Chapter 11:

Trippin'

It was close to midnight when Rick climbed out of his shower, dried off and wrapped a towel around his waist. Two minutes later, with a rumbling stomach, he'd dressed in dark grey sweatpants and walked out of his room heading downstairs to the kitchen.

At the end of the hall, the lights were off but movement from a shadowed silhouette caught his eye. When he peered closer he recognized it was Michonne closing her bedroom door.

"Everything alright?" he asked.

She approached him, stopping less than a foot away.

"Are you prowling, Rick Grimes?" she joked, grinning wide.

"What? No. Are you?"

She chuckled. "Mmhm. Sure. Thought it was time I find the family's...secret jewels." In the dimness, he could just about make out the devilish arch of her brow.

He smiled. "Never pegged you for the burglar type. Think you can find them?"

"They're hidden somewhere in this monolith," she said. "Aren't I dressed for the part?" She opened her arms displaying herself. With her hair bundled high on top of her head, she's clad in one of her knee-length satin robes. The blue or the white, in the darkness it was hard to tell.

Rick moved closer. "God knows what you've got on underneath."

She bit her lower lip and chained her arms across her chest.

He noticed something in her hand. "What's that?"

She held it up. "Baby monitor. Was just coming to see you."

He nodded and opened up his room, gesturing for her to step in.

At first, her eyes drifted from his face over his bare torso, then sprang back up to meet his gaze. She pulled up short just inside the threshold, gaping at him as he closed the door.

"Hey," he said.

Her gaze darted away and she cleared her throat. "Hey." She turned from him, glancing around at his space.

He did a quick check making sure nothing embarrassing was out in the open. Like dirty socks on the floor, or empty cookie wrappers on the sheets.

Her visit was genuinely unexpected. They were yet to further their discussion from the previous day and he'd decided to give her a week. But it took only a day and he was glad about that.

Rick followed as she moved further into his room. "Didn't know you were still awake. Had a hard time putting Carl down?"

"No," she said, taking a moment to study the black and white landscape paintings on his wall. "He's been out like a light for a while now. Just been up, working on some quotations Siddiq emailed me for two new clients. And waiting."

"Waiting?"

She gave him a pointed glance. "Yes, waiting."

He raised his brows in astonishment, she'd stayed up late for him. He grinned.

Rick liked how she quietly breezed through his room without his permission. It attested to the level of comfort they'd attained in their relationship. While she wandered around, he took the opportunity to appreciate the pronounced curves of her cheeks, the soft glow of her legs and the orange polish on her dainty toes which gave her a playful appearance.

She also looked regal, comfortable in his space. Like she belonged there. Gliding her fingertips along the panels of his dark-stained wooden walls. Perusing his personal items: framed photographs, knick-knacks from travels, jazz playlist opened on his iPad. Touching worn-out copies of his favorite novels: Catch 22 by Joseph Heller, Gangs of New York by Herbert Asbury, and The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath.

Yes, that got her attention. She held up Plath's 'girly' book, giving him an arch look.

He shrugged. "Mental illness is fascinating to everyone, isn't it?"

"I guess," she murmured, returning it to the pile sitting on top of the vintage miniature dresser. "So...we need to talk." Her hands fidgeted with the cord of her robe. It was pink, by the way. He'd never seen that one before. "About your uh, offer…"

"Want something to drink?" he interrupted, pointing to his minibar in the corner of his room, to her left.

She glimpsed over and back at him before shaking her head. Her lips were pursed together. Her face tense.

Rick stared into her eyes for a moment. He could almost see the wheels turning as she struggled with whether this was the right thing to do or not. She walked past him over to the edge of his bed, tilting her head up to stare at his chandelier. The brass and gold light fixture was on the extravagant side he had to admit, with its five tiers looming directly over the center of his resting place. But his mother insisted it added the perfect touch to the masculine rustic/modern decor.

"This doesn't suit you," she said.

"No," he agreed, "It doesn't."

The night before, when he'd met with Negan, he didn't really know what to expect. But a quick glance at Michonne's file positively rattled him. The person in those papers was not the same woman he'd gotten to know over the past couple of weeks. The girl in that file had a rebellious nature, was deeply troubled and yes, a repeat offender.

Rick couldn't bring himself to scour the rest of the report. Repulsion laced through him. Not at Michonne's past, but at himself. For allowing his gaze to sweep over the private information in the first place. Even if it was for less than a minute. He simply handed it back to his brother then walked out.

Today at work he'd been distracted. Meetings were being conducted around him whilst he spent the time batting off intrusive thoughts. Thoughts about how he'd violated what little trust he'd built with Michonne. Thoughts about how he still desired her, wanting very badly to pursue an intimate relationship with her.

Late into the night, when he'd finally left the office, he was still plagued by feelings of conflict. On the one hand, he needed to come clean with Michonne. On the other, he'd preferred not doing so. It would be at the risk of evoking her contempt. And he'd deserve it of course, for being such an acute and utter dipshit.

In either case—confessing or withholding the truth—he'd end up hurting her.

It was inevitable.

First, however, he had to convince her that he cared for her.

Feeling that familiar pull to touch her, he came close behind her placing his hands tenderly on her arms. He whispered, "It's okay."

Her shoulders rose and fell with a sigh. She then shook her head. "You know, just because you want something, doesn't mean you should have it. Doesn't mean you need it."

Rick heard the caution in her tone. "It was very open-minded of you to move in here. I like that. You were willing to work things out with me. Stay open-minded. I think this is a good thing too, I can feel it."

"How?"

"You intrigue me too much, that's how."

She faced him with a frown. "Rick...It wouldn't do any good to complicate matters."

"Do I scare you, is that it?"

"Oh please! You wish."

She tried to give the impression like she wasn't intimidated, but he saw through it and he didn't like it. He had to make her know it was unnecessary. He wished she would give a little, allow him to make her see the possibility.

He traced his finger from her cheek to her lips. "Have dinner with me, tomorrow night. This isn't about rushing into a mistake. Think if you hear what I have to say, it'll change your mind."

She turned her head and pressed her palms flat on his chest. More than likely feeling how fast his heart pumped with adrenaline. It was insane, the nervousness vibrating through his bloodstream.

His hands, in turn, traveled to her back, down the length of her spine, before resting at her waist. "Hey...thank you."

She looked up, brows furrowed, unsure of his meaning.

"I wasn't sure you'd come," he said, "I'm glad you did."

A million and one questions, responses, retorts all flickered through her expression, but she was yet to verbalize a single thought for some strange reason. He hoped it really wasn't because of fear. What could possibly hold back that sharp tongue of hers?

His attention shifted from her questioning eyes to where her hands boldly settled. Current passing through his skin to her cool fingertips. He breathed in and exhaled again when suddenly he felt her pulling away from him.

His muscles flexed on instinct. "Michonne wait. I...I thought waiting to discuss this over steak and wine would've been best, but maybe not. Maybe now is the right time."

"Right time? For what?" she asked, watching his expression.

He hesitated for a split second. Or more. He was stalling. The truth was, initially the primary concern was him doing the responsible thing and taking charge of his son's life, whilst also safeguarding himself. Still, that was no excuse for his deplorable actions, now was it?

He accepted the fact that it was going to be difficult—admitting his dishonest intentions.

But despite that, he knew he shouldn't back down. No. Despite feeling restless and angry and disappointed in himself, he was willing to face the unsightly situation and the probable fallout, head on. He didn't know how he was going to get it done, but he'd get it done. He'd make it work.

Somehow.

The question really was when.

Rick cleared his throat.

"Tonight, I met with my attorney. Told him to go ahead and arrange with Ms. Williams, to set up a meeting at her earliest convenience so we could proceed forward drawing up an agreement. One that you'll approve of."

She was gazing calmly at him. It was bewildering. She seemed to be able to stare straight through into his mind and Rick felt that at any moment, in a sudden burst of emotion and realization, she was going to rebuke him.

"Why?"

"Beg your pardon?" Rick asked, confused.

"Why so sudden? Why just like that?"

"Well… I meant what I said. I want this to work. For all of us." More than mere physical attraction, Rick wanted to make Michonne happy. "Thought you'd be relieved. Would you rather I didn't?"

"I'd rather not be put through the wringer to begin with. Treated as a suspect for the past two weeks, made to walk on eggshells. But, if you're certain about doing this, about sharing custody then...I guess I'm quite surprised. I should be...relieved," she said, tentatively.

Rick felt coiling in his stomach. In need of some bourbon. Fresh air.

"I-I don't know what to say."

"Say yes." He drew her hips toward his. "To everything."

She glanced away, her brows furrowed in contemplation. "Yes," she said quietly.

His head dipped and he nudged her chin with the side of his face. Gaining access to her neck, he deposited a light kiss against her silky skin and felt the tremor at her pulse. His stomach lurched with primal satisfaction at drawing such a reaction from her. She turned to him and the heat from her breath met and mingled with his as she caught his mouth.

A sharp puncture in his chest threatened to topple him over.

He pulled back, lowered his gaze and tugged on her knot. He wanted it undone.

She complied, thankfully, loosening the tie of the robe herself. And she took her time with it.

His arms slipped inside, circling her waist. A warm cinnamon scent burst forth and ensconced him. Her heated body was petite. Yet strong. Yet feminine. He bent forward, tilting his head so that his lips could comfortably fit against hers once more. The contact invited easy contentment with a blaze of excitement on its tail. Leaning further down, he kissed her throat, pressed his tongue to her skin, tasting it.

"It's been a while," she sighed.

He looked up, his eyes thoroughly scanning her features. The curl of her lashes, the evenness of her skin, the plushness of her mouth. And the anxiety that tainted it all. It occurred to him only then, that for her, the last couple of years must have been a whirlwind of change; the heartache, the loss, the sacrifices. With this understanding, his need to be with her took on a deeper meaning. He squeezed her in his arms and lifted her onto his bed.

Her gasp burst out, though she tried to restrain it.

His eyes pinned her in place, as he aligned his body with hers. With the seconds that marched by, he savored the vision of her parted lips, the scent of her glowing skin, and the softness of her thighs at his fingertips. She cracked a smile, and her beauty unhinged his senses. He crawled over her, possessive, eager to explore but keeping a fist on his desire. This wouldn't be like the first kiss. Reckless. No. Looking down at her, his brain quickly listed all the ways he could make this woman delirious from his touch.

"I'll take care of you," he murmured, and he meant it. He'd take his precious time, he'd cherish it.

Come the next day, chances were she'd go back to pretending.


Consciousness seeped into Michonne's slumbering mind forcing her to awaken. The instant her eyes slit open and the distinctly male room sharpened into view, she had no choice but to acknowledge that her judgment faltered.

It was supposed to be a straightforward conversation.

All Michonne wanted was to have an honest talk with Rick, to reason with him about his ludicrous proposition.

But somehow, at some point, she'd changed her mind? Ugh, what the hell happened? This was so unlike her.

Did it have to do with the fact he'd happened to step out of his room without a shirt on, wearing only a pair of dark pajamas which hung seductively low on his hips, making him look like a snack? Or was it his hair, soaking wet, dripping around his ears, and down his neck? Whatever it was, Michonne barely kept a level head. All common sense skedaddled out the door.

And then some.

From the instant his arms slid around her waist, pulling her against his warm naked chest, she trembled everywhere. Exhilarated and scared. She was so torn. This thing between them, she didn't want it, but every nerve fiber of her body screamed at his touch. At his crisp clean scent.

He had been so gentle, so meticulous, he'd touched her as though she were a fragile piece of art and she wanted to implode. He'd run his hands up and down her body; her neck, breasts, stomach, her legs. Goddammit, then his lips followed. Covering every inch of her skin. Toying with her making her tingle in her sensitive areas. To be honest, she'd just about lost her mind.

The chemical reaction between them was inexplicable. For long moments afterward, her head was still spinning. When was the last time being that close to someone set her bones on fire, if ever?

But somehow he knew she wasn't ready to go any further.

He let her fall asleep cradled in his arms.

Now, at three in the morning, she tried her damnedest to sneak out of his room and retreat to hers as quickly as possible. She'd managed to wiggle away and sit up right at the edge of his bed.

But then Rick's arm slipped around her waist, hauling her back. His lips were at her ear but he said nothing. His breath, however, wrapped around her like warm silk. Damn. She shouldn't melt into him, she shouldn't be stupid for one moment longer. And yet...

Her eyes closed, she turned and touched their foreheads together.

He fisted the back of her top.

"Carl isn't up yet," he said, his voice hoarse, graveled, so damned sexy and tempting. "Come back to bed."

She resisted. She didn't want to go back to his bed. The mere suggestion was enough to set off a churning in her abdomen. The muscles tightening and contracting forcing her to clasp her hands.

"No," she said.

"I still want you."

"No."

"You still want me."

"No." His self-assuredness sent a thrill straight through, down to her core. And she almost allowed herself to be drawn in once more by this man. Instead, she sighed with resignation, forced her desire back into its cage and pushed him off. "No. I don't. This is crazy."

And then, with a wicked grin, he tickled her ribs. She gasped and giggled and gasped...because really, that was a dirty trick. But she kept moving away from him. She needed to take this thing—she couldn't begin to label it—between them, one step at a time.

"Suit yourself," he said, looking up at her. "You know you're gonna have a hard time falling asleep, knowing that you've left me here by my lonesome."

She studied his perfectly toned chest, wanting to sink her teeth into him...again. Because yeah, she did that, she put her mouth on him and knew how good he can taste and seriously, she wanted to do it again. But she shouldn't, at least not now. She's thirty years old and she's supposed to have some goddamn self-control.

Girl, just get out.

"I won't." Clinging to her lie like a life raft, she reached for her robe splayed on the floor and without glancing behind, she left.

Once she reached her door and stopped outside, she realized she'd forgotten the baby monitor. Pressing her ear to the panels to be sure Carl was still sleeping, maybe she could slip in without any disturbance.

"It has begun."

Michonne jumped and spun around. The lights in the hall switched on and she found herself face to face with an angry Negan. She groaned. "Excuse me?"

"You think you got this shit on lock, don't you?" he said in a harsh whisper. "The baby is his and now you've seduced your way into his bed."

"Let me guess, you don't approve."

"He won't marry you! You're not the marrying type."

Michonne tilted her head to the side. "Oh! And Sherry is?"

"Sherry is a good girl. She does what she's told. She knows the rules. You? You're a spitfire. And you're too cunning for your own good. You'll have my brother wrapped around your finger so tight, and he'll feel like he's the luckiest man in the world."

It wasn't so much as her being with Carl that was problematic for this man, it was her being with Rick. "This is none of your business Negan, but let me reassure you I'm not looking to marry anyone, including your brother."

"You're damn right about that because I won't let it happen. He's my family and I protect what's mine."

She stepped over to him. Out of the three brothers, Negan was by far the tallest and Michonne, at only 5ft. 6, craned her neck to glare at him. "What is it that you want from me?"

Negan looked her over, disconcerted by her unwillingness to be intimidated. "Well little lady, I want you to sign over full parental rights."

"Fuck. You."

"It's either that or that god-forsaken, drawn-out process of adoption to get my brother's name on Carl's birth paper."

"And what about me? You plan on getting rid of me as soon as the ink hits the paper?"

He paused, folding his arms. "We could do a separate contract."

"A contract? To raise my own son? How noble!"

"You are not his mother! You're just the nanny."

"What?" Her chest constricted. "You're trash, you know that?" She turned away dismissing him and stomped off, but he grabbed her arm, wrenching her back.

Michonne didn't realize what she was doing until after it was done. After she heard the thwack and felt the pain. After she saw Negan's head snap to the side and the red split in his lip. That's when she realized she'd slammed her fist into his face.

Negan laughed with derision. "Atta girl! That's gonna cost you. Big time. Looks like that report got it right. You are one unstable bitch!"

Michonne drew back preparing to swing again, and a sound exploded into the hallway. In the next moment, she was pushed aside. Rapid-fire Italian came from all directions. Sherry, Veronica, and Shane bolted down the hallway toward them. And Michonne couldn't get a word in edgewise.

"What do you think you're doing, Negan?" Rick demanded. He shoved Negan's back against the wall, but his brother didn't retaliate.

Negan raised a hand above his head and with the other, he wiped a bit of blood off the corner of his upper lip. "Aw come on. She's trying to secure her future by jumping in your bed. She's nothing more than a floozy."

Before Negan could say more, Rick landed a punch across Negan's cheek. "Shut up! You shut your mouth. That is the mother of my child have some goddamn respect."

Shane threw his arm around Rick's shoulders, restraining him. "Alright, alright. Easy."

Negan's eyes hardened, his breathing heavy. "She's not right for you fratello. You got on the cocoa train so you can't see it. Now you think you know better than me. But you don't."

Rick shoved Shane away, pointing a finger in his big brother's face. "You're overstepping your bounds. This time I'll forgive you because you're my brother, but don't think I won't knock your teeth in if you step out of line with Michonne again. Got that?"

Michonne tried to intervene, but Veronica stopped her.

"No," the older woman said. "You don't come between brothers."

Michonne narrowed her eyes at her. Dang, was anyone sane in this family? Growing up, the Andrews maintained a peaceful household with three teenage girls. Sure her and Lori would brawl from time to time but nothing like this. This was too much drama for Michonne to handle.

Carl suddenly cried out and she was grateful for the opportunity to escape the chaos. As she rushed inside to tend to her child, it couldn't be more apparent that she'd made a huge mistake by agreeing to live with these strangers.

"I can't believe you just slugged my brother."

Scooping her baby out from his crib, she hadn't even realized that Rick followed her in.

"I can't believe you don't every third day of the week," she said. "He's a jackass!"

Michonne rocked Carl back and forth in an effort to soothe him, but her own emotions were threatening to choke her, and she compelled herself to will them to subside.

"Think you should do that?" Rick asked, trying to take Carl from her arms. "You shouldn't hold him when you're upset."

But she wouldn't release him, tightening her grip. "I don't need you to tell me how to take care of my son."

"He's my son too. How convenient you keep forgetting that. Look, he won't calm down if you're agitated."

Michonne felt her body shake, like a bomb about to explode. "I can't do this with you right now Rick. I can't. This family is clearly out to get me, I mean, what did Negan even mean when he said I was unstable? Why? Why would he say that?"

Rick decided right then to pull back. If it's her stubbornness or her fury, he didn't say. He simply said nothing at all. Instead, he retreated to the bathroom, which served to confuse her even more.

After a moment's silence, she heard water gushing from the tap.

"Rick?" With Carl drifting back to sleep on her shoulder, she moved to the doorway and stood behind the man who tried to defend her 'honor.'

He was allowing the liquid to run over his bruised knuckles.

"Put Carl down," he said, heavily. "Then we'll talk. After."

She stared at his reflection while he grabbed the hand towel, soaking it. His expression was frighteningly grave.

"Sure," she complied. Her ire simmering down just below the surface.

It took another minute before she returned Carl to his bed. Rick took hold of her hands, inspecting them, then he wrapped her right one with the towel.

She hadn't noticed the swelling.

"Negan's got a guy who's very efficient," he told her. "We wanted to know all there is to know about you and... I'm sorry but he went too far."

"What?" She swallowed against the lump in her throat. "How far?"

"Too far. Like a dog with a bone. He hunted down old neighbors, classmates, teachers. Dug up school records, police records...medical…"

And there it was. He let that one hang in the air between them.

She snatched her hand away from him, suddenly disgusted with his touch. "For what purpose? To prove I'm unfit? To destroy me?"

God! She could not believe what she was hearing. She had had it up to here with him and his brothers' arrogance. What gave them the right to act as though they had real insight into what she went through as a teenage girl?

"Well," she bit out, "don't stop there, Saint Rick. What else did you dig up from my past?"

He sat on the edge of her bed.

Michonne didn't. She promptly crossed the room, positioning herself by the window, getting as far away from him as possible.

"What do you know?" she asked again quietly. "That I saw a therapist? So what? I was seventeen."

"You saw three different therapists, over a period of five years. Court mandated after you ran away from home, for the fourth time, for two months, before you were found miles away in Macon."

She was shocked he would stoop to this. That he would dig deep into her personal life without her consent, with the sole intention of using it against her and to benefit himself.

Emotional blackmail?

Had he uncovered her biggest regret as well?

Rick cupped his hand over his forehead. "You don't owe me any kind of explanation, but—"

"You're right, I don't. I don't have to talk to you about anything that doesn't concern Carl. Whatever I went through is my personal business. How dare you? People make mistakes in their life and you Rick Grimes, are no different. The difference between us is that I've dealt with my problems and I've moved on. Clearly, you haven't."

What did the rest of Negan's report even say, she wondered. Did it explain why she'd left home in the first place? Or why she'd been forced into endless hours of therapy?

Michonne preferred to think that access to something so confidential was not possible. Rick couldn't know it was because she'd spiraled into a deep, trance-like depression. She hoped he didn't have a clue it was triggered by her having an abortion. An illegal one without her parents' knowledge or permission. And that the man who pretended to be her relative, who took her to an out-of-state clinic, was the same man who had gotten her pregnant.

And because he was twice her age, and because he was married, and because he wasn't really her uncle but her damned Art teacher, she was forced to keep it a secret.

Of course not, no one knew about that.

No one could know what they'd done, Jason said. Besides who would believe her over him?

Michonne paced the room while Rick tracked her movement.

It hit her so fast. All the pain and the memories, all of it rushing in at the same moment.

When Jason had stopped answering her calls, and secretly applied for a transfer so that he could move out of town, the abandonment tore her apart.

She couldn't accept it. The man she'd adored rejected their little one. And as if that wasn't enough, he, without warning, no longer wanted her as well.

It was the worst feeling in the world.

Devastated, and infinitely hurt by his betrayal, she went after him.

In the middle of one night, after she'd tracked him down, Michonne packed a bag, readying to leave with a half-assed plan. When Lori whispered, from across their room, not to do it, Michonne simply told her to fuck off, to mind her own damned business, and she'd left.

Her reunion with Jason was not what she expected. There was no contrite apology from his beautiful lips. Those same lips had introduced her to the sensual pleasures of womanhood.

When she found him, he'd flew into a rage. Those lips berated her.

Those lips called the cops to arrest her.

Yes, she'd wreaked havoc on his precious car, but God knows the son-of-a-bitch deserved it. She'd spent months fantasizing about carving 'mother fucking liar' across his too-handsome face.

After letting her spend a night in a jail cell. The police phoned the Andrews and they came a few hours later to take her back home again.

It wasn't the first time.

She knew the drill.

Was any of that in Rick's secret report?

And if it was, did it mean he thought she was unsavory to be his son's mother?

Maybe.

She stood before him and he looked up. "You said you saw your lawyer last night, well I went to see my lawyer yesterday too. And she warned me about how ruthless you people could be, but I...I didn't want to believe that about you."

"I know."

"You know? What is it that you know?"

There's was a moment's hesitation. Then he admitted, "That you saw your lawyer yesterday. Our private investigators had your phone tapped."

Michonne cracked a slap across his face. Two for two. She was on a roll. "You son-of-a-bitch," she hissed.

"Yeah...I deserved that."

"No. More. You deserve so much more and worse. Rick, all this time? How could you?"

"Believe me I know. There's no excuse. Blatant invasion of your privacy, there's just no excuse for that and I shouldn't have consented." He rubbed his palm against his reddening cheek. "I wanted… I wanted to tell you everything. Just was waiting for the right time. Should have been upfront with you from the very beginning."

"You should have."

"It was wrong. I see that clearly now."

"Not to mention illegal. You know I could use this deception against you in a court of law."

Rick looked at her. He really looked at her. He was quiet. And then he said. "You could." But his wary expression said that he hoped that she wouldn't. "I. Am. Sorry. Please Michonne, please believe that. I accept full responsibility. I'm willing to make a change, I am willing to make things right. Tell me what to do and I'll do it, just don't do anything drastic. It may seem difficult right now, but I think we can get past this."

"You think?"

"I know."

"Well, I don't." Suddenly overwhelmed, Michonne dug her fingers into her flesh, struggling to stay strong. "I'm filled with so much regret right now."

She saw alarm register on his expression at the hurt in her voice, but she didn't care.

She walked to the door and held it open for him. "Get out." She was done with this conversation.

As he exited into the hallway, she wished she could be done with it all.