"Do you wanna come in?" he asked, gazing adoringly down at Michonne, mesmerized by how the moonlight's iridescent glow framed her lovely face. "I'd really like it if you did."
As he gripped the doorknob of the entrance to his home, instinctively, his other hand reached out for hers. He stood still, patiently waiting to see if she would claim it. Rooted in her spot, on the top step of his porch, she tilted her head, peering up at him through a veil of long, lustrous eyelashes. The bashful smirk on his lips caught her by surprise, as did the faint flush of pink that gradually crept upwards from his neck, and landed on his cheeks.
He could feel the nervous energy percolating just below the surface, causing his heart rate to increase at a swift clip. With anxiety getting the best of him, his eyes roamed her face, desperate for any confirmation that his bold request would not lead to rejection. She raised her hand from her side and tucked it into his outstretched one, allaying his fears.
As he turned his attention back to the door, twisting the doorknob and nudging it open, she dipped her head low, smiling inwardly. Tugging at her hand, he pushed the door beyond the threshold and into the foyer, then beckoned, with a nod of his head, for her to enter. Before proceeding, she stopped and took him in, briefly contemplating her decision. The intensity of her stare further tweaked his nerves and expanded the crimson sheen marking his cheeks. Despite his discomfort, he held her stare, keeping her pinned in his doorway.
Scanning her features, he was elated to discover the steady flicker of want floating in the inviting recesses of her dark brown eyes. The thrill of this revelation rippled through his body, sending a sublime jolt directly to his lower half. The erratic pounding of his heart echoed in his ears, as his confidence began to build. With a smirk continuing to play on his lips, he gestured to her again, almost daring her to enter.
His shift to a more assured demeanor charmed her. The jitters that usually cropped up when he was in her presence had been vanquished. This brazen side of him was one to which she was wholly unfamiliar; she was intrigued.
As he led her into the foyer, their smiles bloomed, both now clear on their purpose and open to whatever possibilities the night might offer. Hand in hand, they made their way into the living room, the heels of her ever present black boots tapping out an intricate melody on the hardwood floors. She surveyed the changes he had made to his home. Though she had been there numerous times, in that moment, the atmosphere held an electrified charge she hadn't noticed before.
She turned to look at him, basking in the fierceness of the passion in his eyes. He silently asked a question, to which she answered by gripping his hand, and gifting him with the singular joy of her beautiful smile. Swinging them around, her hand firmly in his, he made his way to the stairs leading to the second floor. Without hesitation, she followed.
Reaching the landing of the upper floor, they walked passed a number of closed doors, making their way towards the end of the hallway. Reaching their destination, they paused in front of a slightly ajar door. After a few moments of trepidation, he used his free hand to push the door open. They entered, coming to a stop a few feet inside his bedroom.
Spinning her around to face him, he released her hand, reaching, instead, to grab onto either side of her arms. Haltingly, he continued his upwards trajectory, running his hands up her arms, to her shoulders, eventually ending with his rough, calloused hands cupped around her face. The sensation of his coarse, yet gentle hands on the tender, supple skin of her cheeks, made her want to lean into them, searching for a deeper connection.
The hazy luminescence of the moon filtered through the sheer curtains covering his windows, perfectly complementing the shimmer emanating from her features. He took a moment to absorb her essence, acknowledging the utter thrill of having her here with him, and the realization she wanted him as much as he wanted her. The mere thought… the wish for what was to come, pushed his hopeful heart towards ecstasy.
Caressing her face, his thumbs rubbed small, soft circles across the apples of her cheeks. He gently pulled her towards him, bending down as he did so, landing a soft, delicate kiss on her lips, leaving her with a fleeting, feathery tingle.
He breathed in deeply, taking in the heady notes of the aloe and lavender lotion she concocted for herself and the other female residents. She tasted of wildflower honey and… heaven. He was beguiled. She smiled into his kiss as he pulled her closer, keeping one hand on her cheek, while grazing her arm, his large hand finally coming to rest on her midriff. He drew her into him, using the tightening grip on her waist as leverage.
Lifting onto the balls of her feet, she reached up to clasp both hands behind his neck, deepening their kiss. He moaned into her mouth, internally chastising himself for his accelerated physical reaction. After all this time watching her, reveling in her presence, the act of holding her like this, so closely, ignited a fire in him he hadn't experienced for… a while.
His arousal, steely and throbbing, stroked her stomach. She smiled against his lips, her ego emboldened by his quick response to her movements. He smelled like the earthy, piney goodness of the outdoors; it was invigorating. She couldn't get enough.
He loosened his hold on her, letting her fall back onto her heels. He took her in, examining her face for any uncertainty. She gave him a sultry look, reaching up to pull him back down to her. Encircling her in his arms, he lifted her off her feet, and walked backwards towards the bed, stopping only when his calves hit the edge of the mattress.
He set her back on the ground, their lips locked in a steamy kiss, as he let his fingertips leisurely trail across her lower back. Breaking away for a moment, she smirked at him, before gently pushing him down to a seated position on the edge of the bed. Staring up at her, he chuckled softly, still amazed that this enchanting woman had deemed him worthy.
"Lie down," she commanded, using her hand to ease him backwards onto the bed.
Following her directions, he first leaned back onto his elbows, then allowed his head to drop onto the mattress, his eyes never leaving hers. He looked on, spellbound, as she untucked her maroon tank top, pulling it over the locs cascading down her back, and completely off in one smooth motion. His gaze dropped to take in the arc created by her perfectly plump breasts, encased in a lace floral bra that seemed inappropriate for these times, yet perfectly in line with the dueling forces within the alluring warrior standing above him.
He swallowed, hard, as her hands ran over her smooth, flat belly, and hooked onto her belt buckle. He held his breath in anticipation, as she pulled the buckle from its clasp, and unzipped her jeans. She smiled at him, catching the hunger in his eyes. Toeing off her boots, she hooked her thumbs into the belt loops of her dark-washed jeans, and slowly shimmied out of them. Unable to contain himself, he lifted his head off the mattress, not wanting to miss any inch of her, as she lowered the jeans to her ankles, then stepped out of them.
She could tell the anticipation was killing him. She was as revved up as he was, but had always loved the agonizing tease of foreplay. And with him, she wanted the full experience. Clad only in her bra and, remarkably, matching panties, she moved towards him, using her bare knee to bridge, then part his legs. Landing her knees on either side of his leg, she crawled up his body, using her knee to knowingly graze his hardness. The friction caused him to momentarily jerk his torso off the bed, while noisily exhaling a guttural moan. She sat up on her knees, straddled his midsection, and used both hands to push him back onto the bed.
Purposefully, she inched forward, allowing only the tip of his hard length, painfully engorged and pointed upwards, to skim her inner thigh. She stilled her progression and leaned back, trapping his member between her cheeks. Gazing down at him, she slowly rocked back and forth, watching, as his eyes rolled back into his head, then closed. His mouth parted, short gasps of air escaping his lips, as he tried to control his body's reply.
Leaning forward, she captured his lips once more, allowing his tongue to make full contact with hers. Their seductive whimpers echoed throughout the sparsely furnished room, as she laid her body solidly against his. Suspended in a deep, persistent kiss, they carefully explored each other's body, intent on touching every square inch. The sounds and aromas permeating the room drove both further and further towards their bliss.
Sensing her growing urgency, and not wanting to wait any longer himself, he snaked his arms around her back, using one hand to unhook her bra, and slip it away from her body. Reaching between them, she made quick work of his button-down shirt, helping him sit up so that he could pull the garment over his arms. He looked on, anxious for her next move.
She loved the tease, but the sensual aura blanketing the room caused her to quickly overheat. Prolonging the agony was pointless; it had been long enough. He used his toes to kick off his boots, while she busied herself unbuckling his belt, and unzipping his pants. As she lifted herself up and off him to pull down his jeans and boxers in one go, she looked on as his thick, rock hard length sprang back against the sparse, dark brown hair, covering his stomach. She watched, rapt, as its bulbous cap visibly pulsed, reflexively licking her lips at the sight.
Kicking his jeans off and onto the floor, he reached for her, his large hands enclosing her small waist and pulling her onto his length. His fingers found the waistband of her panties. He wanted to rip them off, but awaited her signal to continue. She took his hand, lifted herself a few inches from him, and guided it into her panties and towards her center. The slick heat he found there made his member jump immediately; the scent of her arousal further tantalizing his senses. He wasn't sure how long he'd last under these conditions.
She squirmed at his touch, as his middle finger slipped through her folds and found its way into her core, where he began to slowly stroke, in and out. She arched her back, her thighs, on either side of his waist, squeezed him with each stroke, her hands slid backwards, gripping his thighs. His other hand slinked up her torso, softly gripping her breasts, using his thumb and index finger to twist her nipples until they became sharp peaks. First one, then the other. Her body hummed, yearning for more.
Removing his hand from inside her panties, he sat up, pulling them chest to chest, as he resettled her onto his lap, her core pressed tightly against his. Lifting her slightly upwards, he latched onto her nipple, gripping it with his lips, then using his tongue to roll the taut, pebbly nub across his tongue, gently scraping it between his teeth. Lavishing attention on one, he gripped the other in his hand, cupping and stroking the blackberry-hued nub. She was intoxicating.
He wanted to touch and savor every peak, every valley of her. The contrast of her soft, creamy curves, and her firm, taut edges drove him insane. Her breathy moans were music to his ears, urging him on, and driving his arousal to a nearly painful limit. His lusty need to consume all of her tampered with his resolve to take things slow. His body and mind, in guarded opposition, had reached a stalemate.
As he shifted her into a position better suited to his mouth's highly anticipated expedition down her body, she gently stopped his ministrations. He paused, studying her eyes for what he may have done wrong. He found a twinkle in her eyes, indicating eagerness to move on to the main event. Pulling her panties down her legs and kicking them off when they reached her ankles, she scooted forward, deliciously taunting his length as her wetness skirted over it.
Reaching behind her to grab his shaft, she leaned forward, capturing his lips once more, as she gingerly worked his length through her folds, and into her center. It had been a long time and she… was out of practice. The ache of that first breach sent a shiver up her spine, causing him to pull her closer, rubbing away the goosebumps he could feel on her arms. In tandem, their bodies trembled, as she deliberately, rocked into him. He fought mightily, as each achingly pleasurable movement brought him closer and closer to the edge. If he was to have any reasonable chance of lasting, he knew he had to take a stand now.
"First round doesn't count," he whispered, as he flipped her on her back, recapturing her lips.
He stilled for a moment, fully sheathed within her, tugging on her lower lip with his teeth, sucking it further into his mouth. Having her on top had been too much. His nerve endings were screaming. As he calmed down, his panting lowered to labored, but more manageable deep breaths. He began to move inside her.
She gasped, as he spread her wide, taking his thumb and reaching between them to ghost it across her delicate bud, while he rocked deeper and deeper into her. Though his thumb barely touched her, the heat its close proximity to her center generated, rocketed pleasure throughout her body, causing her core to vibrate, and bringing her closer to her peak.
The dampness of his sweat-covered chest hairs roughly striding back and forth across her nipples, ratcheted the tension, causing her to whimper, as the delectable ache in her center grew stronger. The slight discomfort from being stretched so wide, faded into bliss, as he drove his length into her, over and over again, while his thumb stroked her bud, pushing her closer to her crescendo.
She plummeted over the cliff. Her thighs shook, as he used his fingertips to graze her bud once more. Gasping for air, she lifted up from the bed, wrapping her legs around his lean, yet muscular body, breathing in his uniquely musky scent, as her orgasm echoed from the top of her head, to the tips of her toes.
Feeling her relax in his arms, he picked up the pace, silently sending up thanks that he had been able to hold on. As his tempo became more mercurial, she bit his earlobe, the peculiar sensation sending him too over the precipice. He shuddered, releasing into her with a grunt, as he fisted the sheets beneath them.
Now depleted, he held himself up on his elbows to avoid collapsing on top of her. They stayed like this for several seconds, stunned, but satiated. Once their breathing had leveled out, he rolled her on top of him, then to her side, his big spoon enveloping her little one. He pulled her close, draping his arm across her chest, as his spent member settled into the crevice of her cheeks.
Sighing deeply, he began drifting into slumber. Just as sleep overtook him, he heard her giggle,
"I'm pretty sure that counted."
"Not a damn word Rick," Michonne jokingly sneered, narrowing her eyes at him as he climbed back into the passenger's seat.
"Wasn't 'bout to say anythin'," he replied, turning to look at her, an unbearable smugness crisscrossing his face. "Just curious 'bout why you seem incapable of not gettin' us stuck every single time we're out, that's all."
"Oh, I see you've got jokes today," she retorted, turning to take in his smirk, before starting up the car and navigating them out of the ditch she had inadvertently driven them into 45 minutes prior.
"I believe I do," he chuckled, staring at her as she rolled her eyes, and steered the sedan back onto the roadway.
"I'm pretty sure if you weren't distracting me with this awful music, we would have been just fine. All this caterwauling isn't ideal for focus and attention. I'm not criticizing, I'm just saying…"
"You're just sayin' huh? I see how it is. How about next time, you get to pick the music. Wouldn't want my bad taste distractin'."
The absurdity of it all had them bantering about their first road trip, back at the prison. The trip to King County, where the barriers to trust were demolished, and Michonne became "one of us," as Carl had so eloquently put it. Michonne could scarcely believe there had ever been a time when the Grimes' weren't an integral part of her life, of her heart. Sentimental reminiscing wasn't their thing, but in moments like this, when it was just the two of them, they couldn't help but to think back to a time when their lives weren't so incontrovertibly interwoven.
"When we made that trip back to King County," he began, reclining the passenger seat and putting his boot-clad feet on the dashboard. "I knew we needed weapons, but, I wasn't sure I could handle goin' back home."
She gave him a quick glance, then returned to the road, nodding for him to go on.
"You made it bearable. What you did for Carl, I just– He doesn't much like to talk about it, and I don't like to press him. But, you goin' in there to get that picture of Lori? Not enough words in the dictionary to thank you for that. Like you, I'm not exactly a master orator I–"
"First of all, speak for yourself," she interjected. "Secondly, how are you just now discovering you're not exactly 'Mr. Shares-His-Feelings'?"
"I see you got jokes too," he retorted, his smile raining down on her. "As I was sayin', I'm not the best at sharin' my feelings, but that day meant a lot to me and Carl. In the darkest time of our lives, you let the sun shine through. It meant everythin'."
Michonne sat back for a moment, unsure of how to respond. Their early days together had clearly not been rainbows and unicorns, as she frequently teased him, but she had understood why he had been so hesitant to let her in. When so much has been taken, the desperation to hold onto whatever remains, can overtake all reason. She got it, because, she got him. She recognized how troubled he had been when they first met. She also knew he was remorseful about the way he had treated her during those early days.
What he couldn't come to grips with, was that she had forgiven him long ago. But, since she did know Rick, she also knew his guilt would not easily be assuaged. No one took on the burdens of the world better than Rick Grimes, so, his willingness to now distribute some of the load, made her heart happy.
"What I'm tryin' to say, is… thank you. Thank you for being the person that I can trust wholeheartedly with everythin'. Thank you for being there for me, even when I made it nearly impossible."
He had whispered the last bit, while looking at her, tracking her reaction. It was always easier talking to her than anyone else. Away from the others, just the two of them, sharing secrets. In the deep corners of his mind, he knew she had forgiven him, but, his heart still chased atonement. A simple apology seemed not enough for the weighty regret that sometimes threatened to crush him.
She turned to catch his eye, noting tears had pooled, but not dropped. She reached over to clutch his hand.
"Rick, there is nothing left to forgive," she replied. "You and I are family. We do wrong, we ask for forgiveness, we give forgiveness, we lean on each other, we move on. You're not in this alone, and you're not the only person that has fallen short of the glory. Thank you for making me want to live, when I wanted to curl up and die. For making me see there is more than just… this out there."
Briefly gesturing to the barren landscape, she returned her attention to Rick, wondering what she would have done if she hadn't had him to rely on these past 2 months since Spencer's death. She had spent most of the time refocusing her energy on the community and the rest of her family. The work had been physically taxing and mind numbing, exactly what she wanted, as Rick knew all too well. He wanted to ensure that she also got what she needed.
And so, he began the habit of visiting her every morning, always with Judith, the natural elixir for all that ails, in tow. While Judith played, or jockeyed for Michonne's attention, they would talk, have coffee, and plan their activities for the day. Rick had become Michonne's rock. The steady, calming lighthouse in her turbulent grief.
Many evenings were also spent at Michonne's, making sure she had everything she needed. He tried to get there early, but most days, Michonne was monopolized by Carl and Judith, or other family members. He usually had to take a number and wait his turn for "an appointment with the Queen," as he playfully told her.
"I've had somethin' on my mind for a while," he began, the tremor in his voice betraying his nerves.
"I'm getting the feeling that this is going to be a good one," she replied, eager to know what could be making him so anxious that he wouldn't just spit it out. "Go ahead, ask."
He was in one of his rarified "talking" moods. She was happy to indulge him.
"Were y'all tryin' to have a baby?" he sputtered, a rosy tint instantly matting his cheeks as he reconsidered his prying question.
"Jesus Rick, how long have you been sitting on that one?" she laughed, interested to see where this conversation was going to go.
They were on their way to the Hilltop for Michonne's long delayed ultrasound. Although these were better times, doctors and nurses, and the necessary medical equipment was scarce. The Leadership Council made sure each community had a doctor who could provide basic services, while more complex care was assigned to specific communities.
Michonne had long since been due for a checkup, but Dr. Soroyan was more than capable of providing her the necessary basics, but he couldn't do the more complex testing that was protocol for pregnancy in this new world. Michonne had been capable to go to the Hilltop alone. After all, the shortcut route had been cleared several weeks ago, and the walkers along its path were largely under control; it was rare to see more than a handful on a trip to the Hilltop. They were dying out, just as the living ramped up to reclaim their world.
But, Rick had insisted. There was no way he would have allowed her to leave on her own, hence, their road trip. This time, sans Carl, who had wanted to join them, ostensibly, to help Michonne, in actuality, to see Enid. He had been overruled, as they needed him to stay in Alexandria to look after Judith.
Rick's question hung in the air. He could practically see the gears shifting in Michonne, figuring out her answer. Taking a different tact, he said,
"I know it's none of my business, but I'm so curious. Especially after how hard it's been to keep Judith safe."
He hadn't really meant to go down this path with her. Not today, at least. Not when she was on her way for a check-up on the baby she was carrying that would grow up without his or her father. She looked at him, noting the bubbling anxiety over what he likely perceived as an error in judgement in asking such a question. It was endearing; she was ok with the question. That's how it worked between them. No more secrets.
"Well, it wasn't exactly planned," she began, momentarily taking her eyes off the road to look at him. "I guess you could say that we didn't consciously try to avoid it."
Watching him intently, she continued, "The trigger, I think, was what Glenn said in the RV on our first trip to the Hilltop. He and Maggie were trying to build something. Spencer wanted to build something too. We were finally safe enough to look towards the future. It… felt like the right time. I hadn't ever thought about more children after…"
She paused, exhaling deeply. He gave her hand a squeeze, using his thumb to rub patterns onto the back of her hand, soothing her.
"Even before, I was happy with one. But, Spencer made me consider having another. Eventually, we decided to give it a shot."
"Spencer wanted a family?"
"Yeah, he did," she said.
"I needed convincing. When Deanna died, I honestly didn't think Spencer would make it. You know how he had been acting out, doing some dangerous things. I resigned myself to the fact that he wasn't long for this world. He… surprised me. He got up, and wanted to learn. He wanted more from this life than just survival. He helped me realize that I did too."
"Well, he sure surprised the hell outta me," Rick said, shaking his head at the reckless young man who had morphed into a contributing, beloved member of his family. "I didn't know he had it in him, but, he proved me wrong."
"He was good like that," Michonne said, her smile lighting up her eyes. "The first time I met him, my only thought was 'dumb frat boy.' It took a minute, but he won me over. He was a good man, who lost his family, and desperately wanted to create one for himself."
The encouragement in Rick's eyes pushed her to continue.
"The first few weeks after he… I regretted our decision. I never imagined raising a child, alone, in this world. You, and Carl and Judith, made me realize that I'm not alone. I can do this. I want to do this."
She gifted him with a dazzling smile. And for the first time in a long time, the tears she shed didn't blemish the hopeful gleam in her eyes.
"You've got me," he said, gratified to offer whatever support she needed. "I'm not goin' anywhere."
Michonne had never been awkward. Never. But standing there, in what would have always been considered an opulent home, in this dress, with laughter and the clinking of glasses echoing around her, she felt so out of place that her insides began to rebel. The churning of her stomach made her queasy. In her old life, a cocktail party would have been as natural as breathing. Beautiful displays of decadent food and drink, everyone dressed in their finery, conversation about politics, sports, art, or whatever banal topic crossed minds. But now, with monsters perpetually at the gate, the thought of wading into such affluence threw off her equilibrium. After what they'd been through, this was too much.
I don't know what this is, but this isn't normal, she thought.
She stood in the foyer, quickly scanning what she could see of the living and dining rooms, cautious about taking a step further into the Monroe home. She looked for something familiar, anything to quell the panic rising from her belly. This had been a mistake. She hadn't been ready to feel so exposed. Maybe going from out there, to in here, had been too much of a leap.
With her paranoia kicking into full throttle, she searched for him, even a glimpse would be enough to quiet the voices in her head that were screaming for her to run. Run, and never look back. She couldn't find him, which was odd. It never mattered where they were, they always, somehow, managed to find each other. The strangeness of this new place made it apt that they had stopped being able to do so.
She wished she had just gone to the party when Rick left with Carl and Judith. She hadn't quite been ready on time, so people had already started departing by the time she arrived at the party. Fussing over a dress and makeup with so much danger still surrounding them seemed so silly. She had wanted to try to recapture some semblance of who she had been. And so, she had joined the others in rifling through the closets of the designated house that stored extra clothing. She found a simple cream shift dress, trimmed in gold. Her old self would have gravitated towards bold prints, but, the simplicity of the garment suited who she was now.
She had spent much of the day indulgently pampering herself. From washing and re-twisting her locs, to shaving her legs, and painting her hands and feet. After pairing her outfit with black strappy sandals, a touch of make-up, and a spritz of perfume, she felt… pretty. Not like she had in the old world, yet, close enough to now make her feel shaky and uncertain. She had walked out of the house smiling, eager even, but had lost her composure with each step she took towards the party.
Her nerves on high alert, she decided to calm herself by finding Carl and Judith, when her eyes landed on him. There he stood, talking to Deanna, in a small alcove next to the living room. She waited for him to turn around and catch her eye. She needed to know if this was as weird to him as it was to her. She waited, but, he didn't turn around.
That's odd, she thought.
They'd always had a sixth sense of each other's presence, so she was genuinely surprised that he didn't lift his head from his glass to look for her. He looked distracted, certainly not paying any attention to whatever was being said, but he didn't look up. She stood still for a few moments, silently willing him to turn towards her. Eventually, she gave up, as she watched him continue, with drink in hand, talking to Deanna.
The had only been in Alexandria for 2 days, and yet, she was treading water and in worried about drowning. She was the one that had promised that this would be a far better place than their time outside. But, the disquiet in her heart made her question her decision. Rick was up to something with Carol and Daryl, she knew it. She hated secrets between them. This ragtag family that had been tied at the hip seemed to be disintegrating, and it frightened her.
Michonne had to get out of the house. She turned the corner back into the entryway, then quietly snuck out the front door and back onto the porch. Closing the door, she leaned against it, catching the breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
"Too much for you?" he asked.
Seeing as every single resident appeared to be inside, she was surprised to spy a figure, in a darkened corner of the porch, leaning against its railing. Through the dim overhead light, she noted the beer in his hand and his glassy stare. She didn't know his name, but she had a vague recollection of seeing a picture of him in the room where Deanna had interviewed her the day before.
After several seconds of silence, he chuckled.
"Yeah, me too," he said, answering his own question.
More silence.
"You're Michonne right?" he asked, stepping towards her. "I'm Spencer, Deanna's son."
He held out his hand, which she promptly ignored, his declaration met by more of her silence.
Wow, she's a tough nut to crack, he thought.
"I see you're empty-handed," Spencer said. "That's no way to be at a party. Good thing I brought two."
He placed his beer on the porch railing and pulling another bottle out of his pocket. Angling it on the lip of the porch rail with his left hand, he used the palm of his right hand to strike the cap, forcing it off the bottle.
"Old fraternity trick," he stated, with a wink, as he handed her the bottle.
Surprising herself, she smiled slightly, then quietly laughed to herself. Outwardly, he fit every frat boy stereotype that had ever existed. Tall, handsome, with a glibness to his speech and a nonchalant manner. How he was still here, was beyond her. She fixated on not rolling her eyes. After all, he hadn't done anything wrong.
"Thank you," she replied, tamping down her inclination towards rudeness.
"No problem," he said, gazing down at the intriguing woman who hadn't recalled almost running him over the previous day.
As she brought the beer to her lips, she turned her head slightly, looking through the porch window into the living room. Rick stood next to the fireplace, by himself, staring into his glass. Maybe he felt as out of place as she did. She thought about going in to rescue him, turning to Spencer to excuse herself, when out of the corner of her eye, a blond woman came into view. She had Judith hoisted onto her hip. The woman looked familiar. She recalled seeing her walking away from their home as she ran towards it after speaking with Deanna. The lady from the pantry, Rick had said.
Inexplicably, her heart rate accelerated as the woman crossed over, towards Rick. A strange vibe cloaked the air around her, her senses in overdrive; something was going to happen. Rick was always on guard. He would never let someone he didn't know get so close to him, let alone hold Judith. Pushing the thought to the back of her mind, Michonne pondered where she should lay down the beer bottle if she had to quickly rush to his aid.
Maybe she had made a mistake forcing them to come here. Maybe it was stupid to trust these people. Maybe this was a trap. She looked at Rick, trying to get a read on what was going on. Shock registered on Michonne's face as she watched Rick's face transform into a brief grin as the woman drew closer. She looked on as Rick leaned in to take Judith, pausing to kiss the woman on the cheek. She couldn't comprehend what she was seeing.
"Are you ok?" Spencer asked, snapping her out of her reverie.
She realized that the bottle was tilted several inches from her mouth, but she had yet to take a sip. Quickly turning towards him, she took a long pull from the bottle. She had never been a big beer drinker, but the yeasty, bitter tang of the cold brew seemed to fit her current mood perfectly.
"Yeah, just great," she said.
Not detecting her sarcasm, but sensing that something was off, he nodded his head in agreement, continuing to study her.
Taking another long pull, she realized that she was actually starting to feel a little tipsy. She looked up into his handsome face, recognizing that the thought of someone being handsome or attractive hadn't occurred to her in such a long time that it felt like a foreigner invading her senses.
Laughing out loud, she said, "wow, buzzed off half a beer. Now, that must be some kind of record."
He laughed along with her.
"Well, I'm guessing it's been awhile right?" Spencer said, trying to hold her gaze. "You're allowed."
He was enchanted. She– Hell, their entire group was so different from the others in Alexandria. There was something about her that immediately pulled him in. She looked like she could take off his head in a single swipe; he'd seen her sword. But, there was something… something vulnerable and longing in her eyes. She seemed a bit lost and lonely; he was too. It was clear that she was grossly out of his league, but he couldn't stop himself from trying.
"So, what did you do before all of this," he said, gesturing to their immediate surroundings.
"Why do you want to know?" she queried, not willing to grant him any real estate.
She stared at him, noting the ruddiness taking hold of his cheeks. She was annoyed, but there was no reason to be unkind.
Sighing, she said, "sorry, I didn't mean to be rude. I was a lawyer. Civil litigation. What about you?"
"Nothing too exciting. Just the dilettante son of wildly successful parents," he said, laughing irreverently.
Her eyebrows crinkled, unsure if he was serious or not. She'd play.
"Well, a true dilettante wouldn't even know what 'dilettante' means, so, that seems highly unlikely, no?" she queried, trying to get a read on him.
He let out a hearty laugh, his eyes never leaving hers. He'd been thinking about her ever since she nearly knocked him over in her quest to escape his mother's questions. He'd been captivated.
"I guess you're right," he said, chuckling at her insight. "I was an investment banker. I hated it. It never quite fit my personality. Just a bunch of douchebags trying to one-up each other."
"You don't say," she said, rolling her eyes.
"If you must know, I'm quite shy and sensitive," he replied, watching her tongue slink out to lick droplets of beer from her bottom lip.
She's sexy as hell, he thought.
"Oh, really now? Well, shyness is nice," she said.
"It is, but, shyness can stop you from doing all the things in life you'd like to," he retorted.
Taken aback by his instantaneous recall of an old Smiths lyric, she gave him a smile.
This guy is full of surprises, she thought.
"How do you know the Smiths?" she asked. "You don't exactly seem like the type."
"Really?" he asked, eyebrows furrowed. "Neither do you."
"How dare you!" she said, with mock indignation. "It's because I'm black, right?"
"Yeah, it is," he smirked, delighted by the change in their dynamic, even if it was caused by an under-fed woman drinking half a beer. He was just eager to keep her smiling.
"Hmm, is that so," she peered up at him, quickly becoming aware that in her slightly inebriated state, she was actually flirting with him. In that moment, a giddy Michonne sensed the fleeting joy of her former self trying to break through. She looked at him, curious about what else she might uncover.
"So, how do you really know that song?"
"High school girlfriend. She loved the Smiths, and, I… I loved her. What about you?"
"The summer before junior high, I decided to become intolerably moody," she said, giggling at her own joke. "Funny enough, my parents did not appreciate it."
Locking eyes with Spencer, she asked, "What happened to the girlfriend?"
She didn't quite understand what had come over her. Normally, she wouldn't have shared such information with a stranger. But looking a Spencer, he seemed kind, and had a lightness of spirit radiating from him. It was refreshing to, for a moment, pull bits of her old self out of the closet.
"She dumped me in high school for a baseball player, true story. She did leave me with an enduring love of anything Morrissey, and an ability to quote ridiculous amounts of Neruda."
"Neruda? Well aren't you just full of sur–," she began.
The door creaked open behind her, halting their merriment. They both turned to see Rick standing in the doorway, a sleeping Judith in his arms, and Carl safely at his side. Rick looked back and forth between them, confused by the vision of Michonne laughing with a stranger.
"There you are," Rick exclaimed, ignoring Spencer completely. "Everythin' alright?"
Michonne, eyes, still on Spencer, replied, "Everything's fine. You ready to go?"
Taking a final pull of her beer, she handed the nearly empty bottle back to Spencer, giving him a small smile.
"Yeah, let's go," Rick replied, his eyes drifting from Michonne to Spencer, landing back on Michonne's glassy stare.
"Nice to meet you Spencer," she called out, quickly descending the stairs, as Rick, Carl, and Judith trailed behind her.
"How's Jessie doing?" Michonne queried, opening another Pandora's Box on what seemed to be a longer than usual trip to the Hilltop.
"Well, from what Carol says, she and Sam are settlin' in nicely" he said, sighing and scratching his chin intently. "Couple of guys from the Kingdom picked up the rest of her stuff at our last swap."
He paused for a moment, thinking carefully about his next words. He had made a commitment to himself that there would be no more secrets between him and Michonne. He'd already played the reticent man with Lori and Jessie; he was tired of that baggage. He wouldn't do that to Michonne. She deserved all of his truth.
"You know, what I did there… I don't even really know why. It was one of the biggest mistakes of my life. I can't even tell you what I was thinkin' at the time. It felt li- like it wasn't even me. I'm just so sorry for all of it. You know that, right?"
"You're going to have to stop apologizing," Michonne said, a touch of exasperation in her voice. "I know you are. We're way past that. No more secrets, remember? I just wanted to make sure you're doing alright."
She took her eyes off the road for a moment to peer at him.
"Are you?" she asked.
"Yeah, I'm fine," he replied, eager to move this conversation forward. "Truly, all those expectations were like an anchor wrapped around my neck. I can breathe again. I'm tryin' not to look backwards any more. Keepin' my eyes at the road ahead."
"Is that why the ring's off?" she asked, curious as to why he had taken it off after so much time.
Rick looked down at his left hand, the tan line had mostly faded, but was still present enough for him to make out the faint outline of his wedding ring."
"To be honest, it just never occurred to me to take it off. After that last talk with Jessie, when I came back to check on the kids and after you'd gone to bed, I laid on your couch all night, tryin' to figure out how I got here."
He took his hand and dragged it over his weary face.
"Jessie… she wasn't someone I could really be myself around. I don't know, maybe I liked forgetting who I'd become. She let me forget that I'm a monster. Made it feel like it was with Lori, at least, how it was in the early days. Alexandria reminded me of a place Lori would have loved. We used to take Sunday drives to looky loo at places like this. To make it here without her was…"
Rick paused, collecting his thoughts.
"I guess I thought I'd be able to recreate it somehow," he continued. "Stupid, but true. Especially how bad it was with Lori at the end. I don't think even in the best of times, we would have recovered from the shit with Shane. But Jessie wasn't really Lori. Lori was… complicated. She could be so difficult sometimes. It was hard to breathe around her. She always made me feel like I was disappointing her, disappointing Carl."
She looked at him. Sad to see his continuous struggle to be everything to everyone. He sighed deeply, and raised his head fully to meet her eyes.
"Jes– Jessie was easy. She was agreeable to whatever I wanted and let me take the lead. That was definitely not Lori. She would pretend to let me lead, then work behinds the scenes to get her own way. Lori didn't need me. Jessie did. I think my ego liked it, if I'm being truthful."
They drove in silence, both contemplating how best to backtrack and calm the unease that threatened to overtake them. They had always talked around the topic of Rick's behavior after he first entered Alexandria's gates those many, many months ago. Michonne had a different perspective than Rick, so, she decided, then and there, it was time to approach the topic head-on.
"Do you remember a guy by the name of Montel Thibodaux?" Michonne asked, peering at Rick from the driver's seat.
"I think so…" he replied. "Wasn't he that Marine who went berserk and killed all those people in Little Five Points?"
"Yeah, that's him," she said, nodding sadly. "He was my cousin."
"You're kiddin', right?" Rick stammered, shocked by her admission. "Wow. I had no idea."
"Didn't expect you to," she replied. "I brought him up because, when we first got to Alexandria, you… you reminded me of him."
Rick turned towards her, baffled at the disclosure.
"How so?" he asked.
"I think your explanation of why you did what you did makes some sense. I'm just not sure it's the entire reason."
He waited patiently for her to continue, eager to understand her rationale.
"Monty was one of my absolute most favorite people on the planet. The funniest, most energetic person you'd ever want to meet. Sweet, kind, loving. That was our Monty."
Michonne smiled ruefully at the shattered memory of her cousin.
"He did three tours in Afghanistan. His last one, he lost a leg, so the shipped him back home. At first, he seemed ok. Paranoid, skittish, but the doctors told us that was to be expected with PTSD. We did the best we could, but aside from 24-hour monitoring, it was impossible to keep him under control."
"So, what happened?"
"He'd been home for a couple of months, drinking heavily, not going to therapy, and making my aunt crazy. That night, he got into a fight in the bar, went back to his car for his gun, and started shooting."
"I was always surprised he surrendered. In those types of cases, they want to die. Suicide by cop."
"I'm not sure why he did what he did, but I knew he was in so much pain."
Tears began running down Michonne's cheeks, puddling on her shirt.
"He hung himself in prison. It was awful, nearly destroyed our family. Afterwards, his psychiatrist reached out to me. We had gotten acquainted when I was trying to get him legal help. Anyway, she sent me all these studies about the dangers when soldiers don't get appropriate support when reintegrating into their 'regular' lives, especially after time spent in war zones."
She paused to catch her breath, wanting to put everything on the table, ready to examine it all.
"The shock of going from the battle field to 'normalcy' can be extremely traumatic. How you were acting when we got her Rick…"
She shook her head, the emotions of the recollection catching her off guard. "You were so unpredictable. Sometimes, I could barely recognize you."
Rick looked at her, urging her to go on.
"Many of these men and women end up hurting themselves, or someone else," she continued. "There's not a standard expectation of behavior, but, there will almost always be some sort of reaction."
Michonne looked at him. The self-loathing over actions he could not go back and change, the need to take everything and everyone onto his own shoulders. The pathological need to save. He was a soldier without an army, she had recognized it early on. They were all suffering from trauma, but it seemed like Rick and Sasha fell further.
She had known far more than she led on about his dealings with Carol, as well as his interactions with Jessie. She had recognized it for what it was: a soldier coming home from war and not able to reconcile the horrors he had seen from the banalities of the relatively peaceful life he now found himself living.
"I saw that in you when we arrived in Alexandria. Going from biting a guy's throat out to save your son, to this fantasy world in Alexandria, it wasn't an easy transition for any of us. But you never took a minute to take it in. I guess I could have forced you to–"
"That's not on you. You were busy trying to keep everythin' together, while I was runnin' around fuckin' everythin' up." he said, regretfully.
"Yeah, well, I'd been down this road before," she replied. "I knew what I needed to do to pull myself out of the spiral. Now, you do too."
Eyes forward, she continued, "I tried to keep a close watch, make sure you were ok, but you fought me at every turn. It took Carl getting hurt, and the mess that came after it for you to see you needed help. I was so proud of you when you started talking with Denise. That's when I knew I had you back."
"I know it probably felt like I did, but I never left you," he replied, eager to have her understand. "Never."
She looked at him, nodding in acquiescence. As they reached the gates of the Hilltop, Rick looked at her, indebted by her grace, appreciative of her mercy. He entered the Hilltop with the clear vision that he would make sure she knew that he would never leave her side again.
"Is this your first pregnancy Michonne?" Dr. Carson asked, prepping the ultrasound machine as he read through the notes Dr. Soroyan had sent along for his review.
Sitting next to Rick, inside the old FEMA trailer that had been converted into a medical bay, Michonne went uncharacteristically mute. Rick stared at her, watching as her eyes became glassy and her bottom lip trembled. When they had arrived at the Hilltop, she had asked him to join her in the medical trailer. It was unlike Michonne to make such a request, so, he knew her trepidation was getting the best of her. He had been grateful to be there for her. Studying her expression, Rick's heart ached for all this cruel world had taken from her.
"This is the second one," Rick began. "She had a three-year-old, Andre. It was before… all of this."
Michonne turned her gaze towards Rick. She had shared the trauma of losing Andre and Mike with him long ago, in a moment of vulnerability. After the prison, back when they were on the road, not knowing where to go or what to do next. He had shared his regret over how things had ended with Lori. Together, they had wept for each other's greatest tragedies, and had come out of their joint confessionals renewed and reunited. Looking at him now, she was thankful for his place in her life. Turning back to Dr. Carson, she nodded slowly.
"I'm very sorry for your loss Michonne," Dr. Carson solemnly said. "We can't secure everything that happens outside, but we can do our best to make sure this pregnancy is a good one."
Satisfied with his setup, Dr. Carson pushed the ultrasound machine towards the examination table.
"Ok Michonne, let's take a look at your baby," Dr. Carson said, gesturing for her to get on the examination table.
"Should I leave?" Rick asked, not wanting to leave, but unsure if his continued presence might make Michonne uncomfortable.
She looked at him, puzzled by his question. It hadn't occurred to her that he wouldn't stay through the ultrasound. She didn't want to do it alone, and his quiet comfort had buoyed her spirits.
"Stay," she said, simply, watching him nod his head and give her a small smile.
They both got up from their chairs and walked the few feet to the table next to the ultrasound machine. Rick helped Michonne onto the table, as Dr. Carson finished prepping the machine. Once Michonne had settled in, Rick positioned himself on the opposite side of the table from Dr. Carson, holding Michonne's hand to reassure her.
Rick watched as Dr. Carson rolled up the hem of Michonne's sleeveless T-shirt to reveal the tiniest of baby bumps. Unexpectedly, Rick's breath caught, and a lump began forming in his throat. As Dr. Carson smeared the cold gel on her stomach, Michonne flinched, causing Rick to tighten his hold on her hand, while continuing to gently stroke her hand with his thumb. She relaxed into the warmth of his grip.
Except for the whirring of the machine, the room was silent, as the doctor placed the ultrasound wand onto Michonne's stomach. The silence was quickly broken by the loud, steady thumping of an amplified heartbeat.
"There we go," Dr. Carson said, looking over to smile at Michonne. "Good, strong heartbeat. Let's see what we can see."
While the doctor maneuvered the wand across her belly, Michonne, her eyes flooded with tears, looked up at an equally teary-eyed Rick. He was overjoyed for her.
"You're only about 14, 15 weeks max, so it's a bit early, but I can still make out the sex of the baby," the doctor said. "Would you like to know?"
Instinctively, Michonne looked up at Rick, checking his reaction to the question. With Andre, she hadn't wanted to know. There had been too few true surprises in that world; she had relished not knowing until his joyful birth. In this world, the element of surprise held less cache. Rick smiled at her, nodding. She turned and nodded to Dr. Carson.
"It's a girl."
A/N: A special "thank you" to Tigerwalk for sharing some fascinating information about PTSD and its effects, especially during times of war.
Lyrics are from The Smiths "Ask." As always, thank you for reading!
