now I don't hardly know her
but I think I could love her
crimson and clover
here she comes walkin' over
yeah, I been waitin' to show her
over and over
my, my such a sweet thing
I wanna do everything
what a beautiful feeling
crimson and clover
over and over
-Joan Jett and the Blackhearts, 'Crimson and Clover'
When the sun began to rise the next morning, Hilltop was as silent as a graveyard.
Somewhere in the vast landscape that made up the entirety of their territory, a rooster's call announced that it was dawn. Otherwise, there was no sound but the large, sleeping house atop the hill settling in on itself; creaking or groaning here and there as echoes bounced off the walls and disappeared into the old rugs and curtains.
Rick and Michonne were at first dead to the world; him laying on his stomach, her laying on her back. One of his long, strong arms was draped over her slender waist in a protective embrace. His face was buried in her pillow, but also tucked into her dreads so she could both hear and feel the slow rumble of his breathing. Her face was turned away, toward the balcony windows next to the large bed, her skin beginning to grow warm as pale sunlight flooded the room. She woke up smiling, hearing the rooster's second call in the distance this time. It was something amusing yet completely serious, that sound. For some reason, it signaled precious prosperity to her. And almost comical domesticity for these times.
This place was indeed a trip. Like an apocalyptic bed and breakfast, she mused sleepily, yawning and stretching as gently as she could so as not to disturb the weary gunslinger still slumbering beside her.
Her movement did wake him up, but she felt his cock begin to stiffen and push against her hip long before his eyes fluttered open. Still deep in the clutches of semi-sleep, half caught in a dream, Rick tightened his grip on her, encircling his arm around her waist, and pulled her so close to him that his eyelashes brushed against her skin. He slowly began to grind his hips, rubbing himself along the silky, supple flesh of the side of her ass, his nose and plush lips pressed against her smooth cheek. Rick exhaled on her, giving her a few slow, feather-soft kisses before uttering sweetly: "Mornin', baby."
Michonne bit her lip, a chill slithering through her. Rick had the ability to completely unravel her cool with just the look in his eyes, and the sound of his voice. Especially in the morning. The sound of his voice in the morning was - and would forever be - the sexiest thing she'd ever heard. His slow, southern drawl was coated with sleep and as gravelly as ever, but also soft and loving. She could always hear his arousal in his morning voice, like a warm caress that traveled from her sensitive, erect nipples to her tender sex. His power over her had only grown stronger since he'd started fucking her with more than just his gaze. She was wet in seconds.
Rick started to climb out of his dreams, breathing her in deeply. He became alert to the fact that he had her naked and probably wet already, right there next to him. He knew she was sore, and there was no protection in sight, but he couldn't help himself. He wanted her so desperately it hurt. Always.
God help him, he had it bad for Michonne Lindani. He was high on the intimacy between them, and rapidly becoming addicted. He wanted more. Much more. He finally knew her whole name and he'd finally confessed his deepest pain. That anxious feeling he'd had in his gut all day yesterday was gone, now. She had done that. Lori, rest her soul, had never been able to do that. In the later years of their marriage, and before her tragic death in the tombs, she actually made it worse. He couldn't think of her with the anger he used to hold anymore, but it was hard to miss when the woman lying next to him was so impossibly good at making him feel like everything would be alright. As long as she remained where she'd always belonged. By his side.
Rick exhaled roughly, pulling her even closer to him, causing her to turn her head to accept his rapidly intensifying kisses. Once he had access, he wasted no time pulling her succulent bottom lip into his mouth hungrily. Her lips were as soft and moist as cake. He couldn't stop kissing them. He knew they had to get up, get dressed, and start putting their plans for the Saviors in motion. He just wanted to drink her in for a little bit longer, as long as they could, before he had to let her go. He wanted every kiss he could get. And more.
His cock was bone hard, deep pink, and leaking heavily. Michonne gasped weakly against his lips, feeling him grinding into her, slick and solid, reveling in the possessive grip he had on her.
"Lay on your back for me, cowboy," his dusky warrior uttered sexily, causing Rick's abdomen to clench with a jolt of heated arousal. "Mmmm, please, Rick? I want you in my mouth..."
Dazed with desire, Rick nodded, reluctantly letting her go to do as she asked. He gazed at her worshipfully as she gently nudged him, turning him around so he could settle down into the mattress again on his back.
She was the only person on this earth who could get away with calling him that. The way she let the word slip from her lips sounded so dirty, but so sensual. It made him feel as powerful and fearless as a bull rider, and yet as smitten and bashful as a horny teenager. And when she begged with that husky, breathless voice of hers, it drove him fuckin' crazy.
He would give her anything she wanted just for that look of wicked determination in her eyes.
Michonne wanted him on his back. And she wanted him in her mouth. She pushed him down gently, and he settled there without protest. His head was propped up by a small mountain of pillows, his dark curls slightly (adorably) in disarray, his pale blue eyes gleaming with lust in the morning sunlight. He was so handsome. The way he looked at her always drew her in, rendering her unable to focus on anything but him. His lips were so pink, thick, and perfect. Couched in salt and pepper scruff that made them stand out. He grinned lazily, releasing his bottom lip from his teeth, his deep dimples making her pussy clench. Damn, she loved her crazy, sexy old man.
And she was about to show him exactly how much. So he would never forget.
Michonne crawled up to him on her stomach like a cat, placing her hands on his chest, draping a leg across his body so he could rub his dick gently along her slick folds.
Her juices mingled with his precum, driving him to close his eyes and pull her up to him forcefully for a kiss. He bucked into her, desperately seeking entry but stopping short, instead letting her feel, right along her dripping center, how excited he was for her. He didn't wish to rush; he'd end up causing her pain if he did. He was at her mercy.
Michonne did indeed feel how excited he was, twitching and stiffening even further as they smashed themselves into each other. She slowly broke their kiss, licking his bottom lip teasingly. "Good boy…" she said against his scratchy chin, and he tightened his grip on her, overcome with desire. Fuck, she was sexy. He had no time to think on it further, as she began to slide herself down his body again. Her eyes never left his as she widened her legs and pushed her ass out so that the sheets fell away from her body like a cream-colored waterfall. Her beautiful, heart-shaped behind was exposed to him, sliding down into that sexy ass dip in her spine as she unfolded herself around him, giving him a mouth watering visual. A sea of deep, smooth skin, punctuated by gorgeous curves. The sight of it made his cock twitch with intense yearning.
Michonne ruthlessly took advantage of his momentary preoccupation with her ass to quickly take him into her mouth. He had to gasp sharply as her exquisitely slippery, soft tongue slowly rubbed against his head, then down his shaft. "Mich…ugh, shit..!" Rick grunted, unable to stop himself from reflexively lacing his fingers through her now loose locs. He watched her in a daze, hypnotized by the vision of her unbelievable body spread out before him; her head bobbing up and down slowly, locs falling over her shoulder; his hard, engorged cock disappearing between her gorgeous lips over and over again. She moaned around him, causing him to bite his lip and glare down at her as she worked. She took him inside her mouth with concentrated pressure and kept him wet the whole time. It was one of the most erotic scenes he'd ever witnessed. Soon he had to buck his hips gently, his eyes rolling back into his head and another grunt of helpless pleasure escaping him as he concentrated on how it felt.
She was gonna send him to his grave. Her mouth was a warm glove. Her silky tongue was slippery and cunning. Circling his acutely sensitive head, massaging his thick shaft with love and care that rendered him utterly dizzy with pleasure. "Jesus, Michonne…oh god you feel so good..." he groaned quietly, praying to the ceiling, completely awed by the pitch perfect pressure of her sucking mouth and the heavenly wetness of her stroking tongue.
When she wrapped one of her cool hands around him, adding more pressure, stroking him faster and faster, wetting him from hilt to tip, he could only lay back and moan. His hips locked and his abdomen clenched as Michonne worked him into a grunting, grinding ball of nerve endings that all pointed to his cock, winding his hundred and fifty some-odd pounds of toned flesh tight like a coiled spring. Her mouth so wet and exquisite, her hand so deft and snug; applying pressure to his head over and over again as she licked, sucked, and stroked him into the mattress without mercy. He chanced opening his eyes again to look down at her, and it sealed his doom.
Rick came like a gunshot. "Holy fuck, goddamn, shit, baby, urrgh…" A string of whisper-soft curses escaped his gritted teeth as his warm load gushed out of him, into her mouth.
Michonne swallowed hungrily, moaning with him as she sucked him dry. His grinding hips moved in tandem with the grip of his orgasm as it ripped through him relentlessly until she had sucked every drop of cum from his gushing shaft.
Chills spread through him as she continued to gently lick and suck at him like he was a melting popsicle. He hissed with barely contained pleasure. Her lingering tongue play made every twitch of the aftershock feel doubly intense. Finally, she let him go, causing his body to go as boneless as a jello mold.
Michonne licked her lips, pride glinting in her large brown eyes. Rick could only just lay there for a moment, tingling from head to toe. She was discovering that she loved to watch him come undone for her. She smiled as she kissed his softening shaft, giggling at the dopey look on his face.
He was too relaxed and satisfied to care that she was laughing at him. He simply watched her in awe, not ready to leave this sanctuary away from home just yet. Knowing that they needed to. Soon.
"Damn, baby..." Rick sighed, stroking her cheek, completely content. Head over heels in love. "Warn a fella next time."
"Where's the fun in that?" She smirked, licking the little nook between his pelvis and thigh. Rick couldn't help jerking at the ticklish sensation, biting his lip to suppress a wide grin. Michonne laughed quietly at him, knowing she was going to do that to him every chance she could get, just to see that boyish smile.
Rick was a hardened, fierce man. But that wasn't why he would always be her man. Behind walls, in their bed, he was also shy and sweet, quietly happy, and intensely romantic; all the things most of this world never got to see. He reserved those parts of himself for her, and it only made her love him more.
A light knock on the door shattered their secluded tranquility, and they both lost their smiles simultaneously. Rick and Michonne sat up together, peering over at the door as a journal-sized sheet of faded paper slipped under it. There was no other knocking, no other sound, not even footsteps - just the note.
They both knew it was probably Jesus.
Relaxing again, Rick plastered several sloppy, appreciative kisses along Michonne's neck and jaw before rising from the bed. He stretched, shuddering at the sheer memory of the monster orgasm his love had just coaxed out of him with her phenomenal mouth.
He sauntered naked across the room, scooped up the note, and squinted down at it.
Breakfast downstairs in an hour...
As a signature, Jesus had drawn a little stick figure of himself juggling eggs.
Rick scoffed, returning to the bed and handing it to her. Michonne smiled as she read it. Bed and breakfast, indeed. A time capsule that housed the past and the future, where they'd somehow lost their heads in each other again, this time for different reasons. And Jesus, bless him, was trying to sober them up to the real world outside as gently as possible. He was going to give them time to rise and adjust, and then he was going to feed them.
"He's layin' it on a little thick, don't you think?" Rick drawled, kissing her neck again, inhaling her lovely natural scent, made even more intoxicating for the lingering aroma of her arousal. He couldn't get enough of it.
"You're not hungry?" She challenged, raising a suspicious eyebrow.
Rick moved his kisses from her neck up to her succulent lips. "Jesus can cook his ass off. But we've still got an hour..." he breathed, kissing her several more times, making her sex quiver and her nipples tingle, "and I'm hungry for somethin' sweet."
Fuck. His voice did it again. Michonne tossed the note aside, breakfast forgotten for now. It was Rick's turn to gently force her on her back. He spread her legs very slowly, glaring at her like a predator the entire time, his thick, pink lips pursed with anticipation. Seconds later Michonne was moaning and writhing against his chiseled face as he devoured her drenched sex, alternating between playing her clit with his tongue and gently sucking it into his mouth. When she laced her slender fingers through his curls and held on tight, he knew he had her where he wanted her. He worked her tender, soaking wet pussy with his eager tongue until her entire body vibrated around his face and shoulders, and he heard wild, breathless moans floating down to him. The sound of her so overcome with pleasure made him rock hard again.
Proud of himself, Rick licked his lips of her tangy-sweet cream and kissed his way back up her body until he reached her mouth. They made out for a long time, simply enjoying the taste of each other. The large canopy bed felt like an island in the morning quiet. It was only penetrated by rays of soft, golden sunlight, and the breathless panting of Rick and Michonne as they lost themselves in each other for the next thirty minutes.
They made love again slowly, staring into each other's eyes. He whispered that he loved her as he pushed his pulsing, unyielding length into her slick heat and began an intense rhythm that hypnotized them both. She reciprocated, kissing his face and running her fingers through his hair as he filled her, hitting her at an angle that made her body quiver underneath his. They went on and on in the sunlit solitude, watching each other climb closer to climax, gazing into each other's souls, breathing each other's air - until they both came with an intensity that obliterated any of the other times since they'd started this. Michonne first, drenching his cock. Her walls tightened around it with powerful spasms as his name fell from her lips in desperate whispers. Rick quickly followed, grunting as his abdomen clenched and pure pleasure washed over him. He pulled out this time, not wishing to push his luck twice, grinding against her stomach with his face buried in her neck. He felt his release overtake him down to his toes as his seed spilled out onto her skin.
After a moment of heavy breathing, Rick lifted his head again and watched the sunlight dance across her beautiful face. He tried to commit this exact look to memory, as a talisman to take with him when they embarked on what they both knew would be a mentally, emotionally, and physically stressful journey. Michonne did the same, mesmerized by the fearless love in his crystal blue eyes. Rick cleaned his seed from her skin with his underwear that he'd fished from buried somewhere in the sheets, happy to go commando for the rest of the day. This had been worth it. She watched him, noticing that he was taking his time, dragging out the moment as he took care to thoroughly clean inside her belly button, examining her body reverently as he worked.
Finally, Rick gave a long, deep sigh and sat up. The day was waiting.
"Come on. Breakfast." Michonne sat up too and gave him a juicy kiss on his scratchy chin. They both dragged themselves out of bed, ready to see what culinary surprises Jesus had in store for them today.
And later, to head back home. Head out to put a plan into action for the annihilation of a group of bad, bad people.
They couldn't take their eyes off of each other as they cleaned up and got dressed. He watched her take her pill and brush her teeth, an unignorable idea forming in his head. He admired her perfect body, watching her slip her comely breasts into her bra and shimmy her slender, curvy hips into her pants when she was done washing up. Her skin looked good enough to eat.
She stole lingering glances at him while he tugged his dick into a more comfortable position inside his jeans, then zipped up and buckled his belt. Jesus had given him a black t-shirt to replace the dirty white one (which was nowhere to be found - Michonne wouldn't be surprised if it was on a clothesline somewhere). Rick slipped it on, her necklace catching the light against his wrist as he pulled the shirt over his head. It made her heart flutter, seeing him wearing it.
She watched him reach for his wristwatch on the little vanity near the bed and put it on. Then he reached for his wedding ring. Something she'd seen him wearing every single day since the day they met. Rick paused, his fingertips brushing it, frowning thoughtfully.
Michonne was sitting on the bed, her breath stalled, her heart pounding. She was supposed to be lacing up her boots, but instead she watched his reflection in the vanity mirror as Rick picked up the wedding ring and rolled it around between his fingers, his brow furrowed deeply.
Finally, he turned around, his blue gaze meeting hers, the ring clasped in his palm. He had made up his mind. "Commere..."
His voice was deep yet soft. Michonne dropped her boot and rose to her feet, gliding over to him slowly. He immediately wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her body into his, exhaling and swaying with her in the middle of the large bedroom. At first he was quiet, like he was nervous, but then he held the ring up to her.
"Why don't you hang on to this for me?" Rick drawled softly. It was Michonne's turn to frown, gazing first at the wedding ring and then up into his impossibly beautiful eyes. "Just until I can replace it with somethin' new, for good. I know it's not much right now." He shifted on his feet, suddenly so nervous he had to look down at her elegant fingers. "But if you'll just give me the chance to make you happy, Michonne...I promise you I'll do whatever it takes. Or I'll die tryin'. Will you?"
He finally met her eyes again. She could see that he was dead serious. He'd been waiting for Michonne his whole life. He knew that now. Everything happened exactly the way it was supposed to. It had taken him a long time to give in to it; to allow himself to fall again. But fall, he did. Hard. He couldn't bring himself to let her go now, or lose her ever. It was only a promise at the moment, and all he had, but he planned to make it official as soon as humanly possible.
Blinking back tears, Michonne nodded slowly, unable to speak just yet. Rick smiled happily and hugged her tight in his one-armed embrace. "Yeah?" He whispered eagerly, kissing her tenderly, hypnotized by her full, soft lips.
"Yes." She sighed with genuine joy, laughing out loud when he scooped her up and twirled her around.
"Goddamn, I love you, Michonne." He growled, overjoyed with what a relief it was to say aloud without fear, squeezing her tight as he set her on her feet. Then he took a deep breath and slipped the ring onto her thumb, the only place it would fit.
She didn't care. She would accept his promise. She knew he would keep it. That was more than enough for her. He was more than enough for her. He was everything. "The feeling is mutual, Grimes," she whispered.
"When this is over…" Rick breathed hard through his nostrils, leaning his strong, warm body into her slender curves, brushing his lips against her neck. He didn't need to finish. She could feel what he meant wafting off of him like electric currents the size of ocean waves.
When they came out on the other side of this, if they were successful, the beauty and her bad boy would enclose themselves inside some honeymoon cocoon somewhere. They were going to fuck, long and hard and with utter abandon. For as long as they both could physically stand it. The very thought of it kept them glued to each other for a lingering moment in the peaceful early morning silence, their foreheads pressed together, his arm tight around her waist and his other hand pressing hers to his chest so she could feel his beating heart.
They loved each other with a burning passion. Anyone gettin' in the way of that was gonna lose.
Murdock found himself on his stomach, all the wind rushed out of his chest as Jesus's knee landed squarely in the middle of his back. "Okay, that was too easy."
If his leg worked, he'd make the kid pay for that. As it happened, he was spent. Frustrated. Distracted. Not really in the mood.
Jesus could tell all that already. He was just disappointed. And worried. He sighed and helped Murdock turn around, then offered a hand to help him get to his feet. They were on the enclosed back deck that they'd converted into a training studio. From here, they had a view of the walls surrounding their land in the distance. Murdock had always found this view peaceful, somehow. Today, though, it didn't seem to be working. He wiped sweat from his brow and avoided Jesus' eyes as they got back into base stance to start over and try again.
Jesus could see that Murdock's leg was bothering him, but the point of this was to help him fight through that, overcome it, and steadily regain his old self. "Ready?" He asked his partner softly.
Murdock finally calmed and stilled. Ignoring the pain in his leg, he steadily met the gaze of his young lover across from him. He nodded.
They started again. Jesus was quick, his instincts sharp. He blocked Murdock's advances with ease as they danced across the room. Murdock stumbled a few times, but he was still strong. Jesus overcame him too quickly, though, throwing him off guard with an unexpected hip roll into a scissor sweep. Murdock found himself on the floor again, somehow caught up in a scarf hold.
"You're not even trying, 'Doc…" Jesus muttered, frowning. His exasperation was dosed with melancholy as he got to his feet and offered his hand yet again.
Murdock ignored it, getting up on his own. "Actually, I think I've tried enough for today."
They stared each other down, breathing deeply, their sweat glistening in the pale pink light of dawn.
Murdock was irritated with himself for not being able to keep up with someone who used to be a pupil. He was sad, and he was tired. Jesus was frustrated that he could do nothing to change this for his mentor. He had hoped that bringing Michonne would help wake Murdock from his depression, or at the very least, the promise of an end to Negan's terrorism would invigorate him.
All it seemed to do was make him feel useless. They hadn't discussed it, but Jesus would have to go back with Rick and their group. He would have to fight alongside them. There was no way Murdock could join him. He couldn't leave their people, and he couldn't be a burden to anyone.
This knowledge passed silently between them as Murdock leaned against the wall and Jesus stood with his hands clasped behind his back.
"What can I do?" he asked, hoping Murdock wouldn't blow him off again.
Murdock sighed, his frustration dissipating as he looked at the beautiful young man standing before him. He shook his head. "You've done everything already. You've done more than I deserve."
"Stop that, would you?" Jesus muttered, walking toward him and leaning against him, tilting his face upward. "Tell me. What is it?"
Murdock gazed at his lips, reaching up to rest his hands against Jesus' arms. "You can give me more time. Let me figure out how to be useful." He kissed those lips, feeling a surge of love and fear grip him. "You can stay alive…you hear me? Stay alive, Paul. And Michonne with you. Protect each other. God, I don't know what I would do if I lost either of you."
Hearing this made Jesus desperate to feel Murdock's lips against his again, so he rose higher on his feet and kissed him passionately. It hurt Murdock to his core, not being physically as powerful as he was used to, not being able to fight at Jesus and Michonne's side. He had to hope, though, that all this anguish and uselessness could still count for something. He had to find a way to turn it into action. He intended to devote his time while Jesus was gone to doing just that.
There was no way he was going to send his friends, loved ones, and new allies into a gruesome war without being able to back them up should they need him. Alexandria's weapons were a start, but there was more to be done for this alliance to hold equal weight on both sides. Hilltop needed to be trained. Murdock needed to get better. He kissed Jesus with renewed energy, devouring his mouth when he felt the younger man begin to physically respond to his advances.
"If only - you had - this much - enthusiasm - while we're - mm, sparring." Jesus said between intense kisses, smiling against the big man's lips.
"You asked me what I needed, didn't you?" Murdock growled as their tongues danced, bucking his hips into the young man's slender frame.
"A few more rounds, and I'm all yours…" Jesus remained cool as a cucumber, wrestling down a desperate longing to succumb to Murdock's persistent arousal. "But first you need to focus. You need to try."
Smirking, Murdock sighed and backed off. Jesus was right, of course. Like always.
The got back into base stance. Jesus nodded. Murdock returned the gesture. They sparred, dancing around the room, catching each other and pushing each other. Murdock struggled, but he didn't give up. It made Jesus very happy to see even just a shadow of his old, shrewd, confident self emerge again. Sparring with Murdock this way had given rise to their intense physical attraction to each other early on in their friendship. When they moved together like this - attempting to best each other in a challenge of physical prowess - it was like being in the middle of an electric storm. It always made Jesus horny.
Murdock was big, and he was powerful, but he was also graceful, brutal, and precise. Like a big cat. And Jesus was more like a snake - slippery, cunning, elegant and fast.
Finally, Murdock won out, landing Jesus on his back just as the morning sun was starting to glare into the enclosure.
"I hate that I love you so fucking much…" Jesus confessed breathlessly, pinned, gazing up into Murdock's dark eyes.
"You got my heart on a string, kid." The old man whispered back, his eyes filled with tenderness, acceptance, and kindness. "I love you, too. Always will."
That was his final word on the matter. He didn't even bother helping Jesus to his feet. They started to pull each other's clothes off while they lay there.
"On a scale of one to 'fuck you', how hungover you s'pose we are?" Abraham groaned, sitting across from Daryl at the big wooden table in the even bigger kitchen. They were the first ones up for some stupid ass reason, and Abe bet they'd be the worst ones off for the rest of the day.
Daryl barely moved his head to look up at Abe. He simply grunted: "Fuck you. I dunno what the hell I was thinkin' stayin' up with your goofy ass."
Abe chuckled, felt it in his head jiggling his brains around, and winced. "Shit. Ninety-year-old single malt can go right to Republican hell."
"I may have forgotten to mention: scotch that old has a bit of an aftertaste." Jesus's smooth voice sounded from the doorway.
"That's the understatement of the fuckin' year," Daryl grumbled. Jesus only smiled as he entered carrying supplies for breakfast that he'd gotten from the community pantry. "How about we trade some o'those jokes for some Aspirin?"
"Aspirin we have - and I'll do you one better." Jesus said, opening a cabinet to grab a dusty bottle of Ibuprofen and toss it to Abraham. Then he lifted the box of instant coffee he'd brought. "I can make this stuff taste like Starbucks."
"Less talkin', chief." Abe groaned, downing four of the little pills like tic tacs. "More brewin'. I don't care what it tastes like, so long as it puts out this hellfire in my head."
Amused and somewhat empathetic, Jesus gave him a salute and set about making breakfast. At first Abe and Daryl just sat there, drinking the black instant coffee he'd provided them (which he did somehow manage to make taste a lot less like shit in a cup). Soon, though, they got curious, and both found themselves watching him work, their noses picking up smells they hadn't smelled in a long while.
He was making more rolls, but he was also making pancakes. And grits. Real eggs. Beef sausages. And he had several jars of apple preserves for homemade syrup.
Daryl remembered Eugene babbling about sorghum before he and Aaron left on their run. He said it was a criminally underrated grain. Versatile. Resilient. Said it could change their food situation from 'scary to honkey donkey.' Dude was like some kinda idiot savant. But, judging from the way they were eating on the Hilltop, he was also abso-fuckin-lutely right.
By the time the eggs got sizzling in a big cast iron skillet, Glenn, Maggie, Rick and Michonne had wandered in. Daryl wouldn't be surprised if they were drawn by the smell. The shit smelled delicious, and it was making him hungry as hell.
No one in the kitchen missed the way Rick and Michonne entered. They were holding hands, which they'd seen before - but this morning there was something extremely relaxed about them both. They were both smiling like idiots for one, Daryl observed, but there was something else. They looked like they'd both found some kind of peace that hadn't been there last night. It wasn't just from gettin' busy, either. Daryl had never seen that look in Rick's eyes before. It made him feel extreme relief, to see his friend and brother so...happy. But it also filled him with longing. Not for the first time (or the last) since they'd left Alexandria, he thought of Carol.
"Can I help?" Maggie offered, breaking up Daryl's thoughts.
Jesus smiled at her while he stirred the grits. "Sure, grab those preserves, I'll show you my syrup recipe."
"You're too much." Michonne said coolly to Jesus, shaking her head at the elaborate breakfast spread, her smile bright and wide.
"You say that now." Jesus smirked. "But wait until you taste my pancakes. You won't find better in these parts."
"Wanna bet?" Rick drawled, to everyone's surprise. Glenn paused pouring his coffee, perplexed by the statement, as Jesus slowed his stirring. Maggie, who was in the middle of smelling the apple preserves indulgently, raised a curious eyebrow at her leader and mentor. Rick shrugged, his eyes dancing, his expression caught between smug and amused. "I'm just sayin', you might not hold the trophy for pancake recipes."
"Have you ever cooked with sorghum before?" Jesus asked skeptically.
Michonne couldn't hide her amusement as Rick kissed her on the cheek and cracked his knuckles confidently. "No. But I'm a quick study."
"You're on." Jesus gave in, smiling. "Mixing bowl's in the cabinet under the sink." They all watched as Rick sauntered toward the sink and got to work helping Jesus make pancakes for everyone. Michonne watched him too, accepting a cup of coffee from Glenn and taking her place at the table.
She smiled behind her cup, watching Rick move easily and comfortably around the kitchen. He had asked her to marry him. And she had said yes, without so much as a second of contemplation. And now she was watching as he happily made pancakes with Jesus. She couldn't get over it. It all started just three nights ago, when she had dared to confess what she wanted from him. And then it snowballed, and now they were here. It felt so fast, but also exactly right. This had been a long time coming. She couldn't recall ever loving anyone as much as she loved Rick. Not Mike. Maybe not even Murdock. Or wanting a life with someone so badly. Knowing that he wanted the same kind of life with her - and that he would fight for them to have it - made her feel like they were invincible.
Everyone at the table avoided eye contact while she got lost in her thoughts, instead choosing to watch the episode of apocalyptic Iron Chef playing out before them.
Maggie, Rick, and Jesus were like a well-oiled machine in the kitchen. They all fell into a natural rhythm, aiding each other while taking their own individual moments to shine. Rick and Michonne's attitudes were contagious. The atmosphere in the kitchen was peaceful, even silly at times. Jesus bantered with a recovering Abraham while he scrambled eggs and fried the sausages in the skillet like a pro. Rick winked at Michonne and flipped his pancakes to applause from the table when they landed perfectly. Maggie's syrup needed no instruction from Jesus - she had it smelling divinely within minutes, taking a page from her own grandmother's book. She gave Glenn the privilege of tasting it first, and his eyes rolled back into his head. "Damn, that's good." He had forgotten food like this existed.
"Get used to this, mister. It's what we're fightin' for." His wife said to him sweetly, kissing the taste of the syrup from his lips.
They were all a sight to see, but Michonne only had eyes for Rick. They caught each other's gazes several times while he showed off his pancake flipping skills (skills she was definitely going to insist he practice regularly when they got back home). Their early morning in the canopy bed was present in their energy, as was his proposal. They had decided to keep things to themselves for now. They were in no rush to let the rest of the world in on everything that transpired between them. For now, their secret engagement was more like a silent bond; something impenetrable that only they were privy to. His wedding ring remained around her thumb, and her necklace was still there around his wrist. This was what they were fighting for. All of this, and more. Together. For as long as they both lived. It was such a peaceful feeling, neither of them could help suppressing smiles across the kitchen space, in full view of everyone.
Jesus caught her gaze, and his knowing smile made her cheeks feel warm. She was giving herself away. She decided to distract him.
"Where's Murdock?" Michonne asked, pulling herself out of her fixation on her old man, now feeling the absence of her old friend.
Jesus began setting the table. "He's supposed to be meditating, but Lizzie's likely giving him the third degree. He'd probably appreciate the interruption..."
Michonne frowned when he left it at that. He knew she wanted to see her old friend alone. They hadn't had that opportunity yet. They needed it. She wanted to tell Murdock so much, and ask him so much. And she wanted to make sure what he had with Jesus was exactly what they both deserved. She found her immense happiness with Rick made her feel that everyone deserved to have what she had. If they wanted it.
She rose from the table and approached Rick, who was snuffing the fire out in the old iron stove. He looked up at her and stood upright, grinning that sexy grin of his as he wiped his hands on a towel. He tossed the towel aside and reached for her. "You ready to eat? Best pancakes you ever tasted."
Michonne allowed him to hold her in a loose, one-armed embrace in front of everyone. For them, this part of the kitchen had become a quiet little bubble that blocked out the activity around them, the second he pulled her closer to him. This was his favorite position, he decided.
She gazed into his eyes and shook her head. That obelisk-shaped crease appeared again between his brows as he frowned. "Save me some, okay? I need to talk to Murdock alone."
Rick resisted an instant pang of disappointment that they wouldn't get to enjoy breakfast together. He nodded solemnly. She needed to talk to her friend. She had every right to do it alone. There was no reason for him to take issue with that. Not after monopolizing most of her time since they'd arrived here; not after making a clear, pointed show of letting everyone here know they were together. "Alright. Don't stay away too long," he couldn't help uttering softly, squeezing her to him possessively.
"Whatever you say…" she stopped short of openly flirting with him in front of everyone, biting her lip. Rick's slow grin told her he knew what she was about to say, and it turned him on. Officer. Cowboy. Stud. Grimes. Baby. She could call him anything she wanted to; she had his damned heart in her pocket. He released her and she leaned over to smell the delicious aroma wafting up to her from the huge stack of fresh sorghum pancakes. They looked fluffy, cinnamon brown, crispy and buttery around the edges. "Where'd you learn to make pancakes this handsome?"
"I used to make 'em every Sunday for Carl and Lori back home." He said wistfully. Feeling empathy for him, Michonne reached up and massaged the curls at the nape of his neck, kissing him on the cheek.
"I love the shit clingin' to your boots, Michonne - but you're holdin' up the chow line, darlin'." Abe complained from the table, and they both turned to discover that the entire kitchen was watching them. The table was set - all that was missing was Rick's pancakes.
Michonne laughed and raised her hands in mock surrender. She plucked a sausage from a steaming plate on the table and glided out of the kitchen, her sword hanging across her back. They all watched her go, Rick especially, before he brought the pancakes to the table and declared that it was chow time.
"So are we going to address the elephant in the room, or what?"
Murdock chuckled, opening his eyes to gaze across at Lizzie with exasperated amusement. She sometimes sat and meditated with him, but it was always just an excuse to talk. She knew he did this for a very good reason, but they were friends, and when she was bursting, she couldn't help herself.
He hadn't been able to concentrate before she came looking for him anyway. His mind was on Jesus, and Michonne, and Rick, and the incredibly complicated, dangerous fight ahead.
So was Elizabeth's. She had a million questions. Last night, she'd been knackered, and traumatized, and relieved to finally be home. Meeting Rick Grimes and his group had given her hope, and the girl Maggie was a sweet one. Then there was Abraham, who was, simply put, quite a character.
But in the light of day, now that she'd slept and was back in her element again, Elizabeth had questions. Mr. Grimes had said that they would kill all of the Saviors. He looked as though he was a man of his word. And Murdock had said that his partner, Michonne, was someone from his past. Well the good doctor could only put two and two together at this point. Jesus had always said there was someone Murdock had once loved very much; had spent his adult life pining after. And her first instinct told her that person was the lovely creature draped in green, standing close to the blue-eyed cowboy with the big gun.
All this was flashing through her head of wild red curls as she tried to be quiet and meditate.
"Which elephant?" Murdock asked, giving up the ghost. He relaxed in his chair across from where she sat on the settee in his study.
Elizabeth rolled her eyes at him and uncrossed her legs, sitting forward to rest her elbows against her knees. "Alright. Let's start with you declaring bloody war on Negan. Without a plan, mind."
"We have a plan, Lizzie."
"Bollocks. 'We'll kill them all'? Is that it? There are women, children perhaps. Are they included in this master plan?"
Murdock sighed hard and shook his head. "Rick wouldn't slaughter innocents."
"You're sure about that, are you? How long have you known him? Twelve hours?"
"Because first of all, I wouldn't allow it. Secondly, I'm sure of it because I know Michonne." Murdock replied patiently, seemingly unfazed by her suspicion. She was a partial leader here - her skills were among the most valuable of the community. She had a right to question Murdock and Jesus' decisions. But she was wrong, and she would see that soon enough. In that, at least, he was confident. "She isn't that kind of person. She could never be with someone who was. She's good, and more importantly, she's part of the glue that holds him together. He's a family man. He's a protector, not a terrorist like Negan. You want more proof?" It was his turn to lean forward, meeting her gaze steadily. "You met Maggie. Glenn."
Elizabeth scoffed, remembering her little chat with the big, crass, handsome ginger. "Abraham."
Murdock smiled. "Yes. Him and Daryl, too. They're good people. Rick surrounds himself with people willing to go to the ends of the earth with him, for family. For peace. For an end to constant fear. None of the reasons Negan does anything, including breathe."
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at him, her pale blue eyes glinting. "And you know this because Michonne chose him." Interesting. "Who is she? She's more than an old friend. I could smell that from a mile away."
It was Murdock's turn to roll his eyes. They remained leaning toward each other, as if they were playing chess. He rested his chin atop his hands holding his cane. She rested hers against her folded hands. "Anybody ever accuse you of being nosey?" He joked.
"Everyone, darling. I couldn't even keep my gob shut while I was operating. Developed quite a reputation during my residency. Chatting keeps me focused. Answer the question."
"She is more than an old friend." He admitted, chuckling softly. "There was a time when I thought she was the love of my life. The one that got away. Hadn't seen her in almost a decade before it all ended."
Elizabeth frowned, feeling sympathy for him. And for Jesus. She could only imagine the complicated emotions running amok in this house with the arrival of the group from Alexandria. "How did you find her?"
"Jesus did. When he lost you, he found them. Your sacrifice…" he leaned forward and took her hand, squeezing it affectionately; gratefully. "Dana's. Ben's. Tony's. It may have led to our salvation. What you went through, without Jesus, may have been the last time Negan's people have that kind of power over us. Jesus found my Michonne. And she came bearing gifts."
Elizabeth had always admired his eloquence. She placed her free hand over his. She loved and trusted her friend. She would follow him to the ends of the earth in the same pursuit he ascribed to Rick and Michonne's people. "You'd better be right."
"I'm hopeful." He offered. "That's what this is about, Lizzie. We have hope - finally. I'm willing to bet on it. On Rick. On Michonne."
They stared at each other for a long time, silently coming to terms with their situation. She would go along. Of course she would. She loved her people - what they'd built, and what they could build once they were free - too much. She had little choice. Hope was all they had. Rick's people gave them that. They would just have to fight like hell to make sure it paid off.
"But, what's your plan?" She pressed, still concerned about what they were all up against. Wishing to be useful, somehow. "Who's left here who even knows how to use those weapons we've traded half our supplies for? We'll be down Jesus, and now Ben and Dana - who should be recovering right now."
"We're trading for more than weapons," he replied simply. He'd thought this through. "We have Maggie. And I've told Jesus to find someone else who can help among Rick's people."
Elizabeth frowned, befuddled. "For help with what? Maggie is pregnant, what can she do?"
"She can teach these people how to fight. Here, in secret. How to shoot. How to kill walkers. How to kill other live humans. How to survive. In return, she wants to know how we grow, and I think the terms are worth it. This is an alliance, Lizzie. Not just a simple trade."
"Murdock…" His friend shook her head slowly, overwhelmed. They really were going into war. It would get bloody, and they were going to lose people. They didn't have time to stop and wonder if the sacrifice really was worth it. Their situation was dire, and this was their only option. "This is going to fucking suck."
But they were all in it together. The doctor squeezed Murdock's hand and gave it a light kiss before releasing him.
There was a soft knock on the door. He called for the person to come in, and they looked to see Michonne standing in the doorway. Lizzie was taken aback - Michonne was quite fetching. And she carried a sword strapped across her back. "You busy?" Her soft voice wafted into the room.
Lizzie saw that as her cue. She smiled warmly at Michonne, getting to her feet. "He's free as a bird, love. Come on in. I was just leaving."
Michonne gave her a polite smile as they passed each other across the threshold. Elizabeth couldn't help pausing, gazing into Michonne's eyes in all earnesty. "It's good to have you here. Please, let me know whatever I can do to help."
Michonne was taken slightly aback, but she nodded. "Thanks. Maybe talk to Rick? We need all the information we can get about Negan's compound."
Elizabeth accepted her suggestion and made herself scarce.
Michonne closed the door behind her and walked into the room, watching as Murdock rose to his feet and stepped forward to greet her. There was a moment where their eyes met and all of a sudden they were their old selves again. Goofy Murdock and nerdy 'Chonne. A great swell of nostalgia, and with it a crashing wave of emotion, propelled them both toward each other. He welcomed her into his arms and gave her a warm, tight squeeze. She closed her eyes to savor the feeling, remembering years and years of hugs like this, standing on her tiptoes, all swept up in him. She took a deep breath and let it out, relaxing in his arms.
His presence was always soothing. Easy. She hadn't realized how much she missed it, and she was incredibly relieved to have it back. Murdock kissed her on the cheek and let her go, gesturing for her to have a seat.
Michonne wiped her face and sat down in Dr. Corday's place on the settee. Murdock sat back down in his chair, smiling softly as he rested his cane against its arm. "Good morning, Miss 'Chonne." He said sweetly, making her laugh quietly, making her remember how he used to greet her every morning at high school. He was always waiting by her locker. He always had something for her. An apple. A chocolate bar. Some gum or a wild flower he'd picked. He was a romantic guy, despite her teasing at dinner. She was always hungry, and sometimes he complained, but he always ended up giving in. He could never resist Michonne.
"Morning, fool." She retorted, like she used to. They smiled for a while, letting memories run away with them. And then Michonne sighed, her smile fading as she gazed at her friend; how changed he really was. "How are you?" She asked seriously.
Murdock looked very sad for a moment, but then he chuckled. "I'm shocked. Look at you! Alive! I'm happy as hell, Michonne. It's good to see you."
She returned his smile. "I'm happy, too. When Jesus said your name, somehow...I knew." She confessed, shaking her head in wonder. "I just knew it was you. And I knew I had to get here."
He was moved, hearing her confide this. He swallowed hard and nodded empathetically. "Thank god you came. We needed you. And Rick." Michonne watched his smile turn slightly expectant, and she knew where he was going next. "Rick is...an interesting guy."
She fought off the urge to roll her eyes. She took a deep breath and sat up straighter. "Yeah. Rick's interesting, alright." She blinked, and let it out. "I'm in love with him. I'd die for him. He saved me, Murdock."
He heard the truth in her voice. He knew what that was like, to be on the receiving end of Michonne's love. He also knew what it was like to be in love with her. He envied Rick, and he was happy for her. "I know…" he reassured her, hoping she could see the truth in his eyes. She could. "And I can see he feels ten times more. 'Chonne, that man lives and breathes you. You know that?"
Yes, she knew, she realized. And apparently, so did everyone else. She smiled, laughing at herself. "Are we that obnoxious?"
Murdock laughed out loud, shaking his head at her as she put her face in her hands. She couldn't help thinking of how hard it was for her to focus on anything but Rick these last few days. She had known they would have a hard time being discreet about how much they loved each other. Their physical chemistry had always been there, just under the surface. But now it was free, and it was overflowing. They couldn't block the flood; and even if they could, neither of them wanted to. Murdock understood that. He envied that. "You're fascinating. Intimidating. I would consider it an asset, if I were you."
She blinked rapidly, considering that for the first time. That feeling of elevated confidence in her ability to survive above all odds when she and Rick were in sync doubled as she contemplated Murdock's words. "We hated each other when we first met." She admitted, still smiling. Remembering.
Murdock returned her wistful smile. "Why am I not surprised?"
"Rick doesn't trust easily. Neither do I."
"But you ended up relying on each other. You ended up balancing each other out."
Michonne focused on him again and nodded. "Yeah. I'm guessing that's what happened with you and Jesus?"
Murdock felt a wave of peace wash over him as he saw the truth reflected in her expression. Jesus hadn't been exaggerating when he confessed that he found an unexpectedly deep connection with Michonne. He had wondered how he was going to broach this subject with his old friend. If she would understand how profound and unquestionable his love was for Jesus. At first, it had been inexplicable - now it was simply intuitive. It seemed Jesus had already done him the favor. "Yes. He and I are partners in everything. It just sort of happened. He's the reason I'm sitting here today, not dead or off running scared in the wild."
"Does he know that?" She pressed, only feeling slightly bad for getting in his business. They had known each other too long and this world had too little regard for indecision.
Murdock frowned. "He should. Why?"
Michonne sighed and relaxed in her seat on the settee. "I know he loves you, Murdock. And if you love him, you'll just let go. I did, and it was the best thing I could've done. It's..freeing."
She had always been able to peg what he needed to hear; to say exactly what was bothering him, and encourage him to make the decision he knew he'd been avoiding. Yes, his relationship - his love affair - with Jesus was nothing like anything Murdock had ever experienced. That was something he could accept, but it was also something that caused him unrest. Had this been the person he was all along? Or had these dark times transformed him into the complete antithesis of his former self? If so, had he been a selfish person before? Harboring feelings for Michonne and using them to keep others at bay. Naomi never stood a chance with him. No woman did after Michonne. He kept asking himself: Was that really because of Michonne? He also couldn't help asking: Did it matter? Now that she was sitting here, he couldn't help feeling contrite. He cared for her dearly. But perhaps he'd done them both a disservice all these years, weighing their friendship down with sour feelings that may not even have been about her.
"What do you suppose I should do?" He asked aloud now, earnestly needing his old friend's advice. Like old times. They supported each other as much as they drove each other crazy.
Michonne smiled again. "Be yourself. Let go of your fear. You're together for a reason. Embrace it. Use it."
He nodded in agreement. He could see that approach was definitely working out for her. "I told him to watch out for you out there." When she rolled her eyes stubbornly, he chuckled. "I know you can take care of yourself, 'Chonne. And I damn sure know Rick isn't going to let anything happen to you on his watch. But you need Jesus. He's the best asset Hilltop has. He'll more than hold up our end of this alliance. And I love you. Both of you. So watch out for each other. Please."
Michonne softened and nodded finally, giving him her silent promise that they would.
He stood up slowly, leaning heavily on his cane as he started to make his way toward his desk, and the balcony beyond it. He gestured to the scene below, visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the balcony as Michonne stood and followed him.
He opened the door to the balcony and stepped out, Michonne coming out after him. He gazed down at the hilltop town; the rows and rows of FEMA trailers, the stables, the sorghum and vegetable fields, the walls beyond. The view he saw every day, sometimes all day.
Michonne stood next to him, gazing down at what he and Jesus had built, appreciating the pride and sacrifice that came with such an achievement. She saw their camper being backed up the hill, Abraham behind the wheel and Daryl guiding it as he walked alongside it. Rick, Jesus, Ben, Tony, and Dana were carrying crates and boxes full of food and supplies down the hill toward the RV. The community was beginning to wake up. Some of them were standing around outside their trailers to watch what was going on. Michonne realized they'd be leaving soon. She and Murdock hadn't spent nearly enough time together. And now it was time to start preparing for the fight.
She turned to look over at him. He was at first watching her group below, but then he turned slightly to face her, leaning against the railing. A slight breeze cooled their skin under the now brightly shining sun as Murdock reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved his old wallet.
His kind eyes held her in place as they faced each other, high above the hilltop town, and he told her a story.
"I kept this wallet because it contains the last pieces of my old life that I have left in this world." He said quietly. "It got me through some of the loneliest and most gruesome times I've ever faced. For a long time, even when I went crazy for a little while," Murdock frowned hard turning the wallet over and over again in his hands. "You were my anchor, Michonne. My only link to some kind of peace of mind. Until I met Jesus."
She swallowed hard as he opened the wallet and removed two pictures from the tattered leather wallet. She remembered when he bought it at Macy's when they took a trip to New York one summer. That was right before he took off to Italy and began a decade-long excursion. Running away from her. Michonne focused on the pictures.
The first one, of herself and Murdock at their senior prom, made her smile warmly. Her heart swelled and a wave of nostalgia washed over her. She stared at it for a long time, remembering. They danced all night long, until they turned on the flood lights and forced the last loiterers in the gym to leave. Then they'd gone to get ice cream at a roadside parlor that stayed open all night in the warmer months of the year. That had been such a fun night.
The past was all around them, coating the air they breathed. She stared at the perfectly preserved image of their old selves. Two smart, goofy kids watching each other's backs in the hood, growing into two fiercely passionate young adults and ambitious lovers, and then...strangers on opposite sides of the earth. Trying to hold on to a bond that was thinning with each year that passed.
"God, we were so young…" she muttered, still regretting the way things ended, even after all these years.
Finally, she looked at the second picture. She lost her smile immediately, feeling her legs go numb all of a sudden. The silence around them as Murdock took a step toward her was only disturbed by the faint sounds of the community below. Michonne leaned heavily against the railing now, staring down at the picture, her hands shaking.
She was looking at her little boy, alive and smiling happily up at her old self. They were standing there with Mike, but the two of them were in their own little world. He was such an enchanting little boy. Her peanut, her little love, her light, her joy. She felt as though the world was going to crash in on itself, right on top of her, burying her in the rubble.
Murdock held his ground, trying to give her her time, her space. But he felt it, too. Finally Michonne looked up at her old friend, the loss of her son weighing her down with each breath. He stepped toward her, opening his arms, and caught her as she fell into him, her body trembling with silent sobs.
Memories of her beautiful baby boy raced through her mind, attacking her heart with stabbing pain so intense that she had to crush her eyes shut and cling to Murdock for dear life. He held onto her, keeping her on her feet in his strong arms. He felt empathy for her so immense that it rendered him speechless. All he could do was hold her, and she cried and cried until she had nothing left.
A few minutes later, they were leaning side by side against the railing, Michonne having wiped her face and nose with his handkerchief. She felt better, but still sad. She hadn't allowed herself to feel Andre's loss so directly in a long, long time. But being here at Hilltop, being so swept up in Rick, and seeing Murdock again had helped her reach this place - she was sure of it. Now the picture, after what felt like so long of only seeing her baby boy in her mind, had been the final push she needed to let it all go.
"I'm sorry." He said, sighing deeply. "I wanted you to have that. I shouldn't have sprung it on you like this, though." He looked down at her. "I'm so sorry about Andre. No one deserves to go through what you went through. I'm just glad you made it to the other side."
She felt another tear slip down her cheek as she looked up to return his gaze. "Thank you." She whispered, pressing the photograph to her stomach. "I never thought I'd see him again."
He reached over and squeezed her shoulder, understanding what it meant to her. "Can you live with this, 'Chonne? What we have to do now?"
She straightened her posture nodding slowly. "I know what we're doing. And I know why we're doing it. I can handle it. Can you?"
It was his turn to fortify his body language, returning her resolute nod. "So long as we understand each other: I'm willing to do whatever it takes. But we can't kill innocents, Michonne. Rick knows that...right?"
Michonne frowned hard, at first taken aback by his words. Rick was a killer, but he wasn't a monster. Why was it so hard for people to understand that? "Rick knows that." She confirmed for her friend mater-of-factly, keeping her thoughts to herself.
"Good." He gave her another affectionate squeeze and stood upright, turning to face the sunlight once again. Michonne did the same, her eyes following where he gestured with his chin to the scene below. "Jesus told me there was nothing that man wouldn't do for you."
Michonne looked down to see Rick had paused helping to load the R.V. with supplies to gaze up at them in the balcony. She could feel his eyes on her, and she knew he could feel her eyes on him. Their connection - she could feel it even across this distance. It was strong; it was undeniable. Whether someone else would call what she was feeling love, she didn't care. Death and danger be damned.
"I hope he's right. You're the one who's going to help us win this, Michonne. This is what you were meant for - remember all those years of you searching for a purpose? Never feeling like you could make a big enough difference?"
Michonne forced her eyes away from Rick and turned to face her friend again. She had thought Andre was it, and she used to be ashamed to admit that having him still hadn't managed to snuff out the fire of her yearning to make a difference in the world. He was her son, and she could teach him what she believed in, pass on her mission...but that didn't fulfil her mission. And now, her precious was gone. Her mission - what was it now? Now that she was with Rick, what could they build, together?
"Yeah. I remember." She admitted, clutching the photograph of her and what used to be her family in her hand.
"When this is over, there will be four territories, four communities, left to rebuild in the ruins." Murdock told her calmly, his dark skin glowing in the sunlight. He stood resting on his cane, leveling with her. "There will be survivors, Michonne. You know that. We can kill those who fight in Negan's name, but not their prisoners, not their innocents. There will be a new world to lead, a new law of the land to obey. We'll be the ones writing that law." Murdock stepped toward her, towering over her, his energy wafting off of him. He was never more sure of himself than he was now. But it was a peaceful energy. Urgent, but quite earnest. She marveled at it. "What kind of world are we creating? One of prosperity, strength, and peace? Or fear, cowardice, and brutality?"
"What are you saying?' She challenged, resisting even though she knew he was right.
"I'm asking you to help me make sure we're not cutting off one of Negan's heads just to have another identical one spring up in its place."
"That isn't going to happen, 'Doc." Jesus' voice sounded from inside the study.
They both turned to see him standing in the doorway, the shade from inside making his eyes stand out like blue pools. He stepped over the threshold, into the light, his expression slightly concerned, but ultimately calm. He gazed up at his partner and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.
"Rick is asking for you downstairs. We're almost ready."
Murdock understood that he should let the matter rest, for now. He sighed and backed off. "Of course. I'll see you down there, 'Chonne."
They watched as he made his way into the house, giving Jesus an affectionate squeeze on the arm as he went. Jesus sighed and returned his gaze to Michonne. "Sorry. He's worried. And he feels...stuck. He'd rather be fighting with you, trust me."
Michonne accepted the explanation, though it still stirred something inside her that had been nagging her ever since Carol started harping on Rick. Jesus stepped toward her and offered her a somber smile.
"Would you mind helping me with something before we leave?"
She blinked at him, intrigued - as always with him. He led her off the balcony, into the house again. Michonne tucked her photograph in the small satchel attached to her sword belt and followed him out of the study. He peered over the railing to survey the foyer, making sure Murdock had made it outside as they bypassed the stairs and walked down the hall toward one of the bedrooms. They crossed into it, and Michonne could immediately tell that it belonged to Murdock and Jesus.
Their belongings were mingled perfectly. The atmosphere was masculine, and harmonious. Worn, and frayed around the edges. Cozy, and safe.
The bed was still a mess, there were stacks of books everywhere, reading glasses perched atop every single one of them. Murdock's ties and Jesus' scarves spilled out of one drawer. Murdock's jackets and Jesus' vests were draped across the back of a rather large, ancient-looking brown leather armchair. Artifacts from their scavenging were positioned about the room: the grill of what looked like a vintage truck at the foot of the bed, paintings propped against the wall rather than hanging, a stack of chess sets and an old, rusty street sign labeled 'MERCY ST' sitting on top of the dresser. Jesus saw her looking at it, and his smile turned wistful.
"We met on that street. Almost killed each other. I got out of it by making a joke about the name of the street, and suggesting we both try it, maybe." He chuckled. "He fell for it, of course, big softy. I knocked him out and took his gun. He found me again, though, days later. He'd survived...and he had that street sign. He had the chance to kill me then, but he didn't. We've been inseparable ever since." His eyes drifted to her face again. "Come." He urged gently.
Michonne followed him into the bathroom, where she was inundated with yet more signs of the life Jesus and Murdock led here together. But she focused on her new friend, curious about what he needed from her as he opened a cabinet and removed a pair of scissors and some electric clippers. He kicked the cabinet shut and took off his hat, his dirty blonde hair falling in his face.
It dawned her as she stared at the scissors and clippers on the counter and the hat in his hands, gazing at her determinedly. "Are you serious…?" She could only gasp, raising her eyebrows at him in shock and intrigue.
He only nodded slowly. "As a heart attack. Will you help me?"
Michonne took a deep breath, taking the clippers from the counter as he turned to plug them in. They roared to life, the unmistakable buuuzzz sound permeating the quiet space. He took a deep breath, dropping the hat to the floor as Michonne began to rid him of his beard.