne with her hand, then returns her attention to Rick. "It's nice to meet you, Civilian Grimes. Come on in the kitchen. I'll fix you some breakfast."

"That's alright, ma'am. I'm not hungry."

"But you'll eat anyway," she says over her should as she heads to the kitchen.

"Yes, ma'am."

Michonne shakes her head. "Sorry about that. She is hard to say no to."

"So that's where you get it."

They stand in the living room, an awkward silence creeps through the space until Rick breaks it.

"Your brother called me," he says, while looking at his feet.

Michonne suppresses an urge to call Daryl in the room so she can choke him, but she only says, "Did he?"

"Yep. Called me a bunch of dumbasses. Call you a bunch of stupid asses. Told me to get my dumbass to Atlanta or he'd personally shoot me in the face."

"And I meant it," Daryl says from the middle of the steps. He's looking over the banister down into the living room at them.

Michonne can see Rick is visibly taken aback by Daryl's new look. His hair is roughly an inch long and died dark brown. He is clean shaven and well just…clean. Daryl walks down the steps and shake's Rick's hand.

"Good to see you, man."

"Thanks."

"C'mon, lets get some food and talk."

"In a minute," Rick says. "I need to talk to your sister."

"Aight," Daryl says and leaves the living room. When he is in the kitchen, out of sight, Rick takes Michonne's hand. Slowly, they move toward each other until their arms are wrapped around one another.

"I'm sorry I didn't call you," Michonne whispers, finding this embrace both terrifying and life altering.

"Same," Rick says. "I needed…needed time, but I needed to talk to you too."

They step apart and meet each other's eyes. "I don't know what to do," Michonne says. "But I know that whatever we do now, we have to do together."

"That's why I'm here. I need you."

Michonne opens her mouth to say something she is probably going to regret, but is saved.

"Breakfast is ready," Ophelia says from the kitchen. "Don't make me call you two again."

Michonne smiles at Rick. They take a moment to stare at each other again. "We'd better go," Michonne says. "If she calls us again, it won't be pretty." She takes his hand and leads him into the kitchen.