"Seems like a booty call."

Michonne shot Andrea a warning look, but the damage was done. Andre looked up from his leap pad to give his godmother an inquiring look. "What's a booty call?"

Andrea ducked her head into her arm to stifle her laugh, leaving Michonne to do damage control. She cursed under her breath before turning to him, smiling sweetly, pulling a lie out of thin air. "A booty call is when you have to go potty real bad."

That only confused Andre, given the context of the word. "So Rick has to use the potty real bad?"

It was Michonne's turn to bite down on her laughter. By then, Andrea was inconsolable, turning beet red. Andre looked between the two, apparently missing the joke.

Michonne pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "How about you go finish your breakfast and play on the pad in the living room?"

Andre leapt out of his seat, booty call debacle forgotten, making a beeline for the living room. Michonne waited one full minute, letting her guffaw, before smacking Andrea on the arm.

"Sorry! How was I supposed to know he would ask that?"

"He's five years old, he asks about everything. The next time he mentions anything about a booty call I'm calling you to explain."

"Ok," Andrea said. "But it really is a booty call. He tells you he's having problems with his girlfriend, and then invites you over. What do you call that?"

"Maybe it's – wait for it – Rick needing his friend?" She feigned shock. "Crazy, right?"

Andrea took one of Andre's grapes off his plate and popped it into her mouth. "Whether or not you realize it, this is him subconsciously telling you you're the one. Something good happens, call Michonne. Something shitty happens, call Michonne. What does that say?"

"I've always been that person for him."

Andrea quirked a smile, shaking her head. "No. You've always been his first choice."

Michonne had no counter argument for that; it was true, but she still tried her best hand. "Was his first choice. I haven't been that for five years."

"Nineteen years of solid friendship versus five years of a rocky relationship." Andrea shrugged, closing her argument. "I rest my case, hun."

Michonne ignored her, tidying things around the kitchen while Andrea watched, amused. "So if this really is a 'friendship' thing why aren't you taking Andre?"

"He's sick," As if on cue, Andre sneezed from the living room. "And I don't want to expose him to change in climate and altitude."

"Oh my God, you really do read those parenting magazines Mom gives you. What did you tell the brat you were doing?"

"I told him Mommy's going to visit Rick in Boston and bringing him lots of souvenirs."

Andrea shrugged. "I'm still putting condoms in your luggage."

"I think you're the one who needs to get laid, Andrea."


Michonne spent the rest of the week preparing for her leave, and though she didn't want to admit it, she was brimming with excitement. Not only would she be getting away from it all, but she would be doing it with Rick. In Boston. Teenage Michonne was living for this.

Andre had no qualms about spending time with his Aunts and Grandparents, running into his grandfather's legs the moment he spotted him by the door, and then running into the house to greet the rest of his family. There was something surreal about seeing her son run around the same house she grew up in.

"I swear that child gets bigger every time I see him. Soon he gon' be taller than me!"

Michonne greeted her father with a kiss on his cheek, his graying beard scratching his mouth. "Thanks for taking him in, Dad. Really."

He waved a dismissive hand. "Ah, don't sweat it, baby. I love to see my grandbaby."

He keeled over, coughing roughly. Michonne placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You ok? Need some water?"

"Nah, I'll be fine. Your Daddy's just getting' old that's all."

She sometimes forgot that while she got older, so did her parents. It didn't hit her then how old her father looked with his gray hair and hunched back. Anele and Aneni would call her and tell her how forgetful he was, or how sometimes he'd just stare into space. It made Michonne want to come back and re-settle in her parents' home and help them out. The more she worked, the less she felt like she was doing something for them.

"Don't worry bout' me, girl. Go on now. Tell Rick I said hi."

She nodded, and then called for Andre. He came running back to her with cookie crumbs all over his face. She swung him up and hoisted him onto her waist, brushing the crumbs from his mouth. "Are you gonna behave?"

"Yes, mama."

And then she said, lower so her father wouldn't catch it. "Don't give your grandpa such a hard time, ok?"

He nodded vigorously. Michonne pressed a big, sloppy wet kiss to his cheek before setting him down. And then she hugged her father, longer and tighter than she needed to.


Michonne's locs had gotten longer, falling just past her chest, the ends of them now the color of toast. She was so different from the girl he'd first left in the airport that first time in Boston. Her round face looked sharper than he remembered, though her cheeks were still round and full of life. She stood taller, straighter, her eyes no longer dancing like they used to.

When she saw him, pushing his way past unsuspecting tourists, she broke into a smile, and it was like her entire face blossomed. It took Rick a second to gather himself, remind himself this was his best friend, not a crush he harbored.

When at last they hugged, it felt like coming home. It felt like late night's reading comics under sheets when they should've been sleeping, exchanging notes underneath the desks during math class, skipping school to mess around in the park. Secrets and the smell of her favorite perfume and drunken kisses on eighteenth birthday's.

He squeezed her tight, until he could feel her laughter vibrating against his chest. "If you want to make it out of this airport with my ribs intact..."

"Sorry." He released her, apologizing by kissing her temple. "I am just so damn happy to see you."

She looked into his eyes, her favorite shade of blue, and mirrored his smile with her own. "I am, too."

Rick's condo was larger than she remembered, or maybe the photos and video's he sent made them look smaller. The dining room alone would fit three of her kitchen's.

It didn't bother her. Rick came from money, and that was no secret. The Grimes had the largest house on their block, his parents were both doctors, and when his fraternal grandfather had died, he'd left him a large portion of the inheritance. Still, Rick never gloated about his wealth. Nothing in the way he carried himself showed it, and Michonne knew that was intentional.

Lori, and all the wealth she hailed from, seemed to be the icing on top.

"How are you?" She greeted, giving Michonne an awkward side hug full of bones and elbow. "I don't think I've seen you since last Thanksgiving!"

"It's been too long," Michonne agreed, deftly maneuvering out of Lori's embrace. "I thought I'd visit, see what's so great about Boston."

"Well, I know Rick's glad to have you here. You're the topic of a lot of conversations."

"A good topic, I hope." She kept her tone light, but the statement was serious. She was never able to tell if Lori was being condescending or not.

Lori didn't answer her, smiling widely as Rick came from around the hall, where he'd been setting up Michonne's suitcases. "You're all set! Now we can go – "

"You're leaving?"

Michonne looked between Rick and Lori, and the tension between them that could be cut with a knife.

"I wanna show her around," he gestured to Michonne. "Let her see the city, since she's never been."

Lori laughed, but it was mirthless. "Funnily enough, I'm almost sick of this city."

Michonne saw a muscle in Rick's jaw feather, deducing that Lori's statement had nothing to do with the city at all. She intervened, clearing her throat. "We'll be back in a few hours. Right, Rick?"

Rick already had one hand on the door. "No promises."

Michonne turned to give him a warning look, but he was already out the door. She turned to smile apologetically at Lori, who reflected her smile, as if she felt bad for her, too.

Once Michonne was inside the hall, Rick's rough, familiar hands clasped hers, and they half walked, half ran toward the elevators. Once inside, Rick punched the fourteenth floor, the very last one.

Michonne smiled, narrowing her eyes at him. "What's on the fourteenth floor?"

Rick flashed her a lazy smile. "Heaven."

She couldn't argue with that, and so she simply laughed.

Heaven turned out to be the penthouse floor, the one large and vacant enough to use for house parties, which Rick informed her seemed to be its only function so far. Rick walked Michonne from empty room to empty room, and then drank in her face when at last they stepped onto the balcony.

The skyline could be seen from miles and miles. Skyscrapers brushed the heavens, and the people below them seemed ant-like in comparison. The afternoon sun glittered against everything, making the whole scene look ethereal. Heaven.

Rick offered her a beer, the last one, which she took. "You come up here often?"

"As often as I can, yeah. Which isn't too often."

"Alone?" She took a sip of her beer.

He paused before answering, watching her a bit warily. "I haven't bought Lori up here, if that's what you're asking."

Her lips quirked into a smile. "So I'm the only girl you've let into your adult tree house? Gotta say, I feel pretty special right now."

"Well you should," he took the beer from her, and drank. "I always think of you when I'm up here."

Heat tickled her cheeks.

"Whenever I can't call you, I come up here, think of what you'd say to me."

She didn't know what to say to that, so she took the beer back from him and drank. She needed to be somewhat under the influence for what she was about to say next.

"Why don't you leave her?"

He recoiled as if she'd hit him.

"If it's such a burden for you, why don't you just leave?"

He'd known this conversation was coming, but now that it was here, his answers were in shambles. It was Michonne. Whenever he was around her, circles turned to squares, and left was right. He could never think straight around, or about her.

"I've given Lori five years of my life," he said simply. "I don't think I know how to stop."

"That's not love, that's obligation."

"That how you feel about law school? That you're obligated to go now that you're one year in?"

She tapped her fingernails against the bottle. "I made a promise to myself when Andre was born." She cut her eyes to him. "And promises to myself."

He wanted to brush her hair out of her face, but instead leaned his forearms against the balcony railing.

Michonne sighed. "I said I would do whatever it took to get me where I want to be. No matter the cost, I would get there. Even if it was hard. I owed – I owe myself. I promised Andre I would be the best mother I could be, and that means going to school and giving him the best life possible. The point is, I made promises, Rick. Have you?"

He kept his steely gaze on the horizon. "No," admitted. "But five years is a long time to just…leave."

And nineteen years was a long time to quietly love someone.

Rick looked into her eyes a beat too long. Michonne shook her head and pressed the beer into his chest. "Enough of this. Let's go somewhere."

Rick stood there a moment, the condensation from the cold beer seeping into his shirt, wondering if he was actually crazy. For thinking it. For meaning it when his girlfriend, the woman he supposedly loved, was just three floors below them.

Rick kept his distance on their way out of the penthouse, scared to so much as brush her shoulder. Michonne didn't seem to notice, or if she did, she didn't show she minded. "Where are we going?"

There was so much to do, Rick didn't know what to choose first. So he simply said, "Everything."

And everything they did. He took her to see Freedom Trail, Boston Harbor, the Fine Arts museum, and his personal favorites. They stopped at a record store, Tupac for Michonne, Prince for Rick. He took her to his favorite restaurant, and she didn't gag at his order of peanut soup like Lori did the first time he took her there, but she did laugh and ask for a spoon to try.

Her mind couldn't help but wander. What would her life be like if, five years ago, she hadn't gone into that hotel room with Mike? She would love Boston like Rick did, know all the places like the back of her hand. Would she have met someone? Would Rick have met Lori? Where would the two of them fit?

In retrospect, the thought of life without her son crushed her. She didn't regret him , or the life she had, one bit.

"He reminds me of you," she told Rick as they walked back to his condo, slowly, still savoring the day and each other's company. "More than Mike. But I think that's because I love him so much."

He chuckled. "He does, doesn't he?"

"God, we had so much energy when we were his age. Especially you. You never walked, Rick. You crashed into everything."

He laughed, because it was true. His mother used to say Rick went from sitting up to running, skipping the crawling and walking stage entirely.

"Not like you made that any better," he nudged her. "We used to bust our asses together."

She laughed again, stopping mid-walk because she knew she'd keel over on the pavement and curl up into a ball of laughter.

When they returned to Rick's condo, it was to find Lori and Shane preparing dinner. Well, Lori prepared dinner, while Shane took full advantage of their wine.

"So you're Michonne," he drawled. "It's about damn time we finally met. Rick here's been keeping you all to himself."

The smiled uncomfortably. Shane only popped up in conversations she had with Rick a few times, so she knew little of him, and wasn't interested in what she saw so far.

Dinner was uncomfortable for several reasons. One was that Lori invited her cousin Eugene, who Michonne found both weird and endearing. Second was Shane's jokes, which missed all their marks and made her wants to shove a bread roll in his mouth. Third was the food, some strange concoction of a salad she couldn't even begin to pick apart.

Fourth was Rick, and his inability to remain calm. He was constantly finding excuses to touch her, or invade her personal space, which was usually the case, but something about it in that setting seemed strangely intimate, especially with his girlfriend sitting across from them. He rested his arm on the back of her chair, put his hand on her shoulder, brushed his fingers against her knee (whether accidental or intentional, her body still elicited a shiver) and even initiated footsies.

Lori had barely spoken two words to her over dinner, so Michonne was surprised to see her enter the guest room unannounced.

"Lori," she said, the surprise coloring her voice. "Do you need something?"

Lori quietly shut the door, and then turned to Michonne, looking at her as if she were seeing Michonne in a very different light.

"You know, when Rick first told me about you, I didn't know what to think." She expelled a breath, turning her eyes toward the ceiling. She smiled ruefully. "It's every girl's worst nightmare, loving a guy who's best friend is a girl."

Michonne looked down, blinking at the bed sheets. This was a curve ball. "Lori, I…"

"I was jealous – especially those first few months. God, I was envious. They way Rick talked about you, you'd think you were the one he was in love with. But then he would kiss me and I'd think 'Guys who are in love with someone else don't kiss like this'. He told me he loved me, and I believed him with everything in me. I loved him, too." She chuckled dryly. "I know it doesn't seem like it now, but I did. So much."

"I admit, I did think I had the advantage. I'm white, you're black. I come from decent money. I got into Harvard, for Christ's sake, but so did you."

"You've got it all messed up if you think Rick cares about that."

Lori peered at her. "I did. I see that now."

"What are you trying to say?" Michonne couldn't keep the edge out of her voice. "That I'm not any good for him?"

"On the contrary, actually. You didn't let me finish. The years went by, things got harder for us. I pick fights. I put the knife in his hands, and he's too good a man to admit it, but he hates me for it. I know he doesn't wanna be with me, but he's staying because he thinks it's the right thing to do. The noble thing."

Out of obligation, Michonne thought.

"We never see each other these days. And this week, I picked another fight. He told me we'd have time, and all I could think of was the weekend he had off. Imagine my surprise when he tells me you're coming over for the weekend."

"It was so clear to me then, what all this was. A distraction. Then this morning when he kissed me goodbye to go pick you up from the airport, he kissed me like…he kissed me like someone who's thinking of someone else."

The tears spilled, hot and fast, down Michonne's cheeks. "I don't want Rick, Lori."

She shrugged, but there was nothing nonchalant about it. "Maybe that's true. Doesn't change the fact that he chose you over me. And now I'm pregnant, and I know he'll love this baby, but I'm wondering where I fit into that equation."

Michonne inhaled a sharp intake of breath. "Pregnant?"

"If everything goes right, this baby will have a great life. Loving parents. Two instead of one, I know your son doesn't know what that's like."

Michonne looked at her, shocked that she'd have the nerve, the absolute gall, to say that to her face. If Lori wasn't pregnant she'd have earned herself a punch in the face.

Lori clasped her hands in front of her. "Rick told me all about Mike, how he knocked you up and then just…left. He feels bad, Michonne. You make him feel bad that he has it so easy here."

Michonne swiped the tears from her cheeks. "Go. And I mean that in the nicest way possible. Just go."

Lori nodded, feeling sick herself. She was the villain, the evil bitch. But she would do whatever it took to keep her family intact, even if it was falling apart well-enough by itself. "I really am sorry, Michonne. For all of it."


The following morning, Rick discovered Michonne, fully dressed, her luggage in front of the door. "What's this?"

"I'm going home," she said stonily. "Back to Atlanta."

He blinked hard, truly not understanding. "It's Saturday. We still have two days left together."

"To do what? Parade me around Boston trying to convince me of – what, exactly? How much better it is than Atlanta?"

"Michonne, what are you – "

"I'm sorry I got pregnant, Rick. I'm sorry you miss me and that we live in different cities and that your life sucks, but me being here won't make it any better."

Her voice cracked in strange places, her lip wobbling. She was about to cry, and he couldn't even begin to know why. "Michonne, you're not making any sense."

He took a step towards her, and she took a step back.

"Let's just talk about this," he said, a desperate attempt to get her to stay. "Let's go to the park, and you can yell at me there."

"I have a flight to catch."

"Then let me drive you to the airport."

"I can take a taxi. I know it's hard to believe, but I have money, too."

What was that even supposed to mean? He rubbed his temple, trying to clear his head of the remnants of sleep. "Tell me what I did, and I'll make it better. Give me that, at least."

She shrugged, knowing she was breaking his heart, but also knowing she couldn't stop now. "We're not us anymore, Rick. We're pretending we're the same people, but we're not, and I can't keep up the pretenses anymore. I can't keep pretending I'm the same person without you. I can't pretend I like that person anymore."

"Not good enough," he shook his head. "That's not a good enough reason for me to let you go."

"It is. It has to be."

"I can't lose you," he said, his hoarse voice barely above a whisper. He was begging her now. "Please, just stay."

She said nothing, unlocked the door, and broke both their hearts when she shut it.


"You ok? How's Rick?"

"I had a long flight, Mom. I just want to go home."

Her mother nodded, wanting to prod but knowing her daughter wasn't a child anymore. She missed when she could crawl into her mother's lap and tell cry about her day. She wanted to do exactly that.

Andre was a deep sleeper, so he didn't notice when he was being taken into his mother's arms, but he would be in for quite the surprise tomorrow. Michonne watched him sleep as the taxi cruised along the bumpy road, ignoring the incessant ache in her chest that no pain reliever would remedy.

After he was tucked in, she took the time to put all his thing's away, needing to put sleep off for as long as possible. She flipped through the pictures he drew – she always did, they made her smile, and found one that made her stop.

One of the figures was obviously her, because she recognized the wacky way Andre depicted her locs. The shorter one in the middle was obviously him. And the third – and an unidentifiable male figure.

Ten minutes later, with a blank sheet of paper in front of her, she began to write.