Feedback please...very uncertain about, ya know, everything. Thanks to everyone who's left feedback thus far ^_^
He opened his eyes slowly, and saw hers looking back at him. Gently, her fingers wove their way through his neatly trimmed hair. Space nor time could not separate them. He was like the earth to her sun, touched by her ever glowing brilliance. Stuck in orbit, moved by her gravitational pull. Just once, he did not fight it. He leaned in, and she did not pull away. Ever so gently, he kissed her soft, full lips, forever transforming the core of his very being. His shuddering sigh mirrored her own, and he felt both lost and found. She pulled back, staring into the depths of his soul, then turned away, pulling his arm with her, coalescing into his warm embrace…
"Rick? Rick, you still here?"
Rick's head snapped up, focusing on what Andrea, their marriage counselor, was saying. He looked over at Lori who looked at him expectantly.
"Oh. Um…what was the question again?"
Lori sighed in exasperation. "This is what I mean. He just…checks out."
"This isn't about blame, Lori," Andrea said, though she looked at Rick. "We're trying to get to the root of your problems. We can't do that if we're busy pointing fingers."
Lori crossed her arms, looking away.
"Rick. I asked what it is that you want, going forward." Andrea had her pen at the ready, notebook open.
Rick looked away, thinking. "I'd like to not argue. I want…I want to be happy."
"You aren't happy?" Lori asked, looking at him, wounded.
Rick looked at her. "Lori, isn't that why we're here? Are you happy?"
Lori looked away once more.
Rick looked back at Andrea. "We haven't been happy for a long time. I don't know that we'll be able to get back there, but…I'm here to see." He looked over at Lori. "I'm gonna see."
. . . . .
"That therapy shit working?" Daryl asked, digging into the basket of boneless wings. Shane stared at him.
"Jesus, man. I hope you washed your hands," Shane said, taking a fork and picking up some of the wings.
Daryl looked at him, licking the sauce off of his fingers after putting some on a plate. "Hmm."
Rick grabbed one of the celery sticks, dipping it into the blue cheese sauce. "I don't know if it's working. How can you tell?"
"I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess that's a no," Shane said, taking a healthy swig of beer.
They were at the local watering hole, The End Zone. It was endless boneless buffalo wings and four dollar beers night, and therefore, guys' night out.
"Mind still elsewhere?" Daryl asked.
Rick took a drink. "Yeah."
"I think you should just call her. See her. Bust one out and get her out of your head."
Rick shoved Shane. "Come on, man," Rick chastised.
"Nah. That's not Rick's style," Daryl said.
Shane smirked. "Ol' loverboy? Yeah. I know. But see, his problem is, he doesn't know if he wants to woo someone new, or re-woo someone old."
Daryl cracked his knuckles. "Instead of trying to save your marriage, you should try and save you. It's been two months of counseling, and where has that gotten you?"
"When was the last time you and Lori even slept together?" Shane asked.
Rick's brow furrowed. "I dunno. But at least we're sleeping in the same bed again." Rick thought about how they would sleep on separate sides of the bed, backs to each other. He shook his head, attempting to shake away the visual.
Daryl quirked his lips. "That's your bright side? Man. That's fucking sad." Daryl patted his vest down. "Damn…out of smokes. Gonna run next door and get some. They don't have my brand here."
"Can't imagine why they don't. Clearly you're their best customer."
Daryl grabbed a wing off of Shane's plate in response.
Rick stood. "I'll get 'em."
"You sure?" Daryl asked.
"Pfft. He just wants to get away from this conversation," Shane said, getting a few more wings.
"What he said," Rick said with a wink, heading out to the gas station across the street. It was a short walk, but Rick thought it might help clear his head. He seemed to be attempting to do that more often than not, these days…
. . . . .
Michonne's head automatically jerked up at the sound of the bell on the door jingling. She was coming back from her kick boxing class, stopping for juice and gas. Bottle in hand, she looked up and saw Rick. He was in a white T-shirt and faded jeans. He looked…well. He looked well. Michonne jerked back behind an aisle, then promptly rolled her eyes at herself, coming out of hiding. She didn't know why she was so nervous. Even though she hadn't seen him in two months or so, he was still Rick.
. . . . .
"Yeah. Let me get a box of Newports, please," Rick said to the clerk.
"Hello, Rick."
Rick swallowed, a wave of emotion washing over him, though he couldn't put his finger on which emotion it was. A multitude of them—relief, fear, joy… He turned, and a smile bloomed on his face at the sight of her. She was so lovely. He hadn't forgotten how lovely, but it was startling, seeing her beauty in the flesh. Her hair was pulled into a bun, and she was wearing one of those workout tank tops, its electric blue color complimenting her skin. Rick quickly glanced downward, then instantly regretted it, taking in her practically painted on spandex workout leggings.
"Michonne," he said, still smiling that soft smile.
She lowered her eyes, smiling back. "How've you been?"
"Hey buddy, you gonna pay for these squares or what?" the clerk said from behind him, impatient.
Rick looked apologetic, turned and quickly paid for the cigarettes, then stepped to the side so that he could continue talking to Michonne.
Michonne eyed the green and white pack. "You've started smoking?"
"Oh these?" Rick shook his head. "Nah. I'm just buying these for a friend. Having drinks across the street."
Michonne nodded.
"You look good. Great. You look great," Rick said, shoving his hands in his pockets.
Michonne smiled. "Thank you. I uh…I moved. Sold the house. Damn near everything in it. Except for some pictures, some art…few mementos..."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I was in danger of making it a shrine, and…" Michonne looked away, then turned back to him. "Anyway, I'm Downtown. Loft. It's nice. Different."
"Oh. When did you move?"
"Two weeks ago. I should have texted you, but I—"
"I should have called you," Rick said.
Michonne shook her head, smiling at him. "I told you I'd call you. Not your fault."
"Listen, Michonne—"
"Rick, I—" Michonne sighed, shaking her head. "I was leaning too much on you."
"You weren't. And hey, I don't want you to think that…It's not that I think you needed me. You didn't. I just wanted to be there for you. I still do. I want…" The sound of a bell ringing in the distance went unnoticed by both of them. "I missed you," Rick blurted out. Michonne looked at him, startled. He stared at her, unblinking. "I want—"
"Give me everything you got, man!"
Rick and Michonne's heads both snapped to the front of the store. A man with a bandana on his face held a gun at the clerk, finger at the trigger.
"Shit," Rick muttered, turning so that he stood fully in front of Michonne.
The gunman turned to Rick, but kept his gun on the clerk who was pulling money out of the register. "Don't do nothing stupid, man."
"Naw, wouldn't wanna be like you. You should put that gun down, now. No harm's been done, yet. You can walk away from this," Rick said, slowly advancing on him.
"I said, stay back!" the gunman yelled.
Rick lunged, knocking the gunman into a rack, a shot firing off into the ceiling at the impact. They struggled for the gun, with Rick slamming the gunman repeatedly into the rack and into the glass window, gripping the man's wrists tightly and holding it above their heads. The glass broke under the weight and the rack, both men tumbling out of it, the rack hanging halfway out the broken window and halfway in the store. Rick felt a ringing in his ears as Michonne yelled his name in the distance. He staggered to his feet at the same time the gunman did. With a roar, Rick lunged at him. He was fast, but not fast enough. A shot rang out. Rick thought he heard a bell ring as he looked down at his shirt, a brilliant red spreading all over it. Rick blinked before collapsing to the ground.
. . . . .
Michonne kicked the gunman hard in the back of the leg, making him drop to his knees. She hit him upside the head with her elbow, then brought his face down into her raised knee, knocking him out. She picked up the gun from him, pointed it at him for a second, then turn and ran to Rick. Her breath was stuck in her throat at the sight of him. She dropped to her knees, putting the gun down, placing her hands over the wound just underneath his clavicle.
"Rick…it's okay. Just stay with me. Stay with me," she murmured. She looked around, then saw the clerk poke his head out of the broken window.
"Jesus," he said, looking at her.
Michonne, hands wet with blood and eyes full of tears, look at him and shrilly yelled, "Help us!"