Rick felt the warm blood run down his arm as it flowed from the man's mouth, but he kept his elbow wrapped tightly around his throat, watching him gasp and sputter in his hold.
"You can't do this," the man croaked out.
"You had no problem doin' it to your wife though, did you?" Rick snapped the cuffs on the man's hands behind his back and shoved him out the kitchen door and down the steps to the cruiser. He could see Daryl taking his wife's statement on the front lawn, her eye bruised and swollen. They were frequent visitors to this house, and Rick was not in a patient mood this time around.
"Fuck you, Grimes. Why don't you worry about your own wife?" The man was catching his breath as Rick loosened his grip to open the cruiser door. "She's someone else's problem now, though. Ain't that right?"
Rick felt something inside him snap as he gripped the man's hair and shoved his face against the cruiser hard. Another spatter of blood to flew from his mouth and land across Rick's cheek, as he growled into his ear. "If I were you I'd keep my mouth shut if you want to keep all your teeth."
He tossed him into the back seat and slammed the door shut, turning around to see a group of neighbors huddled on their lawn, their attention now squarely on him.
"What?" he challenged, as he wiped the blood off of his face with the back of his hand.
"Rick!" Daryl growled as he approached the cruiser now smeared with the man's blood. 'Rick!"
…
Rick sat up quickly with a sharp breath, wiping at his cheek. He pulled his hand back and squinted in the dark, looking for the blood but finding it clean. His eyes began to focus and he saw the clock on Michonne's nightstand. Two in the morning.
She was sleeping peacefully beside him in his t-shirt and a pair of panties and he reached down to pull the covers over her shoulders, then carefully brushed his lips to the back of her head and slid out of bed. Michonne's house had no basement, being built on short stilts due to its spot by the lake, so the floorboards groaned excessively when walked on. Rick stepped gingerly in the spots that he had come to learn were the quietest, and made his way out to her living room. He collapsed on the couch, and pulled a knitted blanket off of the back, laying it across his legs.
It was eerily silent there in the winter. All of the places on the water were rentals and only a handful were year round. Rick enjoyed the quiet of it, though. He would often settle into this spot when he stayed over and found himself awake with no company. It happened more often than not that his sleep was disturbed, but he had gotten used to it and he used the silence to offset the noise in his head.
Tonight he had been startled awake by a memory that had threatened to weaken his resolve when it came to going up against Lori. He had received a written warning for that outburst, the first in his career. He'd only been back to work for a few weeks by then. He ran a hand over his face, considering that and the other scenes that played out over the next few months. They would all be part of Lori's argument, if she followed through with her threat to go to court, and he needed to be prepared for it.
He couldn't help but wonder how many of the details of last year would be new to Michonne when they were rehashed. It was like he had been existing under a dark veil of anger for months, until she came into his life and pushed it away like the sun parting the clouds. Maybe she knew that already. Maybe he was just that lucky that she had heard the whole story and still decided to love him. Maybe he wasn't that lucky and she would be forced to see him in a new light. There wasn't anything he could do about it now. He had to bring Carl home and deal with the consequences after. Michonne said it was going to be a fight, and she had to know he wasn't going to come out of it unscathed.
…
"Did you sleep at all last night?" Michonne asked, running a hand along his stubbled jaw. He got out of her bed late that morning, trying to make up for his time spent on the couch; too late to shave before dressing for work.
He glanced over at her in the passenger side of his car, perfectly put together as always, in a grey skirt and fitted black sweater. She was wearing a pair of opaque tights and, though he missed the sight of her bare skin, he was enjoying the smooth silhouette they drew. They rarely got to ride to work together due to Rick's shift always changing, but today would begin with a task force meeting that they both had to attend. Michonne had left her car at work the previous night, relishing in the few extra minutes each commute would allow them together.
"I got enough," he lied. "Did I wake you?"
"No, you didn't, but I saw you were gone at one point."
He glanced over at her, then back to navigating the road. "I was just thinkin' about how it's gonna go down...with Lori."
"What did you come up with?" she asked, hoping he wasn't having second thoughts.
"I'll call her today. Let her know that when I come pick Carl up this weekend, he's not comin' back."
She nodded, keeping her eyes on his face as he drove. He looked determined and she settled back against her seat with relief.
He pulled up to a stoplight in the middle of a deserted intersection; the kind that never ceased to summon a chuckle from her when she remembered her previous morning commutes in the city. She didn't mind stopping this morning, though. She reached over again, settling her hand at the back of his neck and squeezing gently at his tight muscles while he groaned his approval. Their eyes met and he smiled contentedly at the touch. She was about to offer her massage services for later that night when suddenly the car lurched forward and they heard a loud crack of metal colliding.
"Shit," he exclaimed, realizing they had just been rear-ended. "Are you ok?" He put the car in park and looked her over.
"Yeah, I'm fine." She turned in her seat to look out the rearview window just in time to see a black SUV reverse slightly and tap Rick's bumper again, with a loud rev of the engine. "What the hell? Rick?"
Realization dawned on Rick's face and he put a hand on her shoulder turning her back to face the front. He removed his gun from his holster, clicking off the safety and unbuckled his seatbelt. "Stay here," he ordered.
He was preparing to get out of the car when the SUV revved its engine one more time and took off around his vehicle, speeding off ahead of them.
"Rick, what is going on?" she demanded. She watched as he settled back in his seat and calmly picked up his cellphone and began dialing. "Are you going to go after them?"
"No," he replied without meeting her eyes. "I'm gonna call it in and let one of the other guys handle it."
"Why?" she asked tentatively, hoping he was just being cautious because she was with him, but sensing there was more to it.
"I don't think they know I'm a cop yet." His answer gave her no explanation and he paused to speak to the dispatcher whom he had been connected to, giving a description of the vehicle and incident before hanging up.
Michonne continued to stare at him, silently waiting for him to confess to whatever it was that just happened. He finally turned toward her, unsure what her reaction would be when he divulged his unsanctioned stake-out with Daryl, but there was no getting around it now. He grabbed her hand and tipped his head slightly to meet her eyes. "I have to call Daryl. It will only take a minute. Then I'll tell you everything."
…
"So they recognized your personal vehicle?" Aaron asked, his eyes wide. "Holy shit."
Rick looked around the room at the group of citizens turned crime fighters that Deanna had assembled for her "Community Strikes Back" task force (as she had coined it to the press). Aaron Alexander headed up a nonprofit that organized services for indigent people in the community, especially treatment services. Deanna thought he could offer some insight on the economic factors that were leading people into addiction. As much as Rick was angry that this task force was given sole power to decide how the town would proceed, he found a couple other members, in addition to Michonne, to be competent and trustworthy. Aaron was one of them and Dr. Denise Cloyd was the other.
Rick was immediately unhappy to find that Deanna had chosen the state psychologist who had been assigned to his mandatory counseling after he was shot, to work with him here. He thought it was a play on her part to keep an eye on him. After the group had met a few times, though, he had to agree her experience seeing patients in the rehab facility was well suited to the group's intentions.
"What were you going to do, Grimes?" Pete Anderson growled. "Sit outside the place until you saw something, then charge in there and beat the hell out of 'em?" He shook his head mockingly. "Who the hell do you two think you are?" He gestured at Rick and Daryl while he sipped his coffee.
Rick leaned back in his chair, squinting at Pete and willing himself calm before he would respond, but Michonne beat him to the punch. "It seems to me, Pete, that the deputies shared this information with us because it was relevant to the case, certainly not to hear your personal opinion on the matter." She scowled at him with a fierceness Rick had yet to witness. "This group holds no authority over the way the Sheriff's Department carries out their investigation."
Rick held his gaze on her, thanking her with his eyes. She had been quiet since he relayed the story to her the first time, silently taking in the details of the baby-faced man who had taken notice of them and issued a not so thinly veiled threat regarding their presence there. She had listened and nodded, giving no indication of her feelings on the matter. He feared she was angry with him, but knew a conversation had to wait if they were going to be on time for this meeting.
Pete wasn't done. He turned his shoulders toward Michonne as he spoke. "This from the woman sleeping with the psycho cop," he sneered. "Do you hold any authority over him, Michonne? Maybe you could slip some common sense into your pillow talk."
Daryl had had enough now, roughly shoving his chair out from beneath him and standing to pace menacingly.
"Don't talk to her like that," Rick warned. His voice was low and calm, but his eyes betrayed his rage. He remained seated, cocking his head to the side to challenge the man. Pete's comment had caught him off guard as he had no reason to think the group was aware of his relationship with Michonne. He made a mental note to add that to the list of things they needed to discuss.
"Look," Denise spoke up, startling the group. She didn't interject much and they certainly weren't used to the tone she was using. "None of this helps our task right now. Rick, Daryl," she said, turning her attention to the two deputies, "Be careful and keep us informed. Pete, stop being a dick and start bringing something to the table."
The room went silent for a moment and Rick looked back at Michonne, seeing a glimpse of a smile form on her face at the quiet, bespectacled woman's admonishment, but it quickly faded when she met his eyes.
"Dr. Cloyd, I'm glad you're feeling so fulfilled by this task," Pete finally said, "but let's get one thing straight, the only reason I'm here is because the hospital is pushing their recovery center and they thought it would look good if one of the board members served on this little side project. I don't give a shit if you cure every one of these addicts or if Grimes and Dixon drag 'em out in the street and shoot 'em. At the end of the day I've done my job by sitting in while you create your report and hand it off to Monroe."
Michonne looked ready to pounce as she glared across the table at Pete. Rick had to fight the urge to get up and go to her, knowing she was feeling personally offended at Anderson's flippant attitude toward this work that she believed in. He knew he couldn't though, so he settled on pulling Pete back into his own sights.
"That's right, Pete," he started. "This little drug problem isn't quite as high-class as your nightly indulgences in the top shelf of your liquor cabinet. Why should you give a shit about these kids?" Rick had picked up a few stories of his own before he became the subject of the gossip and he wasn't feeling any remorse for throwing them back at Pete.
Pete's mouth turned up into a smug smile before he pushed his chair slowly from the table. "I think it's time to take a break," he said, holding up his empty coffee cup.
Aaron eyed each one of them before agreeing. "Let's meet back here in fifteen."
…
"Michonne," Rick called down the hallway. He had purposely lingered with Daryl, making sure they left the table separately, but he had every intention of catching up to her once the others had dispersed. She knew this, so she was taking her time filling her water bottle from the fountain in the hallway where the bathrooms were located.
She looked up at his voice and to his relief she allowed a small smile when she saw him. He glanced around the hallway for anyone they knew before stepping toward her.
"It's ok," she said, noticing his scan of their surroundings. "Deanna already chose me. It doesn't matter if Pete or anyone else knows now."
He was glad to hear her say this, but there was something in her voice that still had him uncomfortable. "Pete's an asshole."
"I know," she replied, placing her hand on his bicep briefly, then letting it fall again.
"We need to talk," he ventured, not looking forward to finding out what it would be like for her to be angry with him. It had been almost two months and they had yet to do that.
"We do," she agreed. "Are you staying over tonight or am I?"
Her assertion that they would still be sharing a bed this evening loosened his shoulders a bit, but he was still worried. He wanted to ask her then what she was feeling, but just as he reached out for her hand, Aaron came out of the men's room and startled at their presence.
"Hey guys," he said. "Sorry." He looked down at their joined hands and quickly looked away, taking off down the hall. "I'll see you in there."
Rick looked at his watch, realizing they were out of time and dropped her hand. "You walking in with me?"
She nodded and he stepped aside, indicating for her to lead. "Rick?" she said, remaining in place with a question in her eyes.
"Yeah," he replied, realizing he hadn't given her an answer. "I'll meet you at your place."
"Ok," she said, turning to lead the way back to the conference room to finish their meeting.
…
Rick was still agitated by his confrontation with Pete Anderson as he stood in the parking lot behind the Mayor's office with his phone in his hand. After the meeting ended, he had walked Michonne back to her office and asked Daryl to grab the cruiser to meet him there, giving him a few minutes to complete the task at hand. He tried to settle a bit first, pulling in long breaths of the fresh, cold air, but Pete's words and the possibility of an argument with Michonne that evening had his jaw set and his blood pumping fast. Resigning himself to the fact that he was going to have to be extra vigilant against his temper, he flipped his phone over in his hands and dialed Lori's number.
She answered after two rings and her pleasant 'hello' already had his eyes narrowing.
"Hey," he replied, trying not to reveal his mood. He wanted to see if she was going to tell him about their plan for Carl's school first, or if he was going to have to explain how he knew. "Did Carl get off to school okay today?"
"He did," she answered tentatively. "That's an odd question."
"Yeah, well I know it's a long drive for you…" He let the statement hang for a moment, giving her an opening, but she only hummed her agreement. "Listen Lori," he said, done wasting time. "I talked to Carl this weekend. He called me."
"Oh," she responded. "I didn't know, but obviously that's fine, Rick. He can call anytime he wants, he knows that."
"He called while you were out on purpose," he divulged, wanting to make sure she understood he wasn't asking for her permission to take his call. "He wanted to talk to me 'bout somethin'...somethin' he heard from Philip." Rick was really efforting now. He wanted to spit at the sound of Philip's name coming from his mouth, but he summoned the strength to maintain his composure.
"Oh?" she asked. He couldn't tell if she knew what he was referring to yet, but he had given her enough chances to figure it out.
"He's not switchin' schools, Lori," he said firmly, calmly.
She was silent for a moment, taking in her ex-husband's determined tone. She figured Rick would fight her on this at first, but she knew her plan was for the best.
"Rick," she said finally, "Philip and I think that if he's going to be living here with us that he should get to know the kids in town... go to school with them."
"I don't give a damn what Philip thinks," Rick hissed, feeling his anger approaching a cliff. He pinched the bridge of his nose and shuffled his feet, physically stepping back from it. "To tell you the truth, Lori," he said, steadily, "I'm done caring what you think too. Carl is there because I allowed it, but that's over now. He's not going to be staying there anymore and he's damn well not going to be going to school there. When I pick him up Friday, he's coming back home for good."
His declaration threw her and she had to take a moment to assess his about-face. Her interactions with Rick since she left had been a roller coaster of hot headed anger and seething silence, but his words were measured now. He was in control again. "Rick," she said slowly, testing out his new resolve. "We talked about this. You allowed it because you knew I was right. Philip and I are offering a stable home for him."
"I allowed it because I didn't want to lose him. You going behind my back and making plans like this for him? Proves I'm in danger of that either way. He doesn't want to be there, Lori. Carl belongs with me. You left us both that day."
"Rick," she choked out, emotion seizing her without warning. "I know you know what it's like to make a can't tell me you don't understand that after everything that's happened with you." She took a deep breath to steady her voice. "He's still my son. He has a sister now."
Rick was no stranger to Lori's fickle emotions, but this time they only bolstered him, as he found himself falling easily back into their old roles. He used to be the rational one and he was going to reclaim that title. "He spent Christmas with you, Lori. I let that happen. I know he wants to see your daughter. Carl can decide how much time he spends with you, but if you fight me on this, Lori, if you try to get take custody of him, take me to court, drag me through the mud? I'll fight you every step of the way and you'll lose."
"I hardly think you're in a position to threaten me, Rick," she said listlessly. It was dawning on her that he wasn't as lost as she thought he was. She hadn't meant to take advantage of the place she put him, but she missed her son and she worried about both of them, whether she had a right to or not. She meant what she said, she wanted to give Rick time to get himself together, heal the wounds she had inflicted. And while he did that, she would have Carl again. She had counted on Rick's self sacrificing nature to make this easy, but he had found a new steadfastness. For the second time since things fell apart between them, she was surprised by him; first by his steep fall and now by his apparent resurrection.
"I'm not threatening you," he answered. "I'm tellin' you. My way is going to be easier. I'll see you Friday and I'll stop by the school today to let Carl know to have his things ready to come home."
He hung up the phone and let out a long breath that materialized before him in the cold air. A feeling of relief and weariness rushed over him. One battle was over and soon he would find out if it was going to be the only one, or the beginning of a war. He looked at his watch and considered all that the day had thrown at him before he had even had lunch. He returned to his phone again, pulling up Michonne's number. He was drained and he needed a fix. This evening might not go well between them; he steeled himself for that possibility, but he also knew she wouldn't deny him now. He started typing, already awaiting her response.
"I talked to Lori. I don't know what's going to happen next, but for now Carl is coming home."
Michonne sat at her desk, trying to focus on a stack of reports that Aaron had left her with after their meeting. Her eyes wouldn't focus on the statistics, though, and she found herself rolling a repeating path in her chair and anxiously fiddling with the chain around her neck. The morning had her on edge. Between the incident in Rick's car and Pete Anderson's boorish performance at their meeting, her nerves were firing in all directions.
She was jarred out of her thoughts by the loud vibration of her phone against the wood of her desk. She picked it up, eyeing Rick's name on the screen and promptly swiped her thumb to open the message. She felt her eyes tingle with emotion as she read it. Her previous mood was pushed aside by a rush of relief as she keyed her response.
"That's all that matters, Rick. I love you."
…
Rick had a knot in his stomach as he pulled into Michonne's driveway and put the car in park. After finishing up a long day of patrols and dropping his SUV off to get the bumper fixed, he had settled back into his cruiser, resigning himself to driving it around full time for a few days. Carl would have been ecstatic at the prospect of going to school in it if he was home, he chuckled to himself. Then he let out a long sigh and rubbed at his eyes, trying to assuage the burning sensation left there from a full day performed on less than adequate sleep. He reached over to the passenger seat, gathering a backpack he had thrown some extra clothes in, and a paper bag containing what he hoped would be a peace offering for his girlfriend, whom he feared he was about to have his first fight with.
Rick knocked on the door, running his thumb along his eyebrow, nervously. The door opened and Michonne stood before him looking vibrant. Her day had been just as trying, he knew, but there wasn't a single indication of it on her pretty face.
"I brought you somethin'," he decided to lead with. He handed her the bag and she took it, gifting him a full smile and loosening the ropes in his gut just a bit. She stepped aside to peer in the bag as he entered the living room and collapsed onto her couch.
"You know me so well," she purred, pulling out the softball sized, double chocolate cupcake perfectly displayed in a plastic dome. The dark brown frosting was piped in intricate little florets and tiny gold flecks glittered the top. The piece de' resistance, an edible scrolling letter 'M', was perched atop the frosting like a crown.
"Carol," he explained with a wave of his hand, unwilling to let her fawn over his gift when he knew it was an attempt on his part to soften her.
"It's almost too pretty to eat!" She sauntered into the kitchen, her hips swaying like a metronome counting a lullaby to his weary soul. "Almost." She grabbed a fork and a couple napkins, handing him one when she returned.
Rick shook his head, declining her offer to share, and stared at her as she broke a piece off with the fork, bringing it seductively to her mouth. He felt sleep luring him, tempting him to end the day here, with a smile on her face, but he wouldn't avoid her. His marriage may have been a failure, but the lessons hadn't been lost on him.
"I was hopin' we could talk," he said, unsure that the word hope was accurate. "I think...I know you want to talk about what Daryl and me did."
Michonne paused with a forkful of cake in her mouth, not rushing to swallow and speak. When she had finished savoring her bite she sighed and set the plastic container down on the coffee table. She turned to face him, pulling her knees underneath her and looking him up and down as he sprawled, half reclined, in the opposite corner.
She didn't speak for a few moments and the knot began to tighten again. He wanted nothing more than to hear her admonishment, apologize and lay his head in her lap so she could run her fingers through her hair until his eyes closed.
"Those guys," she finally spoke. "They know you...your car...maybe your face, your name?"
"I don't know exactly what they know," he admitted with a drawn out breath.
She nodded. She knew as much and that's what worried her.
"Look, I know we were walkin' a line but we got some good intel…"
He stopped his argument abruptly when she leaned over him and pulled his shirt from his waistband and proceeded to undo the buttons one by one. When she had his uniform open, she settled herself beside him, laying her head on his shoulder, and reached a hand underneath his t-shirt. Her nimble fingers slid along his skin until she found the scar on his upper chest, running her thumb across the raised skin.
"I know your job is dangerous, Rick, and I trust you to be careful, but trusting you is how I know this is scary. You told Deanna this was serious…"she said. She stopped caressing his old wound and pointed a finger gently at his chest. "You need to be serious. Carl's coming home and you have us. Now is not the time to be reckless."
Rick studied her face, bemused by her even tone. He was expecting her to be angry that he disobeyed Deanna, irritated that he hadn't told her about it before today, maybe even pissed at the way Pete had pushed some of the blame for his actions onto her, but he saw no indignation in her eyes, only fear. That was harder to answer for. He captured her hand and pulled it to his lips, brushing soft kisses against her knuckles.
"Michonne, you don't have to worry. At least not about me doin' something stupid. This wasn't like that...like before. I'm not there anymore."
"I know, Rick. I'm not accusing you of that...of anything. I know there are things you have to do because it's who you are. I'm just asking, selfishly, because I love you...please be careful."
He sighed, pulling her to his chest and wrapped her tightly in his arms, weighing how wrong he had been about her reaction. She didn't place any demands on him, didn't ask him to promise her anything he couldn't. She was just asking for consideration, for him to think of her when he was deciding on a course. Little did she know, she was in every decision he made.
"I promise, Michonne. I'm taking this seriously...and you, you're always on my mind. I didn't tell you because I didn't want it to affect you when the group found out, that's the only reason. I'm sorry that it ended up happening anyway."
"I'm not worried about what Pete said. I shouldn't have been worried about what Deanna thought either. I'm on your side because I know you, who you are. Not because I'm sleeping with the psycho cop." Michonne laughed as she watched his mouth drop open slightly, his eyebrows raised at her jab.
He slowly broke into a grin, reaching down to squeeze her fleshy hip in retaliation. "Pete's proved he's in no position to be slingin' accusations, but if he wants to see crazy he just needs to keep talkin' to you like that."
"Uh uh," she replied with a wag of her finger. "I'll handle Pete. You just make sure you keep your promise."
"Always," he answered, letting his grin fade into a contented sigh and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I thought you were gonna be pissed at me. I've been worried about it all day, thinking we were going to have our first argument."
"Is that why you brought me the cupcake?" she smirked knowingly, peeling herself away from him to resume her treat.
"Something like that," he admitted.
"Well, for future reference, this was a good plan," she said between bites. "And just so we're clear, our first argument was when you said my playlist on the car ride to the mountain on New Year's, was 'hurting your head'." She used her fingers to assign the quote to him before nudging him with her foot.
"You weren't really mad about that," he protested with an adorable frown.
"Oh, you're wrong, I am still mad about that." She pushed away from him and settled on the opposite side of the couch in a playful huff.
Rick saw this as his opportunity and reversed his position, stretching across the cushions to drop his head in her lap. "I'm sorry, then. I didn't know you were so sensitive."
She set the rest of her cake down again and took his head in her hands, like he knew she would, stroking and twisting his hair between her fingers. "I wouldn't be mad at you for doing what you thought was right, Rick. I know why you do the things you do, and even if I don't agree, I know your intentions are always good."
He nodded his head, turning slightly to press his lips to her upper thigh. He was constantly warring with himself over the decisions he had to make, but the unconditional trust she gave him was like a new armor. He closed his eyes, content to finally be here, letting her soothe his weary head. At least for tonight the battle was over.