A/N: I'm so sorry for the delay! Life gets in the way, especially with a baby! But chapter 6 will be up within the week, and then 7-10 veryyy soon after that, I promise. Please enjoy. I really would appreciate more feedback, and Happy Valentines Day, Love, MP
Ain't no sunshine when she's gone
It's not warm when she's away
Ain't no sunshine when she's gone
And she's always gone too long
Anytime she goes away...
Monday
With a squared jaw and a jutting lift of the chin, Rick Grimes regarded his reflection in the mirror of his bathroom vanity, his revolver-hammer calloused thumb tracing the slope of his dentary bone and the graying scruff growing there, rustling soft salt and pepper. He had decided to keep his beard. He rather enjoyed how it looked on him- it made him appear more mature, distinguished- and he enjoyed even moreso the way it made Michonne Hawthorne mewl. She reserved a special moan for the moments when he teased her most delicate places so tenderly with his facial hair: her lips, her thighs, her swollen, sweet clit, all while he lapped at her with his tongue and caressed her every curve and dip with his fingers, tipsy from her flavor alone, his stubbled cheeks and thickening mustache tickling at her most sensitive places while she clamped her strong thighs around his ears.
Rick smiled, watching a crimson blush surface on his cheeks and spread into his shirt like a wildfire. The effect she had on him was addictive; it was all-consuming. He couldn't stop thinking about her, and he couldn't recall the last time he had felt so joyful. Straightening, he squared his shoulders and met his own thalassic gaze, staring back at the aging man he knew quite well.
Confidence no longer eluded him. Rick felt as though he could face anything. And courage was precisely what he needed to make it through the day: he was expected at the station in an hour's time.
He had made a statement on Friday, but he had invoked his right against self-incrimination, and refused to provide a voluntary statement to detectives about the shooting, making one instead in the presence of his attorney that could only be used for the internal administrative investigation, and would not be admissible in court in a criminal investigation. And he had made a sound choice in doing so, because the Remington's were seeking to press charges after all. An investigation was underway, and Rick knew he would have most, if not all, of the week off. He was to meet with the psychologist on Wednesday and be cleared to return to duty. Chief had given him the weekend, but Rick needed to rewrite and file the report of his actions. The original statement had been written in a shaky hand; the chief had called Rick soon after Michonne left to tell him that most of his statement was illegible, and the rewrite could not wait.
Rick's peer officer, Leon, was supposed to have come by on Saturday and Sunday to check on him, but the incompotent bastard had done no such thing. Rick was grateful that at least Michonne had been with him when he had recieved the bad news, and had spent the weekend with him.
Though she had only known him for a few days, she was remarkably supportive- more supportive than anyone else in his life. It boggled his mind and made his heart swell. He wondered why she cared. Was she simply kind? Did she have feelings for him, or did she have an alterior motive?Was she getting close to him for another reason?
Rick banished his paranoid musings and finished washing his face, taking extra care to clean his beard. He then combed his hair, and quickly dressed in fitted blue jeans and a white tee before adorning his neck with a splash of cologne. The smell now reminded him of Michonne. In the process of waking without her, he had risen from his lonely bed, and though he had been groggy, he had managed to catch her scent in the fibers of his linen sheets, and it was currently much like his. Her perfume and his cologne were a new fragrance, mingling. Rick knitted his brow and surfaced from his thoughts again, glancing over his shoulder in puzzlement at the lack of light trickling in through his pale blue curtains. He approached his window and pulled the fabric back, staring out over the side yard and suburban neighborhood. Not only was it cloudy, but a light rain had begun to fall and the sun was nowhere to be found, seemingly as upset about Michonne's absence as Rick was.
He frowned to himself and shifted his eyes towards the vacant parking spot in front of his house where her sedan had been, thinking of how she had gone away so early- she hadn't given him a chance to say goodbye. She left only the taste of her lips, his spearmint toothpaste on her tongue... Her mouth had been cold. He had shuddered from her kiss, drowsily eyeing the scarlet 5:35AM on his clock radio. She had mentioned something about Friday and floated away like an angel, her steps unheard, light as a cat on her beautiful feet in the halls of his home.
Wonder this time where she's gone
Wonder if she's gone to stay
Ain't no sunshine when she's gone
and this house just ain't no home
Anytime she goes away
Friday, he thought. He couldn't wait until Friday to see Michonne. He began to ache. He missed her: her smile, her voice, her mellifluous giggle, and the mystery in those big, captivating brown eyes. He laughed softly to himself and licked his lips. He loved Michonne's eyes. In the sun, they were the color of fresh brewed, ice-cold, summer sweet tea- the kind of sweet tea his mom made for him when he had finished mowing the stretching acres of their farm on a day much like the scalding July one on which he had met Michonne: a tall, gleaming glass covered in crisp condensation and filled to the brim with sugary, brewed goodness and slices of lemons. Sips of soothing nostalgia, and her eyes were just as comforting, if not more.
Has it really only been three days? he wondered in disbelief, stunned at how natural it felt to pine for her, to feel so strongly about her. It wasn't just the sex, though their chemistry was undeniable and could not be ignored, especially since he could count at least nine of her orgasms in total over the last seventy-two hours, and reminisce fondly as he recalled every perfect instance. No, he thought, it's not just the sex. Must be something else... something different...
He couldn't quite put his finger on it but he felt it, deep in the pits of his stomach where the butterflies flitted and pestered him, buried in his chest beneath his heart where the flutters mystified him. He felt it in the tingles racing down his spine when her lips found a spot only she had ever discovered. He felt it in the warmth washing over him when she laughed, when she smiled.
He felt it in the ache residing in his core as he stood before the window, dreading the day ahead and the tasks coming with it. He wanted to sleep, or to see Carl and go to his parents farm the way they always did, or to see Michonne, to take her somewhere that made her smile.
Instead, the day had come for Rick to face his reality. The internal affairs investigator would be waiting for him. He wasn't anxious to return to work at all- he didn't miss it- but Rick did miss his sidearm. His hip felt empty and lacking without his Colt Python hanging there, weighing down the right side of his gunbelt and jeans and knocking against his thigh during his stride.
He hadn't fired his revolver in so long, the recoil had stunned him into a dazed stupor when he watched product of his trigger-pull connect with Jody's skull. When they had escorted Rick away, he watched paramedics treat Shane and load him into the ambulance on a stretcher to be taken to Emory University Hospital. He was still there, and Rick had a few missed called from him waiting on his phone, but he had not returned the calls.
Rick remembered craning his neck to peer back at the investigating officers as Shane was driven away, the moments passing before him in slow motion, his sight so out of focus that he wasn't even able stare down at his lap or keep his head from swimming and his ears from ringing. They had taken him to the station and began protocol, questioning him and guiding him through his next steps. And all the while, he had sat in a daze, until they demanded his uniform and his revolver. Those items felt like a part of his identity, and being without them, he admitted to himself, made him feel a little lost.
The station had reminded him to stay away from media attention: to avoid the scene of the crime and to take as much time off as he needed. Rick sighed to himself and forced his mind out of its ruminating places, slinging on his duty belt and turning to leave his master bedroom to saunter into his closet for one of his backup revolvers: an old, black World War II Colt M1917, on the highest shelf of his small walk-in, still tucked away in the velvet lined wooden box his grandfather had always kept it in. He smiled at the sight of the empty hanger where one of his favorite white linen shirts had been hanging, now missing because of Michonne. He decided she could keep it for as long as she desired.
Securing the old revolver on his gunbelt, he proceeded to leave his bedroom, but noticed a pair of pale panties on the floor by his bed. He blushed. Michonne wore the prettiest panties. His blush deepened when he realized his mouth was watering, and he was considering taking a whiff of them. He almost laughed aloud. Christ, he thought, this woman... He went to retrieve them and shoved them into his back pocket to avoid indulging in the lustful temptation. And then, he espied something else: a small golden bead on the other side of his bed, a hair bead, her hair bead. He snatched it up, along with a pair of her earrings she had left on the nightstand, slipped them into his front pocket, and left his room.
When he stepped into the living area, something caught his eye. On the empty head seat at the kitchen table, he saw the bag containing the gifts he had purchased for Michonne before seeing her again on Saturday. In his excitement to be near her for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, and after spending the twenty-four that followed eating with her and talking to her and burying himself within her sweet heat, he had completely forgotten to give her the small token of his affection and appreciation. He pulled his phone from his pocket and, hesitating for a moment, decided to call her. It was the perfect excuse to see her again. Fate had decided. He was a bit embarrassed- reaching out only six hours after she had gone- but he could not help himself. And when she answered knowingly, speaking his name, purring it, all resignation vanished.
" Hi, Rick, " she greeted flirtatiously. " Miss me already?"
Michonne wasn't at all shocked to see his name appear on her phone's brightened screen. She had been thinking about Rick instead of eating lunch at a small bistro only ten miles away from his place. She found herself drifting closer and closer to him in her daily life, and it wasn't merely to avoid work. Despite the heat of the summer and the crimes which usually broke out between May and September, her desk was rather empty, and Michonne assumed her firm was trying to take it easy on her, leaving her with only the Peletier case. But Michonne didn't want to work the Peletier case. Carol's attempted suicide had dampened her spirits, and Michonne couldn't afford to have her mood dulled any further. She was treading dangerous waters. She had spent the morning on hold with the prison's infirmary before she learned that Carol was fine, and back at the prison on suicide watch. Michonne had hung up immediately after learning the news, and she was considering dropping the case, but she knew she couldn't. She didn't want Carol to be in prison for killing her abuser.
" I miss you more than you know," Rick admitted, and it brought Michonne back to the present. Rick smiled to himself as if she was close to him. Her voice in his ear was a welcoming melody. He closed his eyes and imagined one of the heartwarming embraces she had given him while they slept, her arms around his neck, her face nuzzling his pulse.
" I have some idea. I can hear it in your voice. " She laughed softly and his smile widened. " Everything okay?" She took a bite of the small puff pastry she had ordered, finishing it and licking the powdered sugar from her top lip.
" Yeah, everythang's fine. Just wanted to tell you that you left some stuff here- wanted you to have it. Rather than wait all week. " He wanted to her to drop by. He wanted to see her again already. She grinned, standing to leave the bistro and paying the owner before traipsing out the door.
Sweet, sweet man, she thought." I did?" she asked, and on her way to her sedan, she left her half-eaten salmon muniere by a lonely bush for a stray cat she had seen napping there.
" Yeah, " he replied, listening to the wind around her rush into the receiver. " um, some... underwear." Rick felt his face and neck flush again. He sat down by the window and stared out into the street. The particular piece of lingerie was calling to him from his back pocket. " A pair of earrings, and... something else. Something I... bought for you but forgot to give you. "
" For me?" she cooed, flattered. The pair had clearly been too busy becoming acquainted. She kept grinning, knowing she looked like a fool, and started her car. " I just finished lunch. Wasn't very hungry. I have a little time left- should I stop by?" Rick's heart leapt into his throat. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple aching.
" Please," he replied, his voice strained, low, anticipatory. He stood up, as if she was already there, and ran a hand over his hair.
Ten minutes, and one cup of coffee later, she was there. Rick watched her sleek luxury sedan pull up to the curb and park. She stepped out, looking even more breathtaking than his memory could recall her, in a black blazer, matching pencil skirt and cream chiffon blouse, and she glided up his sidewalk like a winged mystery, her black heels clop-clopping. His heart was fluttering in his ears at an almost painful rhythm. He rushed to the door before she got to it and flung it open. Michonne stopped at the base of the porch steps, glancing up and taking him in.
Rick was as handsome as ever. His white tee brought out the blue of his beautiful eyes and in the shadows of his porch his lashes were pale, enchanting. He hadn't shaved, and the fact made her smile. She took her time ascending each step, but when he reached out to her, she rushed into his open arms, and her fingers were in his hair before their lips touched.
Rick kissed her with a greed he felt no shame in expressing. Her lips deserved to be kissed: so full, so soft, so sweet, he ached- groaning, he reached for her ass, his hands possessive as he took a pace back, carrying her with him, pulling her indoors, and slamming the entrance shut. He pressed her against the wall and parted her lips with his tongue, delving into her hot mouth. How was it possible to have missed her as much as he had when she had left at six in the morning and it was only eleven? He couldn't get enough, and she felt the same way about him.
Michonne pulled away to speak and catch her breath. " I guess waiting til Friday meant nothing." Rick looked down at her, blue eyes dark, hooded with lust.
" What's the point?" he murmured, his voice deep, gravelly. " I don't have to work this week if I don't want to. And you don't seem too focused on work either... I hope you don't mind me saying that."
"No, it's true," Michonne said in soft reply.
" So, why bother staying away from each other?" She answered by kissing him again. There was no point in staying away. Michonne watched his eyes roll back as she tugged his nape and sucked his tongue, rubbing herself against his growing erection. The sight, and feel of him, made her clench. All of sudden, she felt empty. She wanted to be full of him, and he sensed it. Still holding onto her ass, Rick walked her back towards the kitchen, and before she realized it was happening, he was picking her up, his grip sure on each cheek. She gasped.
" Don't drop me," she whispered, hooking her legs around his trim waist and sealing a firm grasp on his shoulders.
" Trust me," he said back, eyeing her. Michonne was a beautiful woman. Her skin gleamed. Her hair was so long, it nearly touched her perfect peach ass. Her eyes, a usual stoic brown, were vulnerable when she looked at him. Her lips were so unbelievably plump, heart-shaped, alluring- he could kiss her for hours. And she had chosen him, of all people. Rick felt like the luckiest man alive. He entered the kitchen and hoisted her up onto the countertop by the refrigerator, but instead of tearing at her clothes the way she wanted him to, he set her down and went into the dining room. With an orange gift bag in his hand and a smile on his face, he returned. " If I don't give it to you now, you know I'll taste you and forget everything," he chuckled, and Michonne broke into a smile. He handed her the bag and she yanked away the cream-orange tissue paper, discarding it on the floor, and glanced inside.
There were three random items: a gourmet chocolate bar, a cat-shaped self-pull wine corkscrew, and something that made her eyes fill with tears. It was a gold dipped red rose. She had a purple one much like it... from someone she loved, someone she dearly missed. A drop escaped and raced down her cheek. Rick reacted. "Are you okay?" he asked, and it sounded as if his voice was breaking. "Did I do something wrong? Goddammit, I'm sorry." He rubbed at her thighs as she sat sniffling on the counter. Michonne shook her head and swallowed away her emotion.
" No, it's okay. This just... reminds me of someone." She eased the rose back into the bag. "But I love it. Thank you. And I love chocolate. And cats. How did you know?" She avoided his eyes, but she saw Rick lifting a hand to her face. He thumbed a tear away and spoke in such a low voice, she would not have heard him if he wasn't close.
" The chocolate was a guess. Assumed you had a sweet tooth. The corkscrew is because I noticed the little cat charm on your keyring. The rose- I thought it was beautiful. Is it tacky? I know it's a buncha random thangs but I just wanted to show you how much I care and I didn't have the time to go anywhere real nice. Should I not have-?" Michonne watched his face redden, and she silenced him with a kiss, forcing her tongue into his mouth.
Sweet man, she found herself thinking again. Sweet, sweet man.
" Shhh. It was thoughtful. Thank you." She parted her legs and wrapped them around him, clamping them down onto him, drawing him in as she licked at him. He was moaning louder than she was. Rick gave a whimper when she reached for his fly and closed her hand around his cock.
"I wanna know what... made you cry," he said, straining, gasping. " I'm sorry I made you cry."
" Shhh," Michonne hissed again. His mouth fell open when her finger discovered the pre-cum leaking from him- when she spread it around the head.
" Oh, fuck," he sighed, hips twitching. " Will you tell me what's wrong? Is this the same thing you talked about yesterday? I just wanna help. On account of you-." Michonne bit his bottom lip and reached further into his jeans to cup his balls. He nearly came.
" Shut up and fuck me, Rick," she demanded, lapping at the red spot on his lip where she had nibbled him. " I'll tell you soon. I promise." Her voice cracked. " But right now... I want you to fuck me. " Rick felt as though his heart would burst. He desired so achingly to know what Michonne was keeping from him, but it was so important to her, so guarded- he could not push her to share it, but he could be there for her. And if she wanted to be fucked, he was going to thoroughly fuck her.
He swallowed a lump of emotion in his throat and reached down to grasp the hem of her skirt, his eyes on hers, their faces close, his lips hovering over hers. He inched the article up her thighs and once more lifted her a bit off of the countertop, pushing the black cotton until it bunched around her hips, her heels still on. He set her back down, and then he could smell her, and his mouth watered again. He reached into his back pocket and took out the panties she had left, bringing them to his nose and inhaling the way he had wanted to in private before she had come over. Michonne's face lit up. He closed his eyes as her scent hit him, and then in a flash, his face was between her thighs. He kept her panties on and tongued at her clit, wetting the purple cotton and making her writhe. And then he straightened himself and returned to her lips, index finger hooking her wet panties. With his tongue back in her mouth, he loosened the gunbelt and the button on his jeans; they slipped down his legs and Michonne pushed them, along with his boxers, further down. He took his dick in one hand, aligned himself, and with the other hand, grabbed her ass and forced himself up into her cunt with one swift, fluid motion. Michonne cried out, digging her heels into the small of his back; tears sprang anew.
He was thicker than she could stand, harder than she could take. She felt too full, so fast, too complete. Rick moaned and gave her a sloppy kiss, his saliva trickling into her mouth. She nearly combusted. And then he began to stroke into her, humming appreciatively, his tongue dancing with hers, leading hers. Unrelenting, he did not stop; even when he was panting, he kept sliding into her, seeking to please, to earn another throaty moan. He would suck at her neck and return to her mouth- bite at her lip and whisper his gratitude in her ear. With every kiss, every stroke, every word, he could feel her tightening around him, her womanhood hugging him, kissing him, wetting him. She was spilling out of her chiffon blouse, her chest heaving; he freed a breast and fastened his mouth to her nipple, tongue aflutter. Changing his pace, and slipping his left hand between them, he guided himself into her heat with more precise force, and his fingers on either side of her clitoris, his right hand still between her ass and the countertop, pinching, kneading, squeezing. As he stimulated her, massaging the swollen crux of her flower, stroking the heavenly depths of her center, he sensed her undoing.
"I- I'm gonna-," she sighed, clutching his face, and dragging his lips to hers. His beard scratched against her cheeks, her chin, her bottom lip. He tasted of coffee, of compassion. She was going to lose her mind.
" I know you are," Rick murmured against her trembling voice, tasting the sugar on her breath. " You never have to tell me... I can feel it." Her hand travelled from his forehead to his neck, her fingers raking through his hair, cherishing how soft it was, how it curled in the back, wrapping, almost, protectively around his ears. She was at ease when she touched his ringletted nape. She could forget her every trouble with him inside her and her fingers in his hair.
" Fuck," she groaned, her body elongating, preparing itself, her heeled feet pointing out.
" That's it," he breathed, sucking at her nipple." That's what I like to hear, Michonne." He moved and slid his tongue into her gasping mouth. The timbre of his deep, southern twang vibrating against her, through her, set her off first. And then, the curve of him, and the soft, silken vein down his shaft, stroking her sweet spots in and out- she heard herself crying out but couldn't feel her body, her voicebox, produce the sound. Her climax struck her with an abrupt seizing of the senses. Pleasure conquered her every atom. Her eyes rolled back. Her head followed. Her body tautened, and then slackened. There was a reason the French referred to it as ' la petite mort-' she felt as though she was dying. And then she lost all sense of self, and became only aware of him: the jingle of his gunbelt, and the clatter of the revolver in his pants on the tile flooring, still wrapped about his ankles. Rick clenched his teeth and came with such power, he saw stars. The scent of his sweat and his seed filled Michonne's nose, and the first thing she felt again, was the flipping of her stomach. She looked at him, and saw the tears in his crystalline eyes- heard the quiet, panting moans he offered. Their lips met feverishly.
" Rick," she whispered. " Shit. What am I going to do with you? " He kept kissing her. Coming apart together was so cathartic- they were both emotional.
" Whatever you want," he confessed. " Do whatever you want with me." Michonne broke their contact and slid down from the countertop, planting her feet on the floor. Rick let go of her, and watched as she sank to her knees. His heart leapt, but she lowered herself further and began crawling away from him. Rick tilted his head curiously and watched her. She glanced back over her shoulder as she entered the dining room, lifting a hand to beckon him with a come-hither finger. Rick was on all fours before she knew it. She laughed and lifted her skirt to pull her panties to the side, exposing her shining folds, his cum sliding out of her like nectar from a flower, a beautifully vulgar sight, the contrast of his cum on her pink and brown petals. Rick crawled faster, pouncing, and Michonne sank to the carpet prone. She let him fuck her silly right there on the floor, her face turned to the side, his tongue in her mouth, her worries gone.
•••
"Oww, oww." Michonne winced from the disinfectant bubbling on her knee as Rick pressed the cotton swab to her little carpet burn and pursed his lips to blow it dry.
" I'm so sorry," he murmured, opening a bandage. " You bring out an animal in me. I should have taken you to bed."
" Oh, hush," Michonne said, watching him place the bandage on her small wound with care. " I wanted it on the floor. I want you everywhere." Rick smoothed the bandage and Michonne grabbed him by the shirt and kissed him filthily. His cheeks burned. No one had ever kissed him the way she did. No one had every wanted him to fuck them on the floor. As she stood from the easy chair, Rick thought he saw a shadow pass the window. When he turned and looked, there was nothing there. " I'm gonna go. I'm late. I don't like just stopping by to have sex and run but-."
" It's okay," Rick said, standing also. " Seemed like you needed it." Michonne laughed.
" I did."
" And... I like giving you what you need," Rick said.
" I bet you do. Are you doing okay? Are you feeling better?" They shared a parting kiss, and nearly ended up undressing again. Rick pressed his forehead to hers and nodded.
" I am. Haven't seen much of you-know-who... You'll be here to see Carl on Friday?"
" I will."
" I'll call you," he murmured. Michonne gave him one last peck.
" Please do," she whispered back. Rick retrieved her gift bag, slipping her earrings into it, along with her panties, and he handed everything to her, escorting her out, and watching until she had driven away. The sun, of course, had returned, precisely when she had been with him. Rick smiled. And then he headed out himself, grabbing his keys, phone and new lucky charm, one of the many beads that adorned Michonne's beautiful locs all tucked away in the pockets of his faded jeans. He had to get out of his house or he was afraid he might go insane. No Michonne, and the threat of Jody appearing simply because Rick had mentioned him. He could not take the risk.
When Rick arrived at the station, he parked his midnight blue and white squad car around the back and proceeded up the steps to the double glass doors, his boots sounding against the concrete sidewalk as he passed the flag. He glanced up at it for a moment and then headed inside, the sweat on his palm making for a difficult entrance, the metal handle of the glass door slipping from his grasp. The lighting assaulted his eyes and the cramped space made his heart race, and his ears ring. His face twitched into a scowl.
" Hey, Rick! What're you doin' back here so soon? "
Certainly not because I wanna talk to you, Leon, Rick thought, cutting him a glare.
" You sure you're ready to be out on duty again, Richie?" Lambert asked from behind him as he started through his small group of colleagues, Linda and Diane giggling. Rick cringed. He hated being called "Richie" He only tolerated it from his brother, Jeff, and it hadn't been unpleasant to hear Michonne say it. Being employed at such a small town sheriff's department meant working with men he had sat next to in homeroom or English class at King County High some decade and a half ago.
Rick pushed his way through his colleagues, offering curt nods towards them and leaving every question and greeting unanswered as he made his way to the back of the station to see Chief Reynolds. He sighed deeply when he reached the oak door, mentally preparing himself for what sat behind it. He knocked and waited for the booming reply before he turned the doorknob and stepped in.
" Rick Grimes, you trigger happy son-of-a-bitch- get in here!" Rick grimaced, turning to close the door behind him and remove his hat before sitting down. The only pleasant thing about Reynold's office was the pair of coffee bean brown chairs with leather so buttery soft, Rick always found himself stroking the armrest, tracing the taut smoothness beneath rosewood borders and preparing himself to drown out any of the chief's vexatious rambling he didn't particularly desire hearing.
Rick would kill for this man's office. For the first time, he pondered running for chief against him, just to steal his acquired "throne". He didn't trust him. Rick always felt the need to listen to every word he said, waiting for a slip of the flapping tongue. He had to be hiding something.
Doesn't everyone have something to hide? he wondered.
Rick wondered if he could do the same; win the hearts of the working class citizens; the suburban soccer moms and beer-drinking dads, snatching up votes with his charm, with adorable Carl at his side and regal Michonne on his arm. He smirked at the notion. "What the hell are you doing back here so soon?" Deputy Chief Reynolds asked, rousing Rick from his daydream. His boss took a loud sip of black coffee and eyed Rick over the brim of his mug, his greying eyebrows unkempt and raised.
" You called me," Rick replied, bothered that he had to explain. " Told me I needed to rewrite my report." Rick didn't want to be there. The station was the last place on earth he wanted to be and he could think of the first fondly.
" Well, it's not like you're gonna be here very long for that..." Reynolds started, eyeballing Rick. He set his mug down on a wooden coaster. Rick clenched his jaw in frustration, his fist following suit where it rested against his thigh. Michonne's hair bead dug into his skin there and at the thought of her, he relaxed, recalling the scent of her hair, the way her locs fell over her shoulders. He took a deep breath.
" I'm not tryin' to come back to work yet. Just let me finish the rest of the damn PSP so I can get the hell outta here," he grumbled. Reynolds smiled crookedly, shaking his head and chuckling as he reached for his unorganized array of business cards.
" Alright, alright, fine, Rick. Don't get your man panties in a twist," he said, smirking. " By the way! A little birdie told me some hot stuff lawyer got that family to drop the charges on you! You've been getting cozy with the right kinda people! " Rick felt his heart jump into his throat.
Michonne? he thought. Is he talking about her?
" So there's no need to worry about that anymore. We finished up everything on Friday. They said they don't need anything else from ya. The investigation went through into the weekend. Autopsy came back just this mornin'. Boy was full of marijuana and meth. The case has been cleared. It was a good shoot and we can give you your revolver back, so grab it from Patty on your way out." Rick sighed and smiled a little, his fingers already twitching for the feel of those wooden grips in his hand again, the heavy pull of the hammer digging into his calloused thumb. " All we got left to do is get you to meet with one of our therapists."
Rick groaned. "I saw you after it happened; do you remember?" And Rick tilted his head in reply, trying to recall the moment. He couldn't, so he kept his mouth shut, avoiding his supervisor's gaze and the question entirely. "You're not the first cop to have a hard time after a citizen's shooting. Don't be so damn hard on yourself. It's pretty normal actually; had my share of ruts after I shot a few fuckers my rookie year. I'd be surprised if the whole thing hadn't affected you at all."
Jesus Christ, Rick thought. His rookie year? A few?
Rick had been on patrol for almost sixteen years and this was the first time he had ever killed anyone. What a stroke of dumb luck. He blinked in surprise as Reynolds paused, eyeing Rick with sincere concern for the first time since he had arrived, but he knew his bosses' genuineness would vanish- sooner rather than later.
" I talked to the welfare counselor. We set you up with Ms. June. She's the mental health professional that works over here with us in all the post-shooting interventions. They're mandatory- once you finish with a session or two, she can decide whether or not you need more time or if we can get you back out there on duty... Y'know, if that's your goal. I'll have her start penciling you in during the workweek and she'll give you a call to set things up once we make sure she's good for you, so don't miss your appointment, Rick. Plus, she's a sweet piece of ass. You won't be disappointed," Reynolds chuckled, twirling his fountain pen and smirking, his thick gray beard twitching with his smile. And there it was; just as Rick had suspected. The crassness had returned.
"I'll make sure to see her but I'm not interested," Rick muttered, offering anodding and standing to leave, his enthusiasm to flee mistakenly and rudely evident.
"Aww, c'mon, Rick. You look like you could stand to get laid! You're too goddamn uptight! " his boss hollered after him as Rick exited the office in a blur, leaving the door ajar and walking away swiftly. He rewrote his report in the solitude of interview room number two with a cup of hot coffee, annoyed by the buzzing and blinking of the fluorescent light overhead. When he was finished, he filed it in records with Patty, and as she handed him his Colt Python on the way out, he broke into a grin and left feeling relieved, nudging the glass door with a fist and flying out into the mist of a summer shower. The drops struck his skin, the quiet of nature and the soft bustle of small town traffic welcoming him.
Rick changed his mind about leaving his squad car behind at the station, and he climbed in and started the engine, pulling out his phone and calling Michonne. He closed his eyes as it rang, waiting and tapping his fingers, his nail clicking against the hair bead in his pocket.
"Hello?" The voice in his ear was not Michonne's, but it was a vaguely familiar one. Rick sat up in his seat.
" Who's this?" he asked.
" You called. Who is this?"
" Where's Michonne? "
" Right to the chase. " She chuckled. " She's upstairs, in the middle of something." Rick sighed. He had suspected that Michonne would be busy but he had hoped to hear her voice; to make her giggle and to ask her if she had met with Jody's family, if she was the "hot stuff lawyer" Reynolds spoke of. He scoffed to himself. What an awful way to describe her. It would never do her justice. She was much, much more than that.
" Do you know if she met with the Remington family today? About-"
"Yeah, that was her. She heard through the grapevine that they'd be meeting with one of the lawyers in the other branch of the firm this morning, so she stopped by and had a little talk with them. Worked her Michonne Magic on them." Rick was stunned. He blinked and blushed, stuttering to find a reply. All he wanted in that moment was to see Michonne and to wrap his arms around her. "I'll let her know you called to send your thanks, " her friend finished.
"Can you tell her to call me back? Y'know, when she can?" He could hear the smile on the woman's voice when she replied.
" Sure thing. 'Bye, Rick" and a click followed as she ended the call. Rick sighed. He had hoped to at least hear Michonne's voice but he winced at the thought that he'd hardly waited an hour since she left to try to talk to her again. He didn't want to seem desperate... but he didn't want to play games either. He wanted her know she was constantly on his mind, that there was no way he would even be able to function without the promise of seeing her again. He knew the mere thought of her could mollify his qualms. He ran his hand through his curls and groaned, switching the radio on and peeling away from the curb. He took off down Main Street, hitting the highway from there and driving until he passed the King County city limit.
He stopped just past the sign and pulled over into the grassy fields of his hometown's outskirts, shifting into park and staring at the spiraling swarm of gnats outside his window. He glanced up, breaking into a cold sweat as he looked out over the acreage of countryside, hoping he wouldn't see Jody.
But as his vision clouded with the incoming storm of anxiety and his ears began to ring, his fingers twitched towards either of his revolvers. There he was, bleeding and barely breathing, hiding behind the trees... And with a heaving, trembling sigh, Rick inhaled and squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth and screaming as loudly as he could, for as long as he could, beating the steering wheel with his fist until his hand was raw with pain.
How much longer? he thought. How much longer is this gonna follow me?
~•°•~
Tuesday
" What did you say? What the hell are you smiling about, Michonne?" French tipped fingers snapped in front of her face and stirred her from her thoughts. She blinked up and turned her attention, breaking into a grin as she fiddled with the handle of her cat shaped mug.
"Nothin'," she retorted, pursing her lips and eyeing Andrea with slight scowl. "You're not going to stop asking me that, are you?"
"I will when you answer the damn question." Michonne softened at the odd look of desperation in her best friends bright blue eyes. She giggled.
"Fine. Jeez. Here." She revealed her smartphone from in her lap under her desk and turned the screen towards Andrea. Michonne watched her sapphire eyes widen and her pupils dilate. She smirked. She couldn't blame Andrea in the slightest for her response; the picture definitely called for such a reaction.
Michonne had snapped a photo of a very sexy snoozing Rick just before she left his house the previous morning. He was stark naked, his sheet pulled up to protect his manhood, the trim of the soft pale blue sheets she now knew well nestled below his Adonis belt. His chestnut curls disheveled and his full lips parted, he'd slept like baby at her side, his toned arm raised above his head and resting on his pillows, the other still wrapped about the vacant spot where she had slept, his fingers without a doubt searching for her plump ass.
And knowing it would be her last time seeing him for a few days, she couldn't help but to want a picture of him (even though she had already visited him again); to remember how peaceful he looked, to remember the way her stomach fluttered when she beheld his face...
" Is that... hat boy?" Andrea asked, her blonde brows raised in astonishment. Michonne laughed harder.
" Yeah, that's hat boy. His name is Rick, remember? I've told you about him." Andrea blushed bright red.
" Jesus, Michonne. I couldn't see him very well in that club Friday night. No wonder you haven't stopped smiling..."
" He's more than his looks though. He's a sweetheart too," Michonne said in a dreamy whisper, drawing her phone into her lap again to smile softly down at Rick's picture. When she glanced up again, Andrea's brow was quirked, this time quizzically. "What?" Michonne asked, scowl returning and deepening.
" A sweetheart? Really?" Andrea asked and Michonne frowned so harshly that her face began to hurt, tension ridged in her furrowed brow.
" Are you trying to say-? "
" I'm just saying... He's all over the news for shooting that little boy, Michonne. Just... be careful around him. I don't think-"
" I don't remember asking you what you think, Andrea." Immediately, she broke eye contact but Michonne continued anyway. "And that wasn't a little boy; despite what the news is trying to make it look like. He was nineteen year, and he held the girl he loved hostage, at gunpoint, over a confrontation about drugs. He was high. He shot a cop and he endangered a lot of lives... I don't think it's something Rick wanted to do. But I think he believed it had to be done. You're judging him for doing his duty. Things like that happen on patrol all the time. You've defended cops and I've never heard a word of judgement out of you towards the men who have killed people for less."
There was a long, awkward silence suspended between them and Michonne sat there scowling, angered by Andrea's audacity.
" Look, Michonne. I didn't mean-. I don't-." Andrea sighed. " I'm sorry. I'm glad you've met someone after everything... after-." Michonne held up a hand to interrupt her. " Okay, I'm sorry, we're getting off topic. You wanted to tell me something. I didn't hear what you said earlier. Before we were... distracted. " Andrea asked, pursing her lips. Michonne clicked the power button on her phone and slipped it back into the pocket of her handbag.
" No, you didn't," she replied, sitting back in her rich, buttery brown leather executive lounge chair and searching Andrea's eyes, trying to relax her frown and calm her tempers flames before they ignited and set everything alight.
" What is it?" Andrea asked. Perhaps her friend could see the look of dread spreading over her face. Her hesitation to bring up the topic had persisted, causing her to fidget and fumble with their notes, her eyes scanning the words in rhythmic horizontal lines. "What is it? Answer me." Michonne sighed.
" I found something. When I spoke to Sophia yesterday... It's not good... "
•••
" How could you do this. " It hardly came out as a question. Nothing was coming out right.
Michonne was in a trance the entire winding route to the prison. She let Andrea drive, fearing her own cognitive skills were too impaired. She was ill with worry, her mind racing, her lips trembling as she mumbled to herself. And now she sat before Carol, eyes burning as she held back tears.
" I didn't think anyone would find out," Carol squeaked, her voice breaking as she held back tears. Her lips quivered and she lifted a trembling hand to wipe her flushed, tear-streaked cheeks. " I didn't know what to do. "
" You didn't have to lie. You lied to me, Carol. And your lie took this case to trial and now you're stuck in here for 25 years... I can't believe you did this. You always tell your attorney the truth. I will still defend you," Michonne whispered, shaking her head in disbelief. "Who does this? What kind of person lies to their defense attorney about something this crucial, this, significant, this... changes everything, Carol! How could to do this?!" Her voice hadgrown louder. Carol flinched at her crescendo, recoiling in what looked to be shame, but Michonne doubted it.
" I'm sorry," Carol whispered. " I- I don't know what else to say. I didn't think anyone would find out. I... didn't think I would make a mistake. " Michonne felt her blood begin to boil, rage bubbling beneath her skin and warming her with displeasure. She blinked rapidly, calming the unsteady rush of her breathing. She set down her notes and clenched her fists in her lap, her nails sinking into her palms. Carol refused to meet her gaze, her bright jade eyes shifting down and shimmering with tears.
" Well, you did." Michonne kept shaking her head. " Damn, you're a good liar, Carol. You had me convinced me. I believed you... I defended you. But your lies weren't good enough to fool the jury, I suppose. How am I supposed to appeal I have to take it to tribunal. All of it. " Carol blinked up at her.
" Everything?, " she asked and Michonne nodded.
" Yup. There is no duty of confidentiality now. It's void because of your lies. I'm withdrawing representation." Carol mumbled something under her breathe as Michonne snatched up her notes and crammed them noisily into her briefcase, snapping it shut loudly and turning to leave. " Wait!" Carol called after her. She stood and the sound of her shackles swaying were the only noise in the concrete room. It bounced off the walls and into Michonne's head, reverberating there, tossed back and forth between her ears until her brain was rattling.
" What?" Michonne replied through clenched teeth, her back still turned to Carol, her shoulder tense and stiff beneath the fabric of her dark blue blazer and eggshell blouse.
" I guess deserve to be in here, I do, but," Carol whispered, swallowing hard and glancing down at her cuffed wrists. She began to wringing her hands, her shackles rattling on the tabletop. Michonne bit her tongue in restraint and turned to face her client. "Sophia doesn't deserve to suffer. What am I suppose to tell her? "
" I don't know! " Michonne said, exasperated and losing patience, teetering on the brink. "How about you tell her you lied to your attorney? To the courtroom? And to her. Why don't you tell her you planned all along to stab her father to death in the kitchen, that you were just waiting for your opportunity." When she paused, her chest heaved with angry bursts of air, her features set so deeply into a scowl that it was beginning to hurt her face. "I know Ed beat you. And it was wrong. No one should ever lay a hand on the people they love. But you lied to me and told me that his death was not premeditated and that is how I represented you. Based on your lie. It blindsided me when the opposition kept pushing against your innocence. " Carol looked defeated. She sat back down in her chair.
Opening her briefcase again, Michonne found her notes quickly, scanning them with her index finger. " 'Ed was upset because we hadn't cleaned the kitchen yet. It was in the sink. I remember it being the only knife there... I had used it to make lunch for Sophia.' you told me. You slipped up, Carol... You had your story locked tight until last week... when I met with you to review the case again, for the dozenth time... This place has gotten to you and you can't even keep your story straight anymore. You slipped up. Just that one little slip made me feel like something wasn't right... And you knew it. And when I asked you if I could speak to Sophia, to use her statement in the brief for your appeal that you were innocent... It's almost as if you forgot you weren't innocent at all; like I said, such a good liar. You might have even convinced yourself. It's the reason why you panicked when I left and tried to cut your wrists... But I didn't see it. Not yet."
She pursed her lips and shook her head again. " Not until I met with her... You made sure I had her subpoena quashed. Made sure to convince me that Sophia was too traumatized to testify during the trial. Had everyone convinced. And I think she was... All those interviews before the trial and she never once was able to answer a few simple questions. But I like Sophia... a lot. She's so bright. And it wasn't too difficult to connect with her, to get her to open up. All I had to do was get her to recall a few memories and she clarified it for me. All she had to do was tell me that the very last food you ever made for her was tomato soup. Sounds silly, right? But I knew right away what it meant... " Michonne met her clients eyes. " Just please say it out loud. Admit it all so I can finally know what everyone has known since the fucking beginning. "
" It's true," Carol murmured after a long pause. It hadn't taken much to derail her lies. " That knife wasn't in the sink. I hadn't used it to make Sophia lunch." Carol looked up, trying her hardest to speak through her sobbing. " I hid that knife all day just waiting for him to explode. And when he finally did, that was it. I'd had enough. I did it. And I'm glad I did. I just wish it hadn't ended up being like this. " And with that, Michonne turned to leave, buzzing the guard and waiting impatiently for the doors to unlatch and set her free of the dismal cell she stood in.
" Wait. Please. Please talk to Sophia for me. Tell her I'm sorry."
" Tell her yourself. "
" They're taking her away! Her foster parents don't want her anymore. She's already back in the system and I don't know where she's going to end up! I don't know what to do! "
" How does this concern me, Carol?!," Michonne shouted. Carol's eyes brightened and widened with distress and she tried to stand, her shackles still binding her.
" You said yourself. You're good with her. You got her to open up about something she hasn't talked about in months, Ms. Hawthorne... I know about you. I remember you from the news. I remember what happened. God made our paths cross for this reason. " Michonne tensed and frowned at the woman's words. Of course people still remembered; it wasn't very long ago. She had hidden well from the public eye but a few people still knew. A few people had seen her face even when she tried avoid the attention...
" And what reason is that? " she asked.
" Sophia doesn't deserve to be punished for what I did. You know how much the system ruins the children in it. You've seen it; I know you have. You've seen how little they care-. "
" Tell me the reason, Carol, " Michonne whispered, her eyes filling with tears.
" To give you a gift after what you've lost. To bring both of you some happiness. You can adopt Sophia. "
~•°•~
Wednesday
Day drinking wasn't a habit he practiced often, but whenever he happened to be with Daryl on any given weekday around noon, Rick had a beer in his hand. He didn't mind the coolness on his tongue with the sun beating down on his back the way it was, sweat trickling and collecting on his back and chest. He took another swig and shifted slightly, trying to find the best and most comfortable position to lay in at the bottom of Daryl's rugged jon boat. He was nestled in a small pile of blankets that smelled faintly of mildew, his fishing pole neglected at his side.
" You ain't gonna fish with me today?" Daryl asked, securing his line and lighting a cigarette as he waited. Rick removed his sheriff's deputy hat and placed it over his face, shielding his eyes from the bright rays of the afternoon sun.
" No," he replied flatly. "Just came out here to get the hell outta the house."
" Just usin' me for my boat?"
" Yup."
"Asshole." Rick chuckled and Daryl threw an empty can of beer at him, the last few sloshes of brew spilling onto his denim shirt and soaking through to cool his sweaty skin before clattering to the floor. Both men grew silent, shifting into their relaxed state and absorbing their surroundings. The boat drifted into a spot of shade beneath one of the many riverside oak trees and it provided a lasting break from the heat. Rick sighed and closed his eyes, the wind and the birds and the lapping of the water his symphony.
It was nice to finally be out of the house. He couldn't stand the never-ending silence surrounding him in every room. No matter what he did, he couldn't escape the nagging loneliness, could not ignore its gnawing discomfort. How exuberant even the air had been when Michonne blessed his home with her presence, her smile brightening every dark corner, her laugh a measure of music reaching every noiseless, dreary nook.
He missed the patter of Carl's running, socked feet through the halls. He missed the noise of his video games and the sound of his voice, his expressions of pure jubilation in the midst of his many exciting tales. Rick felt his eyes well with tears and he was grateful for the cover of his wide brimmed hat to conceal his emotion.
His biggest fear had come to pass in the midst of a week he thought couldn't possibly get any worse.
An hour before he left to meet Daryl by the marina, his phone vibrated against him, juddering in his back pocket. When he answered, Lori's voice made his ear ring and her words filled his heart filled with dread in the blink of an eye.
He had hardly remembered anything she had said after her declaration, clutching the phone and staring blindly through blurry eyes at a tiny cavity dug into the bamboo flooring beneath his feet. He had hung up on her as she spoke and broken into tears, telling himself to continue his day as planned, if only to get out of his house. He spent the drive to Daryl's trailer sobbing, his knuckles white and drained of blood as he gripped the steering wheel, his tears splashing against his thighs and soaking into the thick, dark cotton of his jeans. He screamed until his throat was raw. He told Daryl everything the moment he arrived and his friend took him out on the water immediately, knowing it would relax him. And on the way to the lake, Rick called Michonne, but she did not answer.
" She explain why?" Daryl asked, ashing his cigarette in the murky, rippling water with a tap of finger. Rick sighed loudly.
" No." They were quiet for a little while, listening to the chirps of insects and the sloshing of the water as it lapped against the boats edge.
" You talked to Shane about it yet? " Rick shook his head.
" Ain't talked to Shane since the shooting. I don't know what to do, Daryl," he murmured, his voice cracking. Light blinded him for a moment as Daryl reached out and lifted Rick's hat from where it rested on his face, peering down at him with a veil of concern cloaking his expression.
" Ain't your new girl a lawyer, man? Can't she help you out?" Rick sat up, making the boat rock beneath them as he moved. He squinted from the sun's brightness and readjusted his hat before he spoke again.
" Yeah, I know, but I don't feel right about askin' so much of her... but when I talk to her again, I'll see if she can help me out in any way. " Daryl nodded and flicked his cigarette butt into the water.
" Good. Now stop mopin' and pick up that damn fishin' pole. They're bitin'. " Rick smiled a little and obliged his friend, grateful for his company as they skated across the waters surface, the sun hiding quietly behind the clouds and offer them a break from its heat. He felt the tears coming, and he turned away to cry into the water. She was finally going to do it.
Lori was seeking full custody of Carl.