I don't own the walking dead
Chapter II: Delivery room… & consequences
When Michonne meets Rick at the airport, she feels as if nothing ever happened between them. She is still his wife, and Rick remains her husband. Although, the absence of rings on their fingers speak volumes.
Michonne's hand suddenly feels weightless. She looks at it, and the mark on her ring finger has completely disappeared. Nine long months have passed.
"You didn't have to come," Rick says when he finally stands before Michonne. "I would have taken a cab to my hotel." He adds with softness. "You need to rest in your state."
"Someone couldn't wait to meet you," Michonne retorts with a laugh. "I wanted you as well to meet him as soon as you could." She adds and takes Rick's hand. "Say hello to our lil' boy."
Rick brightly smiles, and he tears up. He carefully presses his hand on Michonne's belly.
"Hello," Rick gently whispers. "Daddy is happy to meet you."
Michonne feels content. She had not forgotten how Rick's presence always brings her peace. She lovingly looks at him.
"I will take you to your hotel," Michonne declares. "Fourteen hours of flight, you must be fried." She extends her hand toward Rick, and he takes it.
"You shouldn't drive, Chonne." Rick notices.
Michonne sighs with amusement. She already knew that Rick would be overbearing.
"A cab," Michonne answers. "I came in one, and we're leaving in one." She adds to pacify Rick. "I also know you're too exhausted to reach your hotel without my help. Relax, pretty boy."
Spending time waiting in traffic brings some thoughts to the surface. Michonne and Rick share looks and smiles. Quickly, their reunion feels like some higher power has unpaused their lives.
Rick hesitantly slides his hand toward Michonne, and she takes it. In such a simple gesture, Rick has the answer, which he needs. Michonne has forgiven and forgotten all of Rick's mistakes.
Now, Rick and Michonne have to be patient as the taxi travels through the roads of Rome. The wait seems too long when they have not seen each other in ages. Michonne and Rick have quiet conversations, which end in boisterous laughs.
"I missed you," Michonne says, and she squeezes Rick's hand. "I miss you," She corrects her tense because the longing has not disappeared yet.
"I'm right next to you," Rick retorts. "I'm with you, Chonne." He kisses their joined hands.
"Not in the way I need you." Michonne comments. "I miss you," She blushes.
"As long as you want me," Rick declares. "You want me?"
Michonne does not want Rick or at least not until they clear the air. Her summer dress is on the floor next to his shirt and pants. Rick lies between Michonne's leg, and his mouth kisses her neck until she moans.
Yet she wants him but not without understanding where they stand. Rick takes a hold of Michonne's chin, and he brings her lips where he can kiss them.
Michonne has missed him. His touch awakens her senses. In Rick's arms, Michonne is alive. She kisses him passionately, and her soul flows through her caresses. Michonne has longed for Rick, and her yearning dies in his hands.
She moans and chases the comfort of his caress. His palms are warm, and Rick is attentive and gentle. Michonne remembers sex with Rick to be reckless. Her protruding stomach seems to bring a softer side out of him. Yet, their passion has not died.
Michonne cries from pleasure when his mouth covers her cunt. His tongue cleans her feminine nectar. He sucks and licks until her legs tremble. In matters of minutes, she has an orgasm, and his tongue can testify of it.
Rick slides his fingers between Michonne's one and intertwines their hands. He kisses her stomach and her breastbone. The journey of Rick's lips on her skin ends on her lower lip, which he takes between his teeth. Michonne moans, and he drinks the sound of her pleasure. Again, Rick kisses Michonne with abandon. His longing and needs pour in his loving caress.
"I love you," He says when breaking their kiss.
His hand tangles in her locks, and Rick has missed rolling her hair around his finger. He has missed Michonne. He has yearned for her touch and the smile, which his confession has left on her lips.
Rick kisses away her grin. He feasts on Michonne's joy and the peace, which it brings to him.
"I love you," He says yet again. "I love you," Rick repeats.
Michonne laughs and kisses Rick before he says those words two hundred seventy-nine times to make up for the days when they were apart.
"Then you should make love to me," She whispers against his lips.
Rick obeys her command. Michonne basks in pleasure as Rick's manhood ploughs her cunt. Time has not erased his knowledge of her body. Michonne clings to Rick as he drives her to the edge. She loses her breath at each thrust, and Michonne's nails sink in his back when Rick picks up his speed. Michonne moans and calls his name until her voice dies as she falls in the arms of a petite mort. Rick follows a few minutes later, and he kisses Michonne's forehead.
Michonne frames Rick's face. Her thumb gently dances on his jawline. She draws the details of his face, which almost faded from her mind. Michonne looks into the depth of Rick's soul.
"I'm sober, Chonne." Rick responds before Michonne dares to ask. "For our baby and you," He adds.
"I love you," Michonne ultimately finds the confidence to risk her heart. "He is going to love you too." She smiles and kisses his nose bridge.
"When he is here, I will be the father that he deserves and the husband that you love."
The smell of bleach and chloride renders Rick sick and adds to his uneasiness. The white corridor has the accent of death, and the bright light never helps to soften the picture projected. Rick hates hospitals after spending the worst days in his life in those places, but he has no choice today. He should be a father in a few hours.
Rick looks at his overall appearance, and his fingers ruffle his curly mane. The bathroom lights flicker every minute. He hates hospitals, and he is familiar with the intensive care unit. Despite his familiarity with the place, there is a strong difference between being a patient and being a family member. Now, he understands where Michonne picked a fear of the hospital. Between her mother and Rick, Michonne has lived nothing but trauma in these places
A day ago, Michonne started her labour, and they expected a son for yesterday. Twenty-four hours later, Michonne has not given birth, and Rick has had the time to learn the horrid medical term, abnormal labour.
The events unfolding are stressful. He does not know neither the fate of Michonne nor their child's one. Rick is slowly losing his mind. Watching Michonne suffer is unbearable, and yet Rick has to bear it for Michonne's sanity. He stays around Michonne and attempts to convince her that their son will be soon in her arms.
For the first few hours, Rick firmly believes those words. Now, he lies mostly to calm Michonne. He kisses her forehead each time that she wears a frown, which is not often.
A few bleedings later and an incredible amount of tests, Michonne is still the picture of grace. Although, Rick knows she is pretending for everyone's sake.
"I love you," Rick whispers in Michonne's ear. "I'll be back in a second." He declares as he kisses Michonne's forehead.
"Are you okay?" Michonne inquires with a suspicious glance.
"Why wouldn't I?" He retorts.
"Because this is stressful," Michonne comments. "Our little man has chosen to make quite the entrance. I'll understand if you…"
Rick interrupts Michonne with a gentle kiss.
"As long as you're fine, I'm okay. Just grabbing a bottle of water." Rick declares as he begins to leave the room. "Learning resilience and calm from the best teacher."
Rick does not have Michonne's resilience. When stress enters the equation, he crumbles. Rick wants to support Michonne the best he can. The experience is awful and stressful. He experiences every second of anxiety. Rick and anxiety are a dangerous mixture. During stressful times, his body seeks numbness, which is why he leaves Michonne's room.
Rick continues to stare at his apathetic reflection. He sighs and attempts to warm his abnormally pale skin. Rick knows that he is taking too long to return, and Michonne needs him now.
At some point, Rick expects the nurse to come to fetch him while she shouts that his wife has started to push. Michonne will never forgive him after she finds out, but he wants to give her the best of him. He has lied to her the last few days, and Michonne did not notice. She was too happy to question his euphoria.
Rick searches inside his pocket, and he wonders if he needs to keep his promise. Since he almost broke down in the waiting room, he needs an extra dose. The pregnancy was technically a safe one, and now he may lose a child and ex-wife girlfriend.
Rick needs to keep his mind together, and Michonne's abnormal labour causes an increase in anxiety. He finds the transparent yellow box filled with his opioid pills. Rick sighs and places some pills on his palms.
"It can't hurt."
Rick seeks relief and takes three pills in his hand. However, he has a moment of lucidity. Tonight, he needs to put the woman he loves above personal comfort. Michonne's safety and mental balance should be his priority. The future for their son is not bright. If anything happens to the baby, will he be of any support with numb emotions? Rick questions himself while he stares at an exhausted version of him.
The medical staff already took blood samples from him in case their son suffers any visible sign of haemolysis because Rick and Michonne have different blood rhesus. Consequently, their son may suffer from the haemolytic disease of the newborn. She is an O positive, and he is an extremely rare type, O negative. Once born, their son may need extra plasma and blood. Rick is the immediate donor. He should not take the risk.
Another dilemma begins, but such choices should not lead to a conundrum. When Rick considers taking fewer pills rather than suffering through the side effect of withdrawal, guilt overwhelms him. His son's life may depend on the purity of his blood. Rick looks at his reflection in the mirror. Michonne's words echo in his mind. Rick feels like a monster, and perhaps, he thinks like one.
"Who are you?" Rick questions his reflection, which stares back with dead eyes. "A piece of shit," he sighs.
When Rick met Michonne, he was a man whose words had value. He was one to save her from herself. Rick fears the withdrawal symptoms, which started to overtake his body. However, thoughts of Michonne's reaction and the pain, which she heroically endures, ground him.
Regretfully, Rick stares at his hand. He has pretended to be sober for the last few days, but tonight lives depend on his sobriety. Rick feels powerless. Yet, he loves Michonne beyond his weakness.
Rick will hold another hour without the pills. If he takes the drug now, Rick will not have the courage to return to the room where Michonne awaits him. He needs to be able to face his ex-wife. Michonne will have the support, which she deserves. Rick will never let her battle with the pain alone while she bravely brings their son into this world.
Rick throws the pills in his hands down the toilet and flushes. He needs another way to control his physiologic reaction to the lack of opioids. Rick reads on the toilet door, and he stands in a non-smoking area. Despite the warning, Rick needs a replacement for the drug. The withdrawal symptoms are horrible. Each second, he loses pieces of his sanity. Rick can endure the physical pain, but the fragility of his mind remains the door through which his demons slip back into his life.
Rick pulls a cigarette pack from his pocket, and another broken promise. He had not smoked until Michonne left, and now Michonne would be furious if she saw him ruining his lungs as her mother did. Rick hides in a booth and reaches for a smoke detector, which he recovers with toilet paper.
Rick sits on top of a toilet seat and lights his cigarette. The first smoke liberates his mind and washes away the bitter taste in his mouth. Increasingly, he has less tremor in his hands. Busy hands help him to avoid thinking of such things as future body ache and hallucination.
Rick smokes cigarettes after cigarettes until his mind clears. Once able to breathe without experiencing nausea, he walks out of the room. Rick rushes between the hospital corridor and returns to Michonne's side.
"You forgot the water bottle," Michonne declares. "And you smell like an ashtray." She comments. "I would love to have a cigarette too." Michonne laughs.
"I got you water," Rick drags a tiny bottle from his pocket. "I'll stop smoking tomorrow or when the lil' prince comes out."
Michonne smiles and takes the bottle of water. She drains it in a breath.
"Are you okay now?" Michonne inquires.
Rick slides next to Michonne, and she is still not dilated enough to start delivering. Unfortunately, her contractions are worse. Michonne extends her hand for Rick to take. The present situation has dissipated the awkwardness, which tainted their interaction since he reached Rome and they had sex.
Michonne and Rick had a complicated and yet sometimes simple week trying to avoid any meaningful conversation while maintaining the most contact and intimacy.
The present events are the apogee of those two weeks. Michonne and Rick cannot pretend tonight, and they need the other. Rick kisses the palm of her hand, and he keeps her hand pressed to his nose. Her scent suffices to calm him and diminish his anguish.
"You look sick." Michonne stares at him.
The dark circles under Rick's eyes solidify her assumptions. Rick squeezes Michonne's hand.
"My wife is having the worst day of her life," Rick retorts. "I only look at that part of the day." He kisses Michonne's fingers.
Michonne smiles, but she still eyes Rick curiously. Since he reached Rome, Michonne has questioned his health. After she left, he lost an enormous amount of weight. His lifestyle has many side effects. When he does have to pretend for Michonne's sanity, Rick does not eat or sleep unless his body threatens to shut down. His pills keep him going for days. Therefore, he fed himself with drugs, and he continued working.
"There is a reason I call you pretty boy," Michonne comments.
Her fingers disappear in Rick's curls, and she attempts to fix his appearance.
"I'm pretty," Rick answers. "It's in the name."
Michonne chuckles and fixes one last curl. Her palm cradles Rick's cheek.
"I never saw anyone look pretty while overdosing," Michonne retorts. "I was trying to save your life, and you looked angelic. I think it said how messy anything between us could be. The escort and the pretty boy." She declares with some nostalgia.
"For reference," Rick smiles. "I can afford to be a mess tonight. I'm having the worst day of my life watching you go through this." He confesses. "Plus the lighting is shit." He jokes. "Don't worry, love. It's the lighting."
When the led lights hit Rick, they highlight his flaws. His sobriety reveals his physical flaws, and his sickness is unmistakable. Pale skin, sweaty forehead and sunken eyes are standing out when just three hours ago he looks healthy. Now the drugs are out of his bloodstream.
The last two-week, Rick was never sober around Michonne. Although, He took fewer pills to avoid the physical appearance of an intoxicated individual. Michonne always looks in his eyes when she addresses him, and so he knows dilated pupils would have betrayed him. He kept his lies intact, and so Rick has no choice but to lie more to Michonne.
"You're going to have a meal for me," Michonne declares. "I'll stop worrying when I have my pretty boy back."
Rick attempts to smile and hides his discomfort between little chuckles. Michonne is always so observant, which is why his past attempt to hide his addiction failed. Rick leans down, and he kisses Michonne's forehead.
"Thirty hours in, you still look radiant. However, I ain't a gorgeous goddess. I need my beauty sleep or I look like shit." There is underlying panic in his voice. "I'll grab a sandwich later."
Michonne wants to laugh, but her abdominal muscles will not allow movement. She snorts between wincing. Her contractions are closer, but her stage of labour is slow. Michonne looks at Rick, and she tries to put on a brave smile. However, she is living a personal nightmare.
"Are you going to get me a channel dress after this?" Michonne teases.
"Every article in the shop," Rick kisses Michonne's forehead.
The inside joke makes him hopeful. Michonne has not lost her humour. She is as lively as when she almost convinced him to buy her a channel dress after ruining her pink bubble gum dress. Rick fondly thinks of their first encounter.
"Such a good husband," Michonne says. "You're going to be even a better father."
The young woman's hand latches on his hand, and she closes her eyes. Rick's thumb caresses the corner of her hand. He attempts to focus on Michonne, and the bitter taste on his tongue makes it hard to comfort her with words. Although, nothing stops him from being present. Rick tells her more jokes, but soon, silence overtakes the room. With her eyes closed, Michonne attempts to think positively.
"They're going to be fine." He whispers to himself and continues to squeeze their joined hand. "I love you." Rick says for Michonne to hear.
Two hours later, Michonne's condition has not changed. Her cervical dilation is still zero, but her contractions are regular. The young woman is in immense pain, and she cannot keep the pretence. Something is wrong with their son because he is moving less. Helplessly, she stares at Rick, and she does not know how to tell him.
Tears fill Michonne's eyes. For the first time since Rick and Michonne's nightmare started, Michonne cries. She tightly holds Rick's hand and helplessly sobs.
"He isn't moving."
Now, Michonne needs her rock, but she is afraid to share the terrible truth. Their son has stopped moving. Rick is as afraid as she is, but he will never abandon Michonne when she needs him the most. He decides to be optimistic for once. He will keep the flame of hope burning for her.
"Chonne, Breathe! He is coming. He is just late," Rick confidently declares. "Sorry, he is his father's son." It is a herculean prowess to hide the panic in his voice. "Sweetheart, look at me." He cradles Michonne's face and wipes the tears. "Talk to me."
Between each sentence, Rick swallows his building tears. He has to clear his throat multiple times. Rick places his free hand over Michonne's swollen stomach. He caresses her warm skin, and he tries to distract her with jokes.
Despite his effort, nothing can take her mind away from the pain. Soft cries fill the room, and Rick has to bite his tongue not to join Michonne in her lamentation. Repeatedly, he swears that everything is fine with the baby. Michonne's silence speaks volume. Their son has ceased to move.
"Breathe, sweetheart! Let's do it together." Rick encourages her to take deep breaths and never ceases to caress her belly. "Say hello to your dad," He whispers to Michonne's stomach.
The usual string kick from their son is noticeably absent. Michonne chokes on a sob. She cannot breathe as she verbalizes the reality.
"He isn't moving, Rick." Michonne cries.
"Say hello," Rick begs.
"The book said that he may be in distress if the labour lasts too long. He's not moving. He isn't moving, Richard. He isn't kicking." Michonne's hoarse voice fills the room, and tears have drenched her face and her hospital gown.
Rick wipes Michonne's tears but forgets to wipe his own. He refuses to focus on what he hears and knows. Rick decides to hold faith.
"Books don't know shit about Grimes men times." He claims. "Our baby is going to come out screaming. Now, we take another deep breath, please." He whispers after placing a kiss on her forehead.
Michonne does not join him in breathing. She cries her heart out. Her sobs are daggers shoved in Rick's heart.
"Move, please. Don't continue the Grimes men's tradition. Don't make your mother cry." With very low whispers, Rick pleads with his child.
He places another kiss on Michonne's stomach. Usually, their son is responsive to his voice. Something Michonne envies, but nothing happens. Rick does not want Michonne to stress, and so he pinches her stomach. He wants to mimic the effect of their son's hand pressing on Michonne's stomach. With false excitement, he tries to continue the farce.
"Did you feel him? He says hello." The tears have transformed his voice even though he fights so hard not to shed them.
"Rick," She sobs.
A pitiable smile grace Michonne's lips. She pretends back for Rick's sanity. They wear dysmorphic smiles on their lips, which no longer hide the tears. Words are the last thing they need, and they seek physical contact. Rick lays down on the bed, and he presses Michonne to his trembling body. Although his mind refuses to stop screaming for a little moment of numbness.
After three more hours without dilation, her labour lasted too long. Michonne places her hand on her stomach, and the foetal movements are absent. Her cries are louder. She read every book, and she knows Rick did the same. Michonne does not know what to say to console him. She considers apologizing because she feels as if her body is failing them. Rick senses her anguish. He leans to kiss her pregnant stomach. The movements of nurses around them can hardly draw their attention.
"He is your son…" Adamantly, he tries to reassure her. "He is your son, Chonne. You're a warrior, and so is he." He presses his forehead to hers and wipes her heavy teardrops.
Rick continues to caress her stomach. On top of the stress of the situation, his body attempts to force him to take the drug. However, Michonne's courage at the moment appears to centre him, and he uses her commendable strength to keep them both from drowning in misery. Rick takes a deep breath, and he forces Michonne to do the same. A breath after another, they continue to wait for their tardy son.
An hour more, and there is no other medical option but to induce her labour. Their son is in distress, and his heartbeat has dropped below a hundred by minutes. He is not moving. Michonne has not ceased to cry. Rick is anxious to the point of illness.
Midwives and the obstetrician surround Michonne. They ask for her ultimate effort. Their son has a macrosomia case. She has a normal canal, but a ten pounds baby should not pass through it. Desperate cries fill the room, and Rick has a hard time listening to them. Michonne squeezes his hand, and it is a miracle he still has a hand.
"I'm with you," Rick repeats each time that Michonne needs to hear it.
They encourage her to push, and she does push with all her strength. In her last effort, she succeeds in delivering their son. When there is no cry at the delivery theatre, Rick's eyes focus on Michonne. Exhausted and disoriented, she stares at nothing.
Michonne is increasingly pale. Slowly, she lays back on the bed, and she closes her exhausted eyes. Around her lower limbs, there's an immense pool of blood. With each second, the pool grows bigger and swallows the whiteness of the sheets.
"Clear the room. We have a P.P.H (post-partum haemorrhage) and apparent state of shock." He hears when hands grab him and drag him out of the delivery room.
"Chonne!" Rick cries the young woman's name while he watches her lose her consciousness. "Chonne!"
Outside of the theatre, Rick's body reaches its limit. Rick vomits the entire content of his empty stomach, and he cannot seem to stand. Sweating and faint, he searches for a spot to rest. Between the fear of losing his wife and child, Rick has lost his sanity.
Rick can no longer resist, and now he needs to numb everything. He drags the pills out of his pocket and throws as much as he can in his mouth. Rick crawls to the closest wall facing the delivery room. Panicked, he stares at the door, which separates him from his unconscious ex-wife and his unresponsive newborn. In a matter of seconds, he may have lost his family.
Rick cannot digest the thought. He trembles and cries until breathless. Losing Michonne will be a loss, which he cannot bear. Rick feels helpless. The pills do not erase such pain, but he has not died from his misery yet.
An hour later, a confident voice pulls Rick out of his staring contest with the delivery's door. Rick hears many questions, but he is too high to process anything. Ultimately, the pills started to act, and he has taken a heavy dose. The nurse crouches by his side, and she stares into the extremely dilated pupils.
"Can you answer yes or no, sir?" She presses Rick for an answer, but he answers with chuckles.
The woman rushes to the head nurse, and they have to find a viable donor for Rick and Michonne's Haemolytic son. Rick continues to stare at the delivery's room, which contains Michonne. He misses the moment when the medical personnel take his son to the neonatal intensive care unit. On top of the fetal distress syndrome, the newborn suffers from clear signs of blood hemolysis.
Three hours later, he emerges from his secondary state, and Michonne is still in the theatre. An hour later, the medical personnel take Michonne into the obstetric ICU. She is breathing, and fortunately, the obstetrician stopped her haemorrhagic episode.
The nurses inform Rick of his son's fate. Rick rushes to the NICU and watches over his newborn son. For two days, he is of no help because his blood needs to be purified before they allow him to donate blood for his son. Each day, he knows what he has risked, his son's life.
Morning and nights, Rick switches between intensive care departments. From paediatrics to obstetrics, the haunting feeling, which accompanies each hour, brings the ultimate epiphany. How did Michonne survive watching him battle for his life overdose after an overdose? Michonne did not survive per se. She hates hospitals. Their marriage died in the process.
Rick has to admit the truth about the ugliness of his addiction. He has a problem, and it almost cost him the son, who Michonne fought so hard to birth. Rick is not dependent, as he likes to think, but he is an addict, who needs help, and now he admits it. Rick stares at his son, and rather than feeling pride, he resents his shortcomings as a father.
"Mr Grimes, your wife is out of the ICU." They told him three days later.
Rick does not dare to face Michonne when he enters the room. He refrains from hugging her. Rick feels undeserving of everything that she gave to him. Her love and their son are too precious.
"I'm sorry…" With a hoarse voice and a tears drenched face, the sincerity of his pain is unmistakable. "I'm sorry, Chonne."
With the past days spent running from NICU to the ICU, Rick received a taste of his own medicine. Bitter does not start to describe it. The pain and the constant fear drove him insane. How did she survive such a horrid environment? Every time the paramedics rushed him to the ICU due to an overdose, she never faltered. Once he emerged Michonne always stood by his side.
Night and days spent by his side, and she never complained. When Michonne argued, it was for Rick's interest. Her ultimate desire was and is still to see him win over the cruel mental disease, which addiction happens to be.
Michonne spent years trying to explain her fear to see him die, and he was deaf to her plea. Rick wanted to pursue delusional happiness. Rick cannot look at Michonne, and the shame suffocates him. For the first time, he admits his guilt.
"I'm so sorry."
"For what? I blame our son's big head on you, but his extreme weight is all on my sweet tooth and chocolate bar diet." Softly, she smiles and intertwines her pale fingers with his.
"You almost died." Rick does not receive her attempt to humour. "I don't deserve you cheering me up."
How selfless can she be? If the hospital did not have a reserve of O negative plasma, his addiction would have cost their son's life. Why does she love him? Rick wished he understood and freed her of the feeling. A week after she almost bled to death, she tries to be mindful of his sentiment.
"You had a horrible week." Michonne softly says.
Rick's smile is depreciative. He refuses to take the easy exit, which she afforded him. Rick takes a deep breath, and he knows the truth will hurt her. However, she deserves the absolution.
"I lied to you, sweetheart." Rick confesses.
"Richard?"
Michonne does not need further explanation. She undoubtedly understands what lies he told.
"Chonne, I'm sorry for these hours you spent in an ICU. I'm sorry for the hours when you wondered if I was taking my last breath. I had a vague idea of the pain I created, and I diminished the effect. However, the thing is I'm selfish, and this relationship was all about me. You gave everything because it's so you. You fought because it's not in you to abandon a dying soul. You cared because it's so you…" The words stumble on his tongue. "I lied." He admits.
His thoughts are in shambles. Rick does not know why he says those words, but he has to share something with her. With the lack of sleep and the realization, Rick does not know how to approach the matter.
Rick observes Michonne from the corner of his eyes. He is breathless, and no amount of deep breath consumed will help change it. With shaking fingers, Rick empties his pocket. Her resilience cannot preserve her from the disappointment and the pain.
"I'm an addict," he confesses. "This shit almost had me killing our son." Rick declares. "We almost lost him because of me…" With the admission, suddenly the subject is harder to brush.
Rick continues to place his opioids on the bed by her side. Michonne stares at the man, who she loved for years. Something breaks, and it no longer matters how tired she is. He has crossed the ultimate lines. When it comes to her, she is open to forgiveness but she stands as the only shield between him and their son.
"You have to go."
Michonne stares at the bottle filled with pills. Slowly she unclasps their joined hands, and she turns her back to Rick. She no longer has the strength to excuse his addiction.
"I'm sorry, Chonne. I'm so sorry." Rick attempts to reach her, and he extends his arm to touch her.
His undesired caress or the repetition of the same words infuriated Michonne. How many times has he apologized? Years of excuses, and he never worked for a second of accountability. Michonne can no longer endure in silence. She cannot hope and survive on wishes.
Michonne is tired of being the rational person, and the peacemaker, which tries to salvage a broken relationship. Going away was not enough. Forgiving him was foolish. Planning to have a happy family was a delusion. Michonne understands it now. Abruptly, the young woman sits on her hospital bed. She grabs the pills' containers and observes them.
"Worth more than me…" The coldness, which wraps her words, chills the entire room. "This is worth more than me."
Michonne opens the pills container, and she picks one of the pills. They appeared to be so small and unthreatening. It is different from a syringe, which looks dangerous. There are white dull pills in clear yellow containers, but the effects on life are so cataclysmic. Michonne's entire world no longer stands, and the man, who she loves, is a shadow of himself.
"Is it worth more than a life with me?" She continues her angry tirade, and her voice starts to rise. "I gave you everything, Rick. I loved you. I did nothing but love you."
The monitor attached to her limbs and heart starts to ring. The young woman reaches her emotional and physiologic limits. Frustrated, Michonne throws the pill, which she holds at Rick. The little white object hits Rick's chest. The act does not bring the relief, which she wishes it could bring.
Almost hysterical, Michonne pours the entire container on the bed, and she spreads the pills on her bed. Observing them may lead to an answer. Ultimately, she wants an answer to the questions, which haunted her. If Rick finds his answer in there, why does she not understand his needs?
"Our dreams…" a pill hitting him punctuates her sentence, and she throws the problem at him.
"Our son…" another pill hits Rick's immobile frame.
"My son…" She throws more pills at him, and she opens the second container. "You almost killed your son."
"The family we started to build…" pills thrown at Rick's face followed every word. "You almost killed your son over these white things."
Rick does not react, and his complacency worsens her hysteria. In her anaemic state, Michonne attempts to leave her bed, but she is too exhausted to stand. She falls back on her bed. Rick attempts to help her, and she shoves him away from her.
For the first time, Rick faces his worst fear. When his eyes meet angry brown ones, he stares at disgust and murderous intentions. Tears slide from his eyes, and desperation engulfs his entire being.
Michonne looks for more pills to throw at him, but there is nothing left. It agitates her more now that she has nothing to throw at him, and she picks the plastic containers. She raises her hand to throw it too, but exhaustion overtakes her mind. She stares at a crying Rick, and she moves further away from him. Sinking in her uncomfortable hospital bed, Michonne feels lost. Empty and hollow sobs leave her chest, and she drags her knee to her chest. For a minute, the sounds of desperate cries fill the room.
It is the most pain she ever allows herself to express around Rick. He knows her strength, and it often fuels his determination to match her. However, Rick is so unfamiliar with her fragility and anger. He irremediably broke her. Rick stares at a crying Michonne, and he knows how much she hates him right now.
However, Michonne needs a shoulder to cry on, and he is the only one who knows the reassuring words. When she lost her mother and went through hell with her social depression, Rick held steady until the tears dried. Carefully, he climbs in her hospital bed and wraps his arm around her fragile body.
Michonne attempts to fight his hold, but Rick does not intend to let her sink in misery alone. Ultimately, she gave in to the embrace. When Michonne accepts to stay in the enclave of his arm, the young woman hides her head in his chest.
Rick feels her tears against his skin after they cross the thick layers of his denim shirt. The guilt starts to eat him from inside.
"Would you want him to be around you?" Between sobs, she succeeds in pushing the words out. "Can you raise him?"
Michonne pushes his arm away, but she has no strength to relinquish the comfort. Her head remains nested on Rick's chest. Michonne feels stupid. She only has her tears to offer now. Rick proved her wrong. She should have never trusted his words. Michonne promises herself never to fall for his long tales.
Her anger died when the tears started to fall, but her disappointment grew. Michonne cannot look Rick in the eyes, but in the last three years, she sought strength in the blue of his eyes. With a foreseeable end to her despair, Michonne cries.
Confronting the resentment, which she tried to ignore for years, hurts Michonne. Her mind barely processes so much rage toward Rick. The feeling is foreign to Michonne. Consequently, Michonne reaches for comfort in the only place where she ever knows where to find it, Rick's arms. In that protective cocoon, Michonne continues to cry.
Rick knows it will further harden their intricate situation. Rick stares at the woman in his arms. In his heart, she rests on a pedestal, which makes her deserving of everything. Often, he is only able to offer pain and hurtful honesty. Now, Rick knows that he has a problem. He does not know if he should go with honesty or a leap of faith.
" I would not want to be around myself now, and I'm not ready to be in his life." Rick admits. "I have a problem. I won't ignore it and swear that I can be a good father now. I need professional help. I get it, Michonne." He explains earnestly. "I'm going to work on it. He will have the father that he deserves or a parent as good as you will be. We're a team, and I let you down." Confidence enhances the sincerity of his voice. "I'm never doing that again."
Rick knows this answer means returning home alone, but they need to be better before reuniting. A new life does not allow trial and error. Rick already started to make the arrangement. Michonne does not voice her opinion, and he assumes she is sceptical.
"This time, I ain't lying, Chonne. I'm going to rehab, therapy, and all the things, which can help." Rick adamantly tries to convince her. "I said that before but I never thought about it for so long."
Rick peruses his phone and presents to her the arrangement that he did during this week. Rick chose a three months program in a rehab clinic, and he contacted a psychiatrist to work on his stress, anger, and anxiety. He will be taking time off from work, and he only did such a thing once in his lifetime. Rick intends to learn better coping mechanisms and new ways to maximize his mental ability.
"You're not getting a second chance nor coming next to him until you can be a father," Michonne warns him. "You've your way with words, Rick." She laments. "I bought so many of your lies, and never once you gave me change. You remained the same charming, self-destructive liar." She argues. "You aren't going to put your son through everything you put me through. Don't make your promise to me. Make them for your son, and so you know what is on the line, Rick."
Her tone is less icy, but the coldness and anger have yet to disappear. Michonne refuses to fall for empty promises. Rick admits his problem for the first time, and Michonne finds some hope. She wants her son to have a good father, and Rick could be amazing if he has his addiction under control.
Michonne refrains from completely cutting Rick out of the picture. As for now, she resents Rick. Unfortunately, he betrayed her trust at a time when she needed him the most. It is no longer about them, and Rick senses it when she puts more distance between them.
"Do you have a name for him?" he deflects to a safe subject, but Michonne's expression tells him everything he needs to know.
Rick swallows hard. Faith is the last thing they need in this situation. Michonne and his son need a steady engagement.
"When are you going to rehab?" Michonne remains focused on the problem to solve.
"As soon as he walks out of the NICU." Rick responds. "I need to be here when he comes out of that hell, and then I join the rehab." He explains his plan, which appears to appease Michonne. "I will go, Michonne. I will go." He sincerely declares.
"Carlton Richard Grimes." Michonne answers softly, and she hopes to see their son as soon as the pediatric doctor clears him from a life-threatening condition. "I wanted him to have your name."
"Thank you," Rick wipes a tear. "I love you."
Michonne does not reply, and she looks at him in a chastising way. They are no longer ready to start where they left their marriage. The last two weeks were a fantasy.