Author's Note: Thank you so very much for every review, follow and favorite. I honestly wasn't sure if anyone would like this story. A special Thank You to CarribeanQueen who was kind enough to blog this story on Tumblr. I am incredibly grateful and humbled. I hope you all enjoy this chapter.
Chapter 2: Couples Counseling
1 week ago-
The previous day's rain had left a clear and smog free sky in its wake. The sun's rays broke through the tarrying clouds and cast a radiant brightness over the city.
A seven story brick building was positioned amongst the other high-rise windowed buildings in downtown Atlanta, Georgia. On the fifth floor, at the end of a long maze of cubicles and busy workers – past the restrooms and breakrooms – was a door with neither a name plate nor a plaque above its threshold. On the other side of the door was a spacious office with floor-to-ceiling fixed windows stretched the length of the wall.
Five men and one woman sat around the conference table. There was an array of snacks and beverages generously laid out before them. The room was surprisingly stuffy; its brightness misleading. With the exception of a lightly tapping pen and an unobtrusive sneeze, the occupants were quiet. All heads in the room turned towards the door as two men in business suits entered. They acknowledged the others with the customary head nod before taking their seat. After all the professional pleasantries, introductions and handshakes, the man with his back to a large board – clad with diagraphs, pictures and handwritten notes – cleared his throat to begin the meeting.
"So why don't you tell me how we got here," the bass in his voice demanded attention as he directed his frustration to the thin, blonde haired man sitting to his left, "I was told that you had this under control."
The thin blonde shifted in his seat, "We…um…we believed that it was under control," he stammered, "their agents and managers assured us that everything would be okay…"
"Clearly Not," his boss interrupted, "or else we wouldn't be looking at this would we?" he slid a thick report across to his subordinate. Neither his snarl nor his tone left any room for doubt that he was not pleased. There was shuffling of paper at the table, but no one spoke.
"Okay. So we have the two leads of our most popular show and they don't get along. We all knew they didn't get along, but then we decide…" he shook his head adding an acerbic chuckle, "to put them into a romantic relationship…" No one responded.
"Did someone piss in someone's cereal? I mean, what's going on here?" He continued, "What do they have against each other? Is this some kind of lovers quarrel?" His question was voiced to everyone and to no one in particular. It was a rhetorical question because the executives had already put 'feelers' out. No information surfaced that even hinted at a romantic relationship between the two cast mates. The meeting attendees shook their heads and shrugged their shoulders. They all avoided eye contact with their boss at the head of the table; choosing to remain silent.
The sensitive nature of the discussion, which could have possible legal ramifications, added an overly tense tone to the gathering. Legal counsel was added in the mix to explain all contractual legalities which may arise during the discourse. The lawyers, however, remained silent as well.
At the other end of the table one of the younger executives nervously put his hand up.
"You don't have to raise your hand John, this isn't preschool," the imposing man with the unmistakable low-toned pitch grimaced.
"Well, um, we could hire stand ins…uh…doubles for them; for when they have scenes together. Shoot them separately…" he barely got the words out of his mouth before the grumbles started.
Everyone began speaking at the same time. Though no singular individual could be heard through the onslaught of objections, the overall consensus towards the suggestion was negative – to say the least. The words ridiculous and expensive were just some of the words that could be heard in the foray of voices.
"We don't have the money…something like that would cost…we'd have to hire separate crews for that…" someone's words rose above the others. The objections all blended together into a resounding 'NO.'
"At least he has an idea…" the head executive's voice boomed above the sea of disagreeable utterances, shutting down all discussion, "Which is more than I can say for everyone else sitting in here."
The younger executive, who wanted to slink away and die just moments earlier, puffed his chest out just slightly having been low-key acknowledged and not completely dismissed by the older head executive.
Quiet settled back over the room.
"Um," the lone woman in the room began.
"What is it Holly?" everyone looked towards the reticent redhead as she slightly fidgeted in her seat.
"Ahem," she cleared her throat, "I have an idea. It's very unorthodox, but it just might work."
x-x-x
Present Day-
The conversation with Sasha had not ended the way Michonne planned. Once it was all said and done, agreeing to these psychotherapy sessions was just a mere formality. It wasn't a suggestion - nor was it optional. Regardless of how the recommendation for the therapy was posed to her agent, any thought that this was voluntary was no more than an illusion. Though soft-pedalled, the network was dangling her career over her head; this counseling was not voluntary by any means.
Sasha made it clear, "It's more about what they didn't say than what they did…they didn't say blackballed...but we both know that's what will happen." The agent never mixed words with her clients or her friends – Michonne was both. Sasha's final words, "You're doing this."
The drive to the downtown office had taken more than an hour. Morning rush hour traffic was unrelenting. She used the time for much needed self-reflection. It was difficult not to over analyze herself and the motives behind her bad behavior. It was probably stupid and certainly unprofessional to act that way. Get a grip Michonne. You are too mature. Too attentive. No one, other than Sasha, was aware of this forced therapy sessions. To tell her parents and friends about the sessions would mean admitting to behaving like someone other than the responsible and thoughtful person that they all believed she was. It would mean admitting that she had normal human flaws that those closest to her chose to ignore.
"At some point I have to write my own narrative." She whispered to her reflection in the visor's mirror.
It was eight forty five when she parked her car in the lot adjacent to the office building. She grabbed her purse and hastened towards the front of the building. Punctuality was akin to true professionalism for her. She rushed past the few pedestrians on the sidewalk and entered the building. Rick was standing in the middle of the lobby – a single elevator to his front and to his back. He looked in her direction for just a second, giving her a cordial smile. She returned the gesture. Her need for haste was suddenly gone.
She heard the ding; alerting the elevators arrival. Her stride decreased to a turtle like stroll while she fumbled with her purse. A few seconds later the doors opened and then closed. The lobby was now empty. She approached the elevators and pressed the button.
Within a few minutes the doors opened. She took a deep breath as she exited the elevator and walked towards the office with Denise Cloyd, PhD emblazoned on the door. Rick was sitting when she entered.
"Thanks for holding the elevator," she said with dripping sarcasm before sitting down.
"Generally, when someone wants to make an elevator, they speed up, not slow down," he said averting his eyes from her stare.
That was the end of their contentious banter for remainder of their time in the office reception area. He sat in one of the two chairs; arms folded and staring at the picture on the wall of a doctor on a couch and a person in a strait jacket in the chair, guess that's supposed to be irony, he chuckled softly to himself. She sat on the end the small sofa; flipping through the Psychology Today magazine not bothering to look at the information. She inconspicuously glanced at him, annoyed with his apparent amusement at something. What a jerk.
The office door opened. A young woman with dark blonde hair, glasses, a pair of faded jeans and a tucked in large plaid shirt stood in the door way; her smile was large and very welcoming. She looked at the two television stars. 'Wow' is what she almost said before quickly remembering that she was a professional and they were there for her guidance and expertise.
"Good morning. I'm Denise Cloyd, and I'm happy to say that we'll be working together for the next couple of weeks," she announced with well-rehearsed confidence.
x-x-x
The very sour and annoyed expressions on their faces told her that this whole process would be a challenge. Once her reluctant patients were seated, she started with the standard welcoming lines.
"I'm really excited to go on this journey with the two of you. I believe that this will be a very productive experience. I'm sure that neither of you are very happy about being here, but if you give it a chance, you may find our sessions to be quite beneficial," she paused, "Though I've conducted counseling sessions similar to this…I've never actually done one like this before," she laughed to herself and adjusted her glasses. They stared expressionless at her.
"Okay…so," she continued, "Full disclosure. I do watch the show and I'm a big fan of you both…And the show." They smiled politely at her. She sighed and picked up her notepad. The room was still as she perused her notes.
"Looks like we'll be meeting four times; two this week and two next week. The sessions will be fifty minutes and hopefully helpful to you both." Still no recognition of her words. The room was uncomfortably silent. It appeared to Denise that the two actors were playing a game of who can out silence the other – whoever speaks first loses.
"Why don't we start with some introductions? I don't mean the things I can read on IMBD, I mean who you actually are…"
"Excuse me," Michonne spoke for the first time since entering the room, "I'm here because I have to be. I think it's ridiculous and demeaning. Either way, I'm here. I just want to be very clear; I have no intention of being analyzed. I also have no intention of sharing my personal thoughts and feeling with you or him." Her last word dripping with disdain; she kept her eyes focused on the therapist – though peripherally picking up on the movements of her co-star.
"I have to agree with her," he said, not letting her pronouncement be the only one laced with venom. He smirked and also kept his eyes trained on the therapist, "I ain't here to discuss how my parents didn't give me the bike I wanted when I was ten years old."
Denise adjusted her dark framed glasses, "Alright. I appreciate your candor," her eyes acknowledging both people.
"The purpose of these sessions is not meant to address childhood or parent issues. The only purpose for this counseling is to come to an agreement of how the two of you can work together as harmoniously as possible. We may need to do some digging to figure out the reasons behind the…uh, acrimonious atmosphere that exists between you," Denise watched the body language of both. They appeared to be a little less tense though neither responded.
"Oh, and Rick, I'd be happy to discuss the whole bike incident with you if you'd like," she laughed at her attempted levity. Rick gave her a half smile.
Denise began the process of breaking through the shell of these very head strong individuals. They were intent on not being active participants in this process.
After all the pleasantries and completing the small ice breakers she'd prepared, the only thing left to do was dive right in.
"Michonne, why don't you tell me something nice about Rick," she realized before even asking that it was a soft-shell question – you have to start somewhere.
"He's a good actor," she gave her standard response without missing a beat or looking up from her lap - her fingers lightly holding her necklace.
"Okay," Denise smiled.
"Rick, same question," she continued her smile.
"She's a talented actress," repeating the answer he'd given on every talk show interview and Comic Con panel over the past two years.
They are definitely not going to make this easy.
"It seems like you both have respect for the others work. Which is a good thing…" she smiled, "We can start there, but…I'd like to venture away from your standard responses about each other if we could."
The remainder of the session was like pulling teeth. The yes and no answers made it difficult to move the session along a productive route. Denise did get them to talk about themselves, but the information was nothing that she couldn't find out by reading any entertainment rag or social blog.
Rick talked about his son Rick Jr., better known as RJ. He beamed when he spoke of the young man who was currently living in California with his mother. He steered away from talking about anything personal and spoke mostly about how much he appreciated working on the show.
Michonne also did not disclose any information about her personal life. She talked about a play that she had just finished writing and her appreciation at being a part of a huge movie franchise. She had to consciously not show the excitement that she felt when discussing her writings and her new role.
"Thank you both for coming in. Though we didn't get as far as…well…as far as I believe we can, it was a definite start. I'll see you both in two days."
Denise was excited at the prospect of breaking through the shell of these two very stubborn people.
x-x-x
"In our last session we learned a few things about both of you. I'd like to use this session to dig a little deeper." There were several things that Denise had picked up on in the previous session. She made notes of subtle movements, eye rolls, posture adjustments, and facial deviations.
"We didn't discuss the incident that happened on the set…the incident that led us here," she watched both headstrong actors shift in their seat. Good. Let's dig into this uncomfortable topic.
"Before we get into that, I'd just like to ask a couple of questions. Hopefully you both recognize that this is a safe and non-judgmental place. You can be completely honest here." The optimistic mildly frazzled young woman announced. She looked at the very uninterested actress in front of her.
"Michonne," she paused and waited to receive the undivided attention of the reluctant participant, "Were you and Rick ever close? Were you ever friends?" The question was met with a blank stare. Denise could see the wheels turn. The room was quiet while the question hung in the air.
"I'm not sure how to answer that question," she said with a shrug.
"Um…Okay. I asked for honesty, and if that's your honest feelings then I'll take it," she smiled before looking at the man whose eyes went large in response to the non-answer.
"Rick, did you ever consider Michonne a friend?"
In spite of his protest, Rick actually thought the counseling wasn't a bad idea. He never admitted it to anyone, but he really wanted to know why Michonne abruptly ended their friendship. One day they were talking and laughing and the next she was walking the other direction when she saw him coming. She minimized the amount of times that she'd hang out with the cast during their down times; never telling him directly that she wanted nothing to do with him, but her actions were very clear.
He approached her on several occasions during the first few months of her cold shoulder routine to find out what he'd done wrong. Her answers ranged from, "nothing," to "I'd just prefer to keep my interactions with the cast on a professional and not personal level." He knew that wasn't the truth. I've seen you talk and laugh with everyone else. Clearly it's directed at me. He kept his thoughts to himself and allowed her to set the rules of their interaction – or lack thereof. He eventually stopped asking.
"Yes. We were friends." He said.
Michonne let out a soft contentious chuckle before pressing her lips together. She looked away from the others and glared at the wall.
"Michonne, do you agree with what Rick said?" Denise again attempted to chip away at the resentment the woman seemed unwilling to release.
"I agree that he may think that. It's not up to me to change what he does and doesn't think. His thoughts don't change my answer." Her words were said plainly and without anger.
This is a losing battle, Denise had no doubt. You are not going to give an inch. She smiled at Michonne and decided to let the straightforward words be the last ones on the subject, today.
"Let's move on to the couch scene," Denise said, "who would like to start?"
Michonne shifted her body to face the woman. She side-eyed Rick before she spoke…
"I'll start," it was more of a warning than it was a pronouncement, "Who smokes a cigarette before a kissing scene and doesn't bother to use any type of breath freshener? I mean, Really?!" She scoffed; her arms were folded as she turned away from Denise and glared at Rick.
He ran his hands through his hair and chuckled.
"I apologize for that…"
"That's why I said he smelled like a garbage dump. I wasn't necessarily trying to be mean," she spit out before he could continue.
"As I was saying," he looked away from Michonne and into the eyes of the enthusiastic doctor, "I apologize. I've been trying to stop smoking for a long time. It was the first one I'd had in a long time…" he informed his angry costar while keeping his eyes focused on Denise.
"And you wait until that scene to light up?!" She said incredulously.
He shook his head opting not to answer her question, which was more of an indictment than a question.
"It was offensive and it felt like he was purposely being disrespectful to me," she kept her eyes focused on their unwilling referee.
"That was not my intention," he looked away from Denise and tried to capture the eyes of the woman who was too perturbed to look at him.
"It was…stupid," he admitted.
"Well," she relented and looked him in the face, "Stupid is as stupid does," she informed with a knowing smile.
"Michonne, I think its best that we stay away from, uh, name calling," Denise suggested while again adjusting her glasses.
"I didn't call him stupid. It's a line from a movie that I thought was apropos to the moment," she informed the young therapist without bothering to look at the individual to whom the remark was actually directed.
"It's fine Denise," his concentrated contempt fixed on Michonne, "Because, 'Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn," he said doing his best Rhett Butler impression; including the narrowed eyes and exasperated sigh - never taking his eyes off the dark skinned beauty before him.
"It figures..." she scoffed, returning his angry stare back to him, "that you'd pick a line from...whatever..." she waved her hand dismissively and looked away.
"Excuse me," he furrowed his brow at her, "what's the whatever?"
She glared back at him. He was definitely challenging her.
"It figures that you'd quote a line from one the most overrated movies in cinematic history," she looked at him with both amusement and disdain.
"You're callin' Gone with the Wind overrated?" He asked indignantly with a chuckle.
"I am," she said matter-factly.
"As a Southerner, I'm offended," he truthfully relayed with a slight smile.
She laughed, "As a Northerner, I don't care," she was again impressed by her razor sharp retort - as her slightly upturned lips reflected.
"Alright," Denise jumped in before the conversation could devolve any further, "that's probably a good place to stop. I'll see you both the day after tomorrow. Thank you both for being more active participants in this session."
Rick lingered in the office. He wasted time by asking the young doctor a few questions about parking – thus allowing Michonne time to leave; lessening the chances of another awkward interaction by or in the elevator.
x-x-x
"Good morning. It's nice to see you both," she greeted the co-stars, "How did filming go yesterday?" She asked.
The shoot had been uncomfortable. Michonne tapped into all her training from Tisch to perform the scripted scenes. She and Rick were required to hold hands on two different occasions and lovingly look into each other's eyes. The script actually had the words, 'lovingly look into the others eyes.' That took some doing. It seemed that all her training and subsequent acting roles had led to those moments. Could she pull off those scenes with a realistic flow? The director went out of his way to tell them that it was a job well done. She silently congratulated herself with the knowledge that she did pull it off.
They stayed far away from each other between takes.
"It went well," Michonne responded.
The young counselor nodded and then looked at her notes, which were sitting on a clipboard on her lap.
"Rick, I wanted to address something you said in our last session," she looked into the wide blue eyes of the movie star, "You said that you hadn't had a cigarette in a long time. How long had it been?"
Rick narrowed his eyes and glanced up while he processed her question, "I'm not exactly sure. Probably about a month and a half," he recalled.
"That's interesting," she told him.
"What's so interesting about that?" He was hoping to not get into a discussion about the ills of cigarette smoking. His parents, son and ex-wife raked him over the coals enough about his less than desirable addiction. I am not here for that.
It was a habit he picked up his sophomore year of college. Initially, it was no more than something he did when hanging out with other students. None of them actually liked the taste, but it served a purpose. Most of the professors smoked cigarettes. The students who smoked were unofficially allowed behind the curtain which existed between professors and students. There was untold power and acceptance in the simple words, "do you have a light." It was a liberating walk on the wild side; giving the middle finger to convention. Rick loved the freedom. The fact that he eventually realized the little stick of tobacco owned him, was irony that often made him both cringe and laugh.
"Why do you think you smoked a cigarette that day?" She asked.
He ran his hand through his hair; his eyes closed as he sighed. What is she getting at? I am not here for this. He silently gauged her facial expression. Her eyes were slightly narrowed but so innocent and warm. As annoyed as he was, it was difficult to remain such with this woman.
"I don't mean to throw you with that question, but I'm just curious. There must be a reason that you fell off the nicotine wagon," she smiled in an attempt to lessen the quickly growing tension that was emanating from him.
"Didn't really think of the reason behind it." He answered, attempting not to reflect the annoyance he felt.
"Do you usually smoke when you're relaxing; bothered; nervous; tired; what?" she asked.
"Sounds like this is turning into some kind of cigarette intervention," he laughed, "trust me…they don't work…"
"Rick, believe me, that's not what this is. I'm just trying to figure out why you smoked after doing such a great job at abstaining."
He rubbed his forehead. She could see that he was getting annoyed. There were a few bells that went off for her during the previous sessions. This was not the time to allow them to stay in their own special 'sunken place.'
"I smoke to relax…for the most part," he said.
"I'm sure that's the case. But, you had been relaxing for the month and a half prior to that scene without smoking. Why smoke that day?" She asked but did not wait to continue her train of thought.
"I understand that there was a lot of stress leading up to the scene…and yet you didn't smoke." She adjusted her glasses again and decided to trudge on…
"So…you didn't smoke to relax and you didn't smoke because you were stressed." She stopped.
Rick didn't respond. Michonne had been quiet during the exchange. Her curiosity had been peaked though she kept her eyes cast downward.
"Not exactly sure what you're gettin' at," he lied, peripherally watching Michonne uncomfortably shift. Her point was made. He knew it and they knew it. Smoking the cigarette was his nervous tick; much like he'd noticed fiddling with her glasses was the kindly clinicians visible expression of nervousness; fiddling with her necklace was Michonne's.
"I'm just trying to piece this together. Is it possible that you smoked because you were nervous about the scene?"
Bingo
"Why would I be nervous? That was not my first love…uh, kissing scene," he snapped, more from embarrassment than annoyance. Light beads of sweat were on his forehead. He ran his hands over his lightly graying beard and leaned forward.
Ignoring both his words and body language, "People get nervous for all types of reasons. There's no shame in that." She persisted and kept her eyes trained on him.
"Nervous is your word. Not mine," His voice was low. He turned towards Michonne. They unintentionally made eye contact. It wasn't the combative staring contest that they generally found themselves in. This was different. He smiled – eyes opening a little wider.
Her eyes narrowed. Oh my God. Is he flirting with me? That's a lot of damn nerve. She suddenly felt a mix of angst and anger. Her leg began to bounce. She placed her right hand on her leg to stop the visible tick she'd had since childhood. Her other hand unconsciously went to her necklace – the tick that she rarely recognized.
She curled her lips and looked away from him. Facing Denise; no longer able to listen to their back and forth. The conversation appeared to be going in a direction that she was not willing to be a part of…
"You wanna know about our 'friendship'?" Michonne spat, using air quotes around the word friendship, "Fine."
Michonne had been working on the highly rated show for just over one year. The transition from small guest roles on television shows to the lead in two independent films, though odd, flowed very naturally. Her career had been wrought with peaks and valleys, but it hit its all-time high when she was cast as the katana wielding survivor on the show. She continued to express herself artistically through her writing, eventually finding backers for two of her plays. However, the show would be her bread and butter for the time being.
Working on her plays while moving from New York to Georgia was difficult. It was also a true culture shock; on nearly every level. She was welcomed with open arms from everyone involved in the show, thus making the transition surprisingly smooth. The crew, producers, and everyone involved with the show had become her second family; but her connection with the actors was special.
The back woods of Georgia, where they the show was filmed, didn't offer many perks or interactions with others in the entertainment industry. They all hung around with each other, more out of necessity than anything else – initially. Eventually, the necessity became a desire because there was a connection beyond just proximity. They enjoyed each other's company; which is why this particular day would be difficult.
The days leading up to today had been emotionally draining. One of the lead actresses, who had become a good friend to Michonne, was filming her death scene. The producer's decision to kill off the character had come as a shock.
Michonne drove to the set, completely lost in her thoughts. She and Andrea spent most of the night on the phone. What started out as Michonne checking in on Andrea, turned into Andrea consoling Michonne – they laughed and cried through most of the conversation. The relationship all the actors had was special, but the women on the show had built a bond of sisterhood. The relationships were organic – no planned thought or intention - and this loss would hurt for some time.
She parked, greeted co-workers, and walked towards her trailer. The trailers, though spread out, were in the same general area. As she approached her trailer, she decided that the last thing she wanted was to be alone with thoughts that would only serve to increase her sadness. Getting emotionally connected to a co-star on a television show is never a good idea – but getting emotionally connected to a co-star on a show where character deaths are expected and commonplace is a horrible idea. She decided to visit with Rick, or even Daryl. The men seemed to handle the emotional upheaval a little better than the women.
Rick had become her friend. There was something about him. He was a nice man, and as actors go, he was truly a gentleman. He was the lead on a high profile show, and yet he was still very down to earth. She would never admit it, but she had a little crush on him – 'like most of the other women' she assumed. He was married, which kept the ladies from being openly vocal about their non-professional thoughts about him. She'd met his wife once at a cast party several months back, but had not seen her since. He spoke quite often of his son RJ, but stayed mute on the subject of his wife and his marriage.
As she approached Rick's trailer she stumbled just enough to drop the apple she had in her hand. After mumbling a curse word at her clumsiness, she bent down to pick up the fruit. The conversation which was going on was not loud, but she was able to make out the voices – Rick and Daryl. She smiled at the thought of the two men. She dusted off the apple no more than ten feet from his opened doorway.
"…Michonne…" she stopped her movement as her name wafted through the air. She wasn't sure if that was Daryl of Rick. Conversation further in the distance momentarily distracted her from the voices coming from Rick's trailer. She refocused on the conversation her friends were having.
"…No, I'm not saying that, Daryl," Rick said.
"Well, that's what it sounds like," Daryl countered. It was not her intention to eavesdrop, but whatever they were discussing seemed…interesting.
"Either way," there was a pause before he continued, "I just think she's pretentious. Kinda like she's better than the rest of us because she speaks French…" there was silence and sounds of shuffling. She couldn't move; unsure of exactly what she was hearing, "…and now we're about to lose a good character and a good actress…" Rick lamented. There was a momentary silence and then both men laughed.
"Yeah," Daryl said mid laugh.
She couldn't listen any longer; Rick's words cut through her. She quickly turned and made a beeline to her trailer. Smiling and wishing a good morning to crew members as she passed; her face never giving away the thoughts that swirled in her head - I can't believe it. Is that how they all think about me? I never should've allowed myself to care about everyone. I thought they cared about me. Liked me; I thought he liked me. All this time - The tears that she shed in her trailer after overhearing the conversation were not the last ones she shed over the next few days. The tears eventually stopped and left an impenetrable shell behind.
"That was the last time I trusted him…" the sorrowful eyes of the therapist bored into hers. Sharing the story was a first, and was somewhat liberating. It was something that she'd never told anyone; purposely leaving out the part about having a crush on Rick and crying, "And I'm okay with it," she crossed her arms and smiled.
Rick turned to face her, "It wasn't…"
"It's fine…" She stopped him from saying what she figured was going to be some kind of excuse or explanation. "I'm over it." Her focus shifted to the window behind Denise.
"It was a lesson that I needed to learn…not one I need to revisit," the betrayal and hurt that she'd felt that day wasn't something that needed any further discussion.
"Do I at least get the chance to respond? I mean, it's a mis…" Rick attempted before she cut him off.
"Looks to me like our time is up for this session; I have a pretty busy day," Michonne interrupted as she stood, grabbed her purse and walked to the door. Without looking back, she opened the door and left the office.
"Uh, we actually have ten more minutes…" Denise said, a little too late, as the door closed behind the retreating actress.
As she stood facing the elevator, pushing the down button repeatedly, the tears that she'd held back for nearly two years began to fall. She could hear the clicking sound of his boots on the clean tile floor. I refuse to let you see me cry; weak is not who I am. She shifted her stance.
He saw her standing directly in front of the lift doors. There was hesitation as he slowly approached her. The conscious effort he'd made over the past couple of years to not notice her body, her scent, her laugh had become more difficult since the couch scene – episode 6x10. Her dislike of him and his dislike for her was the levee that kept all inappropriate thoughts from spilling forth. That levee was crumbling for him. He stared at her – allowing himself for the first time in two years to appreciate her coke bottle figure.
He took a deep breath, "Michonne…can I talk…" his husky voice with the southern twang echoed off the marble walls in the empty hall.
"I'll take the stairs." She announced abruptly, not turning around. He watched her walk to the door embossed with a picture of stairs.
He watched the door close behind her.
A/N: Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think. Chapter 3, Hindsight, will be posted soon. Blessings :-)