12 – Between the Raindrops

"Gramps, please sit down," said Michonne gently.

The 79-and-a-half-year-old stood at the big window in the billiard room, shaking on the spot. His walking cane was the only prop to keep him upright, grip so tight his spotted hands turned purple. Her approach was slow, putting her arm about his shoulders to gingerly turn him around. He could hardly protest given his severe distress.

"It shoulda been me checking on him. I shouldn't've let Ricky go," he said. "Him and Shane've been at each other's throats for too long—things ain't gonna end too good. Damn Dixon won't pick up the phone, useless S.O.B."

"Rick's going to be back soon—they both are," Michonne cooed. She eased him into his favorite armchair, the gray moleskin he often napped in. "Why don't I get you something to drink? Some warm milk?"

"I don't want milk. I wanna know my boys are okay." Gramps tone was brisk. He tore off his glasses and closed his eyes.

"They will be. Rick's going to talk sense into him."

"You don't get it. You don't know what all's gone on."

"Okay, Gramps, okay. You're right. Just…please calm down. We don't need anything happening to you," said Michonne, kneeling so that they were leveled. Determined to be strong and resilient for him, she mustered up a smile in hopes to comfort him. "I'm going to get you that milk anyway, though. Maybe you'll feel better when you've had a sip."

She left him in the billiard room but not without a last glance over her shoulder to ensure he remained seated like she asked. She'd turned on the lights in most rooms in Rick's absence. His trip to reason with Shane was enough torture for her. She didn't need the added suspense of the long shadows and dark corners the big country house afforded throughout the night.

Alone for the first time since the debacle began, the breath expelled from her lungs brought her posture to collapse slightly, shoulders slumping in her walk toward the kitchen. She'd held it together for Rick and for Gramps, but her old friend was keen in its return. Anxiety lassoed itself around her as it always did when life went awry, and she was left exercising any and all coping mechanisms.

She couldn't get a good breath in. No matter how hard she tried she came up short. She stopped at the kitchen sink and breathed through her nose, hand to her stomach. The hot, suffocating air in the room offered little in assistance, but after a few draws, she managed to loosen the tightness in her chest and throat and stave off the dizziness popping up as dots in her eyes.

In the stark silence engulfing the acres of the Ranch, tires screeched so abruptly Michonne jumped in place. She abandoned the sink and hurried to check the window in the living room. The view overlooked the front lawn and the makeshift road leading up to the house. On her way she eyed the door to ensure it was locked. Even in the pitch-blackness swallowing up everything it touched, she could make out a truck parked if she squinted hard enough.

It was blue.

Tears sprang to her eyes. A thousand possibilities of what that meant exploded through her thoughts.

The backdoor's lock clicked louder in the silent house and boots struck tile. She forced her own feet to move, snatching her purse off the table to quickly find the mace she'd taken to carrying since the mugging. The small canister barely made it in a slip into her jean pocket the second Shane appeared in the doorway.

He pressed his burly body to the jamb, swinging his keyring around his finger. She expected words, but it was somehow worse that he only stared.

"Where's Rick?" she asked in a fight to keep her voice even.

"Why would I know?" Shane slurred back. His jaw was colored purple and dried blood clung to his nostrils. He either didn't notice or didn't care. His eyes focused as best as they could on the jagged keys spinning in his grasp. "Where's Gramps?"

"Sleeping," she said.

"I'll go check on him."

"No," she said hastily. She covered her panic with nonchalance, speaking placatingly. "You've been busy today. It's alright. I'll go make sure he's okay. You can…you can go and relax in your room."

When she moved to walk through the doorway he didn't step aside. His gaze was an arcane survey she didn't know how to interpret. Gone was his infamous grin and accompanying chuckle, replaced by a stone-cold seriousness opposite his usual disposition.

"Why you being so nice to me?" he asked slowly with suspicion. "Since when don't you hate my guts?"

"I'm just helping out. I'll go take care of Gramps. Don't worry about it."

"You think I'm stupid? You think I don't know you wanted to see a black truck 'stead a blue? Sorry to disappoint, babe. Sorry I came home 'stead a him—he ain't so available right now," he hiccupped.

His liquored breath was rancid, detectable even with the space between them. Worse when he took a step closer. It was then that what looked like a wooden grip to a revolver caught her eye, poking out the waistband of his jeans. Her worst fear confirmed, she couldn't take her eyes off the sight regardless how hard she willed herself to be discreet.

The idea Rick was shot…he was hurt…worse, dead, chilled her to her core…until she couldn't move, speak or even think…

"Oh…this?" Shane said, lowering his eyes too. He reached into the band and withdrew the Smith & Wesson and held it flat in his large palm. "Don't cha look at me like that—like I'm some crazy son a bitch waving 'round a gun. I ain't used it. This here? Know how long it's been in the family? Two generations. It's mine. Know why?" His voice grew louder and sloppier the second time, expecting an answer. "Do…you…know…why?"

She reluctantly shook her head and answered, "no."

"'Cuz everything in this here house is mine. Everything on that land out there? It's mine too. And ain't nothing—or nobody—gonna change that…" he went on in a mounting rant. He took a step closer and she took one back. "I'm a good guy. How the fuck that's gotten twisted? I…I don't fucking know! I'd give a man the shirt off my back. Yanno that? And what happens? He spits in my face. This is mine!"

"Shane…nobody's saying it isn't," she said, tone quiet. "I'll grab Gramps and we'll leave. You can have everything, okay?"

"You ain't taking my grandfather anywhere? You been listening?" he said, face flush and voice abrasive. "He ain't gonna come in and take shit from me—he ain't gonna come in and take over my life. Everything he has is mine!"

Looking into the dark pools of his eyes was unnerving. They were lifeless and empty, as if his soul had left his being. Though panic was on the prowl within her, steadfast in its growth, she stayed composed and thought fast.

"You're right," she agreed. "You should be pissed. Sit down and I'll grab you a beer."

Shane gave nothing away. He eyed her for another long second, where she guessed inner-deliberation was at play. Logic limited by his corpus alcohol consumption, she witnessed the breakthrough on his blotchy face, as he failed to decipher her strategy and instead succumbed to her suggestion. He nodded and started for the sofa, revolver hung at his sides like it was a toy.

He was mere footsteps away, literally three or four, when he stopped. He brought the revolver up, rubbing its cool surface against his head.

"What the fuck am I doing?" he asked in a sudden crisis. On unsteady, swaying legs, he turned to look at her, and she involuntarily moved backward, closer to the doorway. He didn't seem to pick up on her apprehension, lost in his drunken rambles. "What the fuck have I done?" he went on, jaw trembling as tears followed. "I dunno what's going on—shit feels outta my hands. Feels like everybody thinks I'm losing it. I'm the new piece a shit in town…but I ain't…right?"

"No," she answered stiffly. "No, you're not."

"Nobody understands, Michonne!" he fumed. His arms waved, revolver included. "Nobody gets me—nobody knows how hard it was to lose Ma. You think he knows? He feels the loss I feel? She was my mother!"

"I know, Shane, and I'm…I'm very sorry for your loss. Why don't you sit and calm down? I'll get you that beer."

"I don't want no fucking beer!" he snapped. The distance was too much for him, as he reclaimed the space between them and stepped closer again, heavy and clumsy in his movements. "I'm not crazy…I'm a man who's been pushed too far s'all. Get it? D'ya get what I'm saying? Lost my parents, losing the Ranch, town thinks I'm batshit, and he…he's…trash! Trash stealing what's mine."

His abrupt footsteps toward her, ending within arm's reach was too dangerous and unpredictable for her. She abandoned her foray into assuaging his crazed antics. She dug her hand into her jean pocket and sprayed the pepper into his already bleary, red eyes. He howled, cursed, smacked a hand to his face, and fell forth. She jumped to escape his fall, but didn't succeed, caught halfway under his weighty frame.

"MY EYES!" he screamed. His reach was blind, one hand stuck to his face while the other clenched onto her leg in a hold tight enough to bruise. "What the fuck, you bitch? Whatta you doing?"

Michonne pulled her leg inward then outward in an attempt to kick her way out of his grasp, but his grip was enduring. He managed to dodge her foot and gained momentum, climbing higher up her lower half in his burning blindness. Desperation set in as heartbeat frantically against her chest, and she did the only thing she could as she clawed at his eyes.

His response was another pained roar, though to her dismay he persisted still. His hands clamped on her wrists and her mind raced as her eyes scanned for anything within reach that could serve as a weapon. If she could just free a hand…

The howls Shane released amid his burning eyes, filling the silent air of the Ranch, stopped suddenly. Half his weight collapsed onto her legs as he was struck over the head with a wooden cane. It happened so fast Michonne could only stare in shock. Raising her eyes off Shane's unconscious form, up the ankle-length trousers and past the suspenders, she came to Gramps' solemn, squared face.

She kicked Shane away and scooted back, breathing out, "Gramps…"

"Grab the gun," Gramps coughed, barely upright after such a forceful swing. "Keep it aimed on him. Dixon don't wanna answer? I'm calling Stookey and Temple. And the mayor."

Michonne scrambled to grab the Smith &Wesson, on her feet in the second to follow. She didn't have a chance to do or say much else before sirens hit the airwaves. The whir's volume was unavoidable, louder with gained proximity. Soon the red-and-blue flashes showed in windows and through the screen door.

When Michonne edged closer to the window and saw none other than Merle Dixon, Hershel Greene, Maggie, Glenn, and most relieving of all by a mile, Rick himself, hurrying toward the porch, she let out the deepest breath she'd ever withheld. She'd never been more thankful to see him. Never more relieved she'd thought ahead and called Maggie as soon as Rick had left to find Shane.

Rick burst through first, closely followed by Hershel, Glenn and Maggie. Up the rear was Merle, reluctant even then as he strolled into the home with his hand on his belt buckle. He looked doubtful, eyes beady and lips thinned, clearly dissatisfied to be caught up in the scurry.

When Rick happened upon the scene of a half-disoriented, groaning Shane on the floor, a keeled, wheezing Gramps, and a breathless, armed Michonne, he went ballistic. On the attack, he rushed toward Shane, stopped by Glenn's hands and Hershel's words.

"I don't see no crime committed, fellas," Merle drawled, unconvinced.

"He waved a gun around and grabbed me!" Michonne said.

"Possessing a firearm ain't illegal if there's a permit, which he's got," Merle carried on as if uninterrupted. "If anything, looks like he was attacked."

"Enough!" Hershel exclaimed, visibly seething. For once, the kindness was missing from his gray eyes as he glared with contempt toward the Sheriff. "Now, this loon has attacked and threatened two people tonight and my patience has worn thin for your corrupt eye. I've got the town mayor and judge on speed dial and best believe both have been called—so, Sheriff, are you finally up to do your job and arrest the S.O.B.? While you still have your job, that is."

Whatever color was left in Merle Dixon's complexion drained into a pallid tone. His yellowed, jagged-toothed mouth opened then closed a good few times before he decided on the best course of action to take. Brandishing the cuffs from his belt, his sigh was audible as he knelt and slapped them over Shane's wrists.

He yanked him to a stand, Shane's bowed head rolling along his front as he struggled to come to. He did with a drunken sob, red eyes blearier by the second as he tossed away what little restraint he had left.

"I fucked up!" he cried out in blended anguish and belligerence. He fought as Merle hauled him toward the door. "I fucked up. Ricky, wait, hang on—Ricky! Gramps!"

The six stood and listened to Shane's pleas as he was drug across the porch and down the steps, and though relief he was detained was undeniable, there was also something oddly eerie about listening to his demented protests.

"I'm following—making sure Dixon does his job," said Hershel resolutely. "I am thankful everybody is mostly unharmed. Glenn, I trust you'll drive Maggie home."

Rick turned to Michonne and Gramps. There was a trail of blood on the side of his face, originating from his skull, but he didn't seem to care as he checked on them.

"I'm good. I'm good," Gramps snapped moodily. "You're bleeding and you're asking 'bout me?"

"Get him to the ER," said Maggie to Michonne. "Glenn and I will watch over Gramps 'til y'all get back."

"You heard her," Gramps said. He was disgruntled, almost as if he was putting up a façade to hide his disappointment and worry over Shane. "Take Ricky to the ER—get him sorted out."

Michonne took Rick's hand in hers, feeling lightheaded touching him after going minutes with the thought she'd never get to again. His eyes turned on her, she said, "c'mon, you're bleeding."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"You're all stitched up," said the ER practitioner. She eyed her handiwork as she collected the suture tray littered with gauze, scissors and other stainless-steel tools. With a glance to Michonne then back to Rick, she smiled in jest. "How about next time you don't go starting bar fights trying to impress her? I'm sure she would've given you her number anyway."

Rick and Michonne watched the woman's bounce in both her step and springy hair as she took her exit. The instant they were alone, polite pretenses were abandoned for sweeping relief pouring itself out through physical affection. Michonne relished in the mild pressure of his arms against her back and he sounded off in a throaty strum of his vocal cord when she showered him with fervent kisses.

"I thought you were dead," she whispered. Eyes squeezed shut and face pressed into his shoulder, she didn't want to let him go for fear the paralyzing feeling would return. If she held onto him, he couldn't leave her again, and she'd know he was safe.

"Hey, I'm alright," he said. His fingers came under her chin to tilt her gaze up to his. "I told you I'd be back. Nothing's ever gonna keep me from coming home to you."

His sweet resolution, husky voice, brilliant, piercing blue eyes worked in tandem to raise hairs on the back of her neck and send a shiver journeying down her spine.

In moments where she lost herself in him, this reprieve in the ER one of them, she let the depth of their love truly wash over her. Its transcendence a force she believed wholeheartedly to be powerful enough to guide them through anything, weathering any storm to come their way. Nothing short of death would keep them apart.

"Let's go home," she said with a small smile and spark risen in her eyes.

In the car, she caught him fighting exhaustion. His head nodded off every other minute or so, but when he battled it, she saw him jump with determination. She couldn't place its source, clueless as to what was going on in his head to trouble him to such an extent.

"Rick," she said, both hands to the wheel, "are you sure you're okay?"

His labored breathing was a reply.

"Rick…"

"I dunno. I dunno what to think," he confessed. "Everything feels mixed up. Shane was acting crazy, but I…I can't help thinking…"

"What?"

"I dunno," he said again. "I played a part. I drove him to—"

"—you were a child taken in by Laura and the Walsh family," Michonne interrupted sharply. "You had no control over what happened. Laura loved you and so does Gramps. That's not your fault. And it's not your fault Shane's jealous. He created a story in his head, Rick—some idea you were out to get him and steal his life when all you've been trying to do is survive. He has issues."

"Are you alright?" Rick asked for the dozen the time. The perturbance was evident in his tone. "You and Gramps—"

"—are okay," she finished for him. Her eyes swapped between him and the road for a second or two. "I'm not going to lie. Shane was crazy—he was…he was scary, but Gramps and I weren't hurt. Well, Gramps is upset, but I'm fine. I'm more worried about you."

"Don't be. I'll be alright…"

"You don't sound alright…"

Rick's jaw hardened in the tension he held in, caught by her observant brown-eyed gaze even in the shadowy layers of the Beatle. She was remiss with her next sigh as a sign she was unhappy with his bottled emotion.

"Please, talk to me," she said, volume low it rivaled a whisper. "Tell me everything. I love you so much, Rick, I'm not going anywhere. Please…trust me…"

"I want to…I guess I'm just…" Rick struggled, the war spilling onto his conflicted face. "I don't wanna lose you—I ain't innocent, Michonne. I've done things I regret. When I was younger, I acted out and had run ins with the law. When I was older, after the last time I was taken in to juvie, I realized I needed to straighten up or I'd be going to a real jail soon as I turned 18. So I worked for years to change and that's when I became a deputy."

Michonne knew more or less what he told her, but she let patience win out, listened and waited for him to continue.

"Some felt like me being a deputy was outta place given…my history and my father's. Others like Shane and Merle—they thought I was trying too hard. Goody two shoes they called me. Merle's corrupt. Has been for years. He takes bribes and abuses his power. Couple years ago, he was in big with a biker gang in Cottonwood. Everybody in the department was 'cept for me and my partner Dale. Dale found out and was gonna expose him. I had his back. Merle couldn't have it. He had to get rid a us," Rick explained gravely. "One night we were celebrating and shit went wrong. We had a call for a bust a few towns over. I felt off, woozy like things weren't right, but I went with Dale anyway…"

He stopped there and stared out the window at the dark, bleak shapeless landscape.

"Things happened fast and my memory's sketchy…like I blacked out at some points, but there was a shootout. We were run off the road," said Rick. "It was the strangest thing. The wreck was bad—we tumbled off road to a cliff. I felt like a slug trying to get free, but eventually I got my seatbelt loose. I tried to get Dale out, but he was shot. The car was tipping over. It was either stay there and try to jimmy Dale loose or…or jump out and try to avoid the fall. I…I chose to save myself."

"Oh, Rick…"

"If I was sober. If I was in the right frame a mind," said Rick. "Things woulda been different. I coulda reacted faster—maybe I could've got him loose quick enough. I coulda pulled him out. And I never should've left him."

"It was an impossible situation," said Michonne. "You don't know if you would've been able to save him. If the car was about to go over and he was still strapped in, chances are you would've ended up falling too."

"Not an excuse to leave my partner—my friend behind."

"Rick—"

"—it's not. I get you wanna comfort me—make things better, but it's the truth," Rick said shortly. "I was a coward. I deserved to lose my job and the backlash. I was stilling mourning Laura and what happened with Dale was the final straw. I had a hard time dealing with things."

"Who was in the other car? Was it Shane? Merle? The biker gang?"

"I dunno. I'll never know for sure. The truck drove off before I got a look. All I know is we went to the Bull's Pen that evening to celebrate Stookey's baby being born and all hell broke loose. All I had was one beer and I ended up testing positive for GHB. I was fired and the scandal broke in town," he said. "I had no defense. Sherry left me. My behavior after didn't help. Everybody went back to hating me, thinking I was crazy or some monster, and knowing what happened to Dale, I didn't have the heart to fight it. I just…gave up, stayed on the Ranch and kept to myself."

Hearing the story made Michonne's heart ache for him. She wished she'd been around. That she'd been in town when it'd happened so that she could defend him, get to the bottom of the corruption which had plagued him and torn apart his life. She wouldn't have rested until she cleared his name and restored his reputation.

"I wish I knew what to say…" she whispered.

The yellow bug had completed the last turn onto the Ranch grounds, its bulging headlights illuminating the way ahead.

"We have to do something about Merle," she said after some thought. "He has to go."

"There ain't nothing to be done—he's been Sheriff for years."

"He's a fraud. He's corrupt," said Michonne stubbornly. "And I'll be damned if he gets away with the shit he's pulled. He has no business being Sheriff."

Rick was silent for the rest of the drive up to the house. She put the car in park when he spoke again.

"I love that you're so strong-willed," he said. He glanced at her. "Yanno that? When you've got your mind set on something, you…make it happen."

"That's because I can't let them hurt you. They've already spent years treating you like shit. Not anymore," she told him, shifting across the gear to take his face in her hands. "I'm going to fix this for you. I promise."

"I've never had somebody fight for me like you do—not since Laura," said Rick. "Thank you, baby."

Michonne kissed him in the dark and whispered, "I want to."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

7 A.M. Sunday morning, Michonne rolled out of bed. She left Rick in his heavy slumber, wavy curls tangled and low snore louder in the silence, and she slipped on her robe to head downstairs. Natural light filtered in through every window and brightened the hallways and rooms throughout the house, setting the tone for the day to be another sunlit scorcher.

Tomorrow was September, last day of the Peach Festival, and in the eyes of many, the end of summer.

It marked another chapter to be opened in her life. It meant she could no longer bask in blissful ignorance, intent on savoring the summer for what she'd deemed an interlude from its very start. What was more startling was how quickly a fun, carefree summer had transformed her. She thought back to the afternoon she and Terry had driven up on the B&B, looked to each other, and bemoaned entering the house to be greeted by Bunny's geriatric pals.

She thought back to the first night she spent in Blue Ridge, where she'd sat on Bunny's window ledge and gazed into the pitch-black abyss that was the small-town Sundays after 8 P.M. She had concluded the town was a dull bore. The 6 days she was slated to be in town felt like a jail sentence. When she thought about Bunny's 40 years, suffocation was quick to weigh onto her.

The past 90 days had brought more change into her life than conceivable. The hollow, emotionally detached woman with severely avoidant tendencies was a person she hardly recognized. Though she remembered her motivations and the innerworkings of her mind, she no longer identified with that woman. Everything she'd run from had unleashed itself in these summer months, and throughout both the good and the bad, she'd happened upon the discovery of what she wanted and needed in her life.

Her heavy thoughts played out during her walk to the kitchen, abruptly cut short by the old man seated at the table when she walked in. She faltered in her step and the surprise spelled out across her features.

"Morning," Gramps wheezed.

"Morning, Gramps. I was coming down to make breakfast. What are you doing up so early? Are you feeling alright?" she asked.

"Save the concern—I'm good," said Gramps. He gave a nod despite his cough. "I spent the night thinking. Things might finally be falling into place like they need to."

She couldn't feign understanding. Her puzzlement continued in her expression as she crossed the kitchen and opened the fridge. First order of business since he was up was to pour him some water and grab his medication.

"This place has been dying for years," Gramps said.

The discernable frown she gave him served as her question rather than any spoken aloud.

"When Laura passed, the light she brought to this Ranch went out. Jr. and Didi left. Ricky and Shane stayed, but this place was dark…just a house with an old geezer and his two grandsons who'd grown to hate each other. I thought things would end that way, but…now things are changing," Gramps explained with a catch in his throat. "You make Rick the happiest man on this earth. Shane, he…might finally learn he's wrong. Maybe he'll get the help he needs. And me? I'm just some dried up coot passing the torch, wanting y'all to bring that light back."

"Gramps, you're not a coot. Here's some water," she said, uncertain where his musings would lead. She focused on bringing him the water and pills.

"You look so much like her." Gramps took off his bifocals and placed them on the table. No longer magnified by the thick glass, his dark brown eyes were watery. "You should know you haven't only helped Ricky. It's been hard this summer without her, but you've helped me. Your time is precious, so I wanna thank you for taking a chance on this coot and playing some games and laughing at my bad jokes."

Her own eyes teared. She pulled up the chair beside him and placed her hand atop his, saying, "I've been happy to. We have plenty of bridge days coming up, Gramps—and chess too, even if you always hand me my ass. I don't want you upset, though, so can you please take your pills? I'll start on breakfast."

He released a lone chuckle. "You are just like her, and you don't even know it. Rick's struck gold. Luckily, he knows it, and he's gonna treasure you for as long as you let him. You've got decisions to make now that summer's over, I get that, but know whatever you decide—I wanna thank you for bringing my grandson back to me."

What she wanted was to tell him the roles were reversed. It was Rick who had excavated her from the burrows of her deep pain and trauma, but her voice went astray and the best she could offer was a nod and eventual kiss to his cheek. She stood, her back to him, and wiped her eyes as she walked to the counter to collect herself and return to the idea of breakfast.

Gramps seemed just as caught up in his emotions. His specs came to rest on his face again, but only after he ruminated some more. She suspected it was a complicated contrast between his grief and heartbreak over Bunny and gratitude for his family's salvation and the future's hopeful direction.

Not long after she churned pancake batter did Rick stumble into the kitchen. Any remnants of sleep wore off much like hers had the instant he laid eyes on his grandfather. He walked over to check on him, as Gramps awake prior to 9 A.M. was a rare, and usually medical related, occurrence.

"I'm good. I'm good. I got my nurse with me, don't cha know?" Gramps swatted his hands away.

Rick looked to Michonne, who already snuck a smile his way from over her shoulder. His body laxed and he said, "how many times do I gotta tell you, she's mine?"

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

That afternoon Rick and Michonne found themselves on the town border between Blue Ridge and Cottonwood for a second time in twelve hours. The open parking spaces were plentiful in the sheriff station lot, allowing them their pick as the wheels to Rick's big truck cracked over gravel. Most notably empty was the spot reserved for the Sheriff, the empty space a sign of the fate which awaited him.

Gramps had insisted on coming with them, but his lack of sleep and rattled breathing were clear signs he needed a day on bedrest. The visit was a formality, a necessary evil in the aftermath of what happened last night. With Dixon temporarily suspended until further notice, as the mayors of both towns looked into opening an investigation on him, Deputies Bob Stookey and Axel Temple ran the show. Stookey had called them and asked them to come in for more details for the pending charges.

"You don't gotta come with me," Rick said on their walk up to the building. "I don't want you anywhere near him after last night…"

"I want to be with you," she replied without hesitation.

"Afternoon, folks," Temple greeted. "Hope y'all are well."

"I'm here 'bout the statement you need," said Rick shortly.

"Right. Right! Should only take a couple a minutes then y'all can be off," said the blonde deputy. He hopped to his feet, grabbing a form off his desk and a pen. He gestured for them to take a seat in the only available chairs in the boxed in, cramped station. His handlebar mustache covered his top lip as he mouthed every word of Rick's he jotted down. He smacked his knee when they reached the last question and thanked them for their time.

"Ricky."

The voice called out to him from down the only hall in the room. The narrow corridor which led to the four iron-barred cells the station had to offer. Rick looked over his shoulder to the cells then glanced at Michonne and lastly Temple. Temple gave him the go-ahead with a head nod and shrug of indifference.

"We don't exactly got visiting hours, yanno that. Feel free to get a word in all things considered," he said. "That is, for the next…" he checked his watch "…ten minutes. Smoke break."

"Ricky."

Shane's rasp bore the wear and tear decline of cords rubbed raw. Despite such abuse, its sound was inescapable as it traveled through the air and into their eardrums.

Rick's footsteps toward the jailcells were cautious, as if he second guessed each one. Michonne trailed behind him, determined to be there for him and ignore how Shane unnerved her.

"Get a good look at me," said Shane the instant Rick stopped in front of his cell. More disheveled and unkempt than any time before, he stood back and held his arms out to hide no part of him. "I finally fucked up bad enough—looks like I might finally have to own up to shit."

"You did this to yourself," Rick said, unmoved.

"I did. You're right 'bout that. Funny how shit turns out. Never thought I'd know a rock bottom, but if this ain't it…" he gave off a dark laugh and rubbed his shaking head. "I've done bad things. I know that. I've hurt people. Dale. Gramps. You. Sorry don't mean shit. I know that too, so I won't bother…but man what even twelve hours in a cell will get you thinking…regretting…"

"There's no going back. There's no changing what's been done," Rick said.

"Something I'm gonna have to live with. I get it. But what the fuck can I do now?" Shane asked with a scoff. He turned away from them and took a couple steps in his six by eight-foot cell. "Yanno Pa's gonna bail me out. Talked to him this morning. And…and if the law allows and I beat these charges, I'm leaving—going outta state."

Rick said nothing, though his confusion expressed itself in a slight tilt of his head.

"Colorado," said Shane. He snuck a look at them before his gaze was back to the rectangular window at the top of his cinderblock cell. "Pa says he'll pay to send me to some rehab there. It's supposed to be real fancy—the kinda place you look out your door and see the Rocky's."

Michonne felt Rick's skin warm, reddening into splotches as his emotion swelled. Her hand stayed clasped with his.

"Maybe I'll clean up my act and get my shit together—I'll show y'all I mean I've changed," Shane explained wistfully. "Yanno it's been 'bout fourteen hours since I've had a drink? Yanno that's the longest I've gone for months? But, man, I'd be a straight liar if I said my hands don't feel shaky when I hold 'em still."

"Jr.'s been through it," said Rick, still rather coldly. "He'll get you through it."

A slight smile formed on Shane's haggard face. He said, "yeah, Pa already told me he's visiting if I make it out there. He'll be an hour away. Yanno he apologized? Told me he's calling you and Gramps next—says he's sorry for how he left things. Guess we've all been fucked up, right?"

Michonne glanced to Rick and watched his brow darken, features hardening. She wanted to pull him to her and hold him close as she soothed him and told him she loved him for who he was. Most surprisingly of all, as if Shane cued in on her reaction to Rick, he directly looked at her for the first time since they visited.

"You're lucky you've found what you have, Ricky," he said. "Gives me hope maybe one day when I'm done screwing up…I can too."

"I dunno what's in store for you, Shane, I just know it's for the best things end here," said Rick. "It's for the best…you go your way. I'm going mine. I can't say I'll ever forgive the shit you've done, but if anything's gonna do it, it's gonna be some distance and time…and you changing, for good."

"Yeah…yeah…" Shane mumbled. His dark eyes cast themselves onto the floor and he wandered in an aimless pace, lost for words for the first time since Michonne had met him.

"C'mon," Rick whispered to Michonne. He brought her hand to his lips while he also gave it a grateful squeeze. "There's nothing left to say."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The day took a lot out of them. In particular, Rick, who slumped into the armchair as soon as they were in his bedroom. Michonne quietly shut the door and strolled over. His breaths were rapid, sight focused on the carpet, and the lines in his brow deepened. She caught his attention when she stood before him and his blue eyes flittered up to reach her brown. He shifted in his seat, opening his arms and sitting back to welcome her into his lap.

"I'm so proud of you, Rick," she said softly. Her thumb stroked his bearded cheek and his eyes closed. His tense features went slack, comforted by the simplest touch of hers. "The things you're willing to do for us…for Gramps…for me…"

She brushed a curl gone astray off his forehead then ran her hands down the sides of his face. His eyes had opened again, vibrant blue as the evening light caught in them. She leaned forward and touched her lips to his slowly, in a graze until she took his bottom lip in hers for a massage. His arm slung about her hip and thigh tightened to hold her in place, eager for more of her feather light kisses wayward across his face.

"You've been through hell, but you've…you've put that aside to take care of me," she whispered into his ear, suddenly emotional. In a good way, in a cathartic way as she thought about her love for him and these intense feelings which had come to consume her. It poured out through her affections, kissing his ear then releasing her tongue in a flick along the lobe. He moaned and again his grip on her firmed, urging her on in her teasing.

Her mouth eventually found its way back to his. The second go around was deeper but still slow. They were greedy, making their time together last so as to savor every second, touch and sensation. Their tongues played a game of cat and mouse, toying with each other in fleeting brushes.

The warmth in the room coupled with Rick's calloused hands hot on her skin, his fingers creeping up the hem of her dress, made her dizzy. The fleshly desire which had been absent for days woke within her, starving and ravenous in its hunger. Wetness came with the unsated need, gathering in her panties and sticking to her pussy.

Rick's arousal was not far behind. His bulge hardened underneath her, larger by the mere feel of her in his lap. She grabbed his free hand, the one which wasn't lost beneath her dress, palmed onto her ample ass, and guided him into a stand. Her lips broke from his for only a split second. Soon as he was on his feet, she renewed their synced, slow-paced kisses with his shirt bunched in her grasp to keep his hard body against hers.

Her hope was to steer them toward the bed…toward shedding layers and feeling every last inch of him…

Rick stopped her when her fingers reached for his belt buckle. He murmured, lips swollen and thoughts scrambled, "baby, we don't…you sure you're alright?"

"I'm better, Rick. I haven't bled in days. Anyway, shouldn't I be asking you that?" she asked in a sly tease. When he grinned, she went on, "you're the one with the stitches."

"You should know by now I could be shot nine times and I still wouldn't be too injured to find a way to make love to you," he said half-joking, half-serious.

"Then please do. Please…I miss feeling you," she said, kissing his jaw. Next, she stepped back and a little smile was on her full lips as she pulled the straps of her dress off either shoulder. The summery dress fell in a pool at her ankles, leaving her in nothing but the scarce lace from which the imprint of plump pussy was visible.

Rick couldn't resist the chance to revel in the sight of her svelte yet curvy form, even after having seen it dozens of times. Each one felt like the first. He drank her in head-to-toe, and he seemed to go breathless as he reached for her. His arms encircled her in a passionate kiss.

She yelped in surprise seconds later when Rick's arm swept under her and he snatched her up off the ground. He carried her to bed, where he lay her down and commenced a leisure kiss-and-touch trip of her body. Her panties were first to go along the way, tugged past the shapely curve of her calves and over her toes. His clothes followed as a tag-teamed effort. She unbuckled his belt while he undid his button-down, alternating between sporadic kisses to her skin and shedding his shirt.

His worship was endless. His lips planted a line of kisses up the valley that was her stomach and to the peaks that were her pert breasts. His tongue swirled along her smooth flesh, eventually a flick against her already hardened nipples. Blind in her ache for him, she took him in her grasp and shuddered when she felt the strain of his solid member, knowing it required great restraint for him to take things so slow.

"Baby, hold up…before getting carried away…we should…" he breathed against her skin. He lifted his head from its feast on her breasts, wavy curls fallen to his forehead, and he outstretched a hand to the nightstand's drawer.

"No," Michonne said. She held out her hand to take hold of his and their fingers came together. Her eyes were intently on his. "Whatever happens, happens. We'll be together and that's enough. I love you."

"I love you too…so much damn much…" each word of his was punctuated with a kiss to a varying piece of her.

He better settled himself between her legs and ran his tip in a tease up her wet slit against her aching clit and back again. Her head rolled left to right and she bucked her hips in unabashed desperation to let him know she needed to feel him. She wouldn't feel complete until his hot, hard, throbbing girth was inside of her.

Rick kissed her full on the mouth as he thrust into her. Wet heat sheathed him in a loving welcome home. He felt just as good as she remembered him. The intense pressure from within followed the fullness he brought her. The combination too wonderful to let go of, she wrapped her legs around his waist to keep him planted there, to encourage him onward.

He began to move, his thrusts gradual in the rhythm set. He sank deeper each go, his eyes fixed to hers as he traveled to the depths of her, and she lost herself in him as if hypnotized. She held onto him, gliding her hands up and down his chest then his stomach and arms. His back, where her fingers coasted until his deepest yet left her nails in his skin. He stilled for a second and they moaned with his length buried to the hilt. The fullness both physically and emotionally were too much to bear and her resolve gave way for the quick orgasm which rocked her.

Michonne shuddered and her eyes rolled back as the rush took over her in a momentary state of paralyzed euphoria. Though she was out of it, she faintly registered Rick had paused to watch her as he always did, keen to see her in barest form. His lips pressed to her collarbone in tender kisses sprinkled, almost in a bid to coax her back to him.

She smiled elatedly at him, wetter and hungrier than ever, and raised her hips to his to spur him. Rick's gruff chuckle lasted for another second. He gave her a test thrust, bucking his hips in a tease, and then he bent forward to kiss her. She readily met his lips as she felt his body shift and he started to move again. He'd come to position himself at such an angle that every thrust brought his chest to press to her breasts and his base to rub against her overly sensitive nub. She bit down on her bottom lip, trying to stave off a loud cry, already on the fast track to coming all over his cock a second time.

"Lemme hear you, baby," he encouraged in a breathless drawl. "I wanna hear you scream."

That was all the goading she needed to let go and moan, whimper and scream to her heart's content. The room filled with more than just their heavy pants and the moist slap of their skin, the creak in the bed. It filled with her mounting cries of pleasure as her clit was touched again and again with his every movement. Number two was louder and messier, as her climax seized control of her and burst through her with raw, uninhibited voracity.

Mouth fallen open as she came, Rick's mouth covered hers, and he plunged his tongue inside. His thrusts continued, angle changing to go deeper once more. She knew he was close in how his control fell away bit by bit. His cock began to jerk as his impending release edged toward fruition. She clutched his face and kissed him and asked him to fill her.

"Ohhh...god," she begged in a breathy purr. "Cum inside my pussy, Rick…please…"

Rick's moans vibrated on her tongue as he came. His warmth spread out within her and mixed with her own. She closed her eyes and smiled, happy, sated, satisfied. He kissed her cheek and buried his head into the crook of her neck, trying to catch his breath. His partial weight atop her, the rest balanced onto his forearm, his member still at home inside her, was cause for her smile to last that much longer.

"I can't get enough a you," he choked out finally. He'd regained some strength and coherence, parading her with sudden kisses and caresses. His hot mouth latched onto a breast and she trembled. His tongue rolled over her nipple and he mumbled, "and I never will."

He proved it to her that night. Time enough at last for the first time in a long time to truly, irrevocably enjoy each other, they were unhurried in their lovemaking. Hands linked and kisses lingered for every slow, deep thrust as they made love through the night.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Dawn inched in bits and pieces onto the inked sky when they finally fell asleep in a tangled embrace. Rick more exhausted both physically and mentally than she was, he was down for the count as soon as their final romp ended. Michonne was in-and-out of sleep. Her eyes were half-lidded most of the time. They moved from Rick's peaceful, at rest face to the rustling curtains in the window and the rest of the room.

She thought about last night with Rick. It'd been the first night they'd made love since before Somerville.

Though there was still a very real part of her in recovery, mourning what she'd lost, the love she'd found with Rick gave her strength. His unrelenting support and tender care was unlike anything she imagined could be possible in a relationship. There was a pure beauty in the way he healed her that brought tears to her eyes. It made her want to do the same for him, to make things better and take away his pain as best she could.

She didn't think she could ever forgive the stinging betrayal of her family—of mother. What they'd cost her would certainly never be forgotten. How many years went by didn't matter. All the apologies in the world didn't. The level of cruelty was too much for her to overlook. The trauma had warped her worldview for ten years of her life, and left her without her child.

But she vowed to never give up.

That was what was easy. It's what she wanted.

She would live her life to the fullest, cherishing and loving those who mattered most. Starting with Rick, she would do everything in her power to keep them together, for she'd fallen in such love with him she could no longer imagine a life without him. She wanted everything with him. Every night and day to follow, to share every monumental milestone life had to offer until they were old and gray.

She wanted it all and only with him, as sure of this now as she was sure of her own name.

Michonne almost poked him awake to let him know, but when she spied his serene face she couldn't bring herself to disturb his much-needed rest. For the moment, knowing was enough, and she snuggled deeper into his arms and pressed her face into his chest. Inhaling his natural scent soothed her, and soon she joined him in sleep.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

April 29th, 1966

The mystery has been solved.

Steve comes and goes. Our problems have only worsened. I feel ashamed to say I put up with a lot. The stepping out, fits of anger, the belittlement…I don't know how much I can take as I live every day in abject misery to keep my family together, left to wonder at what price? It's a slow death to deny oneself happiness, and I feel it every morning I wake…

He left Saturday night and when Sunday came, he hadn't come back. I did what I always do, played the motherly role for Meek, as we put our nice clothes on and went to church. In the afternoon, it was spring cleaning. Meek wouldn't stop asking about her daddy (as always) and I lied and told her he'd be home for supper. I could hear the accusation in her tone. She thought I'd kicked him out again. I was the culprit for his disappearance. My thought in the moment? Could I blame her? I'm powerless to Steve's manipulations sometimes, how can I expect a 12-year-old girl to be?

Still, I'd never say a bad word to her about him. I guess that's where Steve and I differ…

So, I drew strength and we went to work cleaning and clearing things. Meek was always responsible for her room. I finished up mopping the hall and went to check on her. I walked in and saw her in the closet on a stool. In her hands was a shoebox she tried to force close, but it was too crammed. I spooked her and when she saw me she panicked. The box tumbled out her hands and spilled on the floor.

Letters scattered. Dozens of them. The handwriting recognizable even from afar.

For a long second, we stood still and stared at them. I was in such shock I questioned the reality of it. I refused to believe the letters, both his and mine, had been under my roof all this time…

Suddenly, flashes of Tameeka running outside every afternoon to grab the mail came to mind. I'd always thought she was being helpful, assumed maybe she was eager to get a letter from Steve in his absence. I'd never imagined she'd do such a thing, something so hurtful to me. Something that changed things for good between Bucky and me.

'I had to,' she said, sounding justified. 'You'd never let daddy come home if I didn't.'

I was angry. I was devastated. I was sick to my stomach. I ran out the room and to the toilet, where I spat up anything I'd eaten in the last twenty-four hours. I was in tears by the time I was done.

'Momma, I'm sorry,' she said. She'd followed me and stood outside the door, watching my breakdown. 'Momma, daddy said I'd never have him back unless I got rid of that strange white man.'

I couldn't look at her. I'd never been so enraged with my child. I stood up and wiped my tears. I think my walk to her room was a limp. Like some sorta wounded animal. My body felt like it was shutting down on me. I scooped up an armful of letters (there were boxes, stuffed away in the back of her closet), and I went to the kitchen. I'm not a woman who drinks, but I opened Steve's Scotch and I poured over every poetic word Bucky Walsh had written me in sobs.

Steve came home around the time supper was usually ready. He was surprised to find me slumped at the table, halfway drunk and with the letters. We had it out. Steve's temper was fast and he refused to go, but as soon as he saw Tameeka watching between the banisters on the staircase, he changed. He agreed to leave and he did so with shaming.

'You think anybody else in town is gonna want you? After you've been messing around with that white man? You've been rode hard and now you're put up wet. No man is gonna have you, colored, white. Nobody,' he told me. It was on his exit and spoken so quietly it hurt more than if he would've screamed it into my face. Deep down I knew he was right.

I don't remember the rest of the night after that. I remember ordering Tameeka to bed. I remember returning to the kitchen. The letters. Scotch. I remember more tears that must've ended at the same time I passed out at the kitchen table.

-Bunny

Michonne's heart raced in mingled horror and shock as she refused to believe what she read. She'd returned to the B&B after a breakfast with Rick and Gramps and had decided she would take a quick shower and get a bit of reading in before she jumped headfirst into the Monday waiting for her. But what had started as light reading had twisted completely into a desperate need to find out what happened next. She flipped the page to the next entry, unable to rid herself of the dread spreading…

May 1st, 1966

Today I did a foolish thing.

Bucky married today. I went to the church. I even brought one of his letters with me. I was going to stop the wedding…tell him I'm in love…

It wasn't smart. It wasn't fair to his bride. It was shameful of me. But I was going to do it anyway.

I got there and found I couldn't take the special day away from them.

The bells went off and there was applause. People crowded around to send them off. I was one of them. Bucky saw me. There was a split second he stopped on the stairs. It was that second, we had the same thought.

Was this the way it ended?

It is.

It is the way it ends for us. I realized it then as I met his eyes. There was nothing else left to say, so I sent him off with a smile and a nod that felt like I'd stabbed myself in the heart.

I hope he's happy and I wish him well. I hope his bride knows she is a lucky woman. He's the man for me, but he'll never be mine and that's what hurts the most.

-Bunny

"No," Michonne whispered in a hushed voice. She turned the next page and the one after that, and the fifteen or sixteen which followed, and found that her fear was confirmed. Days turned into weeks turned into months in Bunny's journal, and there was no magic solution to the rift between her and Bucky. Bunny was alone with Meek and B&B and Bucky was married, starting a family, running the Ranch…

At one point she flipped ahead an entire year, and still nothing. Though the heartbreaking end to a love she'd grown immensely invested in was a tragedy which happened decades ago, it didn't mean it hurt any less for her. Not only as Bunny's granddaughter, but also during a summer where she'd discovered love herself and used the written words as a guide to follow her heart.

"You good?" Terry bumped his knuckles against her partly ajar door and poked his head in. "I was walking by and heard you. Wanna talk?"

As soon as he saw the leather-bound journal in her hands, he knew enough. The 19-year-old held onto what looked like some sort of brochure and came to sit down next to her on her bed.

"Bunny and Gramps?" he said.

She nodded, unable to speak for a second.

"I dunno, Chonne, don't get worked up over it. There's gotta be a silver lining somewhere…right?" he asked. "Pretty sure Bunny was the happiest woman on earth in the end."

Even though she was upset for Bunny, she let a slight smile slip through. She'd never admit it, but she loved when Terry tried to cheer her up, particularly since the miscarriage and betrayal over Andre. He'd resorted to great lengths to make her laugh and increased his optimism tenfold to get the job done. Thankful for his effort, she put her arms around him in a sisterly embrace.

"Thank you so much, Ter," she whispered. "For everything."

He seemed to understand what she meant and calmed her with some circled pats to the back.

"Wait…what's this?" Michonne asked sometime later, as they pulled apart. She snatched the brochure out his hands. There was a scenic photo of a campus lawn on the cover with giant gold lettering scrawled across the top.

"Thinking about UNG."

"UNG, huh? Psychology?"

"Yeah…figure studying the mind will help me get mom someday." He saw the doubt in her eyes and he cracked a grin. "Kidding, ain't enough psychologists in the world. But, seriously, I'm interested and one year down, three to go…"

"So, that means you're going to keep me company here, right? At least in the summer?"

"Does that mean you're staying…like staying staying?"

Michonne smiled wide. "It looks like I am."

"Oh, shit, Chonne. That's huge! You tell Rick yet?"

"Nope, but tonight seems like a good time to. It's the last night of the festival."

"And law school?"

She flipped over the brochure and skimmed over the undergraduate and graduate degrees listed. She said, "law school was what mom wanted. I did Poli Science to make her happy. I want to return to school for me this time."

"Art?"

"It's what I've always wanted," Michonne said.

"Crazy how shit's turned out. If I time traveled and told me from a couple months ago that I was gonna do half the shit I did I would've thought I was smoking. But a lot's changed," he said in a tone tinged with mild disbelief. "Still can't believe I found Jesus. Not that Jesus. My Jesus."

"I still can't believe you brought him to dinner with mom," Michonne snickered.

He said, laughing with her, "yeah, what the hell was I thinking? Her face."

"I'm going to be Bunny's age and still remember the face she made."

"You'd swear I told her I was a drug dealing pimp 'bout to go on trial."

"To mom, they're about equally as 'bad'."

Terry stood and made his way to the door as he said, "we're back to that thing I said. You know about the psychologists and the world? Yeah, there's not enough."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The last day of the Peach Festival happened to be the hottest. No amount of A/C seemed to combat the sticky misery thick in the air, causing most to break a sweat with the subtlest movements. Maggie hung halfway off the reception desk with a makeshift paper fan and her tongue out. Terry and Jesus had taken to wearing board shorts and flip-flops wherever they went. Michonne was on her fourth glass of iced tea by the time the clock's hands waved to the eleven.

Her eyes were on the bold numbers in a mental countdown 'til the festival's Great Peach Bakeoff. Two and a half hours. That was more than enough time for Bunny's cobbler to bake, for her to balance the B&B's books, and make it upstairs to change. Her eyes lowered to the glowing oven, where inside Bunny's genius came to fruition for the 43rd year in a row.

While her grandmother was not there in person to compete, Michonne had decided her spirit and recipe were enough, and that she would make her proud by continuing the tradition. At least she would as best as she could, given she lacked Bunny's natural grace in the kitchen and other domestic areas. Even if she placed last, something told her Bunny would be proud regardless.

She emptied the pitcher of tea into a fifth glass when the doorbell chimed through the house. It was a strange occurrence, as most times guests simply tried the door and entered the reception area. Thinking it was likely an out-of-state guest and Maggie was probably in the bathroom, she took a break from the kitchen duties and went to answer.

"People ringing the bell now?" Terry called from the second floor. His footsteps clomped overhead, growing closer to the staircase.

"Apparently so. It's okay, Ter. I got it," said Michonne. She paused at the door only to wipe her hands on her apron and spot the blurred figure visible through the frosted glass's cutout.

The door opened and she expected to come face-to-face with a misguided traveler or rookie deliveryman.

Instead she found herself looking into mother's hooded eyes.

Her reaction was no reaction, breath stalled and thoughts blank. Slowly, her gaze lifted beyond mother, where in Bunny's garden stood Aunt Lala and someone else. A small boy with the most magical smile she'd ever seen, giggled as he held out his arm and a caterpillar crawled along his skin.

Andre.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Author's Note: Sorry for the cliffhanger, but chapter 13 (the last real chapter before the epilogue) will be up next Saturday, and we'll find out why Michonne's family is on her doorstep. It is mother afterall...so her appearance may or may not be a double edged sword. In the meantime, I'd like to thank you for reading! Please let me know your thoughts in a review. Hope you enjoy the rest of your weekend :)