Michonne stood on the balcony overlooking the Quarter, her hands on the iron railings. She looked regal in the crimson light of the sunrise, her black skirts gathered at her feet, her locs arranged artfully beneath a traditional witches' hat, the sun playing off of her skin. She was a queen in her element, supreme in her domain. Rick paused from his place in her bedroom, content to stare at her.
She'd sent him here in the early hours of the morning, insisting he rest. Dutifully, Rick had retired, curling into bed. Exhaustion caught him at last, and he drifted off, his senses filled with her. There were no nightmares, no restless sleep, no fearful visions. Rick dreamed of Michonne. In his mind, she was laying beside him, her eyes shut, her head pressed against his shoulder. Rick held her, listening to the quiet music of her breaths, the powerful thump of her heat, beating hard against his. He'd woken to a sense of calm he hadn't felt in years.
Now, Michonne smiled at him, catching him in the act."You ok back there, sheriff?" her voice snapped Rick out of his trance. Rick felt no embarrassment.
"I ain't a sheriff," he corrected, walking towards her. He paused to grab his hat, balancing it on his head for effect. "I'm a cowboy," he winked.
His theatrics set her laughing, a light, melodious sound. "Well excuse me," she apologized, "Cowboy Rick." Her eyes danced over him, unabashed. "You've got the swagger for it," she complimented.
"Well," he joined her outside. The autumn wind bit at his skin through his flannel shirt. Nearby, the clubs in the Quarter were still playing music, the party from last night running straight into the new day. Rick wrapped his arms around Michonne's waist, leaning forward to hold her close. "You did tell me you liked the hat," he reminded her, smiling as she shivered against him.
"I did," she agreed, turning her face towards his. She nuzzled him, her fingers combing through his short beard.
"You said you liked a lot of things last night," Rick told her, kissing the shell of her ear. He could still hear her moans, the delightful way she called his name.
"There's a lot I like about you," she whispered back, kissing the corner of his mouth.
Rick tilted his face against hers, reciprocating fervently. She parted her lips, matching him, folding against him in what was becoming a familiar move. He had half a mind to draw her back into the bedroom, away from the outside world, when a sound like a cannon blast went off at the end of the block. He jumped, attempting to shield her.
Michonne chuckled. "It's time," she told him, turning back to look up the road. A band had gathered, their polished horns and drums glowing red as rubies in the rising sun. The procession formed behind them, hundreds of residents and visitors in costumes, all ready to usher in Halloween.
"Are you ready?" Rick asked her, his hands tightening around her hips.
She turned back to him, cupping his face before reaching around to run her fingers through his hair. "I've been ready," she assured him. Her eyes dropped for a moment. She licked her lips. "Rick," she sighed. "I know we do not know one another well-"
"We've got some things to talk about after this for sure," he grinned.
She laughed again, but her amusement was short lived. "Thank you for staying," she said.
"I told you I would," he reminded her.
"If something happens," she began, the little divot forming between her brows.
"It won't," Rick told her.
"Rick," her dark eyes found hers, catching the crimson glow of the sunrise. "If something happens-"
"Let's cross that bridge if we come to it," he suggested. Releasing her, he reached into his pocket, pulling out his badge. He held it up for her inspection. "Maybe I will be a sheriff," he mused. "Just in case."
She swallowed thickly, but took the metal from his hand. Carefully, Michonne pinned it to his shirt, above his heart. "Stay close to me," she requested, kissing him gently.
"I ain't going anywhere," he promised, catching her hands.
The drums started up again in earnest, the horns joining in the song. A cheer sounded, echoing up the block. Over Michonne's shoulder, Rick could make out the silhouette of floats in the distance, plastic skeletons, and voodoo queens, all ready to descend.
Michonne stepped back from him, reaching up to straighten her hat, a look of grim determination on her face. She took Rick's hand, lacing her fingers with his own.
"Let's go," she instructed.
Steeling himself, Rick followed.
-l-l-l-l-l-
The whole of Hotel Hawthorne had an eerie kind of glow, an energy radiating from it that even passersby noticed. The windows shone like candle light, shadows dancing in and out of their frames, coaxing in travelers. Inside, the halls were lined with tables, the surfaces sagging under the weight of silver platters piled high with treats, sandwiches, desserts of all flavors. Decorative cauldrons bubbled in between, surrounded by gleaming glasses set out to serve spirits by the hundreds. A fog swirled around the floors, and from the corner, an orchestra joined the piano, each instrument playing of its own volition. Enchantments sat in plain sight, trinkets floating and bobbing about like apples in a tank, servingware dolling out plates and drinks without a servant to guide them, and crystal balls with swirling faces, promising to read your future for a price.
"You did good," Sasha complimented, looking around. Maggie flushed beside her.
"Wanted it to look like Hogwarts. Had a whole theme planned. We enchanted a hat, figured we'd sort people," she broke off, smiling nervously. "Maybe next year."
Sasha nodded, plucking absently at Maggie's black robes. "I'll bring the butterbeer," she said.
Maggie laughed lightly. "Did enough cooking last night," she observed. "You think it'll work?"
"It has to," Sasha said. She raised the small, ruby red bottle, inspecting the contents.
"If it doesn't?" Maggie's voice was low. She swallowed.
"Well," Sasha tucked the bottle back into her sleeve. "Rick and I both have guns," she lifted her cloak, showing off her holster. "We can just shoot him."
Maggie pursed her lips. "Not a bad idea."
The two women laughed, watching as Michonne came down the main staircase. Rick was beside her, dressed like a cowboy.
"They look like a couple already," Maggie mused quietly.
"Yeah," Sasha agreed, watching as Rick took Michonne's hand almost absently, leaning over to whisper something in her ear. "They do."
"I'm going to go check on Glenn," Maggie said. "He looks like he's about to pass out."
The man in question had gone beet red. He was pointedly avoiding Michonne's eyeline. Rick waved at him and Glenn went redder still, beating a hasty track out of their path.
"You'd think he'd never heard anyone having sex before," Sasha chuckled.
"Oh, he's definitely heard that," Maggie winked. "I'll check on him." She walked towards her boyfriend, pulling him off to the side. Michonne took Maggie's place within moments, leaving Rick with the young couple.
"The hat looks nice on you," she complimented, eyeing her sister's ensemble, so very much like her own.
Sasha nodded, her lips tilting. "I'm glad it still fits," she said simply. She watched as Maggie and Rick conversed on the other side of the lobby. "Sounds like you two had fun last night," she observed lightly.
Michonne's cheeks flushed, but she kept her face impassive. "Rick's a talented man."
Sasha snorted. "I heard. Think the whole hotel heard."
Michonne laughed outright, her face creasing. "Sorry," she apologized through her giggles.
"Don't be," Sasha shrugged. "I'm happy for you. Just surprised you could make it down the stairs to help with the potion, that's all."
Michonne's laughter escalated. "Sasha…" she shook her head. "I've missed having you around."
"You could have just had those two resurrect an undead Governor a while ago," Sasha said.
"Oh," Michonne didn't miss a beat. "Is that the trick?"
The two stared at one another. Michonne reached for Sasha's hand. Sasha took it. "We're killing him," Sasha said. "Today. You know that, right?"
Michonne nodded. "That's the plan." Still, her eyes found Rick, across the lobby.
"That's what's going to happen," Sasha squeezed, clasping Michonne's fingers in her own.
"Yeah," Michonne said, exhaling.
Sasha released her, reaching for the little crimson bottle. She extended it to her sister.
Michonne accepted it, hiding it in her hand. "The pomegranates worked, then?" she asked.
Sasha nodded. "Luckily you had them."
Michonne licked her lips, looking out through the windows at the crowd gathering outside. "Remind me to thank Lou," she said. "You ready?"
Sasha nodded. "Are they ready?" she asked, looking back at the trio just beyond them. They were gathered at the door, staring out at the parade. Sasha looked towards Rick. The US Marshal nodded slightly beneath his hat, looking quickly away.
"We're ready," Maggie affirmed.
As one, Sasha and Michonne raised their hands, throwing the doors open.
-l-l-l-l-l-
Sound and sensation flooded in at once, breaking itself against the Hotel Hawthorne. Michonne stepped outside, Sasha beside her. The parade marched up the narrow streets of the Quarter, following the traditional path it had taken for decades. Skeleton puppets were held aloft, and handmade floats were ladened with people tossing beads and candies to the crowd. As with every year for over a century, a line of eager visitors waited outside the door. They pressed forward, clamoring to see. There were audible gasps, yells of delight. Michonne turned around, looking at the young couple behind her.
"You outdid yourselves," she complimented, smiling.
Glenn blushed. Maggie looked pleased as punch. She rocked on the balls of her feet, her tartan skirt swaying. Quick as she could, she darted forward, pulling Michonne in for a tight hug.
"We love you, you know?" she asked quietly, throat tight.
Michonne held her, rubbing gentle circles into her back. "I know," she nodded. "And I you."
Glenn smiled, taking his girlfriend's hand. "Stay out of trouble when we're gone." He looked pointedly at Rick.
"What?" Rick looked scandalized. He adjusted his hat, scowling. "I'm always good."
At this, Sasha, Glenn, and Maggie all snorted with laughter.
"Yeah," Glenn began. "We're going to talk about you locking us out the suite when this is all over. You two have to work on discretion."
"Really?" Michonne curved her brow. "All the times I've nearly walked in on you two-"
"Ok," Sasha got between them. "There's time for that later. Evil Governor to catch, huge line of people outside, remember?"
"I remember," Michonne turned, looking at the crowd. "I'll see you soon," she told them, mustering as much calm as she could.
"We'll see you soon," Sasha nodded at her sister, heading outside with Glenn and Maggie. Michonne waved them off as they disappeared into the crowd. From the sidewalks, curious faces began to peer in, astounded.
"Come in," Michonne beckoned, "Everyone's welcome here."
They began to push in by the dozen, heading for the food tables, exclaiming loudly, whipping out their phones for videos. The orchestra shifted its tune to something lively. Michonne watched, heart pounding, shifting restlessly. Her fingers found the little bottle in her sleeve, tracing it nervously.
"Hey," Rick's voice was warm against her ear. He stepped closer to her, his hand finding hers. "It looks amazing in here," Rick told her.
"Lots of practice," Michonne attempted a smile, but her lips could only twitch feebly.
Rick did not seem to mind. "You do this every year?" he asked, looking around.
Michonne nodded, distracted. "Normally it's my family," she explained. "My mom and dad used to lead the dancing every year." She remembered watching them from the staircase, spinning in time to the delight of all of their guests. Then it was Sasha's father leading. Eventually, her mother danced alone, her smile never cracking, even as her daughters watched sadly.
"Who does it now?" Rick continued his calm line of questioning. He was close to her, in the place he'd rarely vacated since their kiss last night. Michonne leaned towards him, unconsciously seeking his warmth.
"No one," Michonne said quietly. "They just dance on their own." She hadn't danced at the ball since Mike died.
Rick smiled, pulling her closer to him. "Dance with me," he suggested. He held his hand up expectantly.
"Rick," Michonne began, glancing around. The Governor was somewhere nearby, of that she was sure. Despite this, her traitorous heart clenched, desperate to give in again.
"I know," he assured her. "But your family, they've got it," he looked out the front doors as the parade went by. "It's business as usual in here, right?"
She turned to him, skirt swirling, affection tugging at her. Her fingers danced along his.
"Just one," Rick plead his case. "We've got some time to kill anyway." He poked his bottom lip out, looking comically like a puppy being scolded.
Michonne's mouth curled into the beginning of a smile. "Just one," she agreed, taking his proffered hand.
Rick pulled her close, holding her around the waist before twirling her with a flourish. A surprised giggle escaped her. Carefully, he unclenched her fingers from around the bottle, taking it into his own hand. Michonne nearly asked for it back, but he pressed his lips to the crook of her neck, kissing her softly.
"Did I mention that you look gorgeous?" he grinned, leading her to the center of the lobby. A path cleared for them, curious eyes watching in earnest. The orchestra shifted its music once more.
"No," she told him, adjusting her dress to let it trail behind her. "You just stared at me with your mouth open." She hadn't minded in the slightest. It had been difficult to leave her bed with Rick in it, harder still to leave the tub. She could have spent days with only him for company.
He blushed but didn't look the slightest abashed. Instead, he pulled her closer, stepping backwards to the music.
"Couldn't help it," he told her, pressing his cheek to hers. The short hair of his beard brushed against her. Michonne leaned in towards him. His badge pressed against her breast, the metal warm between them.
"It's alright," Michonne assured him. "I like it." She moved with him, twirling, vaguely aware that every eye in her lobby was on the pair of them. Beneath her, the fogged swirled, changing colors. More people pressed in from the street, eager to watch the show.
"When this is over," Rick whispered in her ear, his hand tightening around her, "Maybe we can go somewhere for a while. Get to know each other."
"I'd like that too," Michonne told him, her heart clenching.
She laid her head against his shoulder, content, for just a moment, to let Rick hold her.
-l-l-l-l-l-
Once upon a time, Sasha had loved the Halloween parade. Her mother would dress them up in elaborate costumes before marching her daughters to the balcony to watch the festivities. On Mardi Gras, Sasha and Michonne were forced into seclusion, deemed too young for the celebrations. But Halloween, they were front and center.
As a child, it had been enough to distract her. Sasha could forget her father's death, could forget the stares and whispers of her classmates, the distrustful glances of their neighbors, and worst of all, the pitying looks. Michonne would hold her hand, walking her through the hotel, or down the streets, content to people watch, to judge the costumes, to cast spells at the children who irritated her the most.
Now she swallowed, adjusting her dark jumpsuit, doing her best to look casual as she strolled alongside the parade. She hadn't attended in years, but the festivities had not much changed. The same costumes, the same floats, the same drunken buzz in the air. So far, nothing was amiss, except the ache of dread that would not seem to leave her.
"If we see him, then what?" Glenn asked under his breath, still smiling and waving at people around him. "We just invite him in for dinner?"
"He'll follow," Sasha said confidently. "You read the pages, same as I. This Governor feeds off a crowd. He's not going to pass up the opportunity."
"And he's coming to the hotel, why?" Glenn asked.
"It's the source of his power," Maggie answered. "And it's the only place he can get more power."
"He can try," Sasha said, glancing over her shoulder. People were still streaming into the Hotel Hawthorne, each wearing a bright smile. Michonne was right. No matter how they spoke of the Hotel the rest of the year, the people of New Orleans could not resist it on Hallow's Eve.
"Look," Glenn said sharply. His gaze was on the line of floats.
Sasha paused in her tracks, taking stock. Each float had a crowd of sorts around it, people in character, doling out beads and treats. At the end of the line, still way off in the back, a ghostly gray ship rose above the crowd. It seemed to bob as though it were on the waves, cutting a path up the middle of the road. They were not the only ones who had noticed it. Heads turned in its direction by the dozen, intrigued.
Sasha moved at once against the crowd, drawing nearer, her hackles up. From this distance, it looked much like an elaborate float, surrounded by people in costume. The sight of them turned her stomach at once. Their grotesque faces were gaunt and drawn, all color long since gone from them. The skin, gray and cracked, was pulling away, exposing bone white skull. Their uniforms, though crumbling and caked in filth, were a distinct cobalt gray.
"Holy shit," Maggie breathed, her steps faltering. "Is that-"
Glenn grabbed her, his hand clasping on her shoulder. "He's not subtle at all," he observed.
At the head of the ship, the Governor stood tall, dressed in his Confederate uniform, a patch covering the eye that Michonne had destroyed. His troops marched around him, some on the ground, more still on the deck of the ghost ship, flanking him. They stood rigid and straight, waiting. The ones on the street shuffled by in immaculate lines.
"We need to get these people to move," Sasha instructed, alarmed.
"Away from him, you mean," Glenn looked around wildly. The crowd was surging towards the danger, eager to get a closer look at what they thought was an elaborate float.
"We need to do something now," Maggie's head whipped to and fro.
The first of the paraders reached the Governor's ship, pressing forward, hands out. There was a moment of tense silence where the world seemed to freeze. Sasha realized a beat too late what was about to unfold.
The nearest of the soldiers lashed out in a blink like some wild thing, teeth gnashing, hands out. The screams were instantaneous as a splash of blood and gore sprayed up, misting the crowd. Half a dozen more fell in quick succession. All the while, the Governor stood above, smiling down at them.
"Well boys," he declared, his voice booming over them all. "I think it's time to take back our town, don't you?" His minions growled their agreement, a ghastly, rattling sound. "Attack!" the Governor ordered, waving them forward.
The panic was terrible, a stampede of drunken fear. People began to trip, falling beneath the feet of hundreds trying desperately to escape. The dead soldiers fell on them like a plague, tearing at the crowd with boney fingers.
"I have an idea," Sasha's mind turned quickly. "Your hands," she demanded, reaching for Glenn and Maggie.
They took her palms at once, eyes on the crowd rushing towards them like a tidal wave.
"What's the move?" Glenn asked.
"I haven't done this in a while," Sasha admitted. "I need you to help me."
Maggie nodded, slamming her eyes shut. "Start the spell. We'll follow."
The words came easily once Sasha began them, lessons from her mother resurfacing. She began to yell, repeating the chant. Maggie and Glenn picked it up, adding their voices to hers.
The explosion that rocketed out of their joined hands nearly leveled the trio. The crowd screamed, but it had its intended effect, soaring towards the Governor's ship like a lightning bolt. His troops fell before it, dissolving into dust along with the boat.
Satisfied, Sasha stood up straight, watching. The crowd quieted, turning at once in the direction the ship had stood.
"Did it work?" Maggie asked, still clinging to their hands.
From across the road, the Governor got back to his feet. His eye found Sasha's. A murderous gleam sparked at once.
"A Hawthorne, I presume?" he asked, voice still booming.
Sasha raised her chin higher. "We don't go down easy," she told him.
The Governor grinned, straightening his uniform. "I hope not, Miss Hawthorne," his skin took on an unearthly glow, red like the sun behind him. "I really hope not."
Around him, the dust rose again, reforming and solidifying into soldiers once more. They began to advance again, pushing into the terrified masses.
"Plan B?" Glenn asked, igniting his hands. He tossed a fireball into the nearest soldier, incinerating him on the spot.
"The hotel," Sasha said, imitating him. "Get them all to the hotel."
-l-l-l-l-l-
Michonne froze in Rick's arms mid-dance, turning her head towards the door. He paused, prepared to ask her what was wrong. A moment later he heard the screams. People in the hotel froze, all looking in the direction of the parade. All music outside had stopped. In place of the sounds of frivolity, there was the unmistakable din of panic.
"Your gun," Michonne looked at Rick suddenly. "Do you have it?"
He nodded. "Went with the costume," he released her, staying close behind as Michonne headed for the door. Carefully, he tucked the small bottle he'd taken into his breast pocket, behind his badge.
"Get it out," she instructed.
Rick gripped his Colt beneath the jacket of his costume, adrenaline filling his veins. They reached the door and looked out. Rick's eyes widened.
"Oh fuck," he exclaimed.
Michonne turned to him, touching the pocket of his jacket. It filled at once, weighed down with what Rick knew were bullets.
"Be ready," she told him, turning back to the street.
Rick nodded, trying not to stare as Michonne's skin took on a glow. With a sound like the wind gusting, her palms went up in violet flames.
"He's coming," she observed, something almost like a smile on her face.