Michael Solomon rushed out of his extended deposition. It was almost noon and he couldn't have cared less about Mrs. Muriel Flood's defamation case. At the moment, he was more pleased with himself than he could contain. It was just his way. Michonne's invitation had him wearing an invisible crown on his inflated head.

Throughout his childhood- and even now, at 30 years old, on occasion- his parents called him their 'Little Prince'. His mother, especially, always brought him front and center at church, family reunions, trips to the grocery store etc. to tell everyone about the games he'd won or the grades he'd gotten. Michonne had grown up being ignored by everyone so now she spoiled herself, but Mike had been spoiled by everyone growing up and now he did everything he could to avoid being ignored. His upbringing defined him as much as Michonne's defined her.

But, in the real world he could see he'd been a big fish in a small pond- or at least he would've seen it, if his mother didn't constantly label him a prize. It wasn't easy being a young black man in his field... really in any field, but in the justice system- he definitely felt the pressure. He didn't even have a passion for law. He just liked to say he was a lawyer. He liked to win cases. He liked the prestige.

He did have a passion for Michonne, but it was so muddled with his self-image that he couldn't tell if he wanted her back because she'd been taken from him and his pride couldn't bear it, or because she'd basically told him she'd rather be alone than with him and that contradicted everything his mother told him. It could've been that he just missed saying a woman like her belonged to him.

So now that he thought he had persisted and prevailed, he had to have someone pat him on the back. Terry wasn't the best for congratulations, but he'd have to do until Mike could get a new selfie with Michonne up on IG and bask in the flurry of double taps and comments such a picture was sure to be met with. He was already trying to come up with a clever caption as he left his office to walk to her place. He put a single ear bud in and called his man.

"What up, boy!"

Terry responded without the same enthusiasm, "What up, though?"

"Shit." He answered banally, "You at lunch?"

"Nah, out here supervising a leak." His friend responded from the cab of the gas company's truck watching his subordinates dig up the earth amid a gang of machinery. Terry had paid his dues doing manual labor making holes in the ground. When he got his third ranking as a crew leader, he never picked up a shovel again.

"True." Mike agreed absentmindedly, then casually began the set up for his well-deserved I-told-you-so, "Remember how you said I fucked it up at the movies with Mimi?"

"Yeah." Terry nodded unconcerned, as he shuffled some paperwork in his lap. "Cuz you did."

"And you told me I was beating a dead dog calling her so much."

"Yeah. Cuz you was."

"And you kept singing that Dru Hill joint We're Not Making Love No More?"

"Yeah. Cuz you wasn't."

Mike paused on the sidewalk for a smug lay-up to the conversation, "So why am I on my way to see her then... at her house?"

"At her house?" Terry repeated, unconvinced. He told Mike plainly, "I don't believe you."

"Man, I swear on everything!" Mike slammed his first into his palm to reinforce his words. "I called her today and she want me to come over there."

Terry went along but something was off. "Come over for what, though?"

"She said she tryna talk." Mike said with a contradictory tone and his lips pursed to the side. "But you know Mimi don't talk. She want me to come give her something..." he crowed, "and the letter of the day is D!"

Terry would not join the parade for Mike just yet. He shook his head, puzzled, "I don't know man, you might end up getting your ass whopped again."

"Whatever."

Mike had heard from Terry at least a million times about the injuries he took in the melee with Rick and the throat chop Michonne administered at the movie theater. It was one of his best friends' favorite topics and it stopped being funny to Mike the very first time Terry said it.

"I mean, that white boy did beat you up..." Terry tilted his head, sure of his retelling of the account.

"He did not beat me up." Mike challenged, "We fought. You only saw me..."

Terry interjected to add, "...then she beat you up at the movies..."

"She beat me up?" Mike echoed, aghast.

"You sounded like Lord Vader the next day."

Mike sucked his teeth, unimpressed by his boy's joke. "Ok, she caught me one time," he admitted, "But it's all about to be worth it. Cuz it's that pussy's turn to get beat up." he said, like it was a hero's catchphrase. "All the shit she did... the Future concert, my birthday, getting with the 'blue-eyed devil', that crap at the movies... I been there for her while 'Richard'..." he said Rick's name mockingly, "...was out of the picture." He frowned thinking of all he had done to win her back. "I been listening to how much she loves that dude for weeks, playing that good friend role."

"So now you getting what you want, huh?"

"Yep."

"And what's that?"

"Mimi… I want her."

"But all she does is make you look stupid. You can't handle that girl." Terry couldn't understand.

"I been handling her for like three weeks and I'm about to go handle her now."

"Okay, so say you go over there. Get some pussy... then what? Y'all gonna be a couple again?"

"Yeah." Mike offhandedly added, "I might marry her."

Now, Terry had no more chill. He let out a snort followed by a good long laugh. Mike listened, unamused as his friend was brought to tears at his expense. While he waited for Terry to recover, he noticed a pretty, dark haired woman cross in front of him from the opposite side of the street. Her backpack was snug on her back across her cropped leather jacket. Her hips swayed expertly in her tight jeans and Mike was pleasantly distracted as Terry regained composure.

"If you marry Michonne, one of y'all gonna end up dead and since she be whopping yo' ass, it'll probably be you."

"She do not be whopping my ass." Mike spoke a little lower, so the woman ahead of him couldn't hear.

"She gonna hit yo' ass with a Wonder Woman punch and just... like collapse your whole chest cavity." Terry teased.

"Nah, I'm trying to tell you, she been mellowing out since that happened." Mike swore. "She, like, flipped out or something last night... you know how she be all dramatic... she told me not to call her no more… she loves her games, man." he made excuses. "She been testing me and testing me to see if I was gonna stick around... all she wanted me to do was chase her." Now he raised his voice an octave, hoping to impress the woman who his eyes were trained on, "I know how to handle women, playboy... especially her."

The woman turned and offered him an interested smile that exhilarated Mike instantly.

Terry wondered, "What about her boyfriend. Don't that white dude carry a gun?"

"I'm not tripping off him. I been telling her can't no dude named 'Richard' give her what she needs. Only a black king can do that." Mike said for the benefit of his friend on the phone and the beauty in his sights.

"Oh yeah, I forgot..." Terry began with a double-edged tone, "...a black king needs a black queen, right?" Terry razzed him. "So how long you think it'll be before you're calling her that 'bougie ass bitch' again?"

"Nah man. Go 'head." Mike laughed at being called out on how he referred to Michonne in conversation with his friends when she pissed him off. He saw the woman ahead of him look back at him again and bring her phone to her ear. Mike assumed the flirtations with her were over and he paid more attention to Terry as he reminded him of how he really felt about Michonne at times,

"...or that bratty ass bitch?"

"Nah man, stop." Mike's laughter died down. "You know how she is."

"Actually, I don't." Terry disagreed. "She always been cool with me but that could be because I never had to date her..."

"Exactly." Mike felt vindicated until his friend continued,

"You always been cool with me too, probably because I never had to date you either, though."

"Okay so just for the record, what?" Mike pitched, "You think I'm 'bout to go over here, get my ass kicked, then White Boy Richard is gonna hunt me down and shoot me... but that's all for the best, because I couldn't handle Michonne anyway. Right?"

Terry took another dig at him, "See women say you don't listen... but you did good with that. I wish this conversation was recorded."

Mike ignored him once again and asked, "So when I decide to put a ring on her finger and have her barefoot and pregnant, ironing my shirts and cooking my dinner... you not gon' be my best man?"

"If you can get a ring on Mimi's finger you should be your own best man, cuz that's the only dude that's cuffing her: The literal best man in the world. Somebody with the patience of a saint." Terry called it. "And that's why she's still single and always gonna be single cuz ain't no such thing as a man like that. But look, do you." His friend conceded, seeing Mike was trying to prove a hopeless point that was too stupid to argue. "How long you want me to wait to hear from you before I send the cops and the ambulance over to her place to save you? ... Where she live at anyway?" He chuckled.

"In the Madison, on 9th Street."

"What?!" Terry exclaimed in shock. "All this time she lives right by her job and you didn't even know?" He was tickled again. "Yeah, that sounds like true love to me." He scoffed. "Damn, that girl a savage."

"Fuck you man." Mike laughed along somewhat embarrassed. "What you doing tonight?"

"Shit. Probably just chill in the house with my girl." Terry answered with a yawn.

"A'ight, bet." Mike was excited and bragged, "If she can still walk after I get in them guts, we can meet for dinner so you can watch her eating out of my hand."

"Yeah, call me." Terry was snickering again. He gave one final sarcastic jab, "Dinner and a magic show sounds good."

Tara had arrived in the lobby of Rick and Michonne's building within an hour of getting the call from Carol. Grimes was ready to expand the operations of his business from consults to a wide range of security services and Carol had suggested Tara Chambler's team. Rosita Espinoza, Karen Ponzio, Dianne Cahill- all women hungry for opportunity and exceptional in the field. Rick had enjoyed a couple business lunches with the ladies and liked them all. Daryl liked them well enough too and Rick knew he'd only said otherwise to ruffle Carol's feathers. Dixon/Grimes used Tara's team from time to time, but now he wanted to bring them in permanently and let them handle surveillance and intel, while he spent more time traveling, training and securing contracts.

Michonne was introduced to Tara and after offering their guest a beverage, Rick got right to business. "So, how'd it go?"

Tara smirked confidently. Reaching in her bag, she pulled out a tablet, brought up the live screen and handed it over to Rick. Looking pleased, he nodded, "So this is a live feed?

"Yeah." Tara confirmed, "Real time."

"What about playback?" Rick asked as he studied the screen.

She came to stand beside him and Rick made note of the series of selections her finger made as she went to another tab. "This is the playback cache" she pointed, "Audio." Her fingers sailed, making commands, "This is location one... this is location two."

"Quick and very thorough, Miss Chambler. I'm impressed." Rick complimented their work.

Tara smiled and offered, "So can we just do this deal already? I think we've proven ourselves."

"You have." Rick granted.

"With equal signing bonuses for each of us?"

"You drive a hard bargain." He chuckled and extended his hand, "But it's a deal."

"And you take us out to dinner to celebrate?" She did her version of an excited smiled with a flaky expression.

"Okay." Rick rolled his eyes. "Now beat it."

When Tara stepped off the elevator on the ground floor, she could see Karen waiting outside in her leather jacket and jeans. As she proceeded out, a dark-skinned man in a fitted charcoal suit, who she didn't know but was very familiar with, put his ID back in his wallet and signed the guest book. Tara gave an awkward smile as she passed him.

"So, you're ready for this, 'Chonne?" Rick squeezed her hand after the front desk informed them of Mike's arrival. He could see she was ready for a fight but she also had a bit of trepidation.

"Yeah. I just hope you'll keep your cool."

"I kept my cool last time." He attempted to assure her.

"You call that keeping your cool?" Before he could answer, Michonne explained, "The last time, Mike thought it was me and him against you, so he lashed out at you." She said with her big eyes looking away as she unintentionally envisioned what could happen if her next words proved true. "This time, if he feels like I switched sides... he'll probably project his anger at me..."

Rick understood her meaning. The first time Rick knew of Mike's existence, he pegged him for an idiot. He saw him a few times after that in passing and Mike would make some petty comment about rent-a-cops or his disapproval of white men dating black women. Rick brushed those comments off, but the night he and Michonne separated, that kind of slick talk had him about ready to snuff out her ex's existence in a downtown restaurant.

Now, three weeks after that incident, the older man was thinking straight enough to understand that he couldn't erase the guy from the planet but he was going to make sure Mike disappeared from their lives for good. He hoped it wouldn't come to blows this time but that would be up to Mr. Solomon. If Mike was fool enough to get out of line with Michonne... Rick's jaw was set to stone as he felt anger flood his chest at the thought.

"It's gonna be okay, baby." he promised. Coming to stand directly in front of her in his white t-shirt stretched snugly across his chest and his dark blue jeans, he palmed her plum-colored cheeks and brushed his thumb against her cheekbone to soothe her. But he didn't know what would soothe him if Michonne was right. He would kill Mike right where the boy stood if Michonne got hurt in any way. So help me, God. Before he could talk himself down from the enraging concept, her ex, Rick's arch nemesis and textbook fuck boy was knocking at their door.

Rick stepped aside and took a seat at the large wooden dining room table, just out of Mike's peripheral as Michonne opened the door and he entered.

"Damn, boo. You look good." Mike complimented her sincerely. Michonne had on a pair of high-waisted, peach-colored flowy pants and a fluffy cream short-sleeved cable knit sweater. Rick admired the view of her profile himself as she closed the door behind the young man. "I don't get a hug?" He smiled, opening his arms to Michonne and exposing his back to Rick, still unaware that he was seated behind him.

Rick's spoke up, answering Mike's question, "Nah. Not today." His voice was like the sound of metal scraping ice and it sent a chill down Mike's back as he jumped nearly out of his fine leather shoes. Rick's body language was open yet unwelcoming as he perched one elbow on the back of the dining chair and one arm flat on the table. His legs were wide and one of his booted feet was positioned in front of the other, like he was on his mark waiting to hear a blank shot from a starter's pistol.

Mike turned around, instinctively raising his fists but dropping them slowly when he saw Rick seated and staid a few strides away. A look of recognition drifted across Mike's face as he understood that the only guts in danger today were his... at the end of one of Rick's lightning-quick jabs. Michonne's ex scoffed at Rick and then turned back to her. "We still playing games, huh?"

"No. No games, Mike." Michonne lifted her palms to set him at ease. "I said I wanted to talk to you."

"So, what the fuck 'Steven Segal' doing here?"

"He lives here Mike. This is his place, too."

"So, he left you and you took him back?" Mike shook his head disbelieving and disappointed over the situation. "Damn, that's a remix for your ass." he whispered to himself. He looked back and forth between Rick and Michonne. "You told me you don't do u-turns, Mimi."

"That didn't stop you from thinking that I'd do one for you." Michonne replied with a hint of attitude.

"So, he's the one, huh?"

"Yes. He is." Michonne sighed trying to bring the focus back to the issue at hand. "Look Mike. I was dead wrong that night we had dinner."

"And what about the day we had lunch or the next day we had lunch or the next day we had lunch..." Mike asked, looking at Rick smugly as if he was revealing some disheartening information that Michonne was trying to keep secret. Rick just looked right back at him and took a deep breath, cracking the knuckles on his right hand with his thumb to avoid cracking Mike's face.

Michonne could see Mike's intention for bringing that up and continued, exhausted with his childishness already, "Rick knows about that, Mike. I was way out of line. I apologize to you for that. But I need you to hear me right now. This is over. I don't have anything else to say to you once you leave here today."

To Mike's surprise he was getting emotional. He could feel perspiration dampening his dress shirt. "He making you say this?" He turned to the man in question, "You making her say this? That's why you're sitting there? Making sure she gets her lines right?"

Michonne answered, wanting to keep Rick's interaction with Mike at a minimum, "No, he's not.

But Rick spoke up with a menacing smirk, posing his own question to the man with his chest puffed up in his house, "Thought you knew Michonne."

"I do. I know her better than you ever will 'Richard'." Mike answered like a juvenile.

"Then you know. I couldn't make her do nothin' if I tried." Rick settled the matter.

Seething, Mike rolled his eyes and asked Michonne, "So, what, you saying? When you see me in the street you ain't gonna speak?"

"No more than to be polite."

"You fuckin' up Mimi, as usual." Mike warned her. "I was ready to marry you. You think this white guy gonna do that with you? With your baggage?"

Michonne's jaw dropped at his shocking declaration followed by such a malicious insult.

"Watch how you talk to her." Rick's voice came gruffly back into the conversation.

Michonne's eyes quickly darted to Rick. She held a hand up to calm her man and rested her other hand on her hip, leaning forward to make her point, "You don't have to worry about what Rick and I do. I just want you to understand that..."

"No. I don't understand." He cut her off using a higher octave, "You been crying on my shoulder for weeks over him... weeks! I never made you cry like that."

"You couldn't." Michonne didn't mince words. "I never felt for you what I feel for Rick." Feeling the need to exonerate Rick, she added, "And I was crying over my choices, not because of anything he'd done."

"He left you and I stayed. And you do me dirty?" The space between Mike's brows creased as he struggled to understand how all this could blow up in his face. He stood silent trying to process it all. He couldn't leave it like this. He racked his brain trying to figure out a way to swing the pendulum back in his direction.

While he calculated, Rick approached where they stood with the tablet in his hand. "Look," He began addressing Mike as the well-dressed man stared bitterly in to Michonne's eyes. "You should just go 'head and cut your losses." Rick counseled, "You need to understand that the only reason you walked out of that restaurant is because half of that night was Michonne crankin' you up and I know she can make little guys, like you, do crazy thangs. Make you jump when you should run."

Mike's stance was tight and his shoulders rose high with each impassioned breath. Michonne's eyes were fixed on Rick as her heart beat heavy with concern, now that the distance between he and Mike was bridged. He towered over her and Mike, both and she remembered that night at Duncan's all too well. It had taken three waiters and a line cook to separate the two of them and now there was only her. The longer this situation lingered the more jittery she became. "Just show him, Rick." She requested of the man she knew would protect her from any harm. "Let's not drag this out. Mike," her voice jolted her ex, who was far away in thought even though his eyes were set on hers, "Rick has something you need to see."

Rick spoke now. "You already know what I do for a livin'. But I want to impress upon you how little it would take for me to get next to you if you ever bother Michonne again." Slowly Mike's eyes dropped to the tablet and Rick swiped the screen, bringing up location one: Mike's apartment. He immediately recognized the view from his living room into his kitchen, where he saw Rosita rummaging through his cabinets. The tiny, but tough, Latina wore her hair in her signature ponytail under her army green patrol cap. The shirt tails of her plaid flannel button up were tied, exposing a hint of her midriff and her Glock nine in her waistband as she leaned inside his fridge and brought out a carton of old Chinese food to inspect with her nose.

Mike didn't say a word in protest as he studied the screen. Rick introduced location two and Mike ran his hand over his face and nodded slowly as acceptance of his situation washed over him.

He was now seeing video of his private office at work, in his secured building. A blonde woman in a non-descript blazer sat at his desk. Mike knew from her face that she didn't work there but everything else about her said she could have.

Dianne Cahill, retired private investigator, had traded in her daily attire of cargo pants and combat boots for a pants suit and kitten heels. The angle of the recording device showed her seated at his desk and as he looked closer at the screen of his computer monitor, his heart seized as his eyes focused and he saw that she was scrolling through his email account.

"Mimi!" Mike called in a panic as if she could or would help him.

"I hope you're getting the point Mr. Solomon." Rick said in all sincerity as he pressed play for Mike's final lesson. The tablet's speaker blurted with the sound of street traffic and Mike saw himself from less than an hour ago, feeling good and walking briskly to the place he was now- so sure he was walking into a win. Now he stood in the middle of a massive L and he sank even deeper when he heard his own voice come from Rick's hand's,

"So, when I decide to put a ring on her finger and have her barefoot and pregnant, ironing my shirts and cooking my dinner... you not gon' be my best man?"

The photoplay shook with a rhythmic bounce. And it dawned on him that the pretty woman who flirted with him earlier was not flirting with him at all. Her bookbag must've had a hidden camera recording him and his whole conversation with Terry. He saw himself staring at her butt and smiling at her when she turned around. Rick smirked at the level of fuck boy Mike could achieve as the video continued to play.

"If she can still walk after I get in them guts, we can meet for dinner so you can watch her eating out of my hand."

Michonne shook her head, embarrassed that she had actually dated this guy and happy that she dodged this bullet. Mike railed, snarling like a Rottweiler behind a fence. He snatched the tablet from Rick and tossed it, making it clatter loudly on the hard floor a few feet behind him. The younger man stepped to Rick like he'd forgotten everything that happened three weeks ago.

Rick looked back at the discarded device and gave a smile that scared Michonne a little and it would have scared Mike too if his anger wasn't making him so stupid.

Michonne put an arm between the two men and rested it on Rick's chest. She could feel his heart, steady and strong against her palm. Holding Rick with her presence more than her force, she turned to the obvious loser in the room,

"Don't do this, Mike."

He scoffed. "I didn't do this, you did."

"Look, just calm down." Michonne pleaded. "You're too angry and anger makes you stupid."

"And stupid can get you killed." Rick added with a healthy dose of malice.

Mike was livid. "You know, all this shit is illegal as hell!"

Rick calmly suggested, "Call the cops." he scratched through his beard, "But the ladies I work with are professionals."

Seeing it was futile trying to rattle Rick, Mike turned to Michonne. "So, you wanna choose this psycho, who's setting up cameras and shit to keep you away from me?"

"Not to keep me away from you, Mike. I already told you this is over. You won't go away."

"Okay." Mike chuckled, unhinged. He looked at Rick, "I'm gone." and shifted back to Michonne, "I'm gone. I'm gone just like your mother, your father, every family that ever tried to take you in. It's crazy how I put in all this effort for a bitch...

"Michonne." Rick looked to her, the alarms going off in his eyes. She understood that he was on a countdown from Mike calling her out of her name and she wordlessly pressed her hand tighter to his chest.

"...that obviously nobody in their right mind wants. Nobody but a psycho ass white boy!" Mike said with so much vitriol, he was nearly frothing at the mouth.

"You need to leave now, Mike." Michonne advised him in shaky voice as his words pierced her just like he had intended.

"Yeah, Imma leave." He turned back to Rick. "I'll leave my leftovers with you 'Richard'. I'm done with her."

Rick was using all the force in his soul to ground himself in place. Michonne could see it. Just go, Mike she kept repeating in her head as she watched her ex buck at the man she loved. Mike could have left unscathed but he had to say one more thing...

"You can have her back. I think I fucked your bitch enough. I..."

Rick couldn't let another word come out of his mouth. Everything about Mike's existence offended him because it was an affront to the woman he loved more than anything, the woman who was his forever.

Michonne shouting "Rick!" was the last thing Mike registered before he found the other's man's elbow flying into the bridge of his nose. An aberrant crack came from Mike's face followed by a dark red runnel of blood smeared across his face into his eye. Mike staggered back, stunned and he would have fallen if Rick's hands had not found their way to his throat.

"Rick, Rick! Baby, No, no, no!" Michonne started to panic as she saw the blood vessels in Mike's eyes appear more pronounced. Nearly knocked out from the first blow, her ex raised his arms weakly to fight back but could do little more than pull at Rick's wrists, desperate to fell oxygen inflate his lungs again. Rick was lost in his rage but his demeanor barely changed at all. Even as Mike slipped from consciousness, Rick looked like he could have been making a sandwich or brushing his hair. "Rick! He's gonna black out! Let him go!"

Michonne didn't know what to do. Any action she took could have dire consequences. She just needed to calm him. Mentally, he was in the field, in protection mode and she just needed to bring him home.

"Rick, I'm okay." She said softly. "Look at me. I'm okay." Her palm traveled gently up his straining bicep, to his shoulder and settled at his bearded cheek. "He didn't hurt me. I'm okay." Michonne slipped her fingers into his hair, pushing back his mane as it became wet with his sweltering fury. "Let him go." She whispered as Rick's grip slacked. He looked down into her misting, autumn-colored eyes. "We've got forever waiting." She smiled as a tear fell. Mike fell too, gasping for air, when Rick let him go entirely and wiped Michonne's tear away with his least bloody hand.

Mike tried to push himself up off the floor with shaky arms. He finally found his feet and stood, swaying like a drunk, his breathing still labored. Rick walked to the kitchen and snatched a dish towel off the counter and tossed it to Mike, who was cupping his gushing nose. "I broke it for you this, time." Rick said with chilling composure and went to open the door, ready to see the last of Michael Solomon. "I think I beat your ass enough. Now get the fuck outta our house."