A/N: I was, and still am disappointed with the MSF. I'm tired of SG and co. Anyways, thanks a bunch to everyone who read, reviewed, followed, and added this story as a favourite; thanks to everyone for sending Asks on Tumblr. You make me smile so, so much. Alright, let's check in with our very Special Agent and the fire of her loins, Grimes.

Rick's POV

The ride from the roadhouse takes almost thirty minutes; I keep checking my wristwatch as Michonne and I sit quietly in the van. The driver, a scrawny looking Savior, speaks incessantly with a plain-looking blonde woman. I wonder to myself if he's ever going to shut the hell up.

Michonne eyes them as well. She sits stoically. I can't help but think about what is going through her mind, presently. I imagine she has been in this type of situation before. I recall her case reports. I know she has been in this type of situation before: Being taken from the rendezvous point to a secondary location to meet the kingpin. These little games we criminals play to convince ourselves we are more important than we really are.

I would not go this far to arrange a meeting; then again, I got caught. I guess Negan should be wary of us; we are here under false pretences. We are here to bring about his downfall. Michonne glances at me as the vehicle stops. The scrawny Savior turns to look at us, and offers a gap-toothed smile, before saying, "We're here."

Obviously, dipshit.

I scan the immediate area, and then slide the door of the van open. I climb out, then extend my hand to assist Michonne. She straightens her dress, and then follows behind me. We are at a deserted camping ground. The pair of Saviors lead us over to a shaded table that is just near the beginning of a rarely-used walking trail. The woman gestures for us to sit, and we do.

"Where's Negan?" I ask, irascibly.

"Listen, cowboy," says the man. "We're all Negan, but the guy you're waitin' on, he's gon' be here. You waited how long, now? A couple o' minutes more ain't gonna kill you."

I am losing my patience. I clench my jaw, wishing they had not taken my weapon when they took our phones. Suddenly, I feel Michonne's hand come to rest on my arm. I feel marginally calmer.

"Of course it's not," she offers coolly, charming a smile out of the man.

Before I can feel annoyed by him staring at Michonne, I hear the sound of a car approaching. Turning my head, I watch as it comes to a halt near the van. After a moment, a tall man with dark hair steps out. He is wearing a black leather jacket and dark pants; it his right hand, a barbed-wire-covered-baseball bat is hanging at his side. He's not dressed for the weather here; he really must be as crazy as they say he is. He offers a snide smirk as he comes closer to us. I stand up and keep my eyes trained on him. He looks me up and down, lifts his bat, and then points it at his employee.

"I hope to hell this fucker didn't talk your damn ears off about fuckin' nothing on the way over here," he says, before his eyes find Michonne. She stands and offers a polite smile. "Well, well. A real lady in our presence. Excuse my fuckin' French, Miss."

"I've heard worse," says Michonne, her chin tilted upwards. The leather-clad man chuckles and then grins.

"Have you now?" he asks, stepping closer. "That's fucking good to hear, damn good. I think we're all gonna get on like a house on fire."

He draws his gaze from Michonne, and then stares at me a moment; before ogling the woman beside me once again. He holds out his hand for hers in greeting, she glances sideways at me, then takes it. "Hello," he says, still holding her hand. "I'm Negan."

…..

Michonne's POV

"Sorry for bringing y'all out here, but we gotta be careful. Besides, Rick," says Negan, as he taps the wire-covered object, he somewhat affectionately refers to as Lucille, against his covered leg. "You didn't always bat for our team, did ya?"

"Not always," says Rick. "I don't hide that fact, either."

"No, sir, you don't," Negan replies. "Which is half o' the fuckin' reason I brought my ass out here to meet with you; the other half being I'm interested in what you have to offer."

"What do you need, exactly?" Rick asks pointedly.

"To start with, a dozen AK-47s," he replies; I make notes and begin calculations. "Untraceable, of course."

"Of course," says Rick.

"And throw in, I dunno, five Brno ZKW 465 Hornets."

"With scopes?" Rick asks.

"Yeah," Negan confirms. "Why the hell not?"

"We only accept cash for purchases," I state. "Is that going to be a problem?"

"No problem from me," Negan replies as he eyes me. "I can get the funds."

"Good," says Rick. "I'll have one of my people arrange a drop, then let you know where you can collect your hardware."

"How much for my new toys?" Negan asks; Rick looks at me.

"For that quantity, you're looking at twenty-five thousand dollars," I say, glancing down at my notepad, as if I need to check the estimate.

"Holy shit!" he says animatedly. "That's a little more than I was fuckin' expecting. The Hornets or AKs bumpin' that price up?"

"The twenty-two calibre is decidedly much more expensive than the AK," I offer. "But, I think you know that, which is why you've ordered less."

He throws me an amused stare, before narrowing his eyes and saying, "Sure. I know that shit. But I also know a few other assholes who were selling the AKs for six-hundred a piece."

"That's because they got that shit from Afghanistan and it's all second-hand. You want your AK locking up because it's filled with desert sand?" I ask. I see Rick smirking in the corner of my eye. "Our products come in brand new from South America and are of a better quality. You pay for what you're getting."

I watch as Negan mulls over my words. "Okay, okay," he supplies. "You're right. But I still think you're overcharging me by a couple o' thousand."

"It covers our costs in getting your merchandise into the country," I explain. "It's not like we're importing fancy wine for your parents' fiftieth anniversary."

Negan laughs loudly, while Rick gives me a crooked smile.

"These are military grade firearms we're talking about," I remind him. "You're gonna wanna pay that little extra."

"You're damn right," Negan says. "I'm sold!"

I nod my head, and glance back at Rick. He looks pleased, even though the money will be logged into State's evidence.

"Good," I say.

"Good," Rick mirrors. "How we gonna do this? Do you have a preferred method?"

"I need to get my people to get the funds together, and then I'll contact you in a couple of days," Negan advises. "Then we can make the exchange."

"All right then," Rick replies as he stands. He and Negan shake hands. I get to my feet, close my notebook and drop it into my purse. I inch closer to Grimes. I feel Negan's eyes roam over my body.

"Hmm," he says while smirking in my direction. "Lucille thinks I should get me a gal like you."

I can feel Rick tense up beside me. "Oh, yeah? Is that so?"

Negan squints and looks at Grimes, before replying, "Sure. I need me a gal who can handle my finances…and other things."

Rick 's demeanor changes, I reach down and take hold of his hand in mine; Negan notices. There's an air of tension between us.

"I have a friend from college who might be able to help you out," I proffer, trying to defuse the situation.

"Appreciate the offer," says Negan, glancing between Rick and I. "But I think I'm good right now. Besides, I don't think anyone else comes close to you."

He ogles me once more, and I can literally feel the heat coming off of Rick's form; it's as if he is seething, but containing it well enough.

"And I don't think Rick here is the sharin' type," Negan adds, with a wry smile.

"You got that right," says Grimes. "I don't like to share.

…..

Rick's POV

Prick!

This asshole is really eyeing Michonne in front of me.

He knows she is mine.

If we did not have to honor this deal, I would break his fuckin' jaw.

…..

Michonne's POV

Night has almost fallen by the time the Saviors drop us back at the roadside diner. They return our phones to us, as well as Rick's weapon, reiterate that someone will be in touch, and then drive away. I gesture for Rick to hand his phone and car keys over to me; he does so, but not before throwing me a questioning look. I take the devices to his car, place them in the glove compartment, and then return to where he is standing.

"I'll check to see if they've been bugged later," I offer. "But now, we're gonna try those burgers you've been raving about."

…..

"How long have you lived here?" I ask, wiping the ketchup from the corner of my mouth.

"You haven't read my file?" he queries, raising an eyebrow playfully.

"Sure," I answer. "Of course I have, but there are things I want to know about you that I think are just better to ask about."

He nods his head, signalling that he understands what I am saying; I want to talk to him. He seems

receptive to that, eager, almost.

"My whole life," he offers. "Born and bred. I only moved away when I went to the Academy."

"You didn't want to be a metropolitan cop?" I query, sipping from my diet coke.

"No," says Rick. "Big city living was never my thing. I love this place too much, anyhow."

"It is a beautiful part of the country," I intone.

"Have you seen much of the country?" he asks, before taking a bite from his burger.

"Yeah," I nod.

"For work?" he queries further.

"Sure," I say. "Plus with family."

"Where are you from?" he suddenly questions.

"Grimes," I reprove. "You know I can't tell you that."

"I ain't askin' for details," he says, with a little laugh. "I don't wanna know your parents' names or anything like that."

I throw him a cautious look.

"I know Emm is from Atlanta, I just wanna know where Michonne is from. I just wanna know if you grew up in a place like this one," he adds; his eyes pierce mine, and I feel safe opening up to him.

"No, I come from a very different place, from different stock," I answer in earnest. "I never got to sit in roadside diners like this one, and eat burgers with guys like you."

"Guys like me, eh?" he drawls. His voice is so sexy; I shudder.

"Yeah, guys like you," I say with a slight smile; all he has to do is look at me and I come undone. Suddenly, the delicious food is not enough to quell my hunger. My mouth begins to water for something else. I lick my lip. "Guys who are nothing but trouble."

…..

Rick's POV

Damn.

I'm trying to focus on what she is saying, but when she runs her tongue along the bottom of her lip like that, I lose my train of thought. We sit staring at one another, and I recall how her mouth felt wrapped around my cock.

I can feel it stirring in my jeans right now.

…..

Michonne's POV

"I wasn't always nothin' but trouble," Rick replies, teasingly, as he moves his plate to the side, and leans both arms on the tabletop. He holds my gaze and smirks. "But I got a feelin' you wouldn't have given me the time of day if I wasn't trouble."

I lean back in my chair and toss my hair over my shoulder.

"You sayin' I got a thing for bad boys?" I press. He laughs and tilts his head to the side.

"Oh, I know for a fact you got a thing for bad men like me," he states. "I think that Negan asshole knows that too, by the way he was flirting with you."

I scoff and stop myself from rolling my eyes. "Does that bother you?"

"Yeah," he admits, narrowing his eyes. "Not your little preference, but the way he was actin'."

"How was he acting?"

"Like he wanted to fuckin' eat you," he says evenly. "I can't say that I blame the gangly-lookin' prick, though."

I shake my head and chuckle at his observation.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he offers.

"Well, he should know that I don't have a thing for all bad men," I say, leaning forward. I kick off my shoe, and then run my foot up his inner thigh; I can feel him growing hard as I rub my toes against his bulge. "I only have a thing for you."

…..

Rick's POV

Fuck, Michonne.

I suck her neck as she grinds against me; the small space in my pick-up is muggy and hot. We're fully clothed, save for her missing panties and my jeans and boxers drawn down off my hips. The air is saturated with the scent of our sweat, and her sweet pussy. She slides up and down my dick quickly, as we both try to find our release in the parking lot of the roadhouse. She rubs her clit with her thumb, to get herself there quicker. I grip her ass tightly. She lets out a deep moan, wraps her arms around my shoulders, and comes over my raw cock. I feel her walls clenching me; her breath his hot.

"Tell me when you're close," she whispers in my ear, in between moans, still writhing on top of me; riding me harder as her orgasm courses through her.

"Fuck, hold still," I demand, as I grab her hips and lift her off of me, just high enough so that the crown of my cock is still inside of her. Then, I begin to thrust upwards, while she rests on her knees.

Fuck. I'm gonna come.

I hold her in place and pump up into her. She holds herself steady, her hands gripping my shoulders tightly. I dig my fingers into her perfect, round ass and spread her cheeks as I drill her dripping little pussy.

Shit.

She feels so amazing.

I'm close. I'm…fuck.

I lift her upwards and draw my hips down to the seat, as my cock slips from her sex and cum squirts out of the tip; it runs down my shaft as I continue to curse.

Ah, shit.

Michonne reaches down and strokes up and down my length, before she pays attention to my throbbing head. My cum drips onto her hand as she milks me dry. I press my lips to hers and moan into her mouth as the last of my seed spills.

…..

Michonne's POV

I should be more careful, letting Rick go in raw like this. I'm using contraceptives, and his pull-out game is strong, but you can't be too careful.

Don't be stupid, I remind myself. Not this time around.

I search for my discarded panties on the floor of his truck. I cannot find them. I take our phones from the glove compartment and slip them into my purse. I turn to look at him, wondering why we have stopped at the front of the main house, instead of around the back. He looks listless, yet serious. His damp curls framing his handsome face. I offer him a quizzical stare.

"Join me in the shower?" I ask, with a devilish grin; the corner of his lips turn up into a crooked smirk.

"I'd love to," he says. "But, I gotta be somewhere."

"At this time of the night?" I ask, wondering what could be so important that he needed to leave.

"Yes," he answers. "I have to meet up with Abraham in town."

I lean back and fold my arms; I knit my brow.

"Abraham? Really?"

"Yes," he supplies. "Really. We gotta take care of a few things."

"Well, I'm coming with you…"

"No," he says firmly. "I need you to stay here."

"Rick…"

"Don't fight me on this one," he replies. "Go and wash up. I'll be back later, okay?"

I exhale loudly and shake my head. I grab my purse and move to exit the vehicle. He takes hold of my arm and repeats, "Okay?"

"Okay." He reaches up and cups my face, as he draws me nearer and kisses my lips.

…..

Rick's POV

The brightness of the floodlight is almost blinding when I switch it on. Milton Mamet is stunned; he narrows his eyes and tosses his head about, as if he can shake the torturous luminescence away.

"Help me, please," he whispers hoarsely, not realizing that I am his captor, not his savior.

"I'm not here to help you," I reply. "I'm here for answers."

He coughs, "Water, please."

I sigh and then uncap the plastic bottle that I have brought with me. I approach my prisoner, hold the bottle over his tilted head, and pour the liquid into his open mouth. He sputters and coughs some more after I give him too much. After a moment, he regains his composure; his eyes adjust, and he stares at me.

"What do you want from me, Grimes?" he asks, though he already knows the answer.

"Philip Blake," I offer in response. "You know where he is, now I need you to tell me."

"I don't know where he is…"

"Stop fucking lying!" I shout, tossing the water bottle to the wall. I pull out a hunting knife, and hold it to Mamet's throat. "Now tell me where he is."

"You let me see your face," says Mamet. "I already know who you are. I know your friend, Morgan Jones. There's no way you're going to let me live. Why should I help you?"

"You don't have to help me," I say, staring into his eyes and pressing the blade harder against his neck. "But since you're certain I'm gonna put you in the ground, you may as well speak. Go to your grave with a clear conscience."

"Men like us don't get to have clear consciences," he spits, the sweat beading on his red face.

"Maybe so," I retort. "But you're not entirely like me, how I am now. You're not like Blake. You were brought into this by him. I was brought into this by him; when he killed my wife and my little girl. Don't let him get away with this, while you lie rotting in some backwoods down in Georgia. Tell me what you know. I'll get retribution for all of us; for you, too."

I draw the knife away from his throat, and then sit back in my chair, facing him directly. He seems to be contemplating what I just said. After a moment of silence, I see his chest rise and fall as he inhales deeply. He closes his eyes for a second, and then stares straight at me. The sweat rolls down the side of his face.

"Okay," he whispers finally, gesturing for me to move closer. "Okay. I'll tell you."

…..

Michonne's POV

My skin feels cool and clean after my shower. I am wearing my robe; I finish brushing my teeth and then crawl into bed. I see Rick's phone sitting on the night stand next to mine; it has not been bugged, and neither has mine. I pick it up and turn it over in my hands; curiosity gets the better of me. I swipe my finger across the screen. It is passcode protected. I consider what numerical code he might be using. I surmise it might be a date that is important to him.

I check my tablet for the files on Grimes, in particular, the dossier regarding his family. I find his wife's date-of-birth, and key in the day and numerical value of the month. It is incorrect. I sigh, and then key in his own date-of-birth; that sequence does not grant me access to the device. I scroll through my records once again until I come across the file on Grimes' daughter. I type in her birthday. Success. The device is now unlocked.

I check his call log first. Seems standard. Calls to Abraham, Spencer, Tyreese, Deanna Monroe, and me. There are several missed calls from a number that is not saved; some as recent as forty-five minutes ago. I debate with myself whether or not I should check his voicemail, but decide against it. Instead, I check his text messages.

There are a number of messages that he has yet to read. Several from the unsaved number. Upon closer scrutiny, I can see that the number is one of Grimes' former flings. Most likely the clingy blonde. She asks over and over why is he ignoring her; why won't he return her calls; who's the bitch he was with. Then there are some explicit pictures of her nude reflection in a mirror. There are more explicit pictures of her shaven pussy. These have all been sent within the hour. I delete them on impulse, before reading the messages quickly.

For a moment, I wonder if that is where he is right now. With this woman? I shake my head, annoyed at Grimes for something he may or may not be doing; then at myself for caring. I understand why this woman can't quit Rick Grimes: I've never been dicked down so good in my life. That's not something some people can give up easily. I cannot blame her. Still, I am annoyed at the possibility of Rick skulking around to see her when he was not too long ago fucking me in his truck.

Michonne, get a grip.

I chide myself, and scroll through her messages. I feel kind of sorry for her. Grimes dropped her ass, and she's blowing up his phone. I notice he has not responded to her. I exit out of the thread. There's a message from his friend, Morgan Jones. I open it:

I hope you liked the gift. Tell me if you hear any developments. Was good seeing you.

Curious.

I don't recall Jones giving Rick anything at the dinner. Maybe it was when they caught up earlier. Either way, my inquisitive side is getting the better of me. There is not really anything else on his phone that I find of interest; there is nothing incriminating. I place it back to the side table.

I check the time. It is getting late. Grimes has not returned to the Farm, as I would have heard his truck by now if he had parked in the back of the grounds. I wonder if he is all right. Again, I wonder if her is with another woman. His phone begins to vibrate; it is that unsaved number. I think about answering. I give in and accept the call.

"Rick? Baby?"

"No," I say sternly. "It's not Rick, but it is his phone."

"Who is this?" she asks.

"None of your concern," I admonish. "Don't call this number again. Have a bit of pride; don't let him treat you like a fool. Do yourself a favor. He's not interested."

With that, I end the call, and then proceed to block the number. Satisfied with my efforts, I climb from off of my bed, and make my way into the main house. Only Grimes' security staff should be there at this hour. I am surprised to find Spencer in the kitchen, seated at the small table. He turns his head when I enter.

"Hey," I say softly, as I walk towards the large, stainless steel refrigerator.

"Hi," he replies; his eyes following me.

"Late snack," I explain, while retrieving a tub of yoghurt. Grimes does not like them, but he knows that I do and keeps the fridge stocked for me.

"Thought there'd be everything you needed out in the guest house," he stated.

"Not necessarily," I reply, taking a seat across from him. "How are you? I feel like we haven't spoken in a while."

"Well," he starts. "That's because your boyfriend doesn't like us being around one another."

I sigh loudly, and then lean back in the chair. He notices the change in my demeanor. He must know I find this song and dance tiresome.

"Can we not do this right now?" I ask quietly, as I undo the top from the tub. "We both work for him; we play by his rules. I thought you understood that, Spence?"

"I do," he assures me. "Doesn't mean I'm not annoyed by it."

I nod my head and offer him a kind smile.

"I've missed you," he adds. "I miss you."

The hopelessness in his eyes makes me honestly sad for him. I go to speak, when Grimes enters the kitchen. He is wearing different clothing from when I saw him last, around three hours ago; he seems fond of the brown shirt I let him borrow. He shoots Spencer and I and unimpressed look, and then walks to the fridge to retrieve a bottle of beer. Once he uncaps it with the edge of the benchtop and his hand, he ambles over to where we are seated. Leaning down, he presses a kiss to my temple, before taking up a seat. I study his profile; he studies Spencer.

…..

Rick's POV

My head hurts. I don't have the energy to reprimand these two. Besides, I have nothing to worry about from Michonne. There's no way she is interested in this little boy sat across from me; with his sad eyes and adolescent pout. No wonder his mother sent him to work for me; he's pathetic.

I sip from my bottle, and then place my hand on Michonne's thigh; she's already looking at me when I turn to her. She's so beautiful. The thumping in my head lessens. I smile a genuine smile at her, and she responds in kind.

"Still here, Monroe?" I ask, not taking my eyes off of Michonne. I hear the chair scrape against the floor as he stands.

"Goodnight, Boss," he offers. "Goodnight, Emm."

"Night, Spence," she bids, while glancing at him briefly; I say nothing. Spencer leaves us alone.

I take another drink, and place the bottle down on the table; I shift the chair back marginally. I look at Michonne and then ask, "He missed you, uh?"

She holds her breath and then shrugs. I offer her a crooked, wry smile, and then tap my hand against my lap as I say, "C'mere."

She abandons the tub, and moves to sit on my lap. She straddles me; I give her ass a squeeze. She drapes her arms over my shoulders and we stare into one another's eyes, wordlessly. Her intensity matches mine. I feel my cock stirring.

"I missed you," I say, finally breaking the silence.

She laughs, and then brings her lips close to mine. She lays a fleeting, chaste kiss on me, before whispering, "Liar."

She pulls away, and I grab the back of her neck; threading my fingers into her hair. I kiss her collarbone gently. My mouth is soft on her skin, a contrast to the way I am gripping her with my hands, roughly; tightly.

"I did," I promise against her searing flesh; I suck at her neck. "I missed you as soon as I was gone."

I snake my hand up under the fabric of her shorts; her ass is plump and perfect. I dig my nails in as I squeeze; I mark her skin. Her breath hitches. My cock is becoming engorged. She feels it growing against her center. She grinds against me; our gaze meets again. She brings her lips to mine once more; we share another innocent kiss. I slip my tongue out, trailing it slowly along her top lip; she draws away from me.

"Then why did you go?" she asks, in hushed tones. She really wants to know. I need her to leave this alone. Her breath is warm and inviting. She circles her hips, causing more friction against my erection. She's seductive in every way; she's trying to get this secret from me.

"I had to," I say, my breath is ragged.

She kisses my neck, rolls her hips, and then moans into my ear, "Fucking liar."

I need to take charge before I fuck around and disclose everything to her. I grip her hips, and then lift her onto the table top. I pull her shorts down, strip them from her body, and then push her down until she is lying on her back.

"You got a smart mouth sometimes," I say, as I stand between her thighs and stare down at her. I rub my thumb over said aperture, then slip it between her lips. She sucks it. "Won't be so smart with my cock in it."

I see her eyes light up. She fuckin' loves it. I withdraw my thumb, and then massage it over her clit. She moans at the contact. My dick leaps in my jeans. I take her hand, and bring it to her pussy, gesturing for her to continuing the strokes while I free my hardness. I watch as she brushes her fingers over her clit.

Fuck. She's so fuckin' sexy.

I take my cock and then rub the shaft over her clit. I don't enter her, I just press down and rub until her juices coat my length. She writhes from the pressure of my thickness stroking up and down, and over and over her sweet little bud.

"Fuck, Rick," she breathes, widening her legs; she leans up on her elbows so she can watch my teasing.

Her pussy is so slippery. So soft. My big red tip is gleaming. I take it and trail it over her clit, then down to her opening. Slowly, I inch it in between her swollen lips. She whimpers as I impale her; her head rolls backwards.

"Ah, yeah," I breathe, as he swallows up my entire length with her hot little cunt. "I missed you so much."