Rick slowed the SUV in the back alleyway behind the Hotel Hawthorne. He looked over at his passenger. Open windows on the highway had done much to dry Michonne's hair, but her outfit had seen better days. It was clinging to her, adhering to the muscles and curves like a second skin. He should probably look away, and make a serious effort to not look at Michonne this way.
Rick was pretty sure he was fighting a losing battle on that front.
"I'll see you in a bit," he told her, offering her a lopsided grin. "Gotta process this asshole."
They both glanced back at Merle, slumped over in the backseat of the car. Michonne unhooked her seatbelt and swung her body around. Leaning, she reached over the center console. Rick streadied her with a hand on her back.
"Thanks," she glanced at him before turning to Merle. She healed his mangled hand, but left the bullet holes.
"Thank you," Rick helped her back into the front seat. "You just saved me a bunch of paperwork."
Michonne chuckled. "He's not going to remember me," she told Rick. "Or the Governor. He's only going to remember hiding out in the swamp, and you coming to get him."
"Makes sense," Rick furrowed his brow. "You can do that? Take someone's memories just like that?"
Michonne tilted her head, observing him. "Just because it's easy doesn't mean I do it all of the time, Rick," she reminded him.
"Right," he nodded flushing, feeling somehow as though he'd been found out.
Michonne opened her door, preparing to step out. "For the record, Marshal," she turned back to look at him. "I'm not planning on erasing any of your memories of me." She reached for his hand, giving it a squeeze on top of the steering wheel. "I'll see you soon," she smiled.
Rick watched her walk up the path and duck into her hotel. Exhaling, he started the car again, heading for the precinct. As he drove, he connected his phone to bluetooth, dialing his captain's number.
"Please tell me you have good news," Aaron answered on the second ring.
"I don't know if it's good news," Rick began. "But I've got a serial killer handcuffed in the back of the car you let me borrow."
Aaron released a breath, his gasp morphing quickly into a laugh. "Thank God, Rick. Shit- He's alive?"
"Got a hole or two in him," Rick said. "But he's alive. Found him in the damn swamp."
"Sounds right," Aaron groused. "You're ok?"
"I'm filthy," Rick answered. "You're gonna need a good interior cleaner. I didn't have a towel to put down."
"At least you didn't total it," Aaron snorted.
"Give me time," Rick said.
"Haha," Aaron said without humor. "So you'll process him, then we'll start working on getting him back to Georgia. You did good Grimes." Aaron sounded proud. "Time to come on home."
That thought hung in the air for a moment. Rick glanced in his rearview mirror, back down the street towards the hotel. "I was thinking, Captain…"
"Rick," Aaron became exasperated at once. "We talked about this."
"His accomplice, whoever he was, might still be down here," Rick pressed. "But to be honest, I think I need a break, Aaron."
This last statement caught his captain off guard. "What do you mean?" Aaron asked cautiously.
"I ain't had a vacation in two years. And New Orleans ain't a bad place when you're not stomping around in waist-high muck. Kinda thinking I'd like to see it."
"Are you serious?" Aaron asked, positively gobsmacked.
"Yeah," Rick shrugged, trying for nonchalance. "I'm sure I could find something to do. Might be nice to sleep in for a start."
Silence was his only answer for a beat. Then Aaron spoke again. "Yeah...I guess there's no harm in that. You earned a break."
"I'll just consult with NOLA PD while I'm here," Rick said. "Spend the rest of the time getting my head straight."
Aaron made a sound low in his throat. "Did something happen?"
"What do you mean?" Rick asked, turning towards the station. "I caught a damn serial killer."
"Did you meet someone?" Aaron pried.
'Met plenty of someones," Rick evaded.
"You know what I mean, Grimes. Look, I remember how you were before you got married. You think you're slick with this-"
"What are you talking about?" Rick scoffed.
"Just...don't say any dumb shit around her, ok?" Aaron cautioned.
"You saying I say dumb shit?" Rick asked, feigning insult.
"Around women you like, yes." Aaron didn't pull any punches. "And if she's a cop-"
"She's not," Rick copped to the truth. "She owns the hotel I'm at." He stopped talking before he could divulge too much.
"Hmm," Aaron came up short. "All right, well, I guess go for it then."
"Thanks, boss," Rick said sarcastically, the back of his neck going red.
"I'm just saying, this is a good thing. Just be yourself. Except maybe don't make any damn dad jokes."
"Don't you gotta be a dad to make dad jokes?" Rick asked.
"I thought so," Aaron sighed. "Then I met you."
"I'll call you when they've got Dixon locked up," Rick held in his laugh.
"Alright," Aaron said. "Sounds good. And Grimes?"
"Be careful?" Rick asked knowingly.
"Have fun," Aaron said. "You deserve it."
"Yeah," Rick mused, "I'll try."
-l-l-l-l-l-
Michonne paused on the stairs, watching Rick in the lobby. He was inspecting her trinkets. He paused at the piano, watching it play itself. Michonne smiled, changing the tune with a wink. Rick jumped in surprise as it started to play the Imperial March loudly.
"Can I help you with something, sir?" she teased, pausing at the desk.
Rick blushed, his ears running scarlet. He straightened up quickly, clearing his throat. "I didn't think you'd be working," he grumbled out, rubbing the back of his neck.
"No rest for the weary," she deadpanned, pausing in front of him. He was still damp from a shower, the wet tendrils of his curls pushed back. Michonne reached for him, tugging a twig out of the ends. "The swamp doesn't wash out easy," she smiled.
Rick's blush deepened. "I think I'm going to need magic to ever be really clean again."
"You're in the right place," Michonne said. She dissolved the twig in her hand, laughing lightly at Rick's wide-eyed response. "Did you get everything figured out at work?" she asked.
He nodded. "I did," Rick tugged at his tan cotton Henley. "Merle Dixon is going away for life." he sighed, amending his statement. "After a trial."
"Still, you got your man," Michonne smiled. "How does it feel?"
Rick considered this. "Don't know," he admitted. "Been gunning for him for so long, and now it's just over." He shuffled his feet. "I'm glad he's not out there killing."
Michonne watched him. "Do you wish you would have killed him?" she asked. It was not a foreign feeling to her. Evil men too often did not get their comeuppance on Earth. Merle had certainly earned a worse fate than Rick had dealt him.
Rick let out a mirthless chuckle. "Maybe a part of me does, if I'm being honest." He looked at her. "But most of me is satisfied that he's going to rot in prison for the rest of his life. I hope it's a long one."
"Maybe you can put this behind you now, go home. Restart your life," the thought was bittersweet. Rick would be returning to his life soon, whatever that entailed. She would miss his unshakeable presence.
"Maybe," Rick ventured. He smiled at her crookedly. "I was actually wondering something first."
Michonne looked at him expectantly, trying to contain her grin as Rick went more red in the face by the second.
"I wanted to see if you were hungry," he said, a bit too fast. "Because I'm starving and I thought you might be. And if you're working, that's ok. I just-" he took a breath. "Wanted to see if you'd want to eat." he paused. "With me," he concluded.
The piano's song shifted again, playing one of Michonne's favorites. The Ella Fitzgerald tune echoed in the lobby. Her guests went by, continuing about their business, dressed in costumes, clutching drinks, laughing together, all blissfully unaware of the tension spreading between the US Marshal and the owner of the establishment.
"You don't have to pack to go?" Michonne asked. She ought to insist he do just that, head for the hills and safer pastures.
"No," Rick shook his head. "I'm not going nowhere just yet."
Michonne considered, a lump forming somewhere in the pit of her stomach. "Let me finish up down here, and I can meet you at my suite," she said, pushing aside her misgivings.
"I don't want you to have to cook," Rick began to protest.
"It's easy," she winked at him. "I'll show you."
"Alright," he agreed. "At least let me help down here."
Decorating for Halloween festivities was considerably easier with a partner. Rick held each item up as Michonne enchanted them, draping her lobby in faux spiderwebs and dried flowers. The piano changed its tune to something spooky, an old dirge.
"There's a party here tomorrow?" Rick asked.
"Our biggest day of the year besides Mardi Gras," Michonne nodded.
"But with the Governor here," Rick wet his lips, pushing aside an empty box as Michonne set prop potions bottles out. "Is this safe?"
"Sasha's on watch," Michonne said. "And Glenn and Maggie. We'll figure something out." She had a plan, though the others were unaware, a fail safe found in the pages of her family's book. She put the thought aside quickly.
Rick nodded, letting the subject drop. Michonne could tell it bothered him still. He was silent as she led him upstairs and through her door. She was hyper aware of his presence behind her, so close that his jean-clad leg kept brushing the fabric of her skirt. He paused to scratch Virgil behind the ears as he entered.
"Make yourself comfortable," Michonne invited, pushing a stool towards him as she headed for the cupboards. Rick sat, watching her as she began to stack things on the counter. She set a bowl of fruit in front of him. "From my garden," she explained.
"Thanks," Rick inspected the apples and pomegranates. "They look great."
"So," Michonne ventured. "When are you heading home? You must miss Georgia."
He chuckled again in surprise. "Not really," he admitted. "New Orleans has a charm to it."
"When people aren't trying to murder you," Michonne laughed lightly. "It's safer back home."
Rick fixed her with a hard stare, his eyes narrowing. "I ain't leaving yet," he told her. "You forgot you got a 200-year old Confederate Governor after you?"
"After me," Michonne pointed out.
"Thought we agreed we were gonna do this together," Rick mused, pausing his fidgeting.
"I thought you had to get back, check in," she countered.
"I will eventually," Rick shrugged. "Told my boss I needed a break. He jumped at the opportunity to let me stay. He figures it's a good sign."
"You should take that break, Rick," Michonne urged. "We can handle it here."
"I'm sure you can," Rick agreed readily. He turned his attention back to the bowl, skirting his fingers over its contents. He paused at a pomegranate before selecting an apple. "But I'm not leaving you," he took a bite, the juice gathering at the corner of his lips before he licked it away. "At least not until this is over."
"I couldn't ask you to do that," Michonne insisted.
"You're not," Rick assured her, smiling. He took another bite. A change had come over him since they'd emerged from the Bayou, a sense of relief that was palpable. He looked almost happy, certainly content. The scent of sandalwood soap clung to him. He was relaxed, his gun set aside in lieu of an unassuming cotton shirt and jeans. For a moment, she envied him.
"I know you hurt him pretty bad today," if Rick noticed her borderline salacious stare, he charitably did not comment on it. "But how do we end it?"
With difficulty, Michonne turned her mind back to the subject at hand. "There's a ritual. My ancestors trapped him once with it. It will work again." Her strength had grown considerably over the last few days. She prayed it would be enough to subdue the Governor.
"And it'll kill him?" Rick asked thoughtfully, chewing away.
"Bind him," she explained. Her aunts had taken diligent notes in the wake of the Governor's first attack. Michonne supposed that she could manage it.
"But then he could come back," Rick's brow furrowed.
"To kill him, we would need to take his magic," Michonne explained. "And that can only be done with what gave him the power in the first place. You saw with Merle.
"Sure," Rick didn't looked fussed. "So what gave this asshole his power?"
Michonne laughed despite herself. "A potion, according to my ancestors' records. It could probably be recreated, but it's a lot of guesswork. And potions making was never my strongest skill. Sasha was the potion master."
"Seems like it's a good thing you two are reconnecting then," Rick observed.
Michonne stayed silent. It was difficult to look at Rick, difficult to hear his earnest opinions. "Rick, you really should go home."
He stood up, setting the remainder of his apple down on a napkin. "You don't want me here?" he asked, tilting his head at her.
The lie would not come. She settled on a half-truth, "It's dangerous," she told him.
He stepped closer, coming around the barrier between them. "I'm not afraid of the Governor," he promised, lips quirking.
"He's not the only thing to be afraid of," she warned. Michonne began to tremble, though for fear or longing she could not decide.
"Who else?" Rick's steps kept coming, slowly, until he was just a few feet in front of her. "You?" he asked.
She tilted her chin up, stilling her shaking. "Yes," she answered.
"Well," Rick crept closer still. "That is a problem. Because even though you're scary as hell in a fight, Michonne Hawthorne, I ain't afraid of you." He paused, half a step away from her. "We made a good team today, didn't we?"
Michonne nodded, her mouth run suddenly dry. Perhaps Rick was not afraid, but fear was flooding into her, dampening her sense. She ought to move back, ought to force him to leave. She stayed still.
"I think you could use my help, even if you don't want it," Rick said.
"Rick, you don't know what you're asking," Michonne sighed, distressed.
"Maybe I don't," he admitted. "But I know one thing. You and me, the two of us?" He paused, regarding her as though he'd never met anyone quite like her. "We can get this done. But you gotta be honest with me."
"I have been," she protested, gripping the edge of the counter. "I've answered every question you've asked."
"Then answer just one more," he suggested gently. He stepped closer still, crowding her. The heat of him was searing, warmer even than his first night in her bed. It seemed like it was ages ago."What are you afraid is gonna happen if I stay, Michonne?"
Michonne drew in a short, clipped breath. "The curse," it was half a whisper, the very word causing her stomach to clench.
"Yeah," Rick leaned toward her, his voice a low rumble. "I thought it might be that." He extended his arm at his side, the back of his palm brushing hers. "I kinda figure we can beat that too, if you wanted to." His eyes found hers, piercing in the low light.
Michonne froze for a beat, her heart pounding in her ears. Her fingers touched his, twisting together tightly before she could even register the movement. Rick inhaled, moving forward until his forehead rested against hers.
"Rick, you don't understand," she began. She clutched his arm, intending to push him away. Rick did not budge.
"I'm not afraid," he told her, closing the distance between them.
His lips were warm, firm, the taste of him intoxicating, even in that brief moment. Michonne gasped, leaning back, gathering herself. They locked eyes for a long moment.
"Michonne," Rick called to her. "I ain't afraid," he repeated. He cupped her face, drawing his thumb down the curve of her jaw.
She had hundreds of reasons to disengage, each as practical as the next. They all fled her mind. Rick's proximity felt natural, his presence comforting.
"Rick," she exhaled, tugging at the hem of his shirt.
Rick drew her closer still. "Come here," he requested.
The next kiss was just as gentle, his touch feather light. He tasted of the apple from her garden, sweet and crisp and cool. Michonne parted her lips for him. Rick seized the opportunity, deepening their embrace. Her fingers curled around his biceps. He responded by trailing his hand down her waist, clutching at her until she gasped outright.
"Michonne," he ground out in her ear, trailing sucking kisses down her neck. His palms found the curves of her hips and ass and he squeezed, coaxing a breathless gasp from her.
Michonne drew him back down, threading her fingers in his damp curls. He held her tightly, kissing her soundly in her kitchen, all thoughts of dinner, of the Governor, of the curse forgotten. Heat grew between them, stoked by wandering hands, by the feel of his lips, by his hardened body pressed flush against hers.
A sudden understanding hit Michonne, her dreams coming into sharper focus. She and Rick were on a collision course, their fates inextricably tied. She pulled back from him, needing a breath, needing a moment of clarity. Rick exhaled shakily, smiling at her.
"Shit, Michonne," he blinked in surprise. "What the hell is going on here?" he asked, chuckling.
Michonne looked at him, dancing her fingers across his bearded chin and cheeks. She traced the elegant curve of his nose, his full lips, the lines around his eyes as he squinted at her.
"I dreamed of you," she told him quietly. "Even before you came."
Rick pulled her closer, his fingers digging into her waist. "Good dreams?" he questioned, kissing her gently again.
"I don't know," she admitted, her lips still brushing his. "Rick, I don't know."
His mouth covered hers, all tentativeness gone. He kissed her with fervor, until Michonne felt weak in his arms. She slumped forward against him, allowing Rick to hold her up.
"Seems worth finding out," he muttered, pulling back to smile at her. "Don't you think?"
Michonne searched for an answer, heart racing, mind reeling. She opened her mouth to respond. The sound of the door to the suite opening interrupted them both. She spun on her heel, hair swinging.
Sasha, Glenn, and Maggie trooped into the kitchen, each ladened with bags. Glenn's arms were stuffed with books. All three stopped, looking at Rick and Michonne with wide eyes.
"Good," Sasha said lightly, ignoring their compromising position. "We need to talk."
She came inside, setting her bags down on the counter. Her eyes did not miss Rick's hands still around Michonne's waist. She threw her sister a knowing look. Michonne avoided her eyes, looking instead at Maggie. The young woman's expression was poorly concealed, one part elated, one part smug. Michonne looked at the ground instead. She reached for Rick's hand, hoping he'd pull away and spare them the embarrassment. Rick, by contrast, didn't seem ruffled in the slightest. It was Glenn who broke the tension, playing the familiar role of peacekeeper.
"Hey man," Glenn stepped up, extending a hand at Rick. "We've met but you don't remember. I'm-"
"The kid on the security video," Rick answered, squinting at Glenn. He released Michonne to shake Glenn's hand.
"Glenn," the young man answered. "That's Maggie. We heard you caught Merle. Good job."
Maggie waved shyly from beside Glenn. Rick nodded at both of them, reluctantly tucking his hand in his pocket.
"We need to talk," Sasha said, bending down to scoop Virgil off the ground.
"Yes," Michonne agreed, cheeks burning. "We do."