Phillip paced his office in agitation as he listened to his wife air her most recent grievance. He was on his third roundabout when he spotted Milton lingering in his open doorway, waiting to be summoned.
"You did the right thing, Lily," he said reassuringly into his cell as he waved the man inside, "we knew this would happen once the campaign got underway. Didn't we?"
Milton made sure to close the door behind him, subtly noting the way Philip's gentle words juxtaposed the murderous look on his face.
As he eased down into one of the leather reception chairs to wait Philip met his eye.
"Darling, I have to go for my next meeting," he was saying, rounding the desk to settle down into his wingback. "I'll call you later."
After disconnecting the call, he squeezed the device into his white knuckled fist then slowly brought it down to rest on his desktop.
The room was stilted with his tension.
Milton cleared his throat. "Trouble at the Albatross?" he asked, deducing what he could from the side of the conversation he could hear.
"Detective Peletier being her usual instigative self," Philip muttered disdainfully as he rolled his shoulders then reclined back into his chair, "she approached Lily in front of her mother and Tara."
"She's fishing," Milton assured him, "she doesn't have anything."
"That we know of," Philip countered sharply, then he tilted his head with an expectant look. "Do you have what I asked for?"
Milton sat up straighter in his seat, and nodded. "I emailed it over before coming in."
Philip turned slightly in his chair to face his computer and brought up his inbox. He clicked on the encrypted message from Milton and began to read through.
"He's currently working at Atlanta General, my contact says he's been there for approximately two weeks," Milton explained, pushing his glasses up further on his face. "He's paperwork is fraudulent, giving him a clean slate."
"He couldn't have done that on his own. So who is he working with?" Philip grounded out, becoming impatient for answers.
"Apparently, he squeaked by under the board's noses with the help of one Dr. Spencer Monroe. And, you should know," Milton continued with a sigh, "there's a history between the two."
Philip glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "Did the good doctor do this out of the kindness of his heart or does Pete have something over him?"
"Fifteen years ago their roles were reversed, so to speak," Milton explained, "Monroe completed his first year of residency Anderson. He was accused of sexual assault by a fellow resident."
Philip arched an eyebrow at that. "Let me guess, Anderson provided his alibi?"
"The accusations were dismissed immediately," Milton confirmed.
Philip contemplated that in silence, and Milton waited patiently for the question he could see formulating in his eyes.
"And, you're sure he has her?"
Milton nodded again. "Quite sure. Although I don't know what he's planning to do with her, my guess for a motive would be vendetta."
Philip exhaled, rolling his eyes upward. "He's going to kill her," he said flatly, "after likely torturing her first."
"He couldn't finish the job before, so he's trying his hand again," Milton surmised with a frown.
Philip pinch the bridge of his nose. "Whatever the reason, thanks to his act of retribution, I've got that bitch, Peletier, sniffing around at the worst possible time."
"Which, I believe, is his intention," Milton confessed, and leaned forward to speak in a lower tone, "this mess with Andrea seems impulsive, but with the timing of it all I can't be sure that it is."
Philip shook his head. "He couldn't have known she would be moving back to Atlanta. For him, at least, I believe that part was coincidental."
Milton was confused by his word choice. "Sir?"
"Andrea's return was an opportunity for him," Philip mused. "This leverage over the Monroe kid worked in his favor. The smart thing to do would be to stay under the radar. But, instead he purposefully draws my attention. Why?"
"Like I said, a vendetta," Milton reiterated soberly.
Philip huffed a dry laugh, shaking his head at the ingeniousness of his own sabotage. "He was presented with a chance to finish off Andrea and damage my name in the process. It's that exact ingenuity that made him useful in the first place."
"Up until he wasn't," Milton reminded him.
Philip slammed his fist down sharply on his desk, the paper weights on top rattled with the force of his frustration. "Had he done the job right before, neither one of us would have had a goddamn problem!"
Milton inwardly sighed. "May I suggest an alternative solution?" he gently proposed.
Philip inhaled deeply, leaning back in his chair. "Better be a good one, Mamet," he warned.
"There are some things about his home life you might find interesting," Milton said, smugly, "and I don't think we're the only ones who would benefit from him being out of the picture."
Jesse stood at the kitchen counter behind an assortment of scalpels, forceps, scissors, retractors, and clamps.
Sam was on the opposite side with his eyes glued to the floor.
"Well?" Jesse prompted, expectantly.
Sam quickly glanced up at her, then dropped his gaze again.
Jesse frowned. "Why were these things in your room, Sam?" she demanded.
"I'm sorry!" he cried, not used to his mother raising her voice at him.
Jesse shook her head, not buying his crocodile tears. "Sorry isn't an explanation," she scolded, gesturing towards the countertop. "What were you doing with them?"
"I was just playing with them," he told her, imploring her with his eyes to believe him, "I was gonna put them back. I swear!"
"Those things aren't toys, Sam!" she blurted out in frustration. "You could've hurt yourself or someone else."
"So what if I did!" he yelled back.
Jesse paused, frowning at him in disbelief. "What did you say?"
"So what if somebody else got hurt? I don't care!"
Jesse pulled up, folding her arms across her chest. "That's enough young man, go to your room!"
Sam stared back at her just as incensed, and for a moment Jesse worried he wouldn't listen to her. The angry look in his eyes was all too familiar, although she wasn't used to seeing it in her baby boy.
Eventually and much to her relief, he gave in, turning away with a sour look. He angrily stormed out of the kitchen, nearly knocking into Ron as he passed.
"What's wrong with him?" Ron asked, pulling open the refrigerator.
"I honestly don't know," Jesse sighed, running her fingers through her hair.
Her eyes wandered towards the pantry where she knew a bottle of vodka was stored, and she anxiously bit down on her thumbnail. Her determination to get through the day sober was weakening by the minute.
"Not surprised," Ron exhaled under his breath, retrieving a can of soda before turning to leave the room as well.
"Hey, where are you going?" she called, noticing he was heading for the front door.
"Out," he called back, exiting the house before she could press him for more information.
He kicked up his skateboard and started down the front steps. Just as he was about to board, he noticed Carl and Andre across the street, washing the cars parked in their drive-way.
Carl spotted him first, and waved as Ron started to make his way over.
"Hey," he greeted with a smile.
After spending some time together at their family's barbeque, Ron surprised himself by making fast friends with Carl and Andre.
Before moving into the neighborhood, he had assumed the kids his age would be stuck up assholes too caught up in their privilege to be genuine. While there were definitely a few that fit the bill in his new school, he was glad that didn't appear to be the case for his immediate neighbors.
"I wouldn't linger around too long," Andre cautioned as he sprayed glass cleaner on the BMW's windshield, "Carl is famous for recruiting other people into helping with his chores."
Carl flicked a wet towel in his direction with a snort. "They sent the both of us out here," he countered, "besides, you know as well as I do, the job will get done faster with the two of us."
Andre rolled his eyes and Ron laughed at them. He kicked his skateboard onto the pavement, setting his soda can on top. "I can help," he offered, having nothing better to do.
Carl grinned. "I'm not gonna say no to that."
"Cool. So, I can go now?" Andre asked, tossing Ron his cleaning rag.
"Hardly," Carl scoffed in return, "the three of us will get it done much faster." He turned the water hose in his hands on his brother and sprayed him with cold water. Andre yelped in a comically high pitched voice, ducking between the cars.
While Carl and Ron struggled to keep it together, Andre narrowed his eyes at them, snatching up another rag. "Don't go to sleep before me," he warned.
"Yeah, yeah," Carl chuckled, and turned back to Ron. "So, how're you liking school so far?" he asked.
"It's cool, I guess," Ron replied, shrugging his shoulders as he scrubbed. "You guys don't take the bus?" he asked, remembering he didn't see them on the route to or from school.
Carl shook his head. "It's on the way to my dad's office, so he usually drops us off, and we have practice after school," he said, then grinned, "course, that's all about to change, hence the manual labor."
"They're getting you a car?" Ron asked, eyebrows raised in surprise.
"They're getting us a car," Andre inserted drly, "after all this, I want my name on the dotted line, too."
Carl rolled his eyes but didn't deny him, knowing his brother was putting in his fair share.
"Carl!" Judith called, poking her head out of the front door, "you left your phone in the kitchen, Enid's calling."
"You couldn't bring it?" Carl asked, setting his hose aside.
Judith made a face. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was your secretary now."
Carl rolled his eyes as he started to make his way over.
"Hey!" Andre called after him. "Your boo-loving can wait."
"I'll be quick, two minutes," Carl promised, quickly ducking back inside the house.
Andre gawked after him in disbelief. "I'mma kill him," he said to himself, "Mom and Dad won't notice right away, it's too many of us."
Ron laughed under his breath, and nodded to Andre. "Hey, what's the deal with him and Enid, anyway?" he asked, hoping the question came off as casual.
"Oh, you mean Carnid?" Andre snorted.
"Carnid?" Ron returned, confused.
"That's what my mom and Judith call them," Andre explained, shaking his head.
"So, they're dating?" Ron asked.
Andre tilted his head, considering him. "Nothing official, but they might as well be."
Ron sighed at that. "Oh."
Andre arched an eyebrow at his response, but didn't say anything further as he focused on his task at hand.
"All right, let's wrap this up," Carl urged them both, emerging from the house with a noticeable pep in his step.
"Let me guess, Enid's on her way over," Andre scoffed.
Carl blushed slightly. "To help with homework," he insisted.
"Man, it's the first day of school and I know you're not that studious," Andre shot back with a laugh.
Carl laughed, too as he retrieved the water hose. "Shut up."
Andre exchanged a look with Ron as neared him to exchange his wet cloth for a drier one. "See what I mean," he murmured as he passed.
Ron nodded slightly, keeping his face neutral.
"You're gonna hang around, right?" Carl asked, drawing his attention.
Ron hesitated, not keen on being a third wheel. "I don't want to intrude or anything," he said.
"You won't," Carl assured him, "we'll probably just end up playing video games."
Ron glanced at his house across the street, realizing if he didn't take Carl up on his offer he'd likely just wander around aimlessly on his skateboard just to avoid being in there.
"Yeah, okay," he said.
"Cool," Carl replied with an easy grin, and resumed spraying the soap off his dad's truck.
"Just got off the phone with Ezekiel," Rick said, pocketing his cell phone as he stepped out onto the patio deck. Michonne was working on her laptop on the curved sofa, and as he neared she lifted her gaze to him.
"The New York trip got bumped up," he explained, lifting her feet to place them on his lap as he took a seat, "told him I wanted to talk with you before agreeing to anything."
"How soon?" she asked, closing her laptop to set aside and give him her full attention.
"Next week. We would leave Sunday night and fly back on Tuesday," he explained, absently rubbing her soles with the pads of his thumb.
"Three days," Michonne mused.
Rick squinted his eyes, attempting to decipher her tone. "Yeah..." he drawled.
Michonne giggled and lifted her foot to nudge him. "It's fine with me. I told you we'll manage."
Rick sighed, dropping his head back. "Yeah, but that was when we thought we had a couple of weeks to plan."
Michonne could see the indecision in his face, but she also believed he worried too much. She reached over to smooth his hair back, and when his eyes rolled in her direction, she smiled. "We'll make it work," she reiterated, softly.
Rick offered a small smile in return. "I'm gonna ask Daryl to sit this one out. He'll need to keep an eye on our projects here while I'm gone."
"Projects, huh?" she grinned.
Rick smirked. "I'll feel better if he's here," he admitted.
Michonne didn't object, knowing having Daryl around would simultaneously help her with the kids and ease her husband's concerns. "Sounds like a plan."
Rick relaxed a little, now that that was settled. He glanced over his shoulder at their younger children playing down in the yard, and smiled. "I don't think I've been that far away from those two before."
Michonne followed his gaze and huffed a laugh. "Maya's not gonna be happy about it, that's for sure."
Rick chuckled then sighed. "You're sure it's okay?" he asked.
"Baby, if you ask me one more time, I'm going in your place," she flatly replied.
Rick laughed and leaned over to close the distance between them. But before he could capture her lips the patio door slid open.
"You guys know the rules, minimal PDA when guests are over," Judith lamented as she stepped outside with Gracie following behind munching on a bag of veggie chips.
"Gracie's hardly a guest, ' Rick replied, nodding the chips they include in their weekly shopping trips, solely because the girl is fond of them.
Gracie grinned around a mouthful as she hopped on the nearby barstool.
"Incidentals," Judith said.
Michonne lifted her legs from Rick's lap and curled them underneath her as Judith plopped down in the space between them, shifting her expectant eyes between both her parents.
"She wants something," Michonne presumed, exchanging a look with Rick.
He chuckled. "So, it would seem."
"Hey, she is right here," Judith chimed in, "and she wants to know what's for dinner."
"Dunno, what are you making?" Rick teased, nudging her lightly.
Judith rolled her eyes in her mother's direction. "I suggest takeout. Carl and Dre invited the neighbor kid, and I'm pretty sure Enid's on her way over."
Michonne shook her head with a laugh, then tilted in Gracie's direction. "What about you, Gracie?"
"Only if you'll have me, Mrs. G.," Gracie cheekily returned.
"How about pizza?" Rick offered, figuring it to be the easiest solution.
Judith frowned, shaking her head. "We just had pizza. I'm thinkin' TexMex," she suggested instead.
"You know the deal, majority rules," Rick reminded her.
Michonne looked over her shoulder and called over to the little ones. "Maya! RJ!"
There was a unified response as both children poked their heads out of their treehouse windows.
"Taco Tuesday on a Monday?" Judith asked, hoping to pique their interest in her favor.
"Yes!" they both cried excitedly.
Rick laughed as he pushed himself to his feet. "All right, I'll go survey the boys."
Carol entered the evidence locker in search of her partner after receiving a cryptic but urgent text to meet her there.
She found Rosita standing in front of an open box of evidence collected from the scene of Holden apprehension. Most of them were the personal belongings from Andrea's purse that had gotten strewn across the parking lot in the scuffle.
"What's going on?"
"After we talked to Blake's sister-in-law, it got me thinking," Rosita started to explain, tossing her a pair of latex gloves.
Carol pulled them on as she ambled closer.
"It didn't seem valuable at the time," Rosita murmured, carefully removing the sealed bags from the box. "But then, I remembered something that may be worth a second look."
Carol tilted her head curiously as Rosita held up a tiny sealed baggie containing a small black pedometer.
"We assumed it was just another discarded item from the victim's purse," she said, handing over the baggie for Carol to inspect. "But now that I know our perp may have a medical background, I'm having second thoughts."
Carol held the device in her palm, and ran her thumb over its label. "It's worth a shot," she said with a nod. "Good job, Espinosa."
"Only if I'm right," Rosita countered as she began to repack the box.
"This hospital has a separate parking lot for staff," Carol recalled.
"If we can find the partial plate from our white pick up on their security footage, we may have our guy," Rosita concluded, following her partner's train of thought.
The corner's of Carol's mouth lifted in a small grin, glad they were on the same page. "Let's go."
Fifteen minutes later, they entered the Atlanta General Hospital's main lobby.
Carol displayed her badge for the attendant behind the desk, smiling so not to alarm the young woman. "We're detectives from the APD, and we need to speak with the hospital's chief of staff."
The attendant blinked in surprise, shifting her gaze between the two detectives. "Oh, okay. One moment," she said, picking up her desk phone to call for assistance.
It didn't take long for a gentled-faced young woman clad in white doctor's coat to emerge from behind double doors and approach them.
"Hello," she said, smiling amiably, "I'm Dr. Denise Cloyd. I was told you wanted to see me."
Carol nodded, presenting her badge again. "Yes. Do you have somewhere we can speak in private?"
Dr. Cloyd nodded, and gestured for Carol and Rosita to follow her down an adjoining hall.
As they walked away, Spencer was exiting from the surgery wing. He spotted the trio and watched them curiously as he wandered over to the front desk.
He nodded to the attendant. "What's all that about?"
"Their detectives," she explained, "they said they wanted to speak with Dr. Cloyd."
Spencer raised his eyebrows at that. "Did they say what about?"
"No."
Spencer frowned, shifting his gaze back down the hall. Then he pushed away from the desk to slowly make his way down the same path.
He stopped just outside of Dr. Cloyd's closed office, and pressed against the wall beside it in an attempt to make out more than muffled voices.
Two staffers eyed him oddly as they walked by, causing Spencer to remember himself and straighten up. He chuckled awkwardly and waved, hoping they wouldn't find his behavior suspicious.
Once the coast was clear, he leaned back against the wall to see what he could hear.
"I see," Dr. Cloyd murmured, a little taken aback by the information the detectives in front of her presented her with.
"Our suspect is male with a medical background, although we're not sure to what extent," Rosita informed her. "At the time of apprehension, he drove a white pick-up truck. So, we were hoping to get access to your security footage from the employee parking lot. "
"What makes you think he works here?" Dr. Cloyd asked, wrinkling her brow in consternation.
"We found this at the scene," Carol added, placing the sealed pedometer on the doctor's desk. "Do you recognize it?"
"Yes," Denise replied, frowning down at the device.
"Originally we assumed it fell from the victim's person, but we want to be certain," Rosita told her.
Dr. Cloyd's frown deepened. "The thought of someone on my staff being involved is... nerve-wracking. What do I tell my staff? Or the board?" She dropped her face in her hand as she lamented her circumstance.
Carol's expression was empathetic. "Nothing for now," she said, "the security footage should help us with the process of elimination."
Dr. Cloyd nodded, lifted her gaze. "I'll take you to the head of security."
On the other side of the door, Spencer had heard enough. Although, he still wasn't sure what was going on, he had a good feeling who would.
Just as he started to turn away just as Dr. Cloyd's office door opened.
"Dr. Monroe," she said, surprised to find him there.
He paused, and slowly turned on his heels to face the three women as they exited the office. "Dr. Cloyd," he said, sounding almost breathless. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you had visitors."
"Did you need something?" she asked, while her companions eyed him with varying degrees of wariness.
"No," he assured her, "have a good day, ladies."
He didn't wait for a response, turning around quickly to leave as he pulled he pulled out his cell phone.
From where he was parked, Pete could see the bannered windows of the Blake campaign office. He stared through his aviators in disdain, waiting for the right moment to make his move.
He glanced over at the package sitting in the passenger's seat next to him. Finally, all the pieces were in place to put a close to this chapter of his life. And just in time, too. Mamet showing up at his house unannounced meant they were on to him. But, it was too late.
The way he saw it, he was only doing what he had been hired to do. Albeit, eight years later, but he wasn't one to put a statue of limitation on a thing like this.
A part of him knew he should have been content. Despite his initial failure with Andrea and Philip subsequently ruining his professional reputation thereafter, he had managed to dig himself out from under.
He was once a highly sought after medical concierge for Atlanta's elite, only to end up degrading himself with menial vocations, scraping by on pennies and what was left of his dignity after crossing paths with Philip Blake.
And all the while, Philip continued to become a political star, rising over the ashes without a care.
The vibration of Pete's cell phone brought him out of his reverie. He read Spencer's name across the screen and sighed. "What?" he answered.
"We have a problem," Spencer rushed to say.
"What are you talking about?"
"Two detectives are at the hospital, they're asking questions," Spencer sneered, "why would they be doing that?"
Pete frowned, genuinely surprised to hear that. "How should I know?"
Spencer scoffed loudly. "Are you fucking kidding me?"
"I don't have time for this Spencer," Pete said, squeezing his eyes shut.
"Then, make time!" Spencer snapped, "We had a deal, you were supposed to stay under the radar, like a fly on the fucking wall! If detectives are snooping around because of something you did how long do you think it'll take the Board to figure out your paperwork is fraudulent?"
Pete felt his agitation spike. "Now listen here, you little shit," he fumed into the device.
"No, you listen," Spencer shot back, "whatever it is you're involved in, I don't want any part of it. We're done, Pete."
"You don't think you played a part in all this?" Pete imparted. "After all, I couldn't have gotten by the board on my own."
"Fuck you, Pete."
Pete brought a hand to his forehead, rubbing his temples. "Did they have a warrant?" he asked after a moment.
"How should I know?"
"Trust me, you would know," Pete exhaled, nodding. "If they didn't serve a warrant, then they don't have anything. So, get your panties out of a bunch or you'll raise unnecessary suspicion. I have to go."
Pete disconnected the call before Spencer had a chance to respond, wondering how much longer he would be able to tolerate the younger man's ineptitude. He reached inside his glove compartment, pulling out his flask.
Spencer has unsettled his nerves, he needed a shot to calm down.
If he was right, and those detectives were closing in then he would need to act quickly.
He exchanged his flask for his baseball cap, tugging it over his hair. Then, he picked up the package from the seat beside him and exited the vehicle.
Jesse rushed down the stairs towards the front door, surprised that someone would be knocking. "Coming, coming," she murmured to herself, thinking Ron had forgotten his house key again.
She was slightly breathless when she swung the door open, and blinked in confusion at the man on her doorstep.
"Hello again, Mrs. Anderson," he greeted with a smile.
Jesse recognized him as the man who was waiting on her doorstep for Pete the other night. She frowned, wondering why he had come back.
"My husband isn't home," she said, preparing to close the door.
"I was actually hoping to speak to you," he insisted, placing his hand in the doorway before she could. "My name is Milton Mamet, and I think we can help each other."
Jesse knitted her eyebrows together in confusion. "Help each other with what?"
Milton's eyes crinkled with his smile. "We have a mutual problem, for which I believe I could offer a solution."
Jesse shook her head. "Look, I don't know what Pete's involved in, and I don't want to know. So, please get off my doorstep."
She started to close the door again when Milton stepped closer.
"Who's going to take care of Ron, or poor little Sam when you're rotting in a prison cell because of your husband's crimes?"
Jesse froze, her eyes wide and mouth agape.
"My employer is willing to help you," he went on to say, "if you're willing to do the same for us."
She couldn't move, barely able to register what he was saying.
Milton chuckled lightly, finding her shock amusing. He turned and looked around the peaceful suburban neighborhood. "It really might be best for us to speak inside," he said, looking back at her. "May I come in?"
Ron looked around the table, feeling out of place.
The Grimes had invited him to stay for dinner, and since the weather was amiable they all congregated on the outside deck to eat.
Evening settled in around them as they talked and ate. As their food digested, their conversations became animated. The younger children excitedly told their parents about their first day of school, while Andre and Carl reenacted the highlights from their football practice much to the exasperation of Judith and the amusement of Enid and Gracie.
For the most part, Ron was an observer to the discourse, chiming in only when spoken to directly. The truth was, he wasn't used to interactions like this.
His family rarely, if ever, sat down together for mealtime. Even, on the few occasions when they were in the same room, they weren't very conversational.
It seemed the opposite was true for the Grimes. Unlike his parents, Rick and Michonne went out of their way to engage with their kids, and seemed actually interested in what was going on with them.
The longer Ron was in their presence the more he felt like an outsider looking in. They treated each other in a way Ron had never experienced for himself. And, he wasn't sure what to make of it now.
"Are you gonna try out for the team, Ron?" Rick had asked him from across the table.
Ron blinked, and realized several pairs of eyes were on him. "I'm sorry," he said, not hearing the question.
"The football team," Andre said, "you should try out."
Ron shook his head, idly picking at his burrito. "I'm not any good," he said.
"You could always join the student council with me," Enid jokingly suggested, "it's not nearly physical, and it still looks good on college applications."
Ron huffed a laugh. "Maybe."
"Do you have your eye on any particular college?" Michonne asked him.
Ron ducked his head, blushingly slightly at the attention all of a sudden. "Not really. I don't really know where to start."
"Don't let her bait you," Andre whispered to him, "she'll have you mapping a five year plan in no time."
"Hey, there is nothing wrong with having a plan," Michonne shot back.
Carl shook his head, grinning. "Except it doesn't leave any room for spontaneity."
"Spell spontaneity," Judith teased.
Carl flicked a tortilla chip in her direction.
"Mom!"
"Carl, stop flicking chips at your sister," Michonne chided absently, while Judith made a look of vindication in his direction.
"Isn't your dad a doctor?" Carl asked, turning his attention back to Ron as he shoved Judith with his arm. "He doesn't want to go follow his steps into med school?"
Ron shrugged. "My dad doesn't care what I do. He's not into stuff like that," he muttered, wishing someone would change the topic.
"I don't think I want to go to college," Judith announced.
Michonne arched an eyebrow. "Really?"
"Well, at least not right away," Judith amended with a sheepish grin, "Ms. Thorne said she took a two year hiatus to travel the world before she went to college in Paris."
Rick looked at Michonne in confusion.
"Her new photography teacher," Michonne explained to him and he nodded in understanding.
"Do I have to go to college?" Maya asked innocently.
"Of course not. Dad didn't," RJ told her.
"Hey, I went to college," Rick said, slightly miffed.
"Not like Mommy," RJ argued, shaking his head, "she's got papers in her office framed on the wall to prove it."
Rick sat back with a huff. "I've got papers, too," he muttered.
Michonne shook her head, giggling at his expression. "No one has to go to college," she said to them, "the important thing is finding something that fulfills you. Just remember to be smart and make sure it pays the bills, as well."
"That won't be a problem," Andre boasted, "not when I'm a first round pick for Falcons."
"Well before you go off and make it big leagues, help your brother and sister clean up," Rick said, pushing back from the table.
"But I'm so full," Andre groaned, exaggeratedly rubbing his extended belly.
Michonne stood to pick up Maya in her arms, then lightly smacked the back of his head as she passed by. "I'm sure you'll manage," she said.
"Come on, RJ," Rick called, following his wife and daughter inside.
RJ hopped out of his seat, leaving the clean up to the older kids.
Between the six of them, it didn't take long to pull the deck back in order and not long after that, Gracie headed home and Judith up to her room. Andre made his way inside, as well, citing he wanted to get in a game of Madden before heading to bed.
Leaving Ron alone with Carl and Enid on the patio sofa.
"I should probably head out," Ron said, checking his cell for the time. He had realized he had been gone for so long.
"I'll walk out with you," Enid offered, "I need to get home, too."
"My Dad said I could drive you home, if you want. Since it's only around the corner," Carl told her.
Enid arched an eyebrow. "You just want to show off behind the wheel."
"Or get my practice in," he countered, returning her expression.
"Right, because that's exactly what someone wants to hear before getting in a car with you," she teased.
Carl rolled his eyes. "You want the ride or not?"
She laughed lightly, and nudged him. "Sure, let's go."
As they made their way inside, they passed Rick and Michonne lounging together on the sofa in the family room watching television.
"I'm gonna drive Enid home now," Carl told them, "I'll be back in a few minutes."
"Thanks again for dinner, Mr. and Mrs. G.," Enid added.
"Yeah, thank you," Ron seconded.
"Of course, you're welcome anytime," Michonne told them, looking over her shoulder. "Be careful, Carl."
"I'll see 'em out," Rick said, brushing a kiss to her forehead before pushing up from the sofa.
He unhook his keys from the rack in the foyer and handed them over to Carl, only to quickly snatch his hand back. "You get right back here. No detours."
"Yes, sir," Carl replied, taking the keys.
"Good night, Mr. G.," Enid said as Carl led her out.
Ron pulled up the rear, still slightly in disbelief that Carl's parents seemed to trust him so much.
"Want me to drop you off, too?" Carl jokingly asked, looking back at Ron.
Ron shook his head. "I'm good. Thanks."
Carl grinned and waved, "See you at school tomorrow," he called before hopping into the driver's seat.
Ron started to descend the steps as they backed out of the driveway.
"Hey," Rick called to him, halting him.
Ron turned to look at him curiously. "Yeah?"
Rick approached with a friendly smile. "If you need help navigating the college process, Michonne and I can be pretty helpful. Just let us know, okay?"
Ron was surprised by the offer. "Yeah? Okay."
Rick nodded. "Have a good night."
Ron waved, and turned to leave again, but the sounds of tires screeching gave him pause. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that Rick had stopped, as well.
The truck that swerved into their cul de sac wasn't Carl, but Ron's anxiety spiked when he saw who it actually was.
"Shit," he muttered, picking up his pace down the driveway.
He didn't notice Rick slowly following him towards the street. He was too preoccupied with his father stumbling out of the vehicle.
"Dad, what the hell are you doing?" he whispered harshly as he approached.
Pete's eyes were dilated as he struggled to focus them on him. When he eventually did, he leaned into him heavily. "Come out here to help your old man, huh?"
"Let's go inside," Ron urged him, grimacing as he shouldered his father's weight and smell of vodka on his breath.
Pete laughed loudly, "Let's, I'm starving. Tell me Jesse got off her ass today and actually cooked something?"
Ron sighed, hoping he wasn't drawing the attention of the neighbors.
"Everything okay?"
Ron cursed under his breath upon hearing Rick's voice. He struggled to turn under the burden of the extra weight. "Yeah, we're fine," he answered.
"The Famous Rick Grimes," Pete drawled, spotting Rick from across the street. Then, he pushed off of Ron, and began to stumble towards him.
Ron panicked. "Dad, what are you doing?"
Rick eyed him warily as he approached. "You doing okay, Pete?"
"Oh, I'm doing just fine," Pete leered, "better now, in fact."
"Glad to hear it..." Rick drawled.
"Dad, come on, let's go home," Ron urged him, pulling on his arm.
"I'll go when I'm good and damn well ready!" Pete shot back, roughly snatching his arm away.
Rick frowned, inserting himself between them. "Hey, easy now," he said, an attempt to diffuse the situation.
"What are you going to do, Rick? Protect me from my own son?" Pete scoffed with a dry laugh. "If I were you, I'd be more concerned with my own household."
Rick cocked his head to the side at the insinuation. "Excuse me?"
"He's drunk," Ron quickly said, imploring him with his eyes not to engage, "he doesn't know what he's saying."
"I think it's time you go home, Pete," Rick said sternly.
"Or what?" Pete responded, challenging him with his eyes.
"Dad!" Ron inserted, feeling embarrassed by his display.
Pete dropped his head, chuckling. "Okay, okay," he said, then looked at Rick. "I'm only teasing you, buddy," he told him, patting a hand on his shoulder.
Rick stared at his hand, then rolled his eyes up to him. "Go home, Pete."
Ron pulled his father away, successfully this time. "Sorry about that," he said to Rick, dejectedly.
Rick watched as Ron helped his father lumber up their driveway.
"Give my regards to Michonne, Rick!" Pete called over his shoulder, before Ron could drag him inside the house.
Rick felt his eye twitch at the mention, but reminded himself that the man was not in his right mind. Still, the interaction left him feeling agitated.
"Everything okay?"
He turned at the sound of Michonne's voice, finding her looking at him in concern from the doorway. "Fine," he assured, making his way back. "I think Pete's just had too much to drink."
Michonne lifted her gaze to the house across the street. "What happened?"
Rick shook his head, taking her by the hand as he reentered the house. "Don't worry about it," he muttered, pulling her with him as he closed the door behind them.
Michonne frowned, sensing his agitation. "You sure?" she asked, tugging his hand so he would stop to look at her. She brought a hand up to smooth his hair back from his face.
Rick sighed under her touch, unsure how to explain his encounter with their neighbor. "Yeah," he said instead, "I'm sure."
Michonne wasn't, but she let the subject drop and allowed him to lead her back to the sofa anyway. As she curled back into his side, her attention was no longer focused on the show they were watching. Instead, her thoughts drifted to Jesse.
"You don't think he's abusive, do you?" she asked, craning her neck up to look at her husband.
Rick sighed, having had the same thought. "I don't know."
"I wonder if I should check in on Jesse," Michonne pondered aloud, "I haven't seen her since the cookout. I hope she's okay."
Rick wasn't sure if he liked the idea of Michonne going over to the Andersons', especially after his encounter with their patriarch. If the man had rubbed him the wrong way before, the feeling was tenfold now.
He felt bad for Ron. It was clear the kid was accustomed to his father's belligerence, and if that were the case then he'd imagine the same may be true for Jesse and Sam.
While he knew better than to try and tell his wife what to do, he felt better offering an alternative. "You should invite her out to lunch with the girls," he suggested.
Michonne considered it for a moment, then slowly nodded as she cuddled closer to him. "Yeah, okay."
Rick wrapped his arm around her protectively, putting his encounter with Pete in the back of his mind.
A/N: Thanks for your patience! We're getting closer to the inevitable, but I hope you're enjoying the build up so far.
I'm getting into the next chapter soon rather than later, but in the meantime let me know what you think so far.
xx