4. A Little Bit Yours, continued
AN: So, it's been a while, and so much has happened in my life in such a short time, but I digress. I hope this installment will keep you going while I get to writing the last installment. (I'm sure you won't mind another chapter). Thank you for the reviews, they energize me and keep me going. Ringleader1010, thanks for another amazing edit. I hope I've captured Rick's state correctly as I've never written an inebriated character before.
A week later
...
You're not mine anymore
But I'm still a little bit yours
At the sound of the alarm, Michonne knew the day ahead would be rough, with her eyes still shut avoiding the light, her hand reached across the nightstand and silenced the infernal noise.
The plop—plop sounds of raindrops bounced off the balcony just outside her bedroom door suddenly changed to a gusher as though the heavens opened up and emptied a month's worth of rain onto the earth. Michonne groaned and pulled the bed covers over her head. It was a perfect gray day to curl up in the fetal position and sleep some more and lose herself and perhaps in doing so, find her—the one they lost. She knew she shouldn't feel the way she did but the pain was still raw especially on such a dreary day. It was the second anniversary of her daughter's death and the beginning of the end of her marriage.
Despite the inclement weather, Michonne knew she would make the trip all the same. She had to because she made a promise, so with that, she pushed her way through the pain and forced her leaden limbs out of bed then shuffled zombie-like towards the master bathroom where she showered and dressed.
…
The moment Michonne emerged from her bedroom and closed the door behind her, she felt guilty. The aroma wafting throughout the house told her everything. He was there taking care of their boys, something she failed to do. She cursed herself because she must have stayed in the shower longer than she planned, but it was needed since the hot water took its sweet slow time to melt the heaviness from her leaden limbs. She wondered how he was holding up all things considered but then she recalled, it was part of the reason which drove them apart. He hadn't felt the loss quite the way she did. He never had the opportunity to bond with their daughter and for that reason alone, he was able to move on while she remained consumed by grief.
...
RJ spotted his mother as she turned into the kitchen and yelled, "Mommy, look, grandma made breakfast."
"Mom? What are you doing here?"
"Come now, dear," Simone Martineau, an older version of Michonne, with short salt and pepper curls, called to her daughter who finally graced them with her presence. "Sit down and eat something. The boys already have a head start on you." Her mother answered in a business-like tone.
Her mother's presence surprised her but she actually felt relieved because she really couldn't handle an all-business Rick on this day.
Michonne sat down at the kitchen table as instructed and within minutes, her mother placed a plate heaping with food in front of her.
Minutes later, Simone returned with Michonne's best mom mug filled with coffee and placed it next to her plate, then sat down with her family and ate in silence.
Michonne's distraction was noticeable.
Simone watched her daughter push her food around her plate like a child biding its time at the dinner table.
"Mommy, can you make pizza at daddy's house tomorrow?" Andre's little voice called out breaking the silence of the dreary rainy morning.
Michchone, seemingly unaware of her son's request, used her fork to separate her eggs from the bacon, sausage and beans. She looked like a woman under the influence but her only drug was coffee.
"Mommy?" RJ called after his mother to get her attention which caused Michonne to raise her head from her mental fog.
"Sorry, baby. What was that?"
"Are you making pizza at daddy's house?
"I don't think so, sweetheart. Daddy has something special planned for y'all tomorrow."
"Like what, Mommy?" RJ interrogated.
"You'll have to ask him, sweetheart," Michonne replied, wrapping her hands around the warm oversized coffee mug and taking a sip of the rich liquid.
Simone knew her daughter's pain. It wasn't easy because parents were never meant to bury their children but this was even harder; losing a grandchild was hard enough but one who never got the chance to start with was a whole other realm. Despite the circumstances, however, Simone chuckled at her grandson's transparency because they worked tirelessly to get their parents back together. Their parent trap ruses even included several visits to the principal's office and a few to the emergency room. Her grandbabies constantly did all they could to compel one parent into the other's orbit.
"Sweetheart, you barely touched your food, is it not to your liking? I can make you something else."
"It's fine, Mom. I'm sorry. I'm not very hungry."
"You need to eat, sweetheart."
"But, we want pizza, right, RJ?" Andre asked with a frown.
"Umm-hmm," RJ replied, nodding affirmatively as he devoured the last of his waffle and fruit.
"Today, you're going to your grandma's house, not your dad's, perhaps grandma can make you pizza tonight," Michonne replied to her boys' not-so-subtle attempt at matchmaking.
"Sweethearts, we can make pizzas tonight on one condition."
"Mommy and daddy are coming over?" Andre tried once more.
"No, baby, maybe another time—tonight's grandma's time. The condition is that after pizza and bath time we'll make a fortress in the living room and watch movies.
The boys' faces lit up with radiant smiles because staying with their grandmother was always fun. "Cool!" they replied, slapping high fives solidifying their victory.
Simone then turned to Michonne and offered, "If you change your mind, dear, you are more than welcome to stay with us later, you needn't go it alone."
"Thanks, Mom. I appreciate it but tonight I need to be alone."
...
Maybe if I'd said the right things
It never would've gone this way
But maybe that's the problem
'Cause I still kinda think it was up to me
When I never could've made you stay
All I do is get over you
And I'm still so bad at it
...
Later that evening...
Ding dong. Ding dong. An exhausted Michonne groaned and pulled the covers over her head and willed the noise to stop. Go away, she thought.
Ding dongggggggggg the doorbell droned on. Michonne stirred and cursed. "Fuck!" She slipped out of bed, pulled on her robe and tied it haphazardly about her body and slipped her feet into the soft purple bunny slippers her sons gave to her for her birthday.
...
Michonne opened the door to find a waterlogged Rick standing in the pouring rain. His normally sparkling blues were bloodshot. His dark curls matted to his head and a conduit for raindrops. His usually clean-cut face sporting a days' stubble and she knew before he uttered a word it was bad.
"Hey!"
"Rick?"
"I love you!" he replied, his southern drawl more pronounced from drinking.
Reflexively, Michonne's nose wrinkled at the scent of the booze coming off him, "You're drunk."
"No. I'm broken," he replied with sad red-tinged eyes and water dripping from his dark curls.
"You're soaking wet."
"I love you, but you're not mine anymore." He answered, swaying slightly from side to side.
"Come inside. I'll make you some coffee."
Rick lurched forward and Michonne caught him. She staggered from the dead weight but managed to keep him upright using the frame of the door for balance. "Jesus, Rick, why are you covered in grass stains, were you in a fight or something?"
"No. I was with her."
"Excuse me?" Michonne bristled at his response and felt the tension in her entire body, completely misunderstanding what he meant.
"You know what today is, don't you?"
"I do." She answered and softened to him.
"I let you down and I'm sorry."
"Come in. Remove your boots and bring them with you."
Rick toed off his boots and removed his wet socks placing them in his boots. He retrieved his boots as instructed but staggered to keep his balance so Michonne took his arm around her neck and held it there then placed her arm around his waist and navigated their way to the end of the hallway and turned left into the laundry room.
Rick sniffed at her neck. "Lavender. I missed that."
Michonne relinquished her hold on him and placed him inside the room in the corner where the two walls meet just away from the frame of the door for support.
"Now, strip!"
A confused Rick asked, "You wanna have sex, here?"
Michonne took the boots from his hands, "No, dumbass, you're soaking wet unless you want to catch pneumonia, I suggest you remove your clothes—all of them."
"I'll be naked. Doesn't that bother you?"
"It's nothing I haven't seen before, Rick. We have ten years between us married seven and three pregnancies later."
"So, you don't want me?" he asked crestfallen.
"Rick, please let me help you. You would do this for me if I turned up on your doorstep drunk."
"But you don't. You never turned up drunk," he added, leaving his anchoring position against the wall to approach her, but staggered and fell against the dryer.
"Fuck," he cried out from the pain.
"Good!" Michonne answered, thoroughly annoyed by her husband's behaviour. She pulled him upright and pushed him against the wall once more and started unbuttoning his grass-stained denim shirt which was plastered against his well-toned torso but she persisted and rid him of the piece of clothing tossing it into the nearby sink.
"l have nothing to wear once you strip me bare so the next best thang to keep me warm is body heat." He grinned at her like a Cheshire cat and moved his hips seductively. He eyed her boldly never breaking eye contact.
Michonne ignored his comments and continued the task at hand avoiding any thoughts of what he implied. She unbuckled his belt, unzipped his jeans and pulled his weight towards her in order to work the stubborn wet denim down his body but careful to leave her husband's boxers in place since he was already getting carried away and she didn't want to encourage him.
"I remember when this actually turned you on—now, it's so clinical—like me cutting away the clothes of a patient before I cut into them."
I let myself want you
I let myself try
I let myself fall back into your eyes
I let myself want you
...
Michonne gently pushed his body into its original position and turned away from him. Her heart broke because he used her own words against her when she accused him of treating their daughter's death like a clinician cold and distant.
She swallowed hard, and tears stung her eyes. She took a few steps away towards the sink and reached up to the shelves to retrieve one of his swimming trunks and turned, "Here you go, you can remove the rest and place it in the sink. I'll start the wash after I get you settled," she added, passing him a red and white pair of trunks to put on. "I'll start the coffee and get you a robe to put on." But before she left, she retrieved his socks from his boots and placed them in the sink, opened the garage door on her left and placed the boots on the step. She closed the door and left a naked Rick in the laundry room.
…
Maybe if I'd said the right things
It never would've gone this way
But maybe that's the problem
'Cause I still kinda think it was up to me
When I never could've made you stay
All I do is get over you
And I'm still so bad at it
...
Upon her return, Michonne found a half-naked Rick in the living room and offered him his old terry cloth robe.
"You kept it?" he asked, surprised.
"It's a perfectly good robe, but for the fact, you ruined it by washing the boy's red shirts with your robe."
"Why didn't you give it to me?" Rick asked, perplexed as he tied the sash around his waist and felt his body warm-up.
"I thought you'd throw it out—you always wanted to after it turned light pink, so I kept it. Excuse me for a minute." Michonne added and exited to the kitchen returning shortly with a mug of black coffee.
"Here, you go," she added but hesitated about handing him a cup of hot liquid in his current state. Instead, she elected to place it on a coaster on the glass round table in front of him. "Now, do you want to tell me what happened?"
"I fucked up." He replied with his head hung low referring to the fact he broke his one-year sobriety.
"I'm not judging you, Rick. What happened?" Michonne replied with warm brown eyes taking a seat next to him on the white leather sofa.
"You were right."
Michonne raised her brow at his remark. "I'm usually right about a great many things," she teased, in an attempt to lighten the mood because God knows they both could use it. "You'll have to narrow it down for context," but unfortunately, her attempt at humour failed.
Tears flowed from his eyes as he confessed, "I blamed her. I blamed her for us falling apart. I didn't just lose her that day—I lost you too."
Michonne shook her head as tears leaked from her eyes. Her heart ached because not much had changed. "Two years later and you still can't say our daughter's name? She had a name, Rick. Her name is Mudiwa—beloved because she was loved." She corrected him. "I know you loved her too and I'm sorry you never got to bond with her the way I did." As she stood to leave, Rick reached her hand and held onto her.
"I'm sorry, babe. Please don't—." His speech was now thick and slow.
But when Michonne saw the pain in his eyes she relented. She sat back down.
"I blamed Mudiwa and I'm sorry. I saw what her death was doing to you and I couldn't do a damn thing about it. I save people every fuckin' day, but I couldn't save you."
"Rick, it wasn't your job to save me. You were supposed to support me—to be there for me and feel her loss right along with me not treat me—us like your patients."
"I know—I was wrong. Denise helped me to see that."
"And who the hell is Denise?" Michonne asked, defensively.
"My therapist."
"You're seeing someone?" Her voice softened.
"Yeah and I've been visiting Mudiwa's grave too."
"I know."
"How?"
"I saw the white roses a while back. Mom leaves forget-me-nots and I leave white carnations."
"You never said anything?"
"Rick, she was your daughter too. I was just glad to see that you were finally processing it."
"I'm sorry."
Michonne nodded her head in acknowledgement as silent tears slid down her cheek. "Have you called Herschel?"
"No. I came home," he replied, defeated. "I found you—you're HOME, Michonne."
The sound of his words caused a lump to form in her throat and Michonne forced herself to swallow. "Tomorrow's another day, you need to rest. I'll make up the guest room for you."
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