Lean In
Sunday
The threat of Judge Blake diminished but Mike still needed a respectable woman and Michonne was pre-approved by the Good Reverend. He needed fresh information from the grapevine and he knew just who to see, his bitter brother-Tyreese. He takes a seat on the familiar stool and waits. "What's up?" Tyreese greets with his arm extended and his hand in a fist.
Mike returns the pound, "New day, same shit," he jokes.
"I hear you. How's work?" Tyreese starts the conversation.
Mike shakes his head, "What is the deal with the untouchable Rick Grimes? Is it a rule or something?" That should be enough to get him started.
"Do not ask me…I do not get it at all. It's like he is the unofficial leader or some shit," he spews, "Hell, I went to the League. Did you see that press conference? Man, our boy Shane was pissed." Tyreese spills his guts.
"Is that right…I thought they were best friends?" Could he be another ally?
"Back in the day, but now…ain't no way," Tyreese leans down placing his forearms on the counter. "Especially since Shane hooked up with his ex," he divulges.
"Isn't that…wait you mentioned her before-Lori?" he feigns ignorance.
"Please, he left Lori back in high school," he chuckles, "the only one hanging on to that fantasy is Lori. No, Jessie, perky blonde waitress over at the Bistro. Extra thirsty-you know the type."
"Hmm…interesting…Well, what's new with you?" Mike re-directs the conversation. Maybe I need to get to know Jessie.
Rick glides across the interstate glancing at the passenger seat. His binge reading of every pregnancy related blog, journal or book told him Michonne would sleep more; he smiles watching her nap. He looks up in time to take the exit into Atlanta. He maneuvers though the streets until he reaches Mt. Shiloh's Cemetery. He leans over the console and places a tender kiss to her nose, "Gorgeous, wake up," he whispers.
Michonne blinks awake and stretches, "We here already?" her voice holds the remnants of sleep. He exits and opens her door. She leads him along the familiar path. They kneel respectfully at the foot of the grave site marked by a large, elegant slate marble marker:
Michael Anthony
Pauletta Anthony
Rick reads the dates and shakes his head. Exactly six months after his wife died Michael lied down on his wife's side of the bed and passed away gently in his sleep. He could not imagine the scenario when she told him but facing the grave stone with the bright sun shining down the magnitude of the loss becomes achingly real.
"Hey Guys, I brought him so we could talk," she begins.
He clears his throat, "Mr. and Mrs. Anthony. I am Rick Grimes and I love Michonne more that I believed humanly possible. She is everything you thought she would be and more. I am going to marry and honor her in every way imaginable. I know you will be with us as we start our life together," he exhales nervously.
Michonne squeezes his hand and weeps. She cannot look at him or her heart will burst. She takes a deep breath, "I know you sent him. There is no other explanation for this man in my life-so thanks," she wipes her smiling face and joyous laughter bubbles up and out through her tears. "One more thang, you just couldn't wait on the grandbaby-so greedy," she teases.
Rick's laugh rumbles from his belly, "I'll make sure we come back to visit when she is waddling," he joins in on the fun.
She punches his arm, "You said I could never waddle," Michonne practically exclaims. The laughter dissolves. "We need to get back on the road but I love and miss you terribly," she stands and closes her eyes in prayer.
Penelope and Justice are in the car headed home, "You got everything you need for this project?"
"Yeah, thanks…sorry it was last minute," she apologizes.
"That is not your fault. That lazy ass Crabtree…cannot teach worth…you know what-not going there," she exhales.
"Why don't we stop for a late lunch or early dinner," Justice suggests.
"Girl, are you never not hungry?" she laughs lightly.
"No, the way my metabolism is set up," she exaggerates and watches her mother's tears of laughter.
"Fine, what is close?" Penelope questions.
"What about T-Dog's on the next block over?"
"Ooh…yes. BBQ, sweet potato fries. I may go all in and get a strawberry soda," she chuckles.
Justice shakes her head, "I guess I will be the designated driver in case you get the 'itis." They breakdown cackling.
They enter the restaurant and take seats at the counter. "Well, if it isn't my favorite patrons," Theo greets.
"Hey Mr. T," Justice responds with a big smile.
"You know the only reason I let you use that name is because your mama is fine," T flirts glancing over to Penelope.
She doesn't respond looking down at her phone. Justice shakes her head from side to side, "We will split the usual tri-tip dinner with Strawberry soda, please."
"Coming up," T-Dog returns to the kitchen.
"Mom, could you try just a little," Justice begs.
"What? I needed to respond to these messages from work," she explains clueless.
"I know," she begins gently, "You are excellent at your job and you are an amazing mother; but what about the part of you that exists outside those two roles? I just want all of you to be happy-okay," she searches her mother's face for some sign she made a connection.
"Thanks Sweetie, but I am happy," she responds simply.
Michonne directs Rick through the streets of old Atlanta until they are parked in front of a vintage shop 'Studio 54'. "I promise we will not be here long," she looks up batting her lashes dramatically.
"'Chonne, I am not holding your purse and we will be back in this car in one hour. I am not Carl," he warns. They enter to the sounds of 70's disco: Sylvester, Donna Summer and Diana Ross.
"Ooh, classic white jump suit and wrap dresses," she moves through the racks one hanger after another.
Rick laughs at her and glances over to the Men's section. I might as well take a look while we are here. Thirty minutes later he approaches Michonne at the jewelry counter. Her back is to him and she has a vintage, oxblood red DVF wrap dress draped over her right arm. "May I see that one please," she taps the glass case.
The owner behind the counter exclaims, "Baby Girl has taste. Now this is a 5-carat, emerald cut blue amethyst with trillion cut diamond accents. I picked this bad boy up at an estate sale. I am guessing this is your birthstone."
"No, it matches my Man's eyes," Michonne smiles sweetly.
The owner opens the large fan with a flick of the wrist, "Girl, you are in trouble," dragging out the last word.
Michonne laughs, "I am and loving every minute of it," admiring the ring. This is absolute perfection.
Rick watches her from and a distance. He approaches slowly and plucks the ring from her hand, "Try it on your left hand," he whispers in her ear. She raises her shaking hand and he slides the ring onto her finger. "Good fit," he looks to the owner, "Do you have certification documentation?"
"Be right back," the owner exits quickly excited for a sale.
Michonne pivots to Rick in a panic, "I'm not trying to force you…I swear I was just looking."
He kisses her forehead, "I know…I am selfishly taking advantage of the situation. Do you think you might want to look at that ring for the rest of your life?"
Her eyes fill with tears and she nods her head up and down. "Good. Now what do you think of this jacket? Yes, it is corduroy but it's alright for when I'm on patrol-right?" he turns slowly with his arms outstretched.
Michonne's mouth goes dry as her eyes survey her Man from head to toe. The snug fit, the chocolate brown combined with those delicious curls. She finds her voice, "That is a definite must have."
"Cool," he pulls the coat off and removes the ring from her finger placing a gentle kiss on her hand, "Go try on your dress. I have thangs to handle," he swats her ass and nudges her toward the dressing rooms.
Monday
Daryl dials a familiar number, "Hey Ms. Lonette, what are you up today?" he smiles tenderly.
"Boy, it took you long enough to call me. Do I need to come to Georgia? Who is this fool messing with my Babies?" she scolds.
"No Ma'am…you stay right where you are. I have enough to worry about. Sasha is safe and I am fine," he comforts.
"Do you need more equipment? Gladys said they sell stuff over at the Surplus Depot?" she asks in earnest.
He muffles his laughter, "I have everything I need, but some pie might be nice," he suggests.
"Done…I know you like pecan, but maybe I will send egg custard or sweet potato," she's talking to herself at this point.
"Well, I need to finish this paperwork. Tell Harry I said hey," wrapping up the call.
"Alright, be safe now," she disconnect.
The graveyard shift is on duty and the station is practically empty. Captain Morgan, Glenn and Denise meet in his office behind the closed door and blinds. "You tested the sample twice?" the Captain asks for the second time.
"Yes Sir…the fertilizer used for the bomb retrieved from the abandoned building matches the fertilizer from the earlier robbery at the Greenhouse," Glenn repeats, "I could have verified the connection sooner if I had received the original sample on time," he explains in frustration.
Denise jumps in, "Sir, the traffic photo date shows the van identified during our briefing was at the abandoned building and he reported it as a nuisance call," she whisper shouts in rage.
Morgan's jaw muscles clench violently and he breaks the mechanical pencil in his hand unconsciously. I have your signed affidavits. Leave the evidence with me. That will be all and remember this remains confidential," his tone is murderous. Damn Walsh to hell!
Michonne untangles herself from Rick and fluffs her pillow before dialing a familiar number. "What's up Kill Bill?" she giggles.
"Not much…how you doing Pam Grier," Sasha giggles in return. "Seriously, how are you?"
"I am really good thanks to all of you. I feel, she contemplates, grateful. You took care of my Guys; and this Man…" Michonne trials off never finishing the sentence watching Rick sleep.
Sasha recognizes the sentiment. "Yeah, they are something else. Who knew we were wasting our time in Atlanta?" she chuckles.
"Right…we found real men, you almost got to stab someone and I kicked a man's ball off," she tries to muffle her laughter.
"Hey, speaking of violence. When was the last time you talked to Maggie?" Sasha starts to wonder.
"Hmm…you're right. Between my meeting with Deanna and playing catch up on e-mail I did not get a chance to connect with her. Knowing our Girl, we can check the storage closets tomorrow," they both laugh. "How are you managing?"
"Honestly, I will have a knot in my stomach until that crispy mother fucker is caught. Daryl is managing for the both of us and if I did not love his over protective ass so much I wouldn't cooperate; but I do."
"I am going to let you go because I know you have another call tonight that requires a full battery charge," Michonne teases.
"Girl, the NSA is too embarrassed to listen," the call waiting signals, "Bye Felicia," Sasha disconnects the call.