AN: I know I left things on a cliffhanger in the last chapter, so I'll keep things short here. Once again, thank you all for your feedback and don't be afraid to let me know what you think about this one.

Enjoy!

Six

I want you to want me the way that I want you and more - Jazmine Sullivan - Let It Burn

Rick's breaths were short and labored. Clad in only a pair of ratty old sweatpants he laid out on his couch staring into nothing. Forehead dotted with droplets of sweat as he fought off chills he felt well and truly miserable. More miserable than he had in a long, long time. He screwed his eyes shut tight as the loud, ringing sound of his doorbell filled the house. The noise was enough to make the ringing in his ear vibrate through the rest of his skull. Slowly, he sat up from his position, so out of breath that he had to pause, seated on the couch before he could stand completely. Rick stumbled towards his front door, fumbling with the lock before he opened it to see Michonne Clement standing on the other side, the look on her face terrified and severe.

"Jesus Rick," she said, hurrying past him into the house before closing the door and staring him down. "You look awful."

He coughed. "I'm just a little out of it."

Michonne's eyes widened at his nonchalance. He didn't understand it. Surely, she'd been in the same position he was in before. She should have been used to seeing someone so "out if it."

She took a second to look around his place, noticing the stale smell and the small mess of his living room. The only light turned on in the entire place was a small lamp he kept on one of his side tables. Even the thought of turning on any of the other ones in the house had Rick feeling nauseous.

"When did this happen?" She asked, her soft voice was determined. "Have you been like this since last week?"

Rick shook his head. "Nah, just the last couple of days."

"Good, good. That means you haven't been on a bender."

Rick's eyes widened exponentially. Before he could get a word out she continued talking in low, rushed tones.

"We just need to get you and this place cleaned up, then maybe we can see about getting you to an emergency meeting somewhere close. Does King County have any treatment centers?"

Tired, weak, and worn down as he was, Rick nearly doubled himself over laughing at her. His deep guffaws bounced off of the walls in his quiet home for more than a few beats too long. When he straightened himself up again he saw Michonne staring at him, arms crossed over her chest and an almost unreadably angry expression on her face.

"I know it may be hard to understand right now, Rick. But this isn't funny," her teeth were obviously clenched, though she tried to hide it. "If you handle this relapse appropriately, it doesn't have to completely destroy the other progress you've made."

Rick stepped closer to her, not so close that they were touching, but close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating off of her skin. Seeing her concern for him made him feel just as warm. She was incredibly earnest, and it made Rick's chest tighten up. All that, on top of the fact that she looked so damn beautiful standing there in his living room, made him feel even more drawn to her.

For the first time in weeks, he wasn't thinking about what she'd said to him in the church parking lot. Slowly and cautiously he reached out with both hands, curling them around her soft, bare brown shoulders. His thumbs unconsciously rubbing slowly over her skin. It was ridiculously soft and reminded him of the warm skin of her hips he'd felt when he kissed her for the first and last time. Rick wasn't sure when he'd get the chance to touch her again, if ever, so he relished the feeling.

"Michonne," he said softly, eyes on hers. "I haven't relapsed, I'm just sick."

"What?" Her tone was almost dubious.

"My son, Carl was over here on Tuesday and had some kind of bug. I've been throwin' up and sick as a damn dog since Tuesday night," he was already starting to feel a bit breathless. "The doctor gave me some stuff to help this mornin' but I wasn't strong enough yet to go to the meetin'."

"You're...Sick?" She asked breathlessly.

Rick nodded.

Michonne took a long, ragged breath before she stepped out of his grasp and fell onto the couch. "Jesus Christ, Rick," she exclaimed from her seat. "I could kill you! I thought you were fucked up. I came to make sure you weren't completely gone."

He smiled and sat next to her, careful not to sit all up on her but closer than he would have in the days before. "I figured you just wanted to take care of me in my compromised state."

She gave him a withering look that made him laugh again. "No shit, I swear," he continued. "You were so insistent about comin' to me, I sure wasn't about to pass up the chance to lay eyes on you."

She was silent as she continued to look at him. She didn't break a small smile like Rick thought she would, but her face was much less guarded than he'd seen it in a long while.

"So, what-" his question was cut off by her own statement.

"Well, now that I know you're okay, I should get going," Michonne said as she stood up, straightening out her tank top and moving her purse to the crook of her arm.

Rick stood too, suddenly feeling more energized. "Why don't you stay a little longer?"

"I shouldn't…" she trailed off.

Rick had been careful to be mindful of her boundaries. He wasn't an asshole, he'd been telling the truth when he told her that he had no intention of forcing a connection that she didn't want. There were no plans to "convince" her to entertain him or coerce her into finding him interesting. He'd been trying his hardest to accept that she had no interest and he was mostly succeeding. But seeing her standing there in his living room made him crazy.

There was something soft in her eyes when she looked at him then. Rick couldn't help but interpret the look as one of openness. He sent a prayer up, nearly begging the powers that be not to have him pushing her limits before he spoke again.

"Why don't you stay a little while? You already came all this way, it would be a shame for all that drivin' to go to waste," he flashed her a smile. "I even have a can of Campbell's chicken noodle soup with your name on it if you want."

Michonne stared at him silently for a few moments. His heart pounded as he imagined her thinking of ways to turn him down gently.

"Okay," she said. "Sure. I guess you still need someone to take care of you."

Rick grinned and forced himself to walk away from her. Physically separating himself so he didn't grab her up in a hug like he really wanted to.

Minutes later he stood by the stove, slowly heating up a couple cans of soup while Michonne sat at the dining room table, her intense eyes locked on him.

"So how was the meeting?"

She blew out a breath. "Hershel gave another sermon on personal accountability."

Rick let out a bark of laughter.

"What?" Michonne asked, furrowing her brow.

"Sermon?"

Her tinkling chuckle had him closing his eyes to hear her better. "I'm never sure what else to call them. They sound like sermons to me."

"I thought the same damn thang," he replied. "I know he said he used to be a veterinarian but I ain't sure he didn't moonlight as a preacher too."

"Right! And he's so good at it. I've never seen a white man so good at delivering a righteous word."

Her playful admission warmed him. Rick loved that she was becoming comfortable enough to joke with him again.

"One of these days he's gon' fuck up and accidentally pass out Communion to a bunch of drunks."

"When that day comes, let's hope he doesn't get run over by the stampede of alcoholics trying to chug the "blood of Christ."

Rick snorted as he poured their soup into bowls and grabbed some saltine crackers. "If there's any liquor I can resist, it's Communion wine."

The soup wasn't great. It was lacking in flavor and a little salty and the texture of the chicken was truly bizarre. But Rick couldn't help but be grateful for it as he watched Michonne purse her full lips to blow on a spoonful of it.

"Seriously," he started, unable to stop himself. "I'm really thankful you came out here."

"Even if I ended up having you make me soup?"

"Especially because you let me make you soup." Rick took a sip of his ginger ale. He wanted to ask her if she'd changed her mind about not wanting to see him, but he didn't want to rock the boat too much too soon, so he went with something else. "So how you been? I know you've got some interesting shit goin' on in that life of yours."

Michonne shook her head back and forth but she didn't tense up at the question. Rick counted it as a win. "Nope. Absolutely nothing. I go to work, then I go back home. I'm trying to keep a routine, stay busy, you know?" She snapped her fingers. "I did start taking a Pilates class once a week though."

Rick raised an eyebrow. "That the one that makes you all flexible?"

"No, Rick," she rolled her eyes playfully. "That's yoga." She took a sip of her drink too, then looked up at him through her eyelashes. "Pilates gives you stamina and endurance."

He leaned back in his seat and watched as her eyes strayed from his face to his chest. Rick had been shameless. Choosing not to put on a shirt on purpose. Even if she didn't want to be with him, he knew that she was still attracted to him. He could see it in the way her gaze lingered along his bare chest for too long, in the way her pink tongue came out to moisten her lips. Her reactions were small, but they were mighty to him. He was forced to adjust himself in the chair, hoping that his unrestrained, hardening dick didn't make too much of a scene in his grey sweatpants.

As much as he wanted to tease her and continue their short bout of flirting, as much as he - sick and weak as he was - wanted to stretch her out on the dining room table and dive into her, he didn't. Instead, he let their short silence drag out for a little longer than necessary. Until Michonne felt the need to fill it herself.

"So, what about you?" She asked after clearing her throat softly. "What have you been up to?"

"Pretty much the same as you. I ain't doin' no Pilates, but I'm tryin' to keep a routine. Get my work done, see my boy whenever I can. Try not to die from the overwhelmin' boredom of livin' life like this."

Michonne laughed, her pretty white teeth flashing at him from across the table. He couldn't help but answer with a grin of his own.

"So true," she said. "I haven't wanted to admit it, but the routine gets very boring after a while. It makes me feel old as hell. Is that what sobriety is? Behaving like you're 85-years-old so you don't fall off the wagon?" More giggles erupted from her.

Rick was mesmerized, he'd never seen her freer. Sitting at his dining room table, she was even more open than she had been on their date. He was almost moved into silence at the sight of her laughter. But he felt compelled to show her that he could keep up with her wit.

"If that's the case, we might as well throw in the towel now."

By the time their bowls of soup had finally dwindled down, Michonne's eyes were filled with a lightness Rick never wanted to see leave them. She kept it, even as she stood up from her seat at the table to prepare to leave. "Thank you for the soup, Rick. I'm glad you're okay, but I actually should be getting home now."

Rick turned around and looked at the clock on his microwave. It was nearing midnight. Rick knew she was a grown woman, certainly more than capable of taking care of herself. But the southern gentleman in him felt wrong about letting her travel the hour and a half back to Atlanta to late by herself. The feeling was only exacerbated by the fact that he desperately didn't want her to leave him.

"It's so late," he spoke, his heart seized at the leap he was about to take. "I don't want you travelin' back home by yourself so late and I ain't in a position to make the drive with you. Anything could happen."

"I have a cell phone," she replied.

"Service gets spotty on the highway between here and Atlanta. Maybe you should just stay here tonight."

"Rick…" She sighed, sounding desperately like she was trying to convince herself not to stay.

"We can watch a movie, maybe eat some more soup. I'll take the couch since I've been sleeping there anyway. You can have the entire bed to yourself."

He stayed quiet and waited for her to answer. If she denied him, he would accept it. But he'd meant what he said about it being too late for her to travel alone. Rick would be forced to get into his truck and follow her back to Atlanta to make sure nothing happened to her. The longer she took to answer him, the more he cemented himself to the idea that he would be partaking in a mini road trip.

"Okay," she said it so softly that Rick wasn't sure he heard her.

"What was that?" He asked her to clarify.

"I said okay, I'll stay," she pointed a long, thin finger at him. "But no funny business Rick Grimes."

He held both of his hands up in surrender, his face split in a giant grin. "You got nothin' to worry about, Michonne. I'll be on my best behavior. Promise."

He woke up on the couch again. The sun was filtering in brightly, even though the closed curtains in his front window. Instantly, he recognized that he felt a lot better. His head pounded less, his stomach felt settled, and his body temperature seemed normal. The only thing bothering him was the crick in his neck. It took a few moments for him to realize that he'd fallen asleep in a seated position. He didn't have the time to contemplate why before he felt her next to him...and under him. Rick looked to his right and saw Michonne curled up along the length of the couch. Her bare feet were tucked snugly underneath his thigh, he could feel their warmth even through his thick sweatpants.

He couldn't help but stare at her. Taking in the way her skin glowed with the morning sun. See how her long locs splayed around her face and the furniture under her. Even the way her chest rose and fell had him enraptured. She was beautiful. Rick shook his head silently when the word didn't seem to capture her fully. No, she was indescribable. She was captivating in a way that made his breath short. So utterly fucking awe-inspiring that he was positive he could have watched her sleep silently for a lifetime.

Rick forced himself to stand up and separate himself from her. He went to the kitchen and put some coffee grounds and a new filter in his old school pot and turned it on. Then he made his way to the bathroom for a shower. Ignoring his morning wood by dousing himself in cold water, he made it quick. He washed the remaining sickness sweat from his body in record time, wanting to be fresh and ready for Michonne when she woke up.

He was in his bedroom, pulling a black t-shirt down over his torso when he heard a strong knock at his front door. Hurrying towards the sound, he took a quick glance at his couch to find that the woman previously sleeping on it wasn't there. Rick would have panicked if not for the fact that her purse and shoes were still neatly situated next to his coffee table.

He was unable to hold back the surprise on his face when he saw his son standing in front of the door. "Carl? What are you doing here?"

Carl smiled, holding up a clear container of soup. "I wanted to check on you. You know, since I got you sick and all. Sorry for that by the way."

Rick looked behind his son, expecting to see his ex-wife sitting in her car in her driveway. Instead, he saw nothing. "Carl, how did you get here? You didn't walk, did you?"

The 11-year-old shook his head, his long, floppy hair shaking. "No, mom's friend drove me."

Lori had never had a friend bring Carl to see him before. She always wanted to make sure Rick was sober and alert before she left their son with him. He found it incredibly strange, but before he could question the boy further, Carl moved past him and into the house.

He heard two sharp intakes of breath, then realized that Michonne was still in the house. Rick closed the door and turned around to find both Carl and Michonne looking at him. Her with an awkward, caged expression on her face and his boy with unrestrained surprise.

"Uh…" Rick cleared his throat. "Carl, this is Michonne. Michonne this is Carl Grimes...my son."

Michonne nodded her head and smiled, it was small and a little forced. "Hello, Carl. Nice to meet you."

"You too," the boy said softly. "You're my dad's girlfriend?"

The choked sound that came out of Michonne's throat would have been comical if the situation was any less awkward. "No," she told him forcefully. "Not his girlfriend, we're just...we're friends."

Carl looked skeptical, the way he always did when he thought he was being lied to. But he was a polite boy, so he accepted her answer nonetheless. "Okay. You want to eat soup with us?"

The smile she flashed him was much more genuine. "No, sweetie. Thank you, but I should really be heading home."

Like the evening before, Rick geared himself up to convince her not to leave. But his son got there before him. Carl walked a little further into the house, standing in front of Michonne, smiling boyishly up at her.

"You don't have to go now, do you? It's still so early, maybe you can hang out with me and my dad."

Rick had to hold back a smile as he slowly watched her break in front of his son. He could almost see the exact moment when she made her decision to stay at Carl's behest.

"Alright," she said softly. "I'll stay for a little while. But I can't eat any more soup."

"I can make us some pancakes," Rick said from across the room, causing both Carl and Michonne to look at him.

The woman turned her nose up at him. "I hate pancakes."

"Waffles?" Carl offered.

"Those are basically the same thing," Michonne laughed. "How about I make something?"

She made her way into the kitchen, leaving Carl and Rick to follow her obediently. They watched as she searched through Rick's cabinets, pulling out various ingredients before grabbing the bunch of fresh bananas from the top of his refrigerator.

"Have you guys ever had Beyens?"

The father and son duo sat after confirming that they hadn't.

"They're Haitian banana fritters. Usually, you eat them for dessert, but I'm in the mood for something sweet this morning. How does that sound, Carl?"

"I love sweet stuff!" The boy exclaimed.

She turned around and looked at him for a moment, the corners of her eyes pinching just the slightest before she smiled at him. "Me too."

The kitchen was doused in a comfortable silence as they watched her cook. Even Carl, talkative as he could be sometimes, seemed enraptured by her.

Rick felt almost giddy to be able to see her in her element. She seemed comfortable as she heated up oil in his mama's old cast iron skillet. Her shoulders relaxed every time she dropped the mixture of mashed bananas, flour, eggs, milk, and sugar into the oil. The sizzle of the frying fritters seemed to make her come alive. By the time she had them dried and placed on plates to serve them along with glasses of milk, Michonne was positively floating.

She watched patiently as Carl took his first tentative bite. "Do you like it?"

Carl nodded his head enthusiastically, taking another large bite. "Mmmhmm, it's so good!"

Michonne looked over at Rick too, happy to see him enjoying her treat before she dug into her own. "I haven't made these in so long. Years actually," she told them softly.

"Who taught you how to make them?" Carl asked.

"My daddy," she replied. "My grandmother used to make them when they lived in Haiti and he taught me when I was a little girl."

"You're Haitian?" Rick asked, excited to have learned another thing about the enigmatic woman.

"Just my dad," she answered. "Mama's from Atlanta. Born and bred."

"You live in Atlanta, Michonne?" Rick didn't even have it in him to reprimand Carl for speaking with a mouth full of food.

"Sure am, you ever been?"

"Yeah, my class went to the Children's Museum on a field trip last year, it was so cool."

"It sure is," she said indulgently. "I used to take my son there all the time."

Rick looked up at her in surprise, but she wasn't looking at him. Instead, watching Carl scarf down his last fritter. She'd given the small detail without any prompting or pain in her voice. He'd never heard her speak of her son with anything less than despair.

"You have a son?" Carl was excited. "How old is he?"

Michonne's eyes widened as if she finally realized what she'd said. She stammered a bit, looking both unsure and unwilling to answer the question. Rick tried his hardest to save her.

"Carl, why don't you gather up these plates and put them in the dishwasher. I'll clean up the rest later."

He could tell his son wanted to push a little more for Michonne's answer, but Rick gave him a small push, the look on his face making it clear that the conversation was over.

He didn't think twice about reaching across the table to her and grasping her warm hand. He counted it as a victory when she didn't pull away. Instead, looking thankfully into his eyes as his thumb rubbed soothingly over the skin on the back of her hand.

Their moment of silence was over when Carl came back to the table. Rick sent up one silent prayer when his son didn't ask Michonne about her son again and another when the boy convinced her to stay and play a few board games with them.

One raucous game of Monopoly, an equally intense bout of Uno, and halfway through The Incredibles later, Rick found himself full of something he had a hard time putting a name to. The passing hours had seen Carl and Michonne become fast friends. She knew a surprising amount about his favorite comic book characters, had seen almost all of his favorite movies, and even shared his love for his favorite candy bar - Big Kat. She was amazing with him. Attentive, engaging, and enthusiastic. Rick could easily picture her as a mother to her own son. It was both heartbreaking and beautiful to see her interact so well with his.

Their day was cut short, however, when Lori called Rick around 3 p.m. and asked him to bring Carl home. He agreed reluctantly, not wanting to push his luck with their visitations but still more than a little annoyed.

He shuffled Carl into his truck and had Michonne promise to stay at his house until he returned before they were off.

"I like Michonne," Carl said after trying unsuccessfully trying to find a good song on the radio.

"I do too," Rick answered with a smile.

"You sure she's not your girlfriend?"

"Yes," the father laughed. "I'm sure, Carl."

"Well...maybe she should be."

Rick silently agreed with him. Their time spent together had only served to make him more drawn to her. Rick wasn't sure how he was supposed to go back to the avoidance they'd shared in the weeks before. He hoped like hell he didn't have to.

"We'll see bud," he ruffled Carl's hair. "Only if I can get her to like me."

Carl rolled his eyes. "I think she already likes you, dad."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. She smiles a lot when you talk and stuff. And she went easy on you when we were playing Uno. You don't do that unless you like somebody."

Rick laughed at his son's oversimplified definition as they pulled into Lori's driveway. Instead of letting Carl out of the car alone, he walked him to the door, greeting Lori as she answered the ringing of the bell.

He watched as their son bid him goodbye and ran into the home before turning to look at her again.

"Who was it that dropped Carl off at my place this mornin'?"

She furrowed her dark brows and pursed her thin lips a bit. "I had a friend drop him off because I had to run to mama's for somethin'."

"A friend?" Rick questioned. It was the second time he'd heard it that day and he was more than suspicious. "Who was it? Carol Peletier?" He inquired about Lori's neighbor who had a daughter that Carl sometimes played with.

"No, Rick. Just a friend from work."

He figured it must have been one of the other secretaries Lori worked with at the Sheriff's station, so he dropped it.

"Lori, thangs are changin' now. I'm in Carl's life more, I'm here and I ain't goin' anywhere. That means I deserve to know what's goin' on with our boy. If you want me to get him, just tell me. Don't have random people droppin' him off at my house without so much as a showin' their face to me while they do it."

She didn't look happy to hear him making demands, but she accepted it anyway. "Alright."

"Good," he said, hoping the finality in his voice left no room for further discussion. "Have a good one then. Tell Carl I'll call him tonight."

His mood was immediately soured when he pulled up in front of his home to notice that Michonne's car wasn't parked in front of his detached garage. When he entered the house, he could still smell her clean, floral scent wafting in the air. He cursed, throwing his keys down on the table in frustration before checking his phone. She hadn't left him a goodbye text or initiated a phone call either. For the first time, he found himself angry at her. They'd spent so much time together, he deserved a least a goddamn goodbye.

Sitting down on the couch, slouched in defeat, he perked up when he saw a piece of paper on his coffee table. It was folded over and had his name written on the front in flowy, beautiful script.

Rick,

Sorry I had to leave so soon. I promised my friends I'd go out tonight and forgot all about it until you left. I'll call you later to make sure you're still feeling well. Thanks for a great night/day.

Rest up,

Michonne

The letter was short. There were no flowery declarations or admissions of love, but it made him happy all the same. It was incredible, knowing that she hadn't run away from him in fear. He folded the letter up until it was a small square then placed it in the leather wallet he pulled from his back pocket. Insignificant as the letter may have seemed, Rick fully understood the gravity of it. He knew better than to downplay anything when it came to Michonne Clement.