A/N: Just wanted to leave a quick note to thank y'all for coming through, despite this website doing its best to fuck with everybody the last couple of weeks, lol. (For anyone who doesn't know, I did update while the site decided to stop sending out notifications. So if you haven't already, please do read Chapter 8 first!) (By the by, spearmintandbakingsoda, thank you for nearly killing me with your review? I woke up to it one morning and it quite literally made my day. *ugly cry emoji*) Also, I don't know why these chapters keep ending up in the 6k-word range these days, but hopefully it makes up for the long-ish waits in between? So… I hope you enjoy! I love you all! I'll be back soon! -Ash

9 - Are You Happy Now?

Rick blinked several times as he stepped into the room behind Michonne, feeling as though he was looking at a ghost as Mike Boykin stood mere feet away, his hands stuffed in his pockets, luggage at his feet. Or at least, he wanted it to be a hallucination. He hoped that he was just so drunk on Michonne that he was imagining him standing there. Because it was just too hard to believe that Mike had chosen to show up at that moment. The exact wrong moment. At the very second he and Michonne were finally moving out of the friend zone they'd forced themselves into so many years ago. What kind of bad luck would allow Mike to show up now? No, Rick needed this to not be real.

"Hey," Mike greeted the two of them quietly when it seemed that no one was going to speak. He took a tentative step forward so that an entire room wasn't between them, but stopped himself when he noticed Rick move too, pointedly taking position beside Michonne. "Hey, Rick," he appended, baffled by his confrontational stance. Last time he checked, they were friends.

"Hey..." he returned skeptically, looking to Michonne to gauge her reaction. If looks could kill, Mike would be headed into cardiac arrest shortly. But her silence only added another layer of confusion to it all. "Everything okay...?" Rick directed to anyone who would answer.

"What are you doing here?" Michonne finally spoke, her voice eerily low and measured.

"I've obviously interrupted something," he granted, deferring to Michonne's increasingly annoyed expression. Aside from what he'd witnessed through the balcony window, he'd observed the sleeping kids, everyone walking around barefoot and in pajamas; he knew he was intruding. Even if this was his own family. "I'm sorry," he added, nodding. "But I wanted to see my son... and I was hoping you and I could talk."

Michonne bristled at the request, uninterested in anything he could possibly have to say after fucking up her night. Showing up unannounced was one thing, but to do so at the very moment she and Rick were about to seal a twenty-year deal? She wanted to fight him. "About what?" she demanded.

Mike raised an eyebrow at Rick and Carl's presence, hesitant to say anything more in front of them. "Somewhere privately, perhaps?"

If the kids hadn't been present, she would've urged him to speak right there, because she had nothing to hide from Rick. But just because her night was ruined didn't mean theirs should be, too. With a sigh, she turned to her friend, briefly taking his hand as she gazed at him apologetically. "Don't leave," she asked in a whisper.

Biting his bottom lip, pleasantly surprised by the small display of affection, he nodded. He glanced up at Mike, noting his attention was obviously on the two of them, and then he looked back to Michonne. "We had a good day," he quietly reminded her, seeing how drastically her mood had deflated in just a few minutes. "This doesn't change that."

She replied with a small, sarcastic smile, understanding what he was saying, even if she disagreed. "I'll be back soon," she promised.

"Take your time," he nodded, reluctantly letting her go. He kept his eyes on Mike as she led him out of the villa, presumably taking him to the courtyard where they couldn't be heard. Once they were gone, his gaze darted across the room to where Andre and Judith were sleeping, still undisturbed, fortunately, but he could feel his son's stare practically boring a hole into him, probably itching to discuss what had just occurred. Mike's arrival aside, he and Michonne were just making out on her balcony, and he was certain Carl had seen them. "Say what you wanna say," Rick quietly sighed, knowing there was no escaping the awkward conversation.

His eyes wide with unending confusion, Carl moved to face his father, taking a seat against the arm of the nearest couch. So much had happened in the span of five minutes, he wasn't entirely sure where to begin. "So are you guys… together now?" he asked carefully.

"No," Rick answered emphatically, though he couldn't help but chuckle to himself. "We're very much just friends."

"If it's a secret, you can tell me," he pressed. He was learning that parents had a way of being cagey when it suited them. "I won't tell anyone."

"We're not together, Carl."

He crossed his arms over his chest, his suspicion written all over his young face. "So you're gonna tell me you kiss all your friends like that?"

"It was the first time we've kissed i—" He had to abruptly stop himself before he revealed too much. "It was our first kiss, and it was interrupted. So… that's all I know right now."

Carl nodded, feeling bad for his dad in that case. It was the last thing he expected to see when the knock at the door woke him from his unintended slumber. In fact, at first, he thought that he was seeing things in his haze; conflating the movie with reality somehow. But when they were still making out as Mike followed him inside, he knew it was real. And the last thing he wanted to do was disturb them. "I'm sorry, Dad."

"You didn't do anything," Rick smiled ruefully. "Don't worry about it."

He nodded again, appreciating his father's composed response, despite the clenched jaw that accompanied it. "Do you think Mike's gonna be mad?" Carl went on to ask.

"I don't know," Rick admitted quietly as he scratched at his eyebrow. "But I also don't really care. They're separated, so Michonne can finally do whatever she wants."

He didn't miss his dad's use of the word 'finally', implying that this concept wasn't as new as he perhaps wanted it to seem. But he decided not to comment on it given his dad was already agitated by the current circumstances. "Well I think she wants you," he offered with a shy grin. It was an attempt to cheer him up, but also the obvious truth as far as he was concerned. "I wouldn't worry about Mike if I were you."

Rick chuckled at his son's insistence on being involved in just about everything – he'd been that way since he was a baby. But unfortunately, he'd been in this position before and had the misfortune of knowing how it could end. "If I were you, I'd mind my business," he teased him. His eyes instinctively went back to the floor, making sure their children were still blissfully asleep. And he thought back to the perfect day they'd had, how they'd slipped into the intimacy of a family without really even noticing. Michonne had been happy that day, he could tell, and he desperately wanted to believe that they could simply pick up where they left off when she returned. He nodded to Carl, noticing his son's curious stare still on him. "But let's hope you're right."

Meanwhile, Michonne had taken Mike down to the main kitchen, where she hoped they wouldn't be seen or heard by any of her friends. It was instinctual, really, since that was where they tended to argue when they lived together. Back when they bothered to, at least. She didn't care to have a long conversation with him now, more concerned with getting back to Rick and the kids than anything he had to say. But she figured this was the quickest, easiest way to get it over with.

"Carl is so damn big now," Mike commented as he followed his wife into the brightly-lit space. "I didn't know who that was answering your door."

Michonne rolled her eyes, knowing he hadn't seen Rick's kids in actual years now. "Yeah, kids have a way of growing," she commented coolly. She gestured for him to take a seat at the table while she continued to her wine fridge to grab an opened bottle of Riesling for herself. "Speak."

Mike chuckled as she stamped around the room, slamming cabinets with a quietness that only she could pull off. Making sure he knew she was angry without telling everyone else within earshot. "So you and Rick, huh?" he started to question, unable to shake the image he'd gotten of the two of them. "How long's that been goin' on?"

She let out a deep, calming sigh as she pulled down a glass for herself and ignored his inquiry. "Why are you here, Michael?"

"'Michael,'" he repeated her with a nervous chuckle, observing her serious tone. "All right." He cleared his throat and turned in his chair to look at her, despite her back to him. Seeing her figure in that form-fitting onesie, he could certainly see why Rick was all over her... "Well I came to see Andre," he eventually told her. "I wanted to surprise him for Christmas, give him a few gifts, get a chance to see everybody—"

"And as usual, you're a day late and a dollar short," Michonne interrupted, turning to face him with a full glass in hand.

"Yeah, my connecting flight from Puerto Rico was late," he revealed regretfully. "If I could've been here sooner, I would've."

"But nobody even invited you in the first place," she said flatly. "Why would you think – I mean... did you even think? That I'd have any interest in seeing you? After you blindsided me with divorce papers and petitioned for full custody of my child?" She could feel herself literally shaking with anger, her general frustration with him compounded by the fact that he'd fucked up her day, not to mention, what she hoped would be a good night. She took a moment to swallow down a big gulp of wine, needing it to mellow her. "I don't want you here."

"I shouldn't have done that," he admitted, gazing at her contritely. "I shouldn't have. I knew it when I did it. Even my lawyer told me to rethink it, but I was angry at you, and I insisted."

She stared at him, waiting for him to go on; waiting for an apology and then a promise to retract the petition, perhaps. But when he didn't, she decided to speak the words hanging off of her tongue. "You always do this shit," she muttered, shaking her head as she set her glass down.

"I always do what, exactly?"

"You show up unannounced and unwelcome," she spat back. "You're forever only concerned about your feelings and what you want. You steamroll over everyone else just to get your way. You knew this was my vacation time, my first time seeing my friends in a year. And I asked you – I begged you to just wait until January. It's a fucking week away!" she shouted, but immediately pulled back, though her lips continued to quiver as she spoke. "You've been down here exactly once in a whole year, but you couldn't wait a week so that I could just enjoy this time with my friends. You couldn't let me be happy for just that long." She ran a hand over her exhausted face as her mind went wandering back to her couch nineteen years ago. How the first thing that came out of her mouth when she told Rick to stop was Mike's name. "You just destroy everything," she whispered, mostly to herself as she held back her tears.

"Michonne, I didn't know it was like that," he contended. "I thought it would be a nice surprise. Shit, it's barely eight o'clock. I didn't think everybody'd be knocked out... I sure as hell didn't expect to find you and Rick all on each other like that."

"Yeah, well I was about to fuck him too until you showed up," she quipped, taking another long sip of her wine. She wanted to make that clear since he was so damn hung up on it.

Mike's eyebrows raised in surprise at her brazenness. "Yeah, that's a good look," he declared sarcastically. "Fucking your deceased friend's husband while you're still married."

"Well you weren't doing it, so…"

He let out a frustrated sigh, feeling the conversation going awry. Her flippant answers weren't getting them anywhere. "So the fact that I was gone because of work…" He shook his head in disbelief. "Me working my ass off to support y'all means nothing to you."

"Andre needs a good father," she replied sincerely, the derision gone from her voice. "Not a good doctor. And I certainly never needed financial support, so… I don't know what to tell you," she sighed again. "I feel like a broken record. And I don't have time to stand here and have the same argument we've been having for three years now. Either say something new, or you can go. I can bring Andre to see you in the morning."

He opened his mouth to speak on his hopes for their divorce proceedings, but he stopped when he realized she was effectively kicking him out. "Go?" he frowned at her instruction. "I can't stay here?"

"I've got six more people arriving in about twelve hours, so no. I'm full."

"Michonne…"

"This is why you should call before you show up at your ex's door."

Mike visibly inhaled at her reference to herself as his ex – something he'd yet to get used to after their two decades together. "So you're really saying I can't stay with you?"

She stared back at him blankly for several beats, the wine already doing its job of slowing her reaction time. But if her unamused expression didn't answer his question, she said it out loud for him: "No, Mike, you can't."

"I can sleep on the couch," he suggested. "I won't interrupt your little slumber party."

"You keep being facetious if you want to," she smiled mockingly. "This is about you not being welcome in my home. I don't want any confusion for Andre about this being a visit. As in temporary."

"So it's confusing for me to be at your place, but the white man hanging around tryin' to fuck his mama is cool."

"Rick has been there for Andre and for me more consistently than you ever have."

"Yeah, I bet he has," he mumbled.

Michonne turned to the counter again, no less frustrated or agitated than she had been when she walked in, and closed up her wine bottle. She was done. "I suggest you start googling some places," she advised, her voice back to that low and steady timbre. "Most places are already at capacity through the New Year, but maybe you'll get lucky." She sauntered off toward the sink, leaving her glass beside it since she had no intention of staying there with him long enough to wash it. "You should call me first if you need anything else."

"'Chonne," Mike called out before she could take off, instinctively grabbing her hand as she passed in a desperate attempt to stop her.

She looked down at his grip on her wrist, but instead of fighting it, she let her hand go limp and waited for him to speak.

"I didn't come here for this," he quietly acknowledged. "All the sarcastic shit and the low blows and all that… I don't want it to be like this."

She nodded, her eyes briefly closing as his familiar touch brought her back to happier times for just a moment – specifically, ten years ago, when they went ice skating at Rockefeller Center on Christmas night. It was their first Christmas as a married couple, and they literally wouldn't let each other go. She also thought it a shame that their 23 years together had devolved into this. But it wasn't her fault that he enjoyed being a doctor more than he did his family. "Then you shouldn't have made it like this," she whispered, taking her hand back.

November 2003.

"Michonne," Rick called out, casually raising his hand to relay his whereabouts when she turned in his direction.

Michonne smiled nervously when she spotted her friend at the restaurant's crowded bar, Lori noticeably missing in action, it seemed, which wasn't exactly part of the plan they'd made. But she waved nonetheless and approached him, setting her purse in the open beside him for a proper greeting. "Hey," she said, taking note as he stood from his chair. He was dressed in a blazer and dress shirt, which she was unused to seeing on him outside of special occasions, and smartly matched with a pair of expensive-looking jeans. She wasn't entirely sure this man was actually Rick Grimes.

"Hey," he grinned back, wrapping her in a brief and somewhat tense hug. "Lori's stuck in traffic," he submitted, figuring she was unaware – Lori hated talking while driving. "Still in Alpharetta on 400, so…"

"Yikes," she replied knowingly. Traffic in Atlanta was bad enough on a good day, but it turned into a veritable nightmare on Friday evening in that part of town. "Mike is on his way, too," she said, noticing that Rick was already nursing a beer. "Should we sit here and wait for them?"

He nodded as he grabbed his beer, realizing that they were going to be sitting there alone in that case. He couldn't even remember the last time he and Michonne had any significant one-on-one time. "We can take one of those," he offered, gesturing to the small high-top tables across from the actual bar. "Less noisy."

Michonne actually preferred the bar chatter, knowing they'd need it to fill the inevitable awkward silences between them. But she agreed, collecting her purse before heading to the table closest to the entrance.

Rick distractedly watched her strut across the small space in a pair of fully red pumps, down to the sole, that complemented her tight jeans and black blazer. Michonne always looked like a million bucks as far as he was concerned, but she had an added air of sophistication now. Something she'd picked up in New York, he guessed. He smiled at her awkwardly as he took his seat across from her, feeling like he was sitting with a supermodel. It was strange to think that they were supposedly close friends. "Well…" He chuckled, inwardly wishing Lori or Mike could magically appear, "Fuck traffic, and welcome back to Atlanta."

"Yeah, no kidding," she smirked.

"Although," he reconsidered, scanning the area for a bartender, "I guess New York has its own traffic problems."

"It did," she granted, "but I mostly took MTA, so it was different from this."

"What time did you get in?" he asked, taking a sip of his drink.

"My flight arrived around eight this morning?" she nodded. "I had just enough time to unpack and then my dad took me to lunch. So I'm still trying to... readjust." She effortlessly waved over a bartender and ordered herself a Seven and Seven before looking back to Rick. It had been a while – too long, really. He looked like a stranger to her. His hair was short, his thick curls cropped atop his head, somehow making him look older and younger at the same time. "So how are you?" she decided to ask, making sure not to stare. "How's my godson?"

"He's good," Rick confirmed, immediately smiling at the thought of their two-year-old. He pulled his phone from his pocket, flipping it open to show her the wallpaper he had set: Carl smiling wide for the camera, with an adult-sized Yankees cap from Michonne practically swallowing his head.

"Oh my god!" she shrieked at the unbearable cuteness of his chubby cheeks and a mouth full of baby teeth. "He's getting so big."

"It's insane," he agreed, watching her study the small screen. "I feel like he's gonna be… fifteen before I know it."

"I still can't even believe you two have a kid." She shook her head as she handed his phone back, her eyes darting up at him as their fingers briefly touched. "Is it surreal?"

"A little less so at this point," he shrugged, stuffing the phone back into his pocket. "For the first year, we were just sort of like, 'Jesus… that's a baby.' But I think we're good now."

"You're experts, huh," she grinned.

"I mean he's still alive."

She chuckled as she accepted her drink, hoping the alcohol would help wash down some of her nerves. She was typically so good at preparing herself for any situation, but she never anticipated that this double date would leave her alone with Rick. Her first day back in the city, and here they were.

"So… here's to you," Rick declared, interrupting her thoughts as he held up his refilled glass. "Congratulations, sweetheart."

"Oh god," she smiled shyly, his impromptu toast catching her off guard. She appreciatively clinked her glass against his, acknowledging his proud smile. "Thank you."

"Don't be modest." He took a quick sip of his beer before going on to say, "Passing the bar is a big fuckin' deal."

"People do it every day.

"People don't do it every day, too," he shot back. "You know Andrea has to take it again."

Her eyes dropped about as low as his voice had, scanning the table as if it contained an appropriate response as she set her drink back down. "I didn't know that."

"Oh. Well. Yeah, maybe don't bring that up tonight unless she does."

She shook her head in agreement, having already told herself as much. In fact, she was actually quite all right with not talking about her new job at all for the rest of the night. Her parents had already exhausted the subject, and she didn't have much excitement left at that point. She just wanted to have some fun with her friends. "I promise I won't."

He nodded back quietly and began to stare down his drink as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. The awkwardness of the moment wasn't lost on him. The fact that what used to be easy conversation for them was now stilted. He knew it, but he wasn't sure how to fix it. It'd been so easy to ignore the elephant in the room when their significant others were beside them. Now, it was just them, and that elephant was suffocating them. "I know it can't be like it was," Rick decided to say, tired of being unable to breathe around her. "I think that's probably even a good thing. But... I'd like it if we could be close again."

Michonne looked at him pointedly, her keen brown stare consuming his words. She looked like she was ready to cross examine him. "Close?" she repeated him.

"I mean, we don't have to best friends, but there was a time where we could be alone together without walking on eggshells around each other."

She smiled sympathetically at him, not entirely sure of how to reply to that. Because she wasn't sure that she could ever be carefree around him again. That comfort between them is why they went off the rails on the first place. She needed the eggshells. She couldn't afford to be close to him. "I'd like that," she nodded, "but… I don't know if it's a good idea."

"Michonne, I miss you," he practically whispered, his earnest gaze begging her to believe him. To agree with him. "I miss you even when I'm with you."

"Rick…"

"I miss my friend," he appended, seeing her growing uncomfortable. It was the last thing he wanted, to make this worse, to make her uneasy around him; but he'd regret it forever, on top of all the other regrets he had, if he didn't say this. "I mean, you're the godmother of my son and we can barely look each other in the eye."

She smiled in spite of herself and took another drink. The alcohol didn't seem to be working fast enough. "Well now that I'm home… I dunno… maybe it gets better on its own."

Rick only let out a sigh, taking a few gulps of beer to swallow back his thoughts.

"What?" she asked, immediately picking up on the fact that he had more to say.

"I mean, if you're not interested in fixing this, then we don't have to."

"No, it's not that," she returned. "I just don't… I don't wanna force anything."

He nodded back, trying not to take her seeming lack of interest personally. Her eyes, so expressive they seemed to be speaking for themselves, told a different story, but he knew he couldn't force it either. "Well. If you don't mind, I'm gonna pass the time by gettin' another drink."

"You gonna drink me away?" she smirked back at him.

"Already tried that..."

She involuntarily frowned in reply, but quickly recovered, choosing to believe that he was joking. "I like your haircut," she asserted, practically dying for a subject change by then.

He smiled. "I like yours."

She self-consciously ran her fingers through her chin-length kinky curls. "Thank you," she replied, her tone conveying her surprise at the compliment. In her experience, men tended to have strange, backhanded comments about her natural hairstyle. "You look like you've finally gained a little weight," she acknowledged with an amused grin.

He looked down at the table, nodding shyly. "I know it's not a 'guy' thing to admit, but we don't necessarily like to hear that we've gotten fat, you know."

"I meant it in a good way," she giggled at him. "Some people say it's a sign of being happy in your marriage."

"Mmm," he answered noncommittally as he took a drink. "That, or a few too many beers."

"Okay," she grinned. "You don't have to admit it to me." She nodded as she swirled her glass, watching the contents circle. "I can see it in your eyes."

"And what is 'it' exactly?" he smirked.

"That you're happy."

"Oh, all right." He chuckled, unable to tell whether she was just fucking with him for the sake of it. She was the one who seemed to be on top of the world. "And what should I glean from all… this," he wondered, gesturing in her direction.

She sat back in her chair with a wide smile, her eyebrow raised as she feigned offense and confusion; all of it bordering on flirtatious. "And what is that supposed to mean, Grimes?"

He stopped to smile too, because he couldn't remember the last time she called him by his last name. A sign of her comfort level creeping back up, he hoped. "I mean, you look… incredible," he stated carefully. "Is that supposed to mean you're not happy?"

"I'm actually really happy," she grinned, her stare staying on him. "And not just because I'm tipsy now."

He gazed back at her, believing it. Understanding that whatever torch she'd carried for him three years ago had all but gone out. "So," he said, eyeing her as he finished his beer, "your little theory doesn't hold true, does it?"

"Well it's not my theory," she reminded him. "I'm also not married."

"You're in a long-term relationship…"

"Listen, I don't make the rules," she shrugged playfully. "You're happy and you know it."

He made it a point to immediately clap his hands as a response, causing Michonne to burst into laughter, and the smile he was trying to suppress turned into his own fit of chuckles. It was impossible not to laugh with her.

"Hey," she nodded to him, forcing herself to sober up. She was practically beaming as she envisioned a future where she and Rick could be friends again. Maybe not quite what they were, but something like it. "I've missed you, too, Rick."

He felt his face flush, his heart skipping beats as he tried to think of a witty but heartfelt reply. Something about absence and the heart and all that. But before he could open his mouth – thereby concealing the giant, telling smile on his face – the moment was snatched away. Mike had arrived.

"Hey, you two," he greeted the duo with his bright, immaculate grin, his eyes settling on his girlfriend as he stood in front of them. "Sorry I'm late, babe."

Michonne instantly stood from the table to meet him with a kiss. "Not a problem," she assured him with a casual shrug. "We were just catching up, figuring out how to get things back to normal."

Mike nodded as he claimed the seat beside her. He knew she had some regrets about how far she'd drifted from some of their friends while she was away. "So is everything all good?" he hoped, noticing her mostly empty glass. "Y'all were smiling like old friends over here."

She briefly looked to Rick, her eyes smiling at him before her lips could, and then to Mike, studying his handsome face before answering, "I think we're gonna be okay."

"I don't wanna stop the party for too long," Mike proclaimed from the DJ booth, staring out at a crowded club full of friends and strangers alike. He had a mic in one hand and a drink in the other as he looked lovingly to his girlfriend, shyly standing beside him, likely wondering what the hell he was about to say. "I just wanted to take a moment to acknowledge this woman right here," he said. "She's been in New York for the past four years, three of them working her ass off in law school, and she just passed the bar like a fuckin' boss, and had a job already waiting for her the second she did," he grinned as the room applauded. "So I wanted to tell you, and I guess, all of these people, just how proud I am of you, baby. You are… brilliant, you're beautiful, and it's my joy to stand beside you through all this. We met when we were fifteen," he divulged to everyone else. "And it's been crazy watching her grow into this... phenomenal woman," he gestured to her before planting a kiss on her cheek. He held up his glass, inciting most of the crowd to do the same. "So this is my long-winded way of saying, 'Welcome home. And I love you.'"

"I love you, too," she whispered, unable to contain the grin on her face, moved by the simple, sweet gesture. "Thank you."

"Y'all raise your glasses," he declared to their applauding audience. "To Michonne A. Diarra, Esquire."

With a resigned sigh, Rick took his drink as he watched the happy couple from the Very Important Person table their friends were sharing. It was the third time that day, in fact, that they kissed like no one was watching, which clearly told him that he shouldn't have been. But he was experiencing a strange intersection of emotions – a bit of jealousy on the one hand, wishing he could be the person beside her, publicly extolling her many achievements. But the other hand, he just enjoyed seeing her so obviously content, even if it was with Mike. Still, he was relieved when the music recommenced and the lovebirds left their platform and disappeared into the crowd.

"That was sweet," Lori grinned to the group as she polished off her margarita. Luckily, she was too inebriated to be mad at Mike for excluding her from the toast.

Jenny nodded in agreement with a mouth full of liquor that she was slow to swallow. "For a minute there, I thought he was gonna propose."

"He wanted to," Lori revealed loudly over the bumping music. "But I told him he should hold off, maybe do it for Christmas. But I didn't think he should use tonight, when it's supposed to be about her, and then go and make it about them."

"That was smart," Andrea submitted from across the table. "I hate when men do shit like that."

"You hate when men do anything," Shane interjected, rolling his eyes, "so that ain't sayin' a whole lot."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm a man hater," she returned mockingly. "Excuse me for pointing out that you all do shitty things sometimes."

"She dyes her hair black and turns into Christina Aguilera all of a sudden."

"Y'know, I wish y'all would just fuck and get it over with," Daryl declared as he stood from the table, annoyed. "I'm gettin' real sick of this dynamic, and I know I ain't the only one."

Lori did her best not to laugh at his outburst, truthful as it might have been, and focused on her husband instead, who hadn't said much of anything since they sat down. Or all evening, for that matter. If she didn't know any better, she would've assumed he was upset about something. "Hey," she called out to him, resting her hand over his. When he looked back at her emptily, she became concerned. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head, reluctant to explore the real answer to her question, even if only in his mind. "I'm all right," he said, distractedly surveying the large room, people of all shapes, colors, and sizes enjoying the lively mood, punctuated by the upbeat music of one of Atlanta's own. It didn't take long for him to spot Michonne a few hundred feet away, seemingly off in her own delighted world as she shook it like a polaroid picture. She was the embodiment of the song, which had him mesmerized for perhaps a second too long. But he forced himself out of it, unable and unwilling to go down that same path he'd been on six years ago. "I should probably give my mom a call to check on Carl," he noted to Lori, searching for a reason to escape.

"Rick," she sighed, chuckling at his rigidity. "Is that why you've been acting so strange all day?"

He shrugged, not wanting to lie. "It's not like we've had a lot of time away from him."

"We haven't had any," she reminded him. "Which is why you should be enjoying this."

"I just wanna check on him," he said. "I'm actually surprised you're not the one with your phone to your ear every other hour."

"Honestly, so am I," she smirked. "That's how much I needed a night off."

He nodded, knowing that she spent just about every waking moment with their two-year-old. She did deserve a break. "You're right," he relented with another sharp exhale. "I'm sure he's fine."

"Well your mother is senile, so he may not be. But we can't dwell on what we don't know right now."

"My mother is not—" He shook his head and smiled, forcing himself not to take offense to a joke that was meant to lighten him up. "Very funny."

"Ooh, come dance with me," she asked, already hopping up from her seat as the tune switched. "I love this song."

Rick begrudgingly obliged his wife's request, literally dragging his feet as he followed her to the dance floor, where a bevy of beautiful people were gyrating and grinding to Beyonce's latest hit. Lori led him right to the area where Michonne was dancing with Mike, and their friend Tyreese was surrounded by three different women. He instantly turned self-conscious about whatever white-people-sway he and Lori were about to do, but he'd had enough alcohol to release any inhibitions just as quickly as they'd come to him. He simply mimicked the other guys on the floor, subtly rocking to the beat while Lori did most of the work.

Soon, though, his eyes landed back on Michonne – or more accurately, her hips, as they seemed to move independent from the rest of her body. He watched her effortlessly grind against her boyfriend, her eyes closed, probably imagining herself on some Caribbean island that matched the music. Picture us dancing real close in a dark, dark corner of a basement party. Every time I close my eyes it's like everyone left but you and me. When she opened them, she looked straight at him, as if she knew he was staring. Or maybe, by some small chance, she'd been thinking of him too, for a moment at least. And when their eyes locked, her sultry stare didn't let him go. She even smiled as she began to mouth the words of the song – whether it was to him or at him, he wasn't sure. He didn't care. He was happy to get lost in the moment. Because moments like this were all they had, and he was okay with that. In our own little world, the music is the sun; the dance floor is the sea. Feels like true paradise to me.

Present day.

It was nearly an hour later when Michonne returned to her villa, surprised to find that her place was silent and dim, only the glow from the muted television lighting up the room. She quietly walked in a bit farther, realizing that Rick was on the couch with Andre asleep in his lap, Carl and Judith seemingly gone, which only served as another reminder of her good day gone bad. Mike had gone, for the night at least, but the sour taste still remained in her mouth. Even as her hard expression automatically softened at the sight of Rick with her son. Their vacation had been full of little moments like this, where he treated Andre as one of his own. But Mike had poisoned that well too, forcing her to see her mistakes instead of the blessing in having a man like Rick around. She sighed as she moved toward them, forcing it all out of her mind for the time being. She just wanted to go to bed.

Rick stirred upon hearing Michonne's light footsteps, his eyes fluttering open to see her walking toward him. She looked visibly perturbed, to put it lightly, which made him hesitant to say anything. He didn't want to upset her any more than Mike undoubtedly had. But his curiosity wouldn't let him sit there in silence. "Everything all right?" he quietly, cautiously wondered.

"I'm not feeling great," she admitted as she kneeled in front of them. She began to rub Andre's back in an attempt to coerce him her way without waking him. "Thank you for staying with him."

He looked on, a bit perplexed as he helped Andre into his mother's arms. "I stayed because you asked me to."

"I know." She closed her eyes as her son intuitively wrapped himself around her in his slumber. "But I can't do this tonight."

"I didn't - I mean, I figured the moment was gone," he acknowledged, his eyebrows still furrowed with confusion. He couldn't help but notice the look of relief on her face once Andre was back in her arms. As if she was scared of losing him. "Michonne, what did Mike say?"

"He didn't say anything worth repeating," she promised, patting his knee before standing up again. "I just… I'm in a terrible mood now, and I don't wanna talk. I don't wanna pretend. I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for," he assured her, standing with her. "We have our whole lives to continue this if we want to. I just wanna make sure you're okay."

She closed her eyes again, having to resist the strong urge to burst into tears at that very second. Here she had this perfect man, ready and willing to be whatever she wanted. It was true way back when they first met, and miraculously, it still was, and she was coming dangerously close to ruining it again. "I'm okay," she said, mostly out of wanting it to be true.

"Are you sure?"

She nodded, bringing her hand up to his concerned face, her thumb caressing his bearded cheek. He'd always been there for her, even when he couldn't be, and she didn't want to disappoint him – or herself, for that matter – again. "Just bear with me," she whispered. She left him with a short, chaste kiss to his soft lips, hoping he was okay with that being all they could have at the moment.