Woah...Seriously guys, woah. The overwhelmingly positive response I received from you guys makes me happier than you could ever know. I'm so glad you guys loved the start of this story and I can only hope you'll continue to love it as I take these characters on their journey.
I really do want to thank each and every one of you individually, but I don't want to distract from the story too much. So, if you want to chat, speculate, etc. feel free to look me up on tumblr (at blackgirlfairy). For now, I'll leave you with the second chapter - Rick's chapter.
I'm seriously looking forward to hearing your thoughts on the chapter! Enjoy!
Two
Cause your pain is a tribute
The only thing you let hold you
Wear it now like a mantle
Always there to remind you
- Third Eye - Florence + The Machine
"Tomorrow isn't going to work for me, Rick."
Rick clenched his jaw and rubbed a hand over his forehead in frustration. "What the hell do you mean tomorrow ain't gonna work for you, Lori?" He tried his hardest to keep his temper under control. "I've had these plans with Carl for weeks. He hasn't been able to stop talkin' my ear off about seeing the Atlanta Braves in person for the first time."
Lori sighed. "I know, I know. I'm just not so sure about you taking him so far away for such a long time."
Her implications made Rick shove up from his seat at his dining room table. When he spoke again, his tone was brittle. "I've never once put my son in danger and you know that," he fumed. "Don't pull that bullshit with me."
Rick felt like sending his fist through the nearest wall. Lori knew that he'd never do anything to hurt Carl. He wasn't the perfect father, not by a long shot, not even before his addiction had taken hold of him so tightly. But even in his worst, most desperate, rock-bottom days he'd never posed a danger to his boy. He'd never gone on a bender with him in the house or driven drunk at any time, let alone with Carl in the car. Rick had tried his hardest to keep his son away from his toxicity and completely unaware of what his father was going through. His ex-wife's suggestion that Carl would come to harm by being around him, especially when he was sober, made him angrier than he'd been in a long time.
The woman on the other end let out another displeased noise. "I know you won't put him in danger, Rick. It ain't about that-"
He cut her off. "What the hell is it about then? The only reason we're havin' this damn conversation is because I agreed to give you full custody until I got my shit together. And now that I've finally done that you're trying to keep me from my boy?"
It had been two years since he and Lori officially divorced, the ink drying on the papers just a few months after he'd tried and failed to stay sober for the third time. Rick had been in a freefall, falling further and further down the hole and desperately unable to crawl out. He and Lori hadn't gone to family court to draw up an official custody agreement. Rick doubted he would have been able to properly argue that he deserved to be in Carl's life at all at the time anyway. Instead, they'd agree that Lori would have full custodial rights until Rick sorted himself out. Honestly, neither of them had been confident that he ever would. Since then, his time with his son had been relegated to nightly phone calls, after school pickups, Sunday afternoon lunches, and the occasional two-hour trip to the park or the movies.
Carl was growing up so fast. At 11-years-old, he seemed to be learning more and more each day. And the fact that Rick wasn't there to witness him in action each and every day was crippling. He had no interest in blaming Lori for his own mistakes. He understood her position - she wanted to protect Carl. Hell, he wanted that too. But he needed her to work with him. Many days, the thought of renewing his relationship with his son was the only thing that kept him from falling off the wagon.
When his cravings for the bottle got so bad that his hands shook. When the mere thought of existing without another drop of liquor made his head spin. When the shame and embarrassment tasted like cheap whiskey as they welled up in his throat. The thought of Carl being proud to call him 'dad' again was the only thing that eased his mind. Rick wanted to be a father again, and at some point, Lori would have to let him.
"Nobody's trying to keep you from anything, Rick," she snapped. "I'm just trying to keep Carl safe. I know you've been sober six months, and you say you're doin' good, gettin' your shit together but Minnie Jackson said she saw you comin' out of Morgan's place the other afternoon. And if you're goin' to bars in the middle of the day…" She paused, her voice adopting that pitying, faux-sympathy tone he hated. "Addiction don't end overnight, Rick. It's okay if you're still strugglin', but I can't let Carl be around that. I just can't."
"I'm not-" he started, then paused. He was still struggling, every single day. But he hadn't relapsed, and he didn't plan to. "Lori, I was at Morgan's to talk about him renewing his distribution contract with the distillery. I was sellin' whiskey, not drinkin' it. And if you stopped listenin' to them goddamn gossipin' hens around town and actually talked to me, you could'a known that already."
He didn't bring up the fact that it had taken all of his strength to set foot into that bar. That once he was inside, watching the patrons nurse their drinks, just as he had not six months ago, his strength had nearly waned. One foot in front of the other, he had to practically beg his old friend to conduct their meeting in his back office. The entire contract negotiation took less than 20 minutes, but the half drunk bottle of Kentucky bourbon on Morgan's desk made it feel like a lifetime. His eyes couldn't help but stray towards it every few seconds. Dark and full, he could almost taste the damn stuff. Just looking at it made his stomach churn in hunger. There must have been some look in his eyes, something sad and desperate that made Morgan take notice. Because one second the bottle stood there, tempting him, and the next it was locked inside his friend's desk drawer. Out of sight, but not out of mind. Rick had no interest in telling Lori that, though.
Lori was quiet for a moment, even in her silence he could tell that she felt embarrassed for assuming the worst of him. "Well, I'm sorry," she said. "But I still think we should be taking things slowly. Maybe Carl can start having dinner at your place a couple times during the week, then we can move up to overnight trips."
It was a reasonable request, he knew it. And as much as he wanted to scream and argue and plead for her to let him make Carl happy with those Braves tickets, Rick knew that this agreement was more than fair. "Alright," he conceded. "Yeah, that sounds good. How about Tuesdays and Thursdays to start. I'll pick him up from school, make sure he gets his homework together, then bring him on home after dinner."
"That sounds good," Lori replied. "We'll start next week?"
"Yeah," Rick said softly. "Can I talk to him now, I want to be the one to break the news."
"Oh, Rick," that tone was back again, making Rick grind his teeth together. "He's outside playin' with one of his friends. But don't worry, I already told him something came up at work. Said you'd take him another time."
Rick had to blink back tears when he thought of how disappointed Carl must have been, of how fucking low he'd fallen as a father. So low that he couldn't even keep his promise to take his boy to a damn baseball game. When he spoke again, his voice was little more than a croak. "Alright, but tell him to call me before he goes to sleep."
He and Lori hung up after a couple of stilted pleasantries and goodbyes. Sitting back down in his chair, Rick looked at the two tickets lying on the table in front of him. They were good seats, right on the diamond infield and perfectly situated behind first base at SunTrust Park. Briefly, he wondered if he should give them away. While they hadn't necessarily been cheap, he wasn't going through the process of selling them to someone else. Luckily, the prospect of losing the cash he'd spent on them didn't faze him - money may have been the only thing he didn't have to worry much about. But as he ticked through the boxes of friends he could gift him to, his mind wandered to the woman he'd met at the AA meeting in Madison the night before.
Michonne, he thought, Michonne Clement. Even in his memories, she was arresting. The woman was so beautiful she almost made him lose his breath. All smooth dark skin, big pretty eyes, and svelte curves he ached to run his hands and mouth over. He honestly wasn't sure what made him approach her at the meeting. One minute he was minding his business, small talking with Hershel, and the next he was striding over to her with a confidence he thought he'd lost. She'd been short with him at first but thawed under his steady gaze soon enough. Their conversation had been short, but Michonne had captivated him the entire time. She was sharp, and witty, and funny and Rick had been sorely disappointed when she'd announced her leave.
As dangerous as it was to admit, he looked forward to seeing her again. He hoped like hell she planned on attending Monday night's meeting in Madison. His eyes strayed back to the two tickets sitting in front of him. Then, all of a sudden, he got a craving of a different kind. One for something sweet, something like a cupcake or a freshly baked cookie.
King County didn't have any noteworthy bakeries. Just the small cake counter in their local grocery store. Atlanta had plenty though. And one, in particular, he was especially curious about. Clementine Cake Shop. Even just the name sounded delicious, much like the woman who owned it.
Pushing back the thoughts of how ridiculous his actions were, Rick grabbed his keys, wallet, and the Braves tickets then made his way out to his truck. Even with the GPS leading the way, the drive to Atlanta flew by in a haze. One minute he was on a well-traveled stretch of Georgia highway and the next he was parked in front of a pretty little bakery in Midtown Atlanta.
Even from the outside, it was a lot nicer than he expected. Located on a busy street in a row of other hip businesses the exterior was white with a large window in front. The name of the bakery, the address, and phone number were displayed in gold script on the glass. Instead of displaying the goods inside, a long white bar stretched along the front window. A part of Rick wanted to turn around, jump back in his truck, and drive back to King County. But a bigger part, the one that won out in the end, forced him to open the door and go inside. He couldn't see her from where he stood in the back of the moderately long line inside, but the place smelled amazing. Freshly baked bread, melted chocolate, smooth buttercream, the scents of the bakery came together in a way that made his stomach rumble.
Rick was greeted by a smiling brunette outfitted in a white and gold trimmed apron and a colorful headband. "Hi," her Georgia twang made the word sound lilted and stretched. "Welcome to Clementine Cake Shop, I'm Maggie. What can I get for you today?"
Rick looked behind her, searching for a glimpse of Michonne as he pretended to look at the menu. Once again, he couldn't see her. "I'll have a small coffee and a piece of that apple crumb cake y'all got right there," he pointed to the display case next to the counter. "And uh…" he coughed. "Is Michonne in?"
Maggie paused and raised an eyebrow. "Michonne?"
"Yeah, Michonne Clement," he answered. "She owns this place, right?"
"Yes…" She continued to look at him dubiously. "Do you have an appointment with her? She only had one consultation for today."
Rick shook his head. "No, I just stopped by to say hello. We're uh...we're friends."
She smirked like she could tell he wasn't being fully truthful. "Friends huh?"
He nodded.
Maggie said nothing for a few moments, just moved over to the fancy coffee machine beside her and pressed the start button. Then, she walked over to the glass display case and cut him a healthy heaping of apple crumb cake and sat it on the counter in front of him with a fork.
"Well," she said finally as she handed him his hot coffee. "Michonne is in the middle of a wedding cake consult right now, but she should be done in a few minutes. You can wait over there," she pointed to the counter spanning the front window. "And I'll tell her you're here."
Rick nodded his thanks and pulled out a twenty from his back pocket, but she shook her head. "Nope, Michonne's friends eat free."
He chose the far end of the bar, nearest to the wall and people-watched through the window as he ate and waited for Michonne to show up. The apple crumb cake was just as unbelievable as he thought it would be. It fresh, moist, and perfectly textured. Rick wondered if Michonne had come up with the recipe herself, if she'd actually been the one to bake it. He bet she had, looking around the bakery again, he could tell that she'd had a hand in every part of the place. He didn't know much about her - almost nothing, really - but he could tell that she had a classy, quiet elegance that he definitely wasn't accustomed to.
The soft clearing of a throat behind him interrupted his thoughts. He stood up from his stool and turned around, his blue eyes widening as he laid eyes on Michonne again. She was dressed differently than she had been at the meeting. Her shapely legs were encased in a pair of light wash skinny jeans, her small feet covered in a clean pair of white Nikes. She wore a white t-shirt with the bakery's logo on the front and her long locs were piled in a bun on top of her head, held there by a headband the same style and color as Maggie's. She was both sexy and adorable, even with the confused, slightly angry look in her eyes.
"What are you doing here?" She asked him.
Rick couldn't help but stare at her a little longer, almost in awe at how beautiful she was. "I'm just eatin' some of this apple crumb cake," he said, not nearly as unfazed as he sounded. "Did you make this yourself, by the way? It's amazin'."
"Yes, I made it," Michonne replied impatiently. "Why are you here in my bakery, Rick Grimes? Are you stalking me or something?"
"Well ain't you presumptuous?" Rick teased.
A dangerous look overtook her face. For a second, Rick almost thought she was going to take a swing at him. "Will you step outside with me for a second?" He questioned.
She sighed and nodded before leading the way outside. Rick silently guided them over to his large black truck, leaning his back against it and crossing his ankles and arms as he watched her stare him down expectantly. Without saying anything, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out the Braves tickets, silently handing them over.
Michonne looked down at them, her face confused. "What are these?"
"They're tickets to tomorrow night's Braves game," he answered. "You want to go with me?"
She looked at him shocked for a moment before she started laughing in earnest. Plush lips parted, long, slender neck revealed as she threw her head back in glee in his expense. "You cannot be serious, Rick," she said once she calmed down. Michonne attempted to hand the tickets back to him. He refused to take them.
"Oh, I'm plenty serious, Michonne. Those are damn good seats, they shouldn't go to waste."
"You don't have anyone else to go with?"
"Sure I do, but I'm askin' you." He was telling the truth. There were plenty of people he could have asked. His best friend Daryl, his business partner Ezekiel. Hell, he could have given them to Morgan so he could take his boy, Duane. But he wanted to go with Michonne. He wanted to learn more about her, to let her get to know him, to just be around her. It sounded crazy, even to him, but it was what it was. He'd never been great at denying himself what he wanted. History had proven that multiple times over.
Michonne shook her head and attempted to hand the tickets back to him again, sighing when it didn't work. "This is crazy, Rick."
"I ain't asking you to marry me, " Rick joked. "It's just a baseball game."
She gave him an impassive look. It was so hard to decipher that he couldn't even tell if she was seriously thinking his proposition over.
"I don't even know anything about baseball."
"I don't care," he replied.
Michonne looked shocked at his blunt answer.
"We don't even know each other," she said. "We probably don't have anything in common."
"We have plenty in common," he replied. "We both live in Georgia, we're both small business owners, we're both drunks."
A thoroughly unimpressed look came over her face. "That's not a good commonality to have, Rick."
"Damn woman, you didn't say they had to be good thangs."
Rick's gaze was stuck on her as she trailed her pink tongue over her lips, moistening the skin there. He thought about his own tongue in its place, kissing her, tasting her. His eyes stayed on her lips for a few beats too long, and when he looked back into her eyes, he could tell she noticed.
"Oh my God," she groaned softly. "I cannot believe I'm actually considering this. What the hell is wrong with me?"
"Nothing," Rick answered the rhetorical question. "You're a smart woman who obviously knows a good opportunity when she sees it."
Michonne tilted her eyes towards the overcast sky and shook her head in exasperation. Rick waited patiently for her answer, a sly smirk on his face.
"Fine," she said finally. "I'll go. But you have to leave now because I have a lot to get done if I'm going to leave early tomorrow."
He couldn't help but grin. "See, just as smart as I thought. Give me your phone."
Rick used her phone to text his, briefly exchanging their numbers, before handing it back to her. "Text me your address."
Michonne looked annoyed at his second demand but did it anyway. "Good," he nodded. "The game starts at 1:30, so I'll pick you up at noon tomorrow."
Deciding not to push his luck any further, he made his leave. "You are not going to regret this, Michonne Clement. I promise."
Rick had expected Michonne to live in some hip condo or fancy downtown high rise. So when his GPS led him to a small suburban neighborhood filled with apartments and townhomes, he couldn't help but be surprised. As he pulled up to the curb outside her home early Sunday afternoon, he witnessed kids outside playing in the street, moms walking strollers, and joggers making their way down the sidewalk. It looked like the perfect place to raise a family, the kind of place he and Lori had talked about settling down in one day before Carl had been born. It did not, however, look like a prime location for a beautiful business woman in the prime of her life.
Michonne came to the door moments after he rang her bell, just a little breathless. "Good afternoon," he greeted her. "You look beautiful."
She looked down at the frayed denim shorts and red and white baseball tee she wore then back up at him, one perfectly arched eyebrow raised. "Thanks, you look nice too." Then she beckoned him inside and closed the front door. "I'll be just a minute, I was just packing my bag."
His eyes followed her as she walked the open floorplan, through her immaculately clean living room, tasteful dining room, and into her modern kitchen. "I'm bringing snacks," she called out to him. "You want anything?"
Rick followed her voice and let out a chuckle as he watched her shove granola bars and mini bags of Cheez-Its into her purse. "They have snacks at the park, Michonne."
"Yeah, shitty overpriced hot dogs and watered down soda."
"Hey now! You can bring all the little snacks you want but I have every intention of buying you one of those shitty overpriced hotdogs."
"Alright," she smirked. "It's your money to waste."
"Damn right."
As Michonne shuffled around, getting her things together, Rick took a closer inspection of her house. His actions halted when spotted something peculiar. It was a rounded clear bottle, nearly empty save for a couple inches of honey brown liquor. On the front of the bottle was a black stamp that read: Kingmaker Whiskey Co. Est. 2010. Rick's heart was caught in his throat.
"It's what was left of my last bottle," Michonne chimed in from behind him. "I know it's a little morbid, but I keep it as a reminder, you know?"
Rick turned around to face her. "Yeah, I get it." He picked the bottle up, feeling the weight of it in his hands as the liquid swished around inside. "It looks like we have another thang in common."
"Oh?"
"Remember when I told you I own a distillery?"
Michonne nodded softly.
"This is mine."
She didn't even bother to hide the surprise on her face. "No...No way...Are you serious?"
"As a damn heart attack," he said before sitting the bottle back on the shelf it sat on.
They stood there silently for a few moments. Rick wasn't necessarily shocked that she'd had his whiskey. They'd been increasingly popular since they first started producing - especially in their home state. But knowing that Michonne had enjoyed it, used it to fuel her own addiction just as he had, made him feel more connected to her. That, in turn, made him feel guilty as hell.
Rick heard Michonne let out a long suffering sigh. "Look, can we just...can we not be two depressing ass alcoholics today," She asked. "Can we just be two people on a date enjoying a damn baseball game?"
He perked up instantly. "Date?"
The dark beauty rolled her eyes at him and walked through the house and out of the front door, leaving Rick to trail behind her like a grinning idiot.
The ride to SunTrust Park from Michonne's place only took about fifteen minutes but it was spent mostly in a comfortable silence. She still made sure to tease him about the George Strait CD playing from his speakers, choosing instead to put on some late '90s R&B. She made every effort not to dance in her seat, but he noticed her fingers softly snapping and her neck bobbing to the low, steady beat. Even just being with her was nice. The easy companionship he'd found with her even after just a short span of time made him feel almost giddy. And the fact that she'd taken it upon herself to call their outing a date had him flying on cloud nine.
It was a warm day, just shy of hot as hell. In normal Georgia fashion it was humid, but not so much so that it made being outside totally unbearable. As Rick and Michonne sat in the sun watching the slow baseball game progress, he watched as a light sheen of clean sweat developed along her hairline and neck. His mouth went dry as she rubbed her cold bottle of water along her face, groaning softly at the cool feeling. He had to shift and readjust in the hard plastic seat as his cock thickened in his jeans. Rick didn't think he'd ever get tired of looking at her. Especially not when she sat next to him, her smooth brown skin glistening and glowing in the sunlight. She was so beautiful it almost hurt to look at her head-on.
"So, you come to these games all the time?" Michonne asked him, working that bottle along the skin of her neck. "I can't imagine willingly sitting out in this heat on the regular."
Rick laughed, "Nah, I haven't been to a baseball game in years. I actually got the tickets for my son but...something came up and he couldn't come."
Michonne didn't look offended that she wasn't technically his first choice in ballgame companions, but she did look surprised. "You have a son?"
"Yep," Rick answered happily. "He's 11 and gettin' more grown on us every damn day."
"Us," she said quietly before she leaned away from him a bit. "Oh God, you're not married, are you?"
"No, hell no. Been divorced two years."
He was pleased with how relieved she looked at his admission.
"What about you?"
"Never married," she replied. "And...and no...no uh kids."
He could tell by the stuttering of her words that there was more to the story. Probably something devastating that she wasn't anywhere near ready to reveal to him yet. So he left it alone. Deciding instead to place one of his large hands on her left knee, rubbing his calloused thumb over the smooth, sun-hot skin there. She looked over at him, brown eyes locking with blue. Rick said nothing and neither did she, their gazes trained on one another as the sounds of the rowdy crowd played out behind them. Rick wanted to kiss her with a desperation that he'd only ever felt for one other thing in his life.
The loud crack of a bat hitting a ball made Michonne jump and draw away from him before he could lean in and seal the deal. As the ball flew out into the stands, signaling a homerun for the Braves, the crowd roared. Michonne seemed caught up in the jubilee of everyone around her, sandwiching her water bottle between her plump thighs as she brought her hands up to clap.
"I guess you were right, Rick," she said to him, her voice lighter than he'd ever heard it.
"About what?"
"I definitely don't regret coming."
He reached an arm out and laid it along the back of her chair. "See, I told you, you'd have a good time with me."
"Now don't get too cocky," she replied, full of faux apathy. "It has nothing to do with you. I'm just really enjoying seeing all the tight asses in those baseball pants."
Rick reached up and tugged on her earlobe in retaliation. Michonne let out an earnest giggle that made him flush in pleasure and adjust himself once again.
After five long, pleasurable hours at the park, four hot dogs, and the complete desecration of the snacks Michonne had packed in her purse, the game ended. With the Braves winning by a 10-point lead, everyone seemed to be in a good mood. Especially Michonne who didn't move out from under the heavy arm Rick kept over her shoulders as they walked back to his truck.
The slight awkwardness didn't even return as the duo stood quietly in front of Michonne's door. The sun was still shined brightly in the late afternoon sky, and Rick could tell that Michonne's skin had darkened up beautifully just a bit more on her legs and arms. He resisted the urge to push her up against the door and capture her lips the way he desperately wanted to.
"Well," Michonne started, her voice less sure that it had been earlier. "Like I said, I had a great time. Thank you for bringing me along."
"You're welcome," Rick replied, stepping closer. "I loved being with you today."
She gave him a small smile. He stepped even closer, this time reaching out to place a hand on her hip. She let out a small gasp. Their faces moved closer. So close that he could feel the puffs of her minty breath across his nose.
"I want to kiss you, Michonne. Will you let me?"
Slowly, with her eyes drooping just a bit, she nodded. Then, he was on her. Relishing in the feel of her full lips, so much softer than his. He moved his hands up to her warm face, thumbs caressing her cheeks as their wet tongues met. She felt unbelievable, like everything good and right and whole. Rick could have lived in that moment forever, with her smooth skin under his hands and her wet mouth yielding to him.
But it was over moments later, with Michonne pulling away and quickly shoving her key in her front door before moving inside. Her actions made it clear that she wasn't going to invite him in. Rick didn't let it phase him. He'd had a taste of her and he had no intention of it being his last.
"So I'll see you tomorrow then, at the meeting?" Rick asked to break their silence.
"Tomorrow," Michonne said, closing her front door quickly. Effectively shutting him out.
On the drive home, Rick realized he hadn't had a craving, hadn't been wracked with guilt, or been bothered by the countless people drinking alcohol at the park. "Rick Grimes the Alcoholic Failure" hadn't made an appearance nearly all day. It was a reprieve he'd only ever felt when he spent time with Carl.
It was such a good feeling. So freeing and exhilarating that it reminded him of his past. Of the days when he'd been happy and unburdened by the monster of addiction that had been firmly riding his back for so long. That was why, the closer he got to King County, the farther he got from Atlanta - and Michonne - the harder it became to convince himself not to turn back towards her.