A/N: Hi Readers! I normally don't do this, but today is my birthday and I've been doing a whole lot of reflecting. This year has been quite a year and I can say I am truly blessed. I know so many people who have lost so much and suffered during this pandemic and I hope that some of my actions have brought them some comfort. In my prayers, I pray for all who are in pain, feel loss, and or suffering. Knowing this makes my ask seem trivial, but it would still mean the world to me...I'd like to ask anyone reading this to please tell one person about me. This is not an attempt to gain a new reader, but an attempt to truly reach someone, anyone who may need words or acts of comfort. Thank you ...and on to the story! ~Muse~

I can't see it, but I can feel the morning sun on my body. I hear footsteps, and I find myself giddy with anticipation, but then I don't smell fresh air and honeysuckle. My smile turns into a frown when I get a brief whiff of spicy aftershave. I don't hear my angel's voice, but instead a man's gruff baritones. I die a little inside.

She's not coming back.

My one bright spot is gone. I recognize the voice. He's an orderly by the name of Aaron, and of all of them, he's the nicest, but he isn't my angel.

Goddamn, shit... I suddenly think. He isn't going to be bathing me, is he? Thankfully, he doesn't. He feeds me, helps me with my bedpan, and then he's gone, and I'm alone. After a while, I can't take it, the pain is slowly ebbing through my entire body, and push the button attached to my wrist. Footsteps once more, but this time a floral scent comes with them. It is cloying and profuse and I don't like it.

"I'm in pain," I tell her. I'm dying inside, It's physical and spiritual, but I can't tell her that, "I need something for the pain."

"I'll have to check with the doctor," she replies.

While I wait, I think about how simple my life was before all of this shit. Born and raised in Frankfort, Kentucky, I'm the only child, never married, living with my Dad most of my life. My mother was only 42 when she was killed in a car accident. My father, a Veteran himself, had passed away from colon cancer four years ago at the age of 72. He never remarried, I don't ever think he got over my mother. And I understood, they'd know each other their whole lives and married right out of high school. I inherited my modest childhood home after paying for Dad's funeral and selling the house. I have 150k left to me. Single, and rapidly climbing the ranks in the military, I decided to move. My current home is in Atlanta, at Fort McPherson AFB, where I've lived for two years. Now, I'm 32 years old and I don't know what the future holds for me. I know one thing, nothing will ever be like it once was.

After what seems like an interminable length of time she returns, smothering me with sickly floret scents until I can't breathe and I want to vomit, but she helps me swallow some pills and soon I allow myself to sink into the blissful arms of sleep, as the narcotics work their way through my system. I drift off to sleep and I dream of her. That melodic and seductive voice, lulling me, her subtle, and intoxicating scent, tempting me, and her touch, her incredible healing touch...

I'm awakened from my dreaming and it pisses me off.

"It's dinner time," the voice says and, I am sat up by large uncaring hands that shovel food into my mouth...and then he tries to bathe me.

I yell at the guy, "Get the fuck off me...! Go away..!"

I want angel hands. I want to smell her wonderful fresh summer breeze and honey-lemon tea scent. I want to hear her humming and feel her touching and stroking me. Goddamn! I want . . . I want . . . I want . . .!

They send in a doctor named Blake or Phill, and he tries to shrink my head, and I tell him to fuck off too. I don't need therapy, at least not his kind. He asks if I'm mad, and I ask if he's stupid. Of course, I'm fucking mad. Did this guy get his degree with a candy ring at the bottom of a Cracker Jack box? And because I'm fucking mad I move too much, and then I'm in pain and I'm screaming, because someone must be shoving a hot poker up my leg, and still I think it's all better than the emptiness I felt in the morning.

And then there is a sting, and coldness and nothing . . .

I dream. I dream of her, and the wide-open Kentucky meadows and sunlight dappling across a field. I dream of laughter and humming. I dream of hands, and a smile I can't quite see. I dream of a quiet voice and soft caresses across my cheek and jaw. I dream of whisper-light kisses and a minty sweet tongue. Touching, touching, touching . . .

"Rick," my angel says. "Rick, wake up." I wake up, and the heat I feel is not from the sunlight streaming through the windows, and I'm not dreaming of her voice.

"You left me," I respond quietly, and turn my head, I felt so rejected, abandoned.

At first, there is nothing, she's silent, and then she's touching me and whispering sorry, and I'm overwhelmed by the beautiful smell of her, the feel of her, the heat of her, and then her lips...her sweet lips are on mine, but she's still whispering "sorry, sorry, sorry," and I feel her tears, and my tongue darts out to catch one. And now I'm whispering comforting words, and wishing I could touch her and make her feel good.

I tell her to stop apologizing because I'm not sorry about anything except making her cry. She feeds me breakfast, she takes it slow and today the food is very good. She removes the tray, and I hear the water sloshing in the bowl, and I get hard because my dick already has it all figured out. She washes me slowly, reverently, and each touch leaves a trail of fire in its wake. And this time, she doesn't close the door, and we both know the risk, and it makes it that much sweeter, and I want to scream my pleasure out to the world because this woman is making me feel things I've never felt before, but I can't and I don't. I just feel and feel and feel.

And then she's done, and she leans over me, and I can feel her breast touching my shoulder, so I move my shoulder against it gently, and her moan is so low, and desperate and needy, that I can feel myself getting harder. She brushes my lips with hers, and they are like a sweet, minty candy cane.

"Stay," I say to her, suddenly feeling incredibly needy.

"I can't."

"Come back."

"I will."

And then she's gone for a little while and I relax as much as I can. The doctors come, and they take me to x-ray and one of my arms gets a new cast, a smaller one, and I can feel my fingertips again, and I can move my arm, and it's heaven. They tell me not to do too much, not to overexert myself, but I can't stop touching things. I touch my face and my chest. I touch the rails on the bed and each sheet and blanket. I touch the cast on my leg. Then I repeat it all. They don't know what it's like not to see and not to touch. So, I touch and touch, and touch, until my arm throbs from the pain, but it's good pain and I smile, and I fall asleep for a little while.

I wake up and it's dark outside. I've slept through dinner, but that's okay because I got what I needed. I got my lady, my bright spot, and I got my hand back, and the world is a little less shitty now. I have no idea what time it is, but it is very quiet, so I figure it's the middle of the night and everyone is sleeping.

Then I hear the door open and close, and footsteps, and oh God in heaven yes, lemons and honey, and I smile.

"You came back."

"I can't stay away."

Those words say more than any others. She's as drawn to this as I am, and my stomach clenches with happiness. My smile gets impossibly bigger.

"Come here."

And she comes over and sits on the bed, and I raise my hand, and she takes it and guides it to her mouth, and kisses my fingertips. I trace the contours of her mouth and then make my way around her soft delicate face.

"Beautiful…"

Then my fingers make their way to her head, and even though it's awkward and the cast gets in the way, I grab her long, thick locs in my hand and pull her to my mouth. I kiss her gently, enjoying the feel of her lips on mine, soft and full, and then I swipe my tongue against her lips, and we both groan because we just know that this is so right. Her lips part and I slide my tongue in, tasting her, and then her tongue is battling with mine and the kiss becomes more urgent. She straddles me, and we continue kissing, and the weight of her on my body is so welcomed, another link to the world that I'd nearly forgotten. Her chest is crushed to mine as we continue to kiss and lick and nip at each other's mouths and necks and ears. She sits up, and a moment later she takes my hand and guides it to her breast. She raises her blouse and moves her bra, and my fingertips graze her skin, and I feel her nipple harden under my touch. I pinch and she moans softly, her hips grinding into my hardness. I move to the other breast, my hand precisely knowing the way even though I can't see, and I enjoy her reaction as I repeat myself.

"I want to taste you," I whisper.

Her breathing hitches, and then she moves off me for a moment, before straddling me once again. Only this time, she straddles my face and I realize she had removed her panties. I can smell her sweet scent, and she's still honeysuckle, but she's also woman and sex, and I plunge my tongue into her because I just have to feel her on my tongue. She muffles her scream, and her hips jerk reflexively. Now I'm sucking and nibbling and licking, and she's so fucking wet and good. She's whimpering and whispering, "oh God, oh God," and then she starts pumping her hips against my face and I know she's close, so I suck on her clit and work my tongue over it until I hear her strained, "Rick!" Then I feel a gush of moisture on my chin and my mouth, and I lick and lick everything she gives me. I can feel her legs trembling on either side of me. She slides down and kisses me again.

"Thank you," she whispers to me.

I'm wondering why she's thanking me when she's just given me this gift. Then her hand slides down, and she's palming me through the hospital gown, and I can't hold back my moan, but she stifles it with her mouth on mine.

But then she breaks away and I whimper from the loss. I suddenly feel the cool night air hit my dick just before I feel her mouth come down on it, and it takes everything in me not to scream out loud. It's hot, wet, and insistent, and her tongue is running up and down, and just as I'm getting really into it, she moves again…" Michonne?" Just as I began to beg, I feel her, and she's lowering herself onto me, and my brain just shuts down because I can't think at all, I can only feel. I feel her tight and hot around me. I feel her slick and wet and soft. I feel her start to move slowly, sliding me out and taking me back in, and the world starts to spin and spin, until all that's left is me and her, and I want to just stay…buried in her until time ends because nothing will ever feel this good again.

All too soon I feel that familiar clenching in my stomach and I try to hold it back, but I know I can't, and I bring my awkward, cast-covered hand between us and use my fingertips on her, and I beg her to come with me.

So, she does, and I come hard. I'm moaning, and she's whimpering, "Rick, Rick, Rick…" until she collapses on top of me.

She moves to my side, and cuddles into me, her hand idly playing with my chest. I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I know, I'm alone in bed and the sunlight is warming my face, and I can still smell honey on my pillow, and I smile.

"I hope that smile is for me," she says from the other side of the room, and I can feel my smile widen more.

"Good morning, angel," I say, and I hear her chuckle. Then she asks, "Why do you call me that?"

How do I answer her? How can I explain? How do I tell her about her hands, and her smell, and her tenderness? I open my mouth to explain, but my words don't come out and I lamely reply, "Because that's what you are." She laughs again, and I know she's laughing at me, but it's okay because it's a beautiful sound, and I wish I could see her face when she's laughing. I feel the bed shift, and I can smell the bacon. My body stirs slightly from her proximity, and I think, I've just become a morning person.

She finishes feeding me, and I feel her arranging my gown and my sheets, and she whispers, "I'll be right back." The orderly comes in and helps me relieve myself, and then she returns, and I jokingly ask, "What? No bath today?"

"Nope," she replies, and I can hear the nervous smile in her voice. "The doctor is coming up in a few minutes. They're going to remove the bandages on your eyes."

"Ah. So, in a few minutes, I'm going to know if I'm blind or not."

"Yes."

I'm excited and terrified all at once. Excited at the prospect of seeing her, and terrified that I might never get to.

"Stay with me," I say to her, no longer caring how needy I sound.

"Why would I ever leave?" Her reply sends warm stems through my body. I've never wanted any form of eternity until now, I never saw the point. This feeling is so strange; it stretches throughout my whole body. It's overwhelming, yet makes me feel complete. I'm too wrapped in my own emotion to reply, so I simply smile and nod.

A minute later Dr. Greene arrives and explains a few things. My eyes will take time to adjust to the light, I may see spots and stuff like that. Now they're slowly unwinding the bandages from my head. I feel her hand slip into mine, grasping my fingers around the plaster of my cast. I squeeze as best as I can, grateful for her presence.

Finally, the doctor finishes and they slide the last two pads off my eyes. I take a deep breath and open my eyes.