The Stranger On The Roadside
A/N: A huge thank you to my awesome Richonne reviewers. Covid-19 is very real—it does not discriminate. Lockdown sucks but guess what? This tango of two steps forward four steps back is not progress. #WearADamnMask, practice social distancing and #StaySafe; the sooner we get on board, the sooner we can reclaim a semblance of our previous lifestyles. In addition, just because #BLM is no longer trending it doesn't mean the issues have been resolved so #StayWoke.
Michonne's usually warm brown eyes glared at Rick. Her palpitating heart threatened to burst because her worst nightmare had come true. During the first few years of RJ's life, she lived in fear whenever they spent time in King County with his grandmother. She feared one day they'd be out shopping or at the beach and the man she knew as Rick would somehow materialize and demand to have a relationship with her son. As RJ grew older, the more he resembled his father which made his father's identity that much easier to confirm but nothing happened. She told herself she had nothing to worry about because it was a fluke they even met that night. She reasoned King County wasn't very big, it was a place where everyone knew each other, so if the man who fathered her child lived there, he would have heard about his brown-skinned son—there would be whispers but her mother never heard anything.
Fear seized Michonne. Her breathing became erratic. She knew that expanding further south it was bound to happen. It was ironic she never wanted to be found but opening two restaurants and buying a home in Macon was like placing an x on the map. They had just moved into their home and he turned up. The place she initially feared to be the undoing of her perfect family was actually a safer haven compared to Macon.
Her son had been to both restaurants before but she never heard a whisper, then again, no one gossiped about their boss's kid when they were in earshot. Then again, they probably never made the connection since neither the sheriff nor RJ was ever in the same place at the same time. Her mind raced to analyze the situation and formulate a plan.
Malyk caressed Michonne's forearm realizing his worse fear had come to be. It was the reckoning he never wanted. The man standing not thirty feet from them could become the catalyst in their marriage.
Seized with panic, Michonne stood up.
"Breathe, baby, breathe," Malyk's soft voice coached his wife.
Michonne took a moment to exhale and inhale several times.
"Mommy, are we leaving?" RJ demanded.
"Not yet, baby. Mommy has to speak with the sheriff for a minute."
The simple answer did not instill confidence in RJ. He looked worried because he didn't want his mommy to be in trouble with the sheriff.
Malyk recognized his son's anxiety and offered, "RJ, if you're a good boy, daddy will ask Jerry to make you a sundae, okay?"
"With sprinkles on top," he asked, beaming at his father and accepting a bribe of his favourite treat.
"With sprinkles on top," Michonne confirmed smiling at both her husband and son. She tousled RJ's curls and squeezed Malyk's hand grateful for the save. But before Rick could take a step towards her family, she walked confidently out of the restaurant and towards the sheriff's vehicle in the parking lot.
...
A stunned Rick took his cue and followed her outdoors to the spot next to his department-issued vehicle. By the time he reached his car, his slightly flushed complexion matched his surly mood. Rick didn't like surprises and certainly not the present situation.
His back was now towards the restaurant as he faced Michonne. And the breeze carried the spicy scent of her fragrance commingled with her sweat which allowed a long-ago memory to pierce his consciousness.
He was angry with her, but most of all, he was angry with himself for still finding her so damn attractive. Not attractive — beautiful. Despite being pissed at her, he couldn't deny that she was a rare creature indeed and even more beautiful than he remembered. He chided himself for feeling that familiar pull into her vortex. Nikki spelt trouble and complications he couldn't afford so he shook his head to dislodge the impure thoughts of the woman he knew as Nikita—Nikki stirred within him and reminded himself he was angry so that he may focus on the issue at hand. And that issue was the fact they created a son six years ago. A son who was almost five-years-old and one neither of them could deny because the boy had his face, his eyes, and his dark loose curls from when he wore his hair longer.
In search of his words, Rick allowed himself to open his car door and placed the takeaway bag in the passenger seat. After closing the door, he turned his attention back to the woman who stood defiantly in front of him. Her eyes were cold, her shoulders squared. She was ready for a fight. It surprised him that despite his position of power, she didn't cower. Yet another quality attributed to her name, he thought, as he reassessed all the little thangs that didn't quite add up that night, he was beginning to see why she was named Nikita, a name she didn't quite fit at first glance.
"You wanna explain what happened back there?" he asked with a backward thumbs up gesturing over his shoulder towards the restaurant.
Michonne calmly replied, "Sheriff Grimes, is it? Back there is my family and our place of business, so I couldn't have you causing a scene in front of the people I love in our establishment and drive our customers away."
"That boy—that boy back there is my son, Nikki. I don't know what sick game you're playing but he's mine."
"Correction, Sheriff, my son has a father. We had a one-night stand six years ago but it was never meant to be anything more than that. I was married then as I am now. My son was a surprise to us both."
"Don't you mean to say, OUR son?" Rick challenged.
"No, I meant my son. Need I remind you, Sheriff, 'listen, you have your life—I have mine; let's not complicate things any more than they need to be.' Those were your words, Rick, so no—you don't get to hang this all on me. Neither of us wanted anything more than a stranger's touch that night—to forget the outside world if only for a short time. When I left you that morning, you were snoring contently. Yes, I may have walked away with a little more than I bargained for, but then I had to explain to my husband why I was suddenly carrying another man's child. So, please spare me your bullshit. If you don't mind, every minute I spend out here with you is causing my son distress. He already thinks that we did something wrong from the way you were glaring at us and I can't imagine my husband being none too pleased watching me out here with you. You're a ghost and that's what he— we thought—neither of us ever expected to see or hear of you ever again."
Michonne side stepped Rick and walked a few steps away when he turned.
"I'm sorry to disappoint both of you, but I'm no fuckin ghost by keeping my child, you pretty much guaranteed I would most definitely become part of his life."
…
Listening to Nikki's account of their night together made him cringe inside. The coldness she exhibited was another side of her character he hadn't seen before. The one he attributed to her name. Her description was brutal and cold, no holds barred. He couldn't deny it; his words made him sound like an asshole. No wonder, she was being defensive, he thought. That said, however, he couldn't walk away from the fact he fathered a child with a woman he never thought he'd see again. If the place was indeed their establishment as she claimed, it meant they lived in his city and his son needed to meet his sister.
"Nikki, I'm sorry but it isn't that simple. I want more."
Michonne turned on her heels to face him. "More of what, Sheriff? That little boy in there doesn't need any drama in his life. You don't get to check-in and check out. You're married, so please, go home to your family—I'm going back inside to mine."
"We can either do it amicably or the hard way. Either way, you decide."
"Are you threatening me, Sheriff?"
"I don't make threats, Nikki. We're going to talk about my son whether you like it or not. It can be either informally or formally."
It was the way he said it, the ice in his steely blue eyes and the tone of his voice. It scared the hell out of her. Michonne knew he meant it because she felt a chill crawl down her spine. After what seemed like an eternity she spoke, "Fine. I'll meet you at your office in about an hour," she replied and stormed off towards the restaurant.
Rick watched her go and cursed under his breath. He knew they were both angry for different reasons. She was no doubt pissed that his discovery had rocked the Norman Rockwell world she created and he was most definitely pissed at himself for not giving her his full name that night now two families were about to be irrevocably changed. Rick turned away and slammed the palm of his hand on the roof of his vehicle. He retrieved his phone and dialled a number.
…
Malyk's jealousy finally raised its ugly head as he watched his wife change from her earlier outfit of Bermuda shorts and tee shirt to a short sundress which fell midthigh.
"What's wrong with what you were wearing," he asked.
"Nothing. I thought this would be more appropriate. Honey, are we, okay?" Michonne asked her husband, who had become extremely quiet since they left the restaurant.
"Michonne, RJ's our son. I can't step aside now—" Malyk answered his words choked by emotion.
"You won't have to, Malyk. You won't have to," she added, cupping his face and placing a tender kiss to his lips then turned her back to him, lifting her locks away so that he would zip up her dress.
...
Meanwhile back at the sheriff's office, Rick had secluded himself in his office. The takeaway dinner he pecked at was now discarded in the trash can because he lost his appetite. He pondered, how was it possible for the same woman to appear in his life twice and have the same effect each time?
The first time they met he was looking for a sign that he wasn't about to make a mistake by marrying his ex-fiancé, Lori. His answer came in the form of a knock on his motel room door. He never regretted a single moment of that night when it occurred. But in hindsight, he had but one small regret. At the time, how would it look for a respectable sheriff who was engaged to be married to be spending the night with a stranger he met on the side of the road? The morning after the night before, he reasoned if he really loved Lori, that night would have never happened, so he broke off their engagement. A decision he never regretted because Lori ended up delivering a baby six months after, a week after their intended wedding day. Incidentally, the child bore a striking resemblance to his ex-deputy and ex-best friend Shane Walsh.
Apart from the fact, he fathered Nikki's child, he wondered just what the hell her presence meant this time around. Their situation was similar this time around. The stakes were much higher too. He loved his wife and Nikki's family looked happy but there was no way around it because there would be casualties.
Rick checked his watch again. It was almost ninety minutes since he last saw her and her tardiness didn't help his mood any.
...
Upon arriving at the sheriff's department, Michonne parked her vehicle farthest away from the building and the other vehicles and exhaled. It was her first opportunity to be alone since she ran into Rick earlier. Her mind raced. She hated everything about the cocky sheriff who thought standing behind his badge would intimidate her. 'I don't make threats, Nikki.' But she had his number because at the onset of their conversation he wavered. He was conflicted. He wanted something he couldn't have, so he was about to take the next best thing—he was about to use their son to get close to her. The whole thing would be hilarious if his actions weren't so transparent.
Unlike him, she has had five years of staring at his face. A face she loved. She saw him every time she looked at their son. His—face, however, was of a long-ago memory buried deep in the recesses of her mind and covered with dust. In a moment of weakness, she fell for his southern charms and sweet nothings but that was behind her. She locked the door on that particular vault in the wee hours of that December morning when she closed the door behind her, slid her oversized sunglasses on her face and slipped behind the steering wheel of her vehicle and drove herself to her mother's house. That morning, she rubbed her skin raw, but could never rid her mind of his memory. Every touch, every kiss, every moan elicited by him and from him. The way their bodies moved together, the look on his face as he neared his completion and the way he called her by her proper name 'Nikita' as they climaxed together.— Her mind could not override those little details, so she locked them up and threw away the key. It worked for a time until RJ was born, and each day he grew more to look like his father. A fact which remained unsaid in her marriage but her husband loved her enough and perhaps too much because he stayed. Again, she went through the ritual and banished the ghost to the recesses of her mind until today, when he walked into their lives and threatened to blow it all up.
Her one-night rebellion where she threw caution to the wind and lived recklessly had consequences. As a result, she had to atone for the mess she caused. Michonne took a Kleenex from the pouch in her hand and dabbed the moisture from the corner of her eyes, checked her makeup in the mirror, and practiced her breathing exercise for a few minutes until she felt sure she was once again in control of her emotions. She exited her vehicle and walked towards the building.
…
Deputy Ford hung up the phone and addressed his colleague. "Espinoza, what duh fuck's wrong with him anyway?"
"Damned if I'd know. He's been in a pissy mood ever since he came in."
"Poor boy's arse is whipped. His wife went down to Texas to visit her folks, so he ain't had a good meal in a while. All that shucking of corn gets to a man after a while, you need somethin' soft, tight and wet to bury yourself in every now and then."
"Why don't you lend him blow-up Betty?" Espinoza quipped back.
Ford's complexion reddened but before he could retort, they heard the clicking of footsteps on the tiles and looked up.
Michonne turned left and saw two deputies sitting side by side in cubicles on the far side of an empty bullpen.
"I'm sorry, but there was no one at the front desk and I heard voices. I have an appointment with the sheriff."
Espinoza immediately jumped up and greeted the woman fearing the senior deputy would more than likely say something stupid enough to embarrass the sheriff.
"Deputy Espinoza at your service, ma'am. Who may I say is calling?"
"Mrs. Kennedy."
"Very well, I'll let the sheriff know that you're here." Espinoza offered and walked back to her desk where she used the phone to call the sheriff and relayed the message.
Ford, on the other hand, quietly observed the dark-skinned beauty. She was petite with an athletic build and a good rack. He appreciated her feminine curves and long toned legs. "Ma'am," he called nodding his head slightly and he grabbed his mug and walked past her feigning his need for coffee in order to assess her rear assets.
...
Espinoza knocked and opened the door to the sheriff's office for Michonne to step inside.
"Thanks, Rosita. Remember, no interruptions."
"Yes, Sheriff," Espinoza answered and pulled the door shut and retreated down the hallway to her office. She no sooner arrived at her desk when Ford started his interrogation.
"Did you see her? Since when does the sheriff conduct interviews on the night shift? You don't think she's the reason the missus packed up and left do you?"
"Ford, what the sheriff does is his own business. I get paid to protect and serve not to babysit his surly ass."
...
Rick took in her comfortable attire. The yellow highlighted her smooth dark complexion and made it glow. She looked radiant as always, as if nothing could get under that cool exterior of hers—well almost nothing and that he knew for a fact. He extended his hand to the empty chair inviting her to sit.
Michonne knew what he was doing. He wanted her to speak first to get the upper hand, but she'd never give him the satisfaction so she waited patiently. He wanted something from her. She had to be strong. She looked about his office and took in the container of food in the trash can. That too was probably a ploy to get her to comment about it but she remained quiet. She noticed a photo of a light-skinned Black woman and a little girl on the bookshelf to the sidewall beside his desk but said nothing.
Rick who sat comfortably in his leather chair leaned forward and tented his fingers. The woman before him tested his nerves. She remained erect in her seat like a statue.
"Tell me about him."
"What would you like to know?"
"What's his name?"
"RJ Kennedy."
He raised his brow at her answer, not quite sure how to interpret her response. "RJ?" he asked.
"Richard Jamal," she clarified.
"You named our son after me?" he asked curiously.
"My husband has a twisted sense of humour. Naming our son Richard is equivalent to me wearing a scarlet letter. I named our son Jamal after my husband and we met in the middle and called him RJ."
Rick chuckled. It was so her. She did what she damn well pleased and the man in her life would either have to put up or shut up.
"When's his birthday? What's he like? What's his favourite colour?"
"He was born on September fourteenth at six-thirty in the morning after twelve hours of labour. He's smart, funny, compassionate, energetic, loyal and fiercely protective of his mommy. Regarding his favourite colour, that's tricky—sometimes it's blue, other times it's red, so when he can't decide he wears something purple."
"I see. He's complicated like his mother."
Michonne cleared her throat, mindful of getting off-script. "What exactly do you want, Sheriff?"
"I told you. I want to get to know my boy. I also want him to meet his sister and when the time comes that he's comfortable, I'd like him to spend time at my place too. I would also like to contribute to his upkeep."
His wants seemed reasonable enough but she wasn't about to force a relationship between her son and his father. She would determine the pace. "Why don't we start with you meeting my family, that being my husband and our son and we'll take it from there. And nothing will proceed beyond RJ's comfort zone. Regarding an allowance for his upkeep, you can do that on your end, if and when RJ begins spending time at your place, you'll take care of those expenses assuming, of course, your wife is going to be okay with hosting my child."
"Sounds reasonable enough. Let me worry about my wife."
"The only thing I'm concerned about is my child's well-being nothing else," Michonne added and stood to leave. I have to go, it's late and I have to tuck RJ in."
"I'll walk you out, Mrs. Kennedy," Rick added and stood to accompany her.
"There's no need, Sheriff. No one will attack me in the parking lot. I'm pretty certain criminals don't commit crimes on your doorstep."
"That may be so, but I insist," he added and opened the door for her.
...
"Thank you for seeing me to my car, but I'll save you the trouble. In the interest of full disclosure, my name is Michonne Nikita, a.k.a. Nikki Kennedy."
Rick chuckled softly. "Am I that predictable?"
"Transparently so. You got me here under the guise of wanting to know your son, this is for RJ."
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