3 - ChampagneChroniKnightcap

After what turned out to be a near-perfect opening night with her friends, Michonne was back at her villa, preparing to retire for the night with a glass of wine and her Kindle, when there was a soft knock at her front door. Despite the midnight hour, she smiled at the interruption, knowing it would be one of her friends on the other side instead of the usual guest intrusion that she'd gotten used to. Her smile only widened when she opened the door to find Rick barefoot on her doorstep, dressed in his pajamas, phone in his hand. "...Hey."

"Hey," he chuckled back, detecting the confusion in her tone. Their dinner had just ended barely thirty minutes ago, so he'd hoped she hadn't gotten too comfortable or fallen asleep yet. She was still sporting her dinner dress, though her hair in its sloppy bun told him she was probably on her way to bed. "I'm sorry for botherin' you this late..."

"No, you're fine," she assured him. She instinctively turned back into her home to make sure Andre hadn't been disturbed, even though he'd been knocked out for a few hours now. "Come on in."

"I just wanted to see if you had an open USB port I could use for the night," he said, holding up his phone with its charging cord wrapped around his hand. "Somehow, my children have taken up all the ones in our room."

Michonne scoffed, all too familiar with how children had a way of taking over everything. "I think I actually have an extra plug you can take," she suggested, stepping aside to welcome him into her villa.

He appreciatively entered her home, an essentially bigger, more ornate version of the other rooms on the property. White leather couches and glass tables, set on top of colorful area rugs, a giant flat screen TV affixed to one wall, and a Christmas tree standing in the opposite corner. He presumed it was fake, but true to Michonne's taste, it was beautifully decorated with white lights and gold ribbon, casting a warm glow throughout the room. "We didn't even get a Christmas tree this year," he commented as he studied the room, referring to the tradition in his own home. "I think I forgot about it."

"Well it's not like you would've been there to enjoy it," she replied, distracted by her task of searching her kitchen. "My tree is your tree."

Listening to her rummage through her drawers, he approached her island counter with an apologetic look - he really didn't mean to completely disrupt her. "'Chonne, I'm really fine with just leaving my phone here. I can pick it up in the morning."

Ignoring him, she scanned her kitchen trying to recall where she would've stored some extraneous iPhone plug, but instead noticed her awaiting wine glass near the sink. "Hey, do you want anything? To drink or to eat or…anything?"

"Oh, I'm still stuffed from dinner," he answered, rubbing his flat stomach. "But I can have whatever you're drinkin'."

She sent a curious look his way, wondering whether he'd suddenly started liking white wine in recent months or if he was just trying to be amenable for her sake. In which case, she wondered why he was acting so strange, being overly polite, as if they were acquaintances instead of close friends. Their year apart seemed to have made him more sheepish around her than she was comfortable with. "Really?" she decided to press him, nodding to the corner of her living room where the bar was set up. "I have everything."

"You have Corona?" he asked, setting down his phone.

With a cheeky smile, Michonne glid across the kitchen to open her refrigerator door, revealing the row of beer bottles lining one of the upper shelves. "Help yourself," she offered, shifting out of his way to open the freezer. "You gonna stay a while?"

Joining her at the fridge, he replied with a bashful chuckle as he grabbed a cold bottle for himself. Suddenly, he felt like the same dorky college kid who got flustered the first time he was invited to Lori and Michonne's dorm room. But he nodded as his gaze fixated on the beer in his hand, thinking about how much he'd missed hanging out with his friend. "Yeah. A little while."

"Good." She instantly found what she was looking for on the top shelf of the freezer, pulling out a large ziplock bag full of brownies to present to Rick. "Have some dessert with me."

His smile widened at the sight of the confection, already rather certain that it was laced with marijuana, as had become a staple in their house while Lori was going through treatment. It was one of very few positive memories he had from that time in their lives. "You're trouble," he smirked, happily taking the bag from her.

"Good trouble," she quipped with an equally sly grin. "You put a couple of those in the microwave," she instructed, "and I'm gonna find you this plug now before I completely forget about it."

"Sounds like a plan," he chuckled, already opening the bag as she wandered off toward the living room. He began to survey the luxe kitchen, questioning where to find plates and a bottle opener, finding irony in the two of them looking for things they weren't quite sure where to find. Though he eventually located the plates, at least, after going through the majority of her cabinets. "You think thirty seconds is good?" he called out, deciding on four brownies for the two of them.

"Maybe twenty," she sent back, though her intonation reflected more of a question than an answer. "I think that's usually what we do."

Rick frowned at her use of 'we,' knowing she couldn't have been talking about Andre. "Does Carol live here with you," he wondered. It didn't seem like she did, but then, he'd missed some parts of the earlier tour, too wrapped up in the scenery to pay attention to all the information. He simply could not get over the views that surrounded the place, even though it was the only view.

"No, but she made 'em," Michonne called back, referring to the brownies. "She's over here a lot, but I figured it was better for her to have her in her own villa. Six months is a long time."

"Makes sense," he nodded to himself. He set the plate in the microwave for twenty seconds, then found a bottle opener after searching another series of drawers, just as he heard Michonne snicker to herself from wherever she'd disappeared to. "You find it?"

"Found two," she announced proudly, strolling back into the room with a brand new plug still in the box it came in. She dropped it at the edge of the counter so that he wouldn't forget it when he left, then took a seat across from her friend, gazing at him with an amused gleam in her eye. "When's the last time you did this?"

"What, got high?" He finished opening his beer and took a sip as he tried to recall his most recent experience with the drug. "I think it was right before you left, actually. At your party."

"What," Michonne chirped, incredulous that he would get high at her own goodbye party without even inviting her to join. "By yourself?"

"With Andrea and Shane," he answered meekly, hearing the disappointment in her voice. "You were busy with your coworkers, so we just… snuck out to the garage."

"What the hell, Rick?"

"If it helps, it was only because we were sad about you leaving."

"It definitely does not help," she maintained, retrieving the plate of thawed brownies from the microwave. She took one for herself and begrudgingly slid the plate across the counter so that he could have one. "You guys are assholes."

He smiled as he grabbed some 'dessert' for himself, relieved that she didn't appear to be legitimately upset about it. "So did Carol make these for a special occasion, or was it just for the hell of it?"

"Sophia came to visit for Thanksgiving," Michonne answered with her mouth full. "I'm pretty sure she smuggled the drugs in from California, but... none of my business. All I know is we had them after dinner one night, and it was glorious."

Rick laughed at the thought, sorry he'd missed what was surely a sight to see. "Well besides drug trafficking, how is Sophia?"

"Tall, gorgeous, smart," she said, amused by how much Carol's daughter had grown since going off to college two years prior. "And I'm certain she's an absolute troublemaker out there, but it was a delight to have her."

"I keep thinkin' about Carl goin' off to college and it scares the shit outta me," he sighed, his gaze getting lost in the marble pattern of the countertop. "I'm still trying to figure out how I can get him to just stay in the city."

"As in the city of Atlanta?" she frowned. "Or are you counting UGA?"

"Athens is over an hour from us," he declared as if she didn't know. "Tech is basically down the street."

Michonne looked back at her friend as if he'd just kicked a puppy and asked her to join in. "You'd rather have your son go to a rival school than attend our alma mater because it's an hour away?"

"Well it's not like we go there anymore," he defended with a chuckle, washing down his brownie with another sip of beer. "I want my kid close."

"An hour, Rick? Sophia is clear across the country. Duane lives on another continent," she argued, reminding him how far college could take Carl if he really wanted to go. "That fifty-whatever miles is nothing."

"All right, well we'll see how you feel about that in ten years," he shot back. "I feel bad for Andre already, because I can see it coming."

"You can already see what coming," she demanded, throwing a small piece of her dessert at him. "I am not one of those mothers."

"Sure," he smirked, popping the rogue piece of brownie into his mouth. "I guess that's why it took you three years to let Lori and I babysit."

"So you think I'm overprotective?"

"I think… you are exactly the right amount of protective. Which means you're gonna have a fit when he goes to college. That's all I'm sayin'."

"Well I probably will," she admitted, smiling because she hated how well he knew her. "But that doesn't mean I wouldn't allow him to go where he wants to go."

"Sure, Michonne."

"Stop saying that!" she hissed, throwing the cap to his beer bottle at him this time. "I just want him to be happy and safe. That's it."

"So…" Rick paused before going on, knowing he was entering dicey territory bringing up something that wasn't necessarily his business. But it was something that he'd been wondering about for a while now, and as Michonne's friend, he was probably doing a disservice to them both by never discussing it with her. He just needed to tread lightly. "Is Andre happy not seeing Mike? Or's it about his safety?"

Michonne looked back at him with raised eyebrows, feeling gobsmacked by the question. Blindsided. Especially coming from Rick, considering he was closer to her than to Mike at that point. Of course she shouldn't have been surprised that her ex was going around telling people their business, but she was surprised Rick would give any credence to it. "What did Mike say?" she asked, clinging to her composure despite wanting to actually scream.

"Just… that you were still unwilling to revise the custody agreement," he revealed carefully. "It was a few months ago, and he wanted me to talk to you. But I thought I should stay out of it."

"But you've clearly changed your mind."

"I wasn't - I mean, I was curious," he stuttered. "Not in the interest of talkin' you out of it, because I already know you must have your reasons. I just wanted to know what they were, I guess."

"Well," she sighed, finishing what was left of her wine in one big gulp before explaining herself. "The good doctor seemed to forget that he even had a son while he was off trying to salvage what was left of his career. Gone for months at a time, back for a week, and then gone again. You remember how it was."

Rick nodded, moving around the counter so that he could take a seat on the open stool beside her. "I remember the time he left for like five months, I think it was Bangui he went to. I know that was especially hard on you guys."

"That was especially hard on me," she corrected him, rolling her eyes. "He loved it." She rubbed her face as her body grew warm from the wine and she realized how selfish she sounded. "And maybe under normal circumstances, I would feel less shitty about him being gone. Because despite his motivations, he was doing good. They needed him, and I was glad - I still am glad that he found a positive way to contribute to society. But he only went to Doctors Without Borders because they were the only organization that would take him. Because he was more concerned with getting back his prestige than the son he had at home, and I don't know why I have to allow that. Why my son is the one who suffers for it."

He wasn't sure what to say in response. He was much closer to Michonne than Mike these days, mainly of Mike's own doing, so he certainly wasn't going to sit there and try to defend him. But at the same time, he liked to think that people deserved forgiveness when they were sorry. Certainly when it came to the love of her life and father of her child. "You don't think maybe he deserves a second chance?"

"This would be his third chance," she reminded him, sending a knowing look his way. "And I'm not gonna willingly give him the chance to break Andre's heart again once he gets bored with being a father again. When it's time to go save someone else."

"Yeah," Rick exhaled softly, nervously scratching the top of his head. "I dunno the answer to that. Which is why I guess it took me so long to ask the question."

"Well he served me with papers," she revealed with a derisive chuckle, stuffing a giant chunk of brownie into her mouth. "So I suppose we'll let the courts figure it out."

"Custody papers?"

"Divorce papers," she corrected him curtly. "He's divorcing me. Petitioning for full custody. As if he has the moral high ground."

"Jesus."

She glanced back to Rick and she could tell she was stressing him out, which was about the last thing she wanted to do during this trip. It was supposed to be about good things, and Mike was no longer on that list. She had resolved to deal with him in the new year, once everyone was gone. "We've been separated for a year and a half; this just makes it official. And that's fine," she promised, softening her tone. "I'm fine. Andre is fine."

Rick relented in his concern for her, understanding that she was simply doing what was best for her child, as any parent would. He would never be in a relationship with someone who didn't give their all to being a parent, because that was what kids deserved. And Andre had that in spades with Michonne. He smiled just imagining her seven-year-old tucked away upstairs in his Steven Universe-themed bed, as he so enthusiastically described during dinner. "He's such a cute kid."

"The cutest," she shook her head, grinning back. "Sometimes it's hard to believe Mike had anything to do with it."

"Well he is pretty light compared to you two," he joked. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think I was his father before Mike."

Michonne snorted, giving his arm a playful swat. "Stop."

"The idea of sex with me makes you snort?" he continued to tease her. "Really?"

"That's not why I snorted," she was quick to deny. "Shut up. I just don't wanna start any rumors."

Rick leaned into her and dramatically lowered his voice as his eyes scanned the room. "Is there someone listening to us?"

"You never know..."

"Well this is your place, so I hope you do know," he chuckled, returning to his upright position. He fixated on his half-full beer bottle, absentmindedly sliding it back and forth across the counter between his hands as another question came to mind. "Can I ask you somethin'?"

"You sound like Shane," she commented with a smirk, nodding for him to go ahead.

"Now that you know it's over with Mike, how does it feel?"

"How does it feel?"

"I mean, you were with him for your entire adult life. Or even before that, actually," he reconsidered. "And now, after years of this… this struggle between you two, it's done; you get to move on. So what does it feel like to be free?" He looked her in the eye, searching for the answer before she could voice it. "Or do you feel free?"

"Umm, I dunno." Trying to avoid his gaze, she picked up another brownie from the two left on the plate. "I never considered framing it that way exactly, but I guess I do feel free," she granted. "I used to wake up with this sense of dread. What's gonna be the excuse this time? How's he gonna ruin my day, my week, my month?" She shook her head again as she recalled just how taxing her life was at that time. Between Mike's bullshit and Lori's diagnosis, she was almost a different person three years ago. "I don't feel that anymore. I don't live in this constant state of worry over how he's gonna break my son's heart. Or mine, for that matter. You know, we live here in this paradise, and Andre has me, he has his friends, and the beach is his backyard. So if he's happy, I'm happy."

"He seems happy," Rick offered, even though he'd only spent a couple of hours with him in eleven months. "Of course it's easier when they're so young."

"It certainly helps that Mike wasn't around much in the first place."

"Yeah," he granted, stealing a glimpse of the side of her face. "Judith was only three when she lost her mother, so I know she doesn't feel it the way Carl does. Which is a relief."

Michonne nodded sadly, quietly wondering what that meant for her godson then. Maybe that was what he wanted to talk to her about. She felt her body tense as she looked back at Rick. "Do you think he isn't handling it well?"

"Carl? He's handling it almost too well," he chuckled. "I mean, he went through his sad phase, and he gets a little temperamental around certain holidays, but… he's been exactly how you'd hope your kid would process something like this."

"Yeah, if your biggest problem is him not cutting his hair, you're doing pretty well," she smiled.

"Right." He quietly laughed to himself as he stared at the last brownie sitting on the plate between them, questioning whether to take it. He knew from experience that one usually did the trick, but it just looked so lonely and delicious sitting there all by itself.

"Here," Michonne cut into his thoughts, offering the remaining half of her second one. The look on his face told her he was debating it, and she wanted to put him out of his misery. "I don't need two whole ones."

He immediately took a bite, thanking her with his mouth full of chocolate. "Could you tell I was thinkin' about it?"

"I'm pretty sure you were about to start drooling," she laughed before hopping down from her seat. She moved back around the counter to grab her opened wine bottle from the refrigerator and snatched up another Corona for him as well. "Let's go sit outside."

Rick wasn't sure why she suddenly decided they needed a change of venue, as he was rather enjoying sitting in her kitchen just shooting the shit, but there was no way he was going to turn down the scenery from her balcony. "All right..."

"When it hits you, you'll be glad you're out there," she added, reading his mind. "There's nothing like this view when you're high."

He smiled at the thought, gratefully accepting the second beer as she sauntered past him. And maybe it was the alcohol talking to him, or the drugs were already taking their effect, but he couldn't help but notice that her ass in that turquoise dress made for a pretty nice sight itself. She was already halfway outside, and it took everything in him to stop staring and follow after her. Holding up his beer, he mumbled to himself before taking a sip, "Here's to a nice view."

An hour later, Rick and Michonne were amply intoxicated, lying side-by-side on matching lounge chairs as they watched the ocean and laughed their way through conversation – some of it mindless, some of it meaningful. It was the perfect cap to their first night together in months, becoming reacquainted after so much time apart. That fog of awkwardness had lifted, and they were back to being two old friends just enjoying one another's company.

"I feel so good right now," Michonne declared, an obvious smile in her voice. She had her eyes closed, and the breeze blowing past them made her feel like she was floating through the atmosphere.

"I do too," Rick replied. "I could be chained right here to this chair for the rest of my life and I'd be alright with that."

"Ugh, that would be so boring," she giggled, although mostly at how softly he was speaking. "Plus, there's nowhere to store food. You'd get hungry."

"Well obviously Judith would bring me food."

"You're silly." Michonne opened her eyes when she felt his leg brush against hers as he crossed one over the other, and next thing she knew, her gaze managed to find his boxer shorts, fixating on the light blue fabric for much too long. For some reason, it didn't occur to her until that very moment that he was naked under those things. She felt her cheeks tingling and immediately averted her eyes elsewhere – his hand draped over his stomach, in particular. And it was then she also noticed for the first time that his silver wedding band was nowhere to be found. "When'd that happen?" she decided to ask, pointing it out.

Rick held up his hand as if he was unsure what she was referring to, his memory only jogged by actually seeing his bare finger. "Few months ago," he answered casually, rubbing the empty spot with his thumb. "It was a couple days after her birthday, I just figured it was time."

"Good for you," she nodded, impressed with how healthily he was handling things. He seemed confident in when and how to move on with his life, and it made her happy to see.

"When'd you take off yours?"

"I haven't worn it since I got down here," she smirked. "It's probably in a box in my mom's basement, along with all the other shit I didn't need here."

Rick hated being amused by her contempt for her husband – his friend, at one point in time – but it was kind of funny. How much she loved him then, versus how much she didn't now. Maybe it was more sad than funny, actually. "You ever miss him?" he wondered, staring at their bare feet in his line of sight. "Or miss just having somebody?"

Michonne let out a small sigh, hesitant to admit the answer to that question, because it didn't fit in with her narrative of moving on. But she figured if anyone understood what loneliness felt like, it would be Rick. "I do miss him," she quietly confessed. "Sometimes, like you said earlier, it creeps up. We were together forever. And in my mind, we were gonna be the Huxtables." She smiled ruefully, recalling how the group would always joke about it when he decided to go pre-med while she was on her pre-law track. "But then he fell apart, and then we did. And most of the time, he's just not… who I remember, and I think maybe I don't necessarily miss him. I just miss that feeling I had with him. Coming home to someone you're in love with. You know?"

"I know," he granted in a hoarse whisper, his gaze still distracted by Michonne's toes. "Hey, you have really nice feet."

She looked over to him, his random declaration making her giggle for the hundredth time that night. "You say this literally all the time."

"No I don't."

"You definitely do," she insisted. "You say it damn near every time you see my feet."

"You're exaggerating, but all right," he conceded, lazily raising just one hand from his chest in a gesture of surrender. "'Least you know I mean it."

"Either that, or that you have a foot fetish," she joked. "Important information either way."

"It's not a fetish."

"I mean, you say that, but then every time your eyes land on my toes, you look like you wanna eat them, and I dunno what that's about."

"You're an asshole," he grinned over at her. "That's the last time I ever give you a compliment."

She used one of her pretty feet to kick him, both of them cackling when her foot connected with his leg in a loud smack. "It better not be."

Once they sobered from their laughter, Rick made sure to assure her, "It won't be." His gaze lingered on her as he tried to recall what they were discussing before he took them off on a tangent. "Hey, you wanna hear somethin' funny?"

"Always," she shot back instantly.

"Lori and I almost got a divorce." He said it so casually, it sounded like he was giving her a weather forecast.

And in response, Michonne turned her head in his direction, her eyes narrowed on his blank expression before she burst into laughter. "Shut the fuck up, Rick."

"I'm serious," he chuckled at her disbelief. "Before we had Judith, we came really close. I'd even talked to Andrea about what I'd need to do, recommending a lawyer..."

Incredulous for the second time that night, Michonne sat up in her seat and got into position on her knees so that she could face her friend and gauge how honest he was being. "What the hell are you talking about?" she demanded. "When was this?"

"Seven, eight years ago," he shrugged. "It was a good year or so we were goin' through it."

She could remember Rick and Lori having issues, as most married couples do – particularly at that time, when Lori was struggling with getting back into the workforce after 8 years of being a stay-at-home mom, and Rick wasn't exactly helping, focused on getting his own business off the ground. She even recalled a couple of nights where they asked if Carl could stay at her place, just to get away from some of the tension in their house. But it never seemed like anything dire. "I didn't know it was that bad, Rick. She never told me."

"You were pregnant, then you had a newborn," he reminded her, simply guessing as to why Lori wouldn't have told her best friend. "I'm sure she didn't wanna put that on you."

She sat there with her mouth hanging open, shocked by the revelation. Trying not to be bothered by it, knowing how much she wanted to keep her own marital woes under wraps. "Is that why you guys started going to church?" she grimaced, thinking back on that random religious phase her friends had gone through. It made so much more sense now.

"We were in counseling," he nodded, laughing again at her disdain. "Our pastor was this really sweet man, Pastor Greene. And he basically told us, for Carl's sake, we had to either get our shit together or go our separate ways. And he helped us get our shit together."

"Jesus," Michonne exhaled, rubbing at her forehead. This was a lot of information for her temporarily addled brain. "You think you know somebody..."

"Tell me about it," he smirked.

"Wait," she paused, glaring at her friend. "Is this your way of telling me I should try marriage counseling with Mike?"

"No," he was quick to promise her, shaking his head against his headrest. "No. I think it's more my roundabout way of sayin' I'm happy you're gettin' a divorce."

"Rick, what the fuck," she yelped, her face still scrunched with disbelief and confusion. "I'm really starting to question this friendship at the moment."

"Okay, all I'm sayin' is, I know firsthand how bad it has to get for divorce to be the only option you have left. And I'm happy that you get to be happy now."

"Happy and single?" she remarked sarcastically. She shook her head at the thought of having to start her love life from scratch, as if taking on a whole new career wasn't hard enough on its own. "I'm about to be forty, Rick."

He couldn't help but laugh at the way she announced it as if it were new information to him. "Welcome to the club, 'Chonne. It's fun here."

"Oh please," she scoffed. "It's different for men and you know it. You get more attractive as you get older. You probably have women already knocking at your door."

"Okay, so we're really gonna sit here and act like you can't have any man you want?" he challenged her, staring her in the eye. The light from inside the house illuminated her brown skin, making her look like the sun at 2:00am, and he found himself biting his bottom lip. "You forget how long I've known you."

"I haven't forgotten," she smirked. Her eyes involuntarily began to scan the length of his body, wondering what was making him bite his lip that way. "But dating at this age, as a single mother, on an island of fifteen thousand people just… isn't easy."

Rick felt his face flush when he noticed her gaze, and he uncrossed and recrossed his legs, hoping she wouldn't notice his new shade. "Well don't you have guests coming through here all the time? You could do one of those 'Stella gettin' her groove back' kinda flings, see where it goes."

"First of all, I'd rather not be a walking cliche. And second of all…" She purposely avoided his gaze once again, looking down at her knees as she mumbled, "I already tried that."

"I'm sorry, what was that?" he prodded, amused by her sudden demureness.

"I said, I've tried that," she repeated more forcefully this time. "And don't you dare judge me."

"I would never." Though his smile transformed into a full blown laugh, and he couldn't stop, even when she hit him. "Honestly, I'm just glad one of us is gettin' laid."

She giggled, thinking back to that random summer weekend she spent getting dicked down by some suave Englishman whose name she couldn't even remember now. "It was nice," she admitted. "He was nice. But it was more about scratching an itch than making some false commitment to getting to know someone via FaceTime."

"'Scratching an itch'," he repeated her choice of words, looking up to the sky contemplatively. "I wonder what that's like."

Michonne's fit of giggles didn't stop, causing her to cover face when she snorted for the third time that night. "I'm sorry."

"What are you laughin' at?" he was grinning, enjoying seeing her full smile on display. She looked like the happiest person in the world when she laughed. "Is something funny about my loneliness, Michonne?"

"I'm so sorry. No, I just - I'm really high," she said between laughs. "And us talking about sex is making me itchy again."

Rick started to laugh too, unsure whether their conversation was even making sense anymore. Not that it needed to - he was just glad they were having it. He felt light as a feather for the first time in a long time, and not just because of the marijuana.

"Anyway," Michonne sighed, attempting to think her way back on track after she derailed them with her silliness. "I guess I'm saying that I'm not really looking. But it'd be nice to find someone."

Rick nodded slowly as he looked over to his friend again, feeling like he was hearing his own words come out of her mouth. He rested a comforting hand on her thigh, thinking about how their late night rendezvous began - how he just came by looking for a place to charge his phone and ended up having the best night he could remember in over two years. He wasn't sure what that translated to, if anything, but he was eager to find out what the next fourteen days had to offer. "Me, too," he eventually whispered, his thumb rubbing at the fabric covering her knee. And maybe they'd both find what they weren't looking for.