Michonne lay in bed early on a Saturday morning, the blankets kicked off around her ankles, despite the chilliness of the air. She closed her eyes and steadied her breathing, one half of her brain willing her dream to go away and the other scrambling to preserve the details. This made three dreams like this in one week. She wasn't sure what was wrong with her.
She shook her head, chuckling drolly to herself. Who was she kidding? She knew exactly what was wrong with her. She was falling for Rick Grimes. She could deny it to herself during the day, but her subconscious spoke volumes at night. Three times this week her southern-accented friend had visited her in her dreams, and each time she awoke feeling as confused as the last.
It had been two whole years since she felt even an inkling of attraction to a man and almost a decade since the man had been someone besides Mike. She felt guilty now, laying in the bed they had once shared, thinking about her client. Her feelings were a huge conflict of interest. She should pick a less complicated man, a person without attachments, a person she didn't represent in court. No matter what she told herself, the dreams returned, intensifying each time.
That horseback ride had not helped in the least. She rarely was so terrified as she had been sitting on that beautiful coppery mare. She hadn't thought her heart could beat any faster until Rick jumped up behind her, wrapped his arms around her and teased her as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Rick had found quite a few excuses to touch her last week and she had been in no hurry to stop him. A shiver ran through her as she recalled the feeling of him, solid and warm and irresistibly masculine, bouncing around behind her.
She sighed, chiding herself.
"You are in so much trouble, Michonne," she exhaled, willing herself to get out of bed. She only had time for cardio this morning, relishing the burn of her muscles as she melted away her frustrations, her legs pumping furiously on the treadmill. Andre was up early, happily watching Christmas cartoons on their living room couch.
"Is Carl coming today, momma?" he asked, his wide brown eyes just visible over the back of her leather sectional.
"Yup," she dropped a kiss on his head, the fabric of her cotton towel swinging down and touching his face as she bent over.
She straightened it around her head as Andre trailed her into the bedroom. "What are we going to do today?" he asked excitedly.
"We're going to pick a Christmas tree," she told him, scooping him up and depositing him on the bed. "A real live one."
He looked delighted. "The kind daddy liked?" he asked.
"Exactly the kind," Michonne smiled through a wave of fresh guilt. She should be thinking about Mike, about Andre, and not about Rick. "Why don't you go pick an outfit," she suggested to her son. "Something nice and warm."
He bounced happily from the bed, his footsteps beating an erratic pattern up the hall to his room. Michonne sighed in relief. Andre, at least, was not onto her.
She pulled her closet doors open, seizing the outfit she had picked out days ago and laying it on the bed. She took time with her cocoa butter lotion, massaging it into her freshly-shaved skin. She moisturized her hair, pulling at the curls to stretch them out. Her hair was getting longer than it had been since Mike died. She remembered vividly the day she had gotten the kitchen scissors and cut her long dreads off in the bathroom mirror. Sasha had almost murdered her when she had seen the result, rushing her to the salon to get her butchered hair re-sculpted.
Michonne inspected her reflection. Maybe she would let her hair grow out again. She wouldn't mind a little afro. She only bothered with mascara and a bit of lipstick before she pulled on her clothing, an emerald green sweater dress with long sleeves and a turtleneck. The dress's fabric was sewn to look as though it wrapped around her from several different angles, accentuating the curves of her body. She had worn it before and was well-aware of the response she got while in it. She wasn't above using it on Rick. It was payback for all the tight button down shirts he was always wearing in her presence.
She inspected her appearance once more. Satisfied, she slipped tiny gold studs into her ears and headed down the hall to her son's room. Andre was busy trying to pull his favorite blue sweatshirt over the hoodie he already had on.
Michonne had to laugh. Her son's fashion sense was still in its early developmental stages. "Let me help you, Dre," she said kindly, removing layers until she had him in only his black sweater with his miniature gray jacket over it.
"Is Officer Grimes here?" he asked eagerly as they emerged from their bedrooms to put their shoes on.
"Soon," she assured him. Rick's punctuality was unrivaled, except perhaps by her own.
True to form, a knock on the door announced his presence. Michonne finished zipping up her knee-high black boots and seized her black coat before opening the door.
"Are you ready to pick a tree?" Rick asked in lieu of a greeting. He was bundled up in a dark blue sweater, his hand around Carl.
"We're ready!" Andre bounced out of the door and straight into Carl, nearly knocking the Sheriff's hat from his head. Carl caught him, already leading the two of them down the driveway to Rick's truck.
Rick shook his head at their children running down the sidewalk. "You look lovely, as always," he complimented her easily. Michonne felt her face flush.
"You don't clean up so bad yourself," she told him, shrugging into her coat.
"I thought we could take a Christmas tour before we get your tree," he told her, opening the passenger side door and shuttling their children into the miniscule back seat. There was a booster seat already strapped in the back. Michonne looked between it and Rick curiously. "It's Carl's old one," he explained, lifting Dre into it. "Glad it's getting some use again."
"What did you have in mind?" she asked him, smiling gratefully.
"How are you and Dre at ice skating?" he asked in return. Michonne's eyes widened but Dre and Carl were already cheering from the backseat.
"Looks like I'll be embarrassing myself again," she sighed, resigning herself to another disastrous display in front of this man.
Rick grinned cheekily at her. "I promise I won't take too many videos of it," he flashed his phone in his pocket with a laugh before starting the car.
She listened to him loudly sing Christmas Carols for the kids' amusement while he drove, trying her best not to smile too widely. Her phone vibrated from deep within her coat and she fished it out, registering a text from Sasha.
"What's on your plate today?" her friend asked.
"I'm picking out a tree," she texted back.
"With Rick?" this text was accompanied with a knowing side-eye emoji.
"Don't be jealous," Michonne texted back.
"Fine. But I better see you tomorrow," Sasha acquiesced. "Oh and…" a series of emojis followed, most notably an eggplant and some rain drops.
Michonne shook her head. "Gross."
"Uh-huh," She could practically hear her friend's skeptical tone in the text.
Suddenly Rick was leaning over, loudly bellowing the words to O Come All Ye Faithful directly into her ear. She nearly jumped out of her skin in her haste to switch her phone's screen off.
"Are we boring you?" Rick asked innocently, his voice not quite matching his mischievous expression.
"Not at all," she assured him as Carl and Andre cracked up. She loudly sang the next chorus to prove her point.
Rick grinned at her, steering them into a crowded parking lot. It took a lot of finagling to work their way through the crowd, stuff their children into skates that fit and get on the ice. The normally stressful task was better with a partner, especially one as deft at navigating crowds as Rick.
"Can I take Dre to the kids' section?" Carl asked them both, already clutching Dre's hand.
"It's his first time ever skating," Michonne warned him, worried. Rick put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
"Carl knows what he's doing," he assured her.
"I'll teach him," Carl said, smiling widely when Michonne nodded her approval. He skated backwards, pulling Andre gently along towards a roped off section in the middle.
"Are you and your son just good at everything?" Michonne asked Rick sarcastically.
Rick shrugged. "Not everything. Just most things," he reached for her hand.
"I wasn't kidding when I said I'm bad at this," her legs were already beginning to shake as he pulled her along.
"You can't be worse at it than riding," he teased. "Just hold onto me for a few laps. You'll get the movement down." He sped up, grasping her hand tighter and pulling her towards him. She felt a surge of adrenaline she was sure had nothing to do with the ice.
"Don't let me fall," she warned him as he whipped the two of them around.
"Not a chance," he swung around to skate backwards and promptly almost tripped over a divot in the ice. Michonne did not hide her laughter. "They need to Zamboni this rink,' Rick observed, his cheeks coloring.
"Don't worry," she teased. "I got you," she laced their fingers together tighter.
Rick grinned and sped them up again, drawing a giggle from her as he turned them around the ice, instructing her on how to move her feet. She was thrilled to find that she was a quicker study of ice skating than horseback riding, getting her footing under her after just a few more laps. She looked over at their sons, smiling as Carl delightedly pushed Andre forward on some sort of walker designed to keep the kids up.
"Want me to get you one?" Rick asked, following her line of sight.
"Ha-ha," she laughed sardonically, letting go of his hand and propelling herself forward on her own. She wasn't as graceful as he was, but she kept her footing.
"Very nice," Rick applauded her, following her closely as she slid around the rink.
"See?" she challenged, sticking her tongue out, "I'm good at some things."
"You're more than good at plenty of things," he assured her, reaching for her hand again.
Michonne allowed herself to be pulled under his arm as he started to show off, spinning them around in concentric circles.
"I think we're having more fun than the kids," she said, turning her head back to them.
"I don't know about that," Rick laughed, watching Carl propelling Andre around as fast as he could, both yelling in glee.
"So, I think I have a plan for moving forward," Michonne felt she should at least mention work, that guilty feeling rearing up in her stomach again when she studied Rick's face. She was enjoying this too much, him showing off for her.
"You can tell me on Monday," he spun her again. "Today is for ice-skating and Christmas trees."
Michonne lost her balance, careening into him. He caught her deftly, pushing her back onto her feet.
"Ok," she agreed, catching her breath.
"Want to try a lift?" he asked her brightly, making as though to grab her around the waist.
"Only if you want ice-skating, Christmas tree day to end with me on a stretcher," she laughed, swatting at his hands.
"Spoil sport," he grabbed her anyway, speeding them up just to make her laugh.
An hour later and they rounded up their kids, steering them off the ice with the crowd to make way for the Zamboni.
"Can we go again?" Carl asked his father.
"We've got other things on the list today, son," Rick helped him untie his skates, then reached for Andre's.
"Christmas trees!" Andre announced happily, shoving his feet roughly back into his boots.
"But first, lunch, my treat," Rick grinned at him.
"Rick, you don't have to," Michonne told him.
"I'm pretty sure you want a double cheeseburger right now," He stood up, smirking at her. "And I promised Carl a Happy Meal."
Michonne snorted, shaking her head. "Lunch it is."
Rick bought her a peppermint mocha to go with her cheeseburger and fries as their kids chowed down, comparing the toys they had received with their meal.
"Thank you," she smiled at him beside her, "for helping Dre and I with all of this." The holidays had been hard for her the last few years. She'd tried to make them fun for Andre, but it had taken considerable effort.
"It's my pleasure," he snitched a fry, popping it in his mouth with satisfaction. Michonne rolled her eyes.
"Want to wash that down?" she offered him a sip of her drink. He happily took it, slurping comically for the amusement of Andre and Carl.
"So, should we pick a tree?" he asked, crumpling up the wax paper his meal came with.
"What kind do you want?" Carl asked her later. They were in a Home Depot parking lot that had been transformed into a winter wonderland, stuffed to the gills with pine trees of every size and shape.
"Let Dre pick," she smiled at her son. He was positively vibrating with excitement.
Rick, Michonne and Carl followed the little boy dutifully through row after row of trees, all commenting happily when Dre prompted them for opinions.
"How big should it be, Dre?" Rick asked him, bending down to his level.
"Taller than you!" Andre stretched his hand out as high as it went.
"Well in that case, you better look at them from a better angle," he seized Dre and placed him on his shoulders, then took Carl's hand. Michonne hung back, watching Rick shuttle their kids around, her heart full to nearly bursting.
"You are in so much trouble," she whispered to herself again.
She was quiet on the ride back to her place, content to listen to the sound of her son happily chatting away with the other men in the truck. Rick answered all his mile a minute questions with a smile, seemingly oblivious to the effect he was having on her.
The sensation only grew stronger when he and Carl hauled out all her Christmas decorations from the hall closet and began to trim the tree and the house around it. She handed the boys ornaments one at a time, watching Rick lift them up so they could reach the higher branches. He even went so far as to get the ladder out of her garage to string lights along her roof. She watched them nervously from the window as Carl handed strands up to his father, the two of them conversing easily.
"Momma," Andre called her from somewhere near her knees, his little face pressed to the glass as Carl made faces at him from outside. "Can Carl spend the night?"
Michonne wouldn't have minded a sleep over at all, but she just smiled at her son. "Maybe we can all watch a movie," she told him.
Which is how she found herself sandwiched on her couch next to Rick, their children between them, moving marathoning Christmas films in her newly decorated house. She had made them hot chocolate and soup to stave off the cold that Carl and Rick had dragged in with them from outside. The two young boys were laughing happily at Elf when Michonne looked over and saw Rick watching her, his blue eyes seeming to dance in the light reflecting off the Christmas tree. She swallowed nervously, ignoring the feeling of her insides seemingly liquefying. Her eye caught a glimpse of Mike's picture on the mantle. She sobered, trying to calm herself down.
Andre was the first to fall asleep, his little body slumping against hers somewhere halfway through their second movie. Carl was only a half hour behind, his hat pushed down over his eyes as gentle snores emanated from his slumbering form.
"We should go," Rick whispered to her, slowly working his arm free of the tangle of blankets they were caught in.
"Don't wake them up," Michonne said, desperate not to be left alone with her thoughts. "They can sleep in Andre's room."
"You aren't sick of us yet?" Rick asked curiously.
Michonne flushed again. "Not at all."
"Well, all right then," he stood up carefully, lifting his son over his shoulder. "Lead the way."
Michonne picked up Andre and moved him steadily down the hall and into his bed. The twin mattress easily accommodated both boys. She tucked them in, careful not to wake them and left a light on in the hall, heading back to the living room. Rick made a move to clean up their bowls. She helped him, carrying the utensils into the kitchen and depositing them in the sink. Rick moved to turn on the sink, but she stopped him.
"Just relax. I don't get a lot of time to just relax around adults," she told him, laughing quietly and shutting off the water.
"All right," Rick agreed. "I have something for you," he walked to where his jacket was hanging on a hook in the foyer and rifled through the pockets. "I didn't want to give it to you in front of the kids."
Michonne took the familiar envelope from him and opened it. Rick's slanted signature had been added to the pages.
"Congratulations," she told him, carefully returning the papers and carrying them to her desk in the living room. "You're officially a single man."
"Thanks to you," he followed her, allowing himself to be led back to the couch.
"How do you feel?" she asked him, returning to her seat and pulling the covers back up.
He sat close to her. "Relieved," he admitted. He smiled at her. "Want to watch something with at least a PG-13 rating?" he teased.
"Hell yes," she seized the remote, flipping through channels until she came to a TV version of Die Hard.
Rick muttered his approval, settling down into the cushions to watch. He swung his arm over the back of the couch, his fingers just grazing her shoulder. Michonne felt her breath hitch. Rick was already chuckling at something on the screen, seemingly unaware of the effect he was having on her. Michonne willed herself to relax and enjoy the movie, but couldn't quite keep her mind off the man beside her on the couch.
An hour stretched by, uninterrupted. Michonne could feel herself tiring out, her body relaxing after so many restless nights this week. She closed her eyes for only a moment, intending to rest them.
When she opened them again, she was face down in Rick's sweater, breathing in the warm, musky scent that was uniquely his own. Rick was apparently asleep as well, his feet up on the couch and beneath them, stretched contently across the cushions and under a blanket with her cosseted into the crook of his arm.
Her heart began to pound a frantic tattoo, her eyes scrambling for the mantle clock. It was 11 o'clock at night. Somehow, they had managed to sleep three hours away. She chanced a glance up at Rick. His eyes were closed and he was breathing steadily, his chest rising and falling underneath her own.
Michonne pondered her next move, trying to ignore how close they were to one another and his hand resting protectively on the small of her back. She listened carefully for the boys, just able to distinguish the sounds of Carl's snores from down the hall.
The responsible thing would be to wake up, traipse down the hall and check on the kids. Rick could stay on the couch and she would retreat to her own room and go to sleep.
The responsible thing vanished from her mind when Rick stirred, opening his eyes and looking at her. She felt herself freeze like a deer in the headlight, but he just grinned lazily at her.
"Your couch is comfortable," he rumbled, adjusting his arm so that she was positioned closer to him.
Michonne could think of nothing to say. Her body was beginning to betray her already. She was certain he would hear her fluttering pulse any moment now, or feel her skin beginning to form a trail of goosebumps from the area where his fingers were rubbing circles into her back. His eyes found hers and the smile died on his face. He swallowed heavily, his breath hitching. He licked his lips nervously, his eyes unmoving from hers, silently asking for permission.
Her heart was rattling against her rib cage, her mind racing. She wanted him, God knows she did, but fear was keeping her rooted in place. Rick's right hand came up to stroke her cheek then slid up, brushing her ear and running his fingers through the tight curls. She closed her eyes, focusing on steadying her breathing.
"Michonne," his voice was still heavy with sleep, deep and rumbling. He repeated her name and she willed herself to look at him.
"What are we doing, Rick?" she asked quietly, leaning into his touch.
"I'm thinking about kissing you," he answered, "but only if you want me to."
She bit her lip, watching him watch her. "Why?" she questioned, the fear still flooding her body.
"Because you're beautiful," he told her, sitting up to look at her, "and kind. And incredibly intelligent," he leaned closer. "And a great mother." His face was just centimeters from his own. "But mostly I want to kiss you because I like you," his lips twitched upwards.
"You like me?" she repeated, her heart skipping.
"More than like you," he confirmed, pressing his forehead gently against hers. "I think you might like me too."
Michonne could feel his beard gently tickling her face as he held them close, waiting.
"Rick," she took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of his cologne.
"I can wait," he told her. "If you need time, I can wait."
She raised her own hand, placing it flat atop the one caressing her cheek.
"Are you sure this is what you want?" she had seen this before, heartbroken people latching onto a person who showed them kindness. She was nobody's rebound.
"It's the only thing I've been sure of in a long time," he closed the scant distance between them, brushing his lips across her knuckles.
"It would be so complicated," she pointed out.
He smiled again, laugh lines cutting across his handsome face. "Seems pretty easy to me. When I'm with you, that's the only time my life seems easy."
Michonne felt tears rise to her eyes, unbidden. Hastily, she attempted to turn her face away from him. Rick was too quick for her, wrapping her tightly into a hug. She allowed him to cradle her, feeling like a child. With her face pressed into his sweater, his heart thumping directly in her ear, Michonne felt an odd sense of calm come over her. This man had been just a stranger a few months ago and then their lives had come crashing together in dramatic fashion. She had once thought she would never feel this way again, not after Mike. But laying there in Rick's arms, she realized how mistaken she had been.
He was holding her, soothing her, not pressing her to explain herself. She had found her safe place in this seemingly broken man, remembered a part of herself that she thought had died with Mike.
"Rick?" she brought her head back, looking up at him. He wiped her tears away, his calloused thumbs running gently along her face.
"Michonne," he said her name again.
"Kiss me," she told him, tilting her head up. He leaned down tentatively, pressing his warm lips gently against her own.
"Are you ok?" he pulled back, searching her face.
"Kiss me again," she told him, crawling closer to him.
He obliged her, kissing her deeper this time. She responded in kind, wrapping her arms around his neck, slanting her head for better access. He broke all too soon for her liking, taking a shaky breath.
"Are you ok?" she echoed his question back at him.
"Just trying to stay calm," he chuckled lowly. Michonne felt herself flushing.
"I like you, Rick," she felt compelled to say it out loud.
"That's the best news I've heard in a while," his smile widened.
"I'm not sure I know how to do this, anymore," she admitted. Dating seemed so far off.
"Me neither," he assured her. "But I want to figure it out with you."
"What about Lori?" she asked.
"She's not my wife anymore," he said with conviction. "I don't love her."
"And the baby?" she whispered, loathe to bring it up.
"Even if the baby is mine, it's you I want," he assured her.
"That's a long road ahead," she said, sighing.
"So, we'll go slow," he kissed her forehead. "Go out with me, one date. If I can't convince you, I'll go back to being your client," his indigo eyes were staring her down, pleading.
Michonne leaned forward, kissing him gently. "Ok," she agreed.
His smile alone was worth taking the chance. He pulled her back into him, adjusting the pillows behind their heads and rearranging the blankets around her.
"Do you mind if I keep sleeping on this comfortable couch of yours?" he asked her, already leaning back.
"Not at all," she laid her head back down on his chest, "No point in waking up the kids this late."
"My thoughts exactly," Rick's hand found the small of her back again.
A/N: That's all for now folks! See you in chapter 12!