Inconvenience

by DR. Elsac2

Rick and michonne have known each other their entire life. She was his little sister best friend, and he always had quite a hate relationship with her. She was a brat who never kept her mouth shut. He made a promise to her. One day he will ruin her life. However, fate has a mind of its own, which is an inconvenience.

15. Chapter 15

Thanks for the reviews, and finally an update.

I don't own the walking dead.

Please Reviews

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Chapter XIV: Pillow Princess

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Christmas morning ten years ago

Michonne endures the ache at the centre of her back. She cannot move, and her mind has fallen in a catatonic state. The door remains open, and she wills her legs to move. At first, she takes a shaky step.

Rick has frightened her, and her mind is unable to process the event. In Michonne's mind, fear and Rick are opposites. Her hand crawls to the centre of her back. The pain is unbearable, and Michonne attempts to soothe it. She looks at the room, and she notices the small things littering the floor.

There is her earring on the floor, and Michonne grabs her ear to be sure she lost it. The moment is surreal.

Michonne's arms tremble. Despite living it, she cannot recall what transpired between Rick and herself.

Michonne takes another step forward, and she carefully climbs on Rick's bed as she has done multiple times. In the last years, Rick has been furious anytime he found her lying on it. Everything became worse the morning after Rick's twenty-first birthday.

Michonne remembers the silence when he drove her home after his birthday. The journey was endless from New York to king county, and Rick did not say a word besides "you need to stop…" Those words made her cry for hours, and the tears had worsened the headache from her hangover.

Rick's bed smells like him, and it is unmade. The day has freshly started. Michonne would not be awake without the argument between Rick and Carlton. Michonne's arms are aching. There is no inch of her body, which Rick did not hold with force.

Michonne's head rests on Rick's pillow. The scent of his shampoo is stronger than ever. Michonne always used to dig her nose on Rick's shoulder because of the pomegranate scent in his hair. For the last two years, he has not allowed her such intimacy.

Michonne does not remember what happened during his birthday. The morning after changed their relationship in many ways.

Rick stopped looking at her, talking to her, and touching her. Today, Rick seized her, and it was raw violence.

Michonne's muscles ache, and her back is burning. She withholds the tears. She is afraid. Michonne trembles and she desperately holds on Rick's pillow.

"One day, I will ruin your life like you ruined mine. You should have kept your mouth shut."

Rick's words begin to resurface, and they feel like daggers slowly slipping under her skin to travel her bloodstream. Michonne holds the pillow as tight as she can. She grows more scared with the passing second. Reality begins to sink. This morning is the culmination of what sprang after his birthday. Rick hurt her. Michonne is too numb to cry, but the pain in the centre of her back refuses to fade.

Chaos begins to brew in Michonne's mind.

She feels drowsy.

Michonne cannot form a coherent thought. She lies in the scent of pomegranate, and she hugs a pillow for dire life. There are bruises on her arms, which Rick did not mean to leave. He did not aim for violence that marked the flesh.

Rick was more vicious. The tears drip on her cheeks.

Michonne cannot cling to a thought. Rick's words are wreaking havoc.

"Congratulations, you won. You destroyed my life over a little tantrum and jealousy."

The fog begins to clear, and yet, Michonne grows confused. She did something wrong. She hurt Rick. Michonne has no idea what she must have done, but Rick's words are an authority. She refuses to stop and question his accusations. She ruined his life.

Michonne stares at the door, and she grasps on a torn memory.

Everything is blurry and happened two years ago. Michonne's mouth tastes like vomit. Michonne is in his arms while she cries because he refused to kiss her. Rick kisses the crown of her head.

Michonne thinks this morning is no different. She attempted to show how much she loved Rick. She stares at the door, and the events of the last hour are clear.

Her mind staggers before the arising memories.

Rick and Michonne fought.

"Where is Richard?" Richard senior's voice draws Michonne out of her stupor.

"Gone..." She answers after another stare at the door.

The tears immediately turn into throaty sobs. Michonne attempts to stand, and she wants to continue clinging on to the pillow. Michonne aimlessly sits at the centre of Rick's bed with his cushion in her arms, and the door through which he made his exit taunts her.

"Michonne," Grandpa Richard approaches her.

"Rick left," Michonne reiterates while she barely breaks out of her trance.

"He will be back, and you know Rick, he gets mad and acts out. Stop crying, sweetheart." He encloses her in a hug. "He will be back."

---

Maggie does not have to speak, and her eyes convey the message. She draws a deep breath, and she sighs. Michonne is for lack of better words a wreck.

Michonne almost regrets retelling what happened between Rick and herself. She cannot forget about Christmas morning if Maggie regularly refers to it. The wound will never cauterize itself if the reminder is as brutal as the act, which caused it.

She looks at Maggie, and the young woman comes to sit by her. Michonne grabs Rick's pillow, and she keeps it preciously. Both girls sit on his unmade bed. No one else visits the room, and Michonne is glad that no one disturbs the chaos Rick, which left.

"A month," Maggie laments. "He isn't coming back. Rick isn't coming back. What did he tell you that morning?" She repeats a question, which Michonne has grown tired of answering. "What did you do to him?"

Michonne knows the anger lies beneath the surface of concerned words. She cannot blame Maggie. Rick has left, and he did because of what she inadvertently did. She ruined Rick's life. The thought haunts her, and Maggie's question is a painful reminder.

"It's not your fault," Maggie adds after a few seconds. "No one thinks it's your fault. They don't know Rick fought with you," She points out. "We're all so sad. We all miss him. It was a small fight." Maggie sighs. "a month is too long. What if something happened to him? He left, and he was so angry with you. How are you going to feel? I don't think he will come back home. Rick is angry about what you did, and maybe he doesn't want to see you. You ruined his life, and..."

Michonne feels numb again. Maggie's words are brutal and resonate with her guilt. She ruined Rick's life. She is too young to deal with such amounts of guilt. Each day, she has similar conversations with Maggie, and she leaves them hurt and numb.

"It's not your fault." Maggie repeats. "People fight all the time. It doesn't ruin anyone's life." She offers futile compassion. "You're not selfish. He was wrong. Rick was wrong, and you wouldn't ruin his life because you were jealous. You weren't even jealous. People fight with each other."

Michonne cannot voice anything. She believes half of what Rick said. She was jealous and angry.

She is selfish.

She wipes the tears.

"It's my fault."

---

Michonne watches the emotions inhabit Richard senior's face. The relief fades, and he appears defeated. She sits at the edge of the sofa.

"Rick?" Richard senior softly says. "You could tell me what happened," He demands.

She watches him nod a few times. The anger painted on his face frightens Michonne. She knows how the conversation between Richard senior and his grandson will end.

"You can always come home," Richard senior pleads. "Michonne will make herself sick with worry," He adds with a glance at her. "Rick?" Richard Senior repeats until he gathers that the call went off, and Michonne knows that Rick hangs up at the mentions of her name.

"Rick is stubborn," Richard senior says, and he sounds worn. "He is doing fine." He looks at Michonne, which looks away to hide her tears. "You shouldn't worry. Rick is doing fine." He insists though the huskiness of his voice says differently.

For a few minutes, Michonne silently stares at the phone. How can an inanimate object cause so much pain? She sighs, and her eyes follow Richard senior.

"Is he still angry at me?" Michonne modestly asks.

Richard senior shakes his head, and he comes to stand before Michonne. He cradles Michonne's cheek. He strives to hide his discouragement.

"The day when Rick knows how to be angry at you, the pig will fly. I have not seen any with wings today." Richard senior wipes Michonne's tears. " He'll come home at one point. You shouldn't worry, Michonne," He repeats while he looks into her teary eyes.

Michonne no longer believes those empty promises. She remembers what Rick said before he left.

"We will call tomorrow?" She knowingly inquires.

Richard senior nods and he walks away from Michonne. He draws a deep breath, and he looks at Michonne with an air of solemnity.

"I promise to bring your Rick back." He smiles at Michonne. "So you shouldn't worry. Tomorrow might be when he gives in," Richard senior sounds hopeful.

---

The hope dies brutally at the end of multiple unanswered calls. Rick no longer bothers answering, and Michonne has to watch Richard senior grow sadder and sadder each day.

"Maybe he needs some time to himself," Michonne quietly says when the call goes unanswered for the umpteenth time. "He is angry with me right now," Michonne confesses. "We fought grandpa." She draws a deep breath. "It's my fault."

Richard senior crouches before Michonne, and he takes her trembling hand. With his thumb, he wipes Michonne's stream of tears.

"Don't be ridiculous," He softly scolds her. " Nothing, which you could have done to Rick, would warrant this. Rick is angry. It isn't your fault," He firmly claims.

"I ruined his life," Michonne retorts.

Richard senior scoffs and he laughs before Michonne's absurd claim.

"And how did you do that?" Richard senior wisely asks.

"I don't know," Michonne replies.

Richard senior smiles. He drags Michonne in a hug, and he tightly holds her for a few seconds.

"The day you do something as big as ruining anyone's life, I assure you that you will remember how you did it. It isn't with a lover's quarrel. You're right. Rick is angry, and he needs time to himself. That does not mean you're responsible for what is transpiring. He'll come around." Richard senior kisses Michonne's forehead.

"What if it's truly my fault," Michonne inquires.

"You would have to fix it," Richard senior says. "Luckily, it isn't your fault now, and it's certainly not your fault tomorrow," he insists. "Rick is a grown man. No one and certainly not you deserve the blame for his decisions. He will come around when his anger simmers. It's not your fault, sweetheart."

Despite how true those words resonate, Michonne fails to believe them. For so many months, she has carried the guilt of the Christmas morning event. Now, she has it ingrained in her mind and heart. She ruined Rick's life, and it is her fault if everyone else is hurting. Michonne rubs the centre of her back, and the ghost of an ache remains. She cannot forget Rick's fury, and his words haunt her.

She ruined his life.

---

Present

Michonne draws a breath, and the water, which she gulps, is too weak to numb her thoughts. The anxiety renders her sick, and dawn approaching with the chirping of the clocks influences her emotions. She regrets the soothing burn of liquor in the back of her throat. Michonne needs a stiff drink.

She grabs her phone for the spot where it lies, and she searches her contact list for Sasha's number. The lateness of the hour forces her to forget the thought of calling Sasha. Going on an alcohol hunt appears to be the best option. However, she refuses to leave the house and lose the opportunity to encounter Rick.

Michonne sighs, and she should be happier about her present sobriety. However, she feels too anxious with a sober mind. Michonne groans to vocalize her displeasure, and she flexes her fingers to distract her mind.

She stares at the wedding band, which once again adorns her finger now that her arm recovered. Michonne refrains from rushing out of the house to track Rick Grimes or a bottle of vodka. How dare he put her through more stress than she can withstand? Michonne scarcely contains her anger. Her life is an endless journey to hell, and Rick Grimes is the conductor.

A week after her conversation with Rick, Michonne has gathered that she is now facing a wall. Rick expertly avoids her, and how many nights she remains awake waiting for him does not matter.

Rick always dodges her. Michonne sighs, and she struggles to keep an eye open.

…

…

...

Fortunately, the door cracks open before Michonne falls asleep. Rick's alarmed expression speaks volume. The tension in the room shifts. Rick holds on the doorknob, and he wonders if an exit is possible. She rises from the couch. Looking as exhausted as she feels, Michonne yawns.

"Don't think about it," Michonne warns. "Close that door," She orders. "I don't want to chase you in the middle of the night. We have passed the age for it, and the neighbors will think we're insane," she adds with frustration. "Come in, husband," she finishes with heavy sarcasm sewed in the last word. "I had lost hope to see you."

Rick releases the doorknob, and he takes a hesitant step forward. His eyes roam around the living room, and he makes a conscious effort to avoid Michonne's eyes. Michonne pushes a few loose locks behind her ears, and she curiously eyes Rick. He draws a breath, and he straightens his frame. She is right. The neighbours will think them insane, and so he gives up all plans of escape. Rick looks at Michonne's feet, and she has no shoes to throw.

"I called your office," Michonne sternly proclaims, "by the twelfth made up excuse, I got the message." She displays her frustration with a few words. "Glad to know that you still sleep in this house." She continues without showing a sign of exhaustion.

The sight of Rick might have erased her sleepiness. A glance at his wife seals Rick's fate. He is going to have a difficult night, and he cannot blame her for the display of irritability. He feels similar anger toward himself.

"The first excuses were real," Rick confesses. "I have a lot on my plate at work. It happens when you abruptly inherit a multinational company," he deadpans.

Michonne rolls her eyes, and she refuses to listen to another excuse. She takes some steps forward, and Rick warily watches her.

"Your secretary, who didn't know you were married by the way," She purposely points out. "Went from thinking I was crazy to pitying me. I have been having a wonderful night." She finishes with displeasure painted across her face. "How was your business dinner at one in the morning? You could at least try with the excuses." Michonne rants.

Rick scratches his head, and he pulls on his tie to help with his breathing. Michonne waits for an explanation, and he offers none. She exasperatedly sighs, and she moves from her spot to close the distance between Rick and herself.

Rick immediately steps out of her reach.

Michonne takes a step back for his comfort.

She displays the palm of her hands.

"I know," She softly tells him while hiding a hint of hurt. "I'm not going to touch you until you want me to do so," Michonne insists. "I haven't forgotten."

For Rick, the problem lies there. Michonne will always remember his confession. She will recall the rage and complete lack of control. For such reasons, he grows uncomfortable around her. Rick carries the burden of shame.

"I'm not going to touch you," Michonne keeps her hand up.

Rick curiously stares at Michonne, he looks at her fingers for a few seconds, and he stares at her ring until his eyes burn. She cannot explain the muddle of emotions in his eyes. Rick move around Michonne with clear intent to avoid her. After many sleepless nights, Michonne feels drained.

"That's not the issue," Rick replies with a casual countenance, and his thumb comes to rest on his wedding band. "The problem lies elsewhere," He begins to clarify. "I don't have an issue with you touching me. I would sometimes…" Rick sighs and clings on the soothing warmth of the air, which is leaving his lungs. "I did have diners at one in the morning, and so you know. It wasn't an excuse." He leaves his wedding band alone.

…

…

...

Rick pulls out the cuff from the sleeves of his shirt, and he begins to fold his sleeves meticulously. She stares and attempts to explain each of his actions. The phenomenon is outlandish, and each line of folding is perfectly straight. Rick takes an insane amount of time to fix a meaningless detail. Michonne can barely describe how meticulous Rick is with the folding of his sleeves. She remembers Rick to be messy, and he was not one to spend a minute fixing his sleeves.

"You never were…" Michonne hesitates, and she fears to offend with her statement.

Rick arches an eyebrow, and he crosses his arms. Michonne's discomfort and quick censorship render him uncomfortable. He detests her perceived fragility of his person. Rick is not a child who will break at the first insensible comment.

"I never was?" Rick provocatively asks. "Speak your mind, Michonne."

Michonne inhales, and she sways awkwardly. She bites her lower lip while she hesitates on the words to say. After an endless silence, Rick loses patience.

"This is the issue," Rick points at her expression. "The time you take to rephrase a meaningless statement," He addresses Michonne's attempt to police her language. "I don't break at the first word. I don't lose my mind at any caress or touch, Mimi." Rick looks at Michonne's hand. "It certainly can happen, but it doesn't have to be a reason to coddle me." He laments. "And yes, I didn't always care if the lines on my folded sleeves were fucking straight."

Michonne opens her mouth to react, and her growing fear with the ill-usage of her words forces her to elect silence. Rick watches her filter out her thoughts, and he becomes offended.

"I'm sorry," Michonne rushes to speak. "I get it. It's my fault." She attempts to cajole Rick. "I'm…" once again she stops to police herself.

Rick blinks, and he thinks of what to make of the situation. He sucks his teeth. His eyes travel to the clock. He needs sleep as much as Michonne does. Yet, he has no other choice but to engage in another uncomfortable conversation.

"You don't get it," Rick retorts. "This good sentiment out of pity is nauseating." He plainly states. "And look at those big sad eyes," he points at Michonne's eyes. "I'm not a wounded puppy. I don't want your pity. I didn't need it before, and I won't ask for it soon." Rick deadpans. "If you wonder why I don't come around, you have it here."

Rick's words are a harsh slap. She cannot help but notice a rejection of her effort. Michonne searches her mind for clues on how to proceed. She is at a loss in ways to handle their newfound situation.

"And now you're mad," Michonne laments, and her eyes filled with concern fall on Rick. "Because I'm trying to accommodate you?" She hesitates to formulate her assessment.

"Oh great, I should be happy that my wife pities me and wants to wrap me in a blanket like a fucking glass object," Rick viciously retaliates, and Michonne's expression displays pain and confusion. She begins to feel helpless. "And now what are you going to do? Apologize to me because I'm an asshole to you. You're going to coddle me because I'm a wounded man. You're going to heal me too. What are you going to try today?"

Michonne takes in the virulence of his words. Rick, despite the cruel delivery, has not exaggerated the facts. She has attempted to do everything he listed. Michonne's goodwill might cause more harm than her wishes. She freezes before his claim.

"What will you have me do?" Michonne asks when she lacks the means to appease Rick. "I'm trying here, and it is not enough. I'm doing it wrong. I get it, and so tell what you will want me to do."

Rick draws a warm breath, and he moves closer to Michonne. He looks her in the eyes.

Rick hooks his finger around one of her locks. He breathes in some of her scents.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," He drags Michonne in his arms, "I know you're trying." Rick kisses the crown of Michonne's head. He searches the fitting words. "This is…" He lets her go.

"Fucked up," Michonne finishes his sentence.

"You have it right. It's deeply fucked up. I don't want to be so angry around you when I spent the entire day thinking of you," Rick admits. "I don't know if I want to be around you while I'm fucking craving you. Fucked up is the word." The chuckles are humourless. "Did I say hello before biting your head off?" He asks with depreciative humour.

Michonne shakes her head, and he looks at her with comforting kindness.

She smiles timidly.

"Hello," Rick says. "How was your day?" He genuinely asks. "I should have said it first. You look gorgeous and exhausted as well but gorgeous."

Michonne finds herself crying. It feels odd how kind and tender words draw the pain out. Rick exhales, and he pulls Michonne in an embrace. Her nose grazes his shirt, and the scent of pomegranate is under the layer of expensive fragrance. She feels no different from her younger-self holding a pillow.

"I'm trying to force us to fit together, but we're Rick and Michonne. We perfectly fit together. We should be perfect." Michonne whispers.

Her breath and panting graze his skin.

Michonne's tears dampen his shirt.

He repeatedly kisses her forehead.

Her sobs quiet down. Rick keeps Michonne in his embrace for a couple of minutes.

Rick breaks the hug, and he looks at Michonne. He allows her words to carry out her distress.

"Eight year you and thirteen years me fit together," Rick corrects Michonne. "You and I aren't children anymore. Staring at a lack doesn't make all our problems go away," He regretfully states the truth.

Michonne wipes the remaining trace of her tears. She searches from a breath away from pomegranates scent. Michonne can hardly find her bearing in this new life. She wishes she remained eight and continued to gaze at the lake.

"Now, I can't figure out how we're supposed to work. I know with certainty that it should be working. I have to be with you. I want to be with you. I need to be with you. Still, it isn't what we both want," Rick cynically enunciates the obstacle. "It all sounds futile. What we want or need doesn't suffice to…" Michonne interrupts Rick, and she refuses to hear a self-indulgent list of reasons to put an end to their marriage.

"You only need to heal," Michonne says with pseudo-optimism in her voice. "I only need to work hard in fixing what…"

Rick interrupts Michonne. Her statement is part of the reason why he struggles to be around her. She makes him feel like a charity project. The feeling leaves an astringent taste in his mouth. Michonne's faith before the chaos, which they are, baffles him.

"We have a greater problem than I thought," Rick laments. "You want to heal me," he sucks his teeth. "Super Michonne is going to fix ten years by snapping her fingers," He chuckles and mocks her self-deception. "Why did I never think of that wonderful solution? I should have thought of healing."

Michonne does not know on what foot they are dancing. Rick waltzes from a mood to another. Her head twirls because her words are surprising triggers for sudden anger.

"Nothing can satisfy you…" Michonne takes a step back. "I'm drained." She refrains from hurling those words at Rick's face. "Is it what you want? You want me spent and preferring to let go." Michonne looks in Rick's eyes, and she searches for a clue. "What will you have me do to fix the situation?"

Rick groans and his back is figuratively against the wall. Michonne deserves a thoughtful answer. He inhales and reaches composure before he dares to respond.

"You should understand that you won't heal me in one magical night. Trying your best to put me together will not have miraculous results. I didn't patiently sit around for ten years." Rick shortens the distance between his wife and him. "I dated a few people. A bunch of women tried to 'fix' me, and I watched one after the other fail not because they didn't try hard enough or they tried too hard. They crashed in my walls. They met resistance from me. You can try too, and you might be stubborn enough to break small walls. I will build them higher." He consciously yields the truth. "I will be angry because anger keeps me sane. I will become defensive if any of those walls tumble. I will do my best to have this crumble before your eyes. As long as you can't hurt me…"

"Rick," Michonne interrupts him. "I'm not going to hurt you," She softly announces. "I…"

Rick snorts, and his hand cups her cheek. His thumb travels on Michonne's silky skin. He smiles before her hope.

"I know," Rick replies. "You're going to dedicate yourself to healing me," he pursues without an ounce of doubt. "You want the illusion that you can fix my broken wings. You're going to go insane doing that. You pick stray and bring them home. Now, you do it with your man. I'm not a stray, Michonne." He asserts with cruelty. "I may destroy you."

"I know," Michonne interjects before Rick can say words that might hurt or anger her.

"Then run for the hills. Act like you know what awaits you with me." Rick arguments. "Why are you so stubborn? Because for all my selflessness, I won't let you go. You're my chance at happiness. I love you in my twisted way. It's cruel to ask me to let go first, but if you leave, I certainly can take it. Why do you want to stay?"

Rick raises an eyebrow.

He issues a little challenge.

His other hand closes around her face.

"I look at you." Michonne's face fills Rick's irises. "I did a number on you," he laments. "I gave you your first drink. I stole your first kiss. I'm your first heartbreak. I'm not your first fuck, but I'm the first man who you made love to," he stops to see if Michonne will deny his claim. "I fucked you up in many ways. You know my little dirty secret. I told you my nightmares. Tell me yours. What makes me worth this hell?" Rick demands. "Tell me what is haunting you so bad that you think fixing me will make you happy."

Michonne pries Rick's hand away from her face. She drags a breath and wipes the tears threatening to fall. His question strips her of conviction.

"I love you," Michonne timidly susurrates.

"I know," Rick replies with detachment. "That is not sufficient. I should know because I don't cling to you only because I love you. You make me happy. It might not look like it, but you make me dream to be happy. Sometimes, I graze it through your smile. Some other time, I steal it through your pain. I taste happiness through you, and it is addictive. It is worth hell for a few seconds of it," He confesses his selfishness. "I don't do that for you. You love me. I know." He finishes in a blasé tone.

Michonne's confession of love does not faze him. She waits for better words than so little. She childishly thought that he understood how precious those words are.

"You don't know. You hardly understand. I think you have known so long that you forget the meaning of it. What haunts me? You do, and you always did. I know anything else but to wait for you. I don't even think about it. That shit is inherent. I should know how to love you. I have done it for so long, and I'm trying. I'm failing. I failed that night. I have failed for ten years. Despite everything, I should know how to love you. The truth is I love you, and I don't know how to love anyone else. If I leave, I'm still stuck with you. I try my best, and you show me that I haven't loved you adequately. This is the last chance I get to love you. You don't say it, but I know. You fucking don't ask, but you want me to…" Michonne searches for the perfect word.

"You cannot help yourself," Rick bitterly laughs. "I know you love me. I always knew why else…" He stops mid-sentence. "Are we not the perfect pair? Bitter, broken, and abused. I even get to be the abuser. Hurray." He cynically slobbers his malignity over her heart. "What next are you going to claim that when it is good, it's good?"

Michonne shakes her head to correct Rick's assumption. She would like to absolve him of all wrongdoing, but her quickness to forgive will only confirm his claim.

"I...We can fix it." Michonne corrects herself. "We'll be fine." She maintains.

"Are we?" Scepticism resonates through Rick's words. "I know you hide behind the illusion that your love for me will miraculously resolve all issues." Rick cups Michonne's visage, and he gazes at her eyes. "I didn't tell you about Christmas eve because I wanted an excuse for the shit I did. I didn't want you to know what happened. I regret the moment of weakness which led to the confession," Rick admits. "We won't be fine. I told you everything because I wanted you to leave."

Michonne looks in the depth of his eyes to understand his conviction. She stubbornly shakes her head. Each of Rick's words loses their meaning before her disingenuous desire to live in her delusion.

"We'll be fine," Michonne repeats. "We'll be fine." She contends with a breathy whisper.

Rick shakes his head, and no amount of air will stop his slow drowning. Touching Michonne suddenly feels sinful. Rick snatches his fingers from her visage as a child pries his hand from a flame, which he should have never held.

"Self-sacrificing mad woman," Rick laments, and he almost sounds too carrying. "You're going to pour every inch of yourself into a void that has consumed me. I'm going to drain you, and you won't mind because you're…" he holds his words. "I didn't mean it," Rick inaudibly says.

Michonne stares, and she cannot pinpoint what wrong Rick is apologizing for now. There is so much to pick from, and he never stops to attack. He is masterful in the act of foundering her mind. She feels numb, and the emptiness is different from that night. Now, she is the object of scrutiny. Rick is scraping her soul. He is poking his finger in a poorly closed wound while hoping for the bleeding.

"What?" Michonne is apathetic, and forgiveness has long lost its value because she is eager to absolve him of his wrongdoing.

"My words are orders to you," Rick says with horror. "Do you know how frightening it is to have such power on someone?" He pauses to look at Michonne. "Of course, you do...you only hate the accountability of it." He quickly answers his question. " I swore to ruin your life, but I didn't mean those words. It has been ten years. Your life is in shambles. Now, you can stop. I need you to stop." Rick sincerely begs.

"I didn't ruin my life. I ruin yours," Michonne corrects him. "I should have done something. I should have stayed with you. I…" Rick interrupts her.

"I say things when I'm angry. I deflect when I feel weak and terrified. You couldn't have done it. You did not have to be heroic. I know you love me. You don't need to prove it with your happiness in exchange." Rick softly states.

"Let me fix it," Michonne stubbornly repeats.

"I need you to stop clinging on that idea. Being together is not some magical cure." Rick's words are truths, which he recklessly throws at her face. "You're not a miraculous drug in charge to keep me content and happy. Even if I use you that way."

"And then what…" Michonne swallows her bitterness. "So I watch it happen once again. I watch everything hurt you. Rick...I can't just," she knows no word strong enough to convey her sentiment of weakness. "I can't walk away."

Rick's thumb wipes the tears, which begin to fall from Michonne's eyes. He wraps his arms around her, and he drags her in a hug, which she almost fears to reciprocate.

"I love you."

"I know," Rick reminds her. "You shouldn't have from day one."

"It's too late now," Michonne replies. "Don't let me go. Please don't break my heart. This time, I won't forgive you. I won't forgive myself." She kisses his neck and buries her nose in his skin.

"Ideally, I let you inside my bubble," Rick replies. "We give each other time and space." Michonne immediately interrupts him with a rebuttal.

"Stay with me."

"We work through something," Rick corrects himself. "No insane expectations but a lot of communications." He offers to appease her anguish.

Michonne quietly nods, and she ultimately returns Rick's hug. After a few seconds, she pulls away from him though she stays in close range.

"I promise to try, but you're a wall, Rick." Michonne decides to reach deeper into the issues. "You kick and fight so hard. As much as you swear, you're going to hurt me. You're afraid of me because I did destroy you inadvertently. Or I could do it again. So if you can't trust me, how do I help? You can't trust me to stay. You can't trust me not to hurt you. Where do we start?"

Rick ponders on the response. He takes a step toward her.

"We can have a counselor help with it. We should go through mediation. I'm bound to lash out. I'm afraid. We do need help."

---

Michonne stares at the walls, and she feels uncomfortable. The room is quiet, and she waits for a word to break the silence. Once or twice, she peeks at the door. Ultimately, she faces the man before her.

Rick left only a couple of minutes ago, and she hears his pacing. Michonne once again focuses on the door, and her visage is a mosaic of concern. She exhales to free some of her fears, and she averts her eyes from the door.

"Hello, Mrs Grimes," Rick's therapist greets Michonne as he grabs his notepad.

"Michonne," She quickly corrects. "Hi, Doctor..." She breathes out.

"Bradford," He replies.

Rick's therapist sits his pen on the pad, and he takes notes of Michonne's posture. He smiles to quiet Michonne's anxiety. Michonne offers a hesitant smirk as an answer.

"I would ask a few questions as we only met today, and you're in no obligation to answer," The therapist announces. "We can establish a base of conversation once you're ready, Michonne." He makes a point to say her name.

Michonne attempts to relax, and again, she eyes the door. She would prefer if Rick remained in the room.

"Would you prefer if Rick joined us?" He asks as he becomes aware of the reason behind Michonne's anguish.

" Will that be okay?" Michonne inquires. "I have never been in therapy before, and I don't know if…" she has no suitable conclusion for her sentence, and so she decides to stop speaking.

"Will that be okay with you?" Doctor Bradford inquires. "Will you be okay with having an open conversation about your life with Rick around Rick?"

Michonne shakes her head instead of voicing her rebuttal. She feels embarrassed for wishing some secrecy and privacy.

"That resolves the issue, and I'm certain Richard is in no immediate danger while waiting for you behind the door," he states with a small smile, "or do you think otherwise?"

The question comes unexpectedly. Michonne notices that she takes no time to search for a response.

"A bit…" Michonne looks around, and she avoids the gaze on her. "I think… I worry a lot for nothing." She concedes before Doctor Bradford's long stare.

Michonne grows unable to trust her word because she hopes no truths lay in that claim. The scraping on paper ends, and the pen drops. His scrutinizing eyes arise to glance at Michonne. Michonne becomes more conscious of her words.

"Do you have any reason to believe that?" He asks with humble curiosity not to frighten Michonne. "Or have any reason to worry a lot?"

She searches her thoughts for any hints, and Michonne comes short. Rick remains guarded, and what she sees is a curated portrait of himself. Michonne's worries spring from her predisposition to overthinking.

"No…" Michonne admits. "I..." Michonne hesitates. "I feel it." She finishes with conviction. "I worry for nothing," She repeats her previous sentiments.

The therapist nods, and he quietly grabs his pen to pursue where he stopped. Michonne expects another question, which never follows. Silence creates a compelling need to explain her

faith.

"He needs me," Michonne insists. "Does he tell you anything?" She inquires with voracious curiosity. "I mean does Rick speak about…?" She stops mid-sentence while becoming aware that it is not her place to voice Rick's trauma and pain. "Of course you can't tell me, I mean…" Michonne chuckles.

"Rick tells me what he cares to share. You're free to do the same. No conversation is compulsory. The topic matters little. We don't have to talk about Rick. We could talk about you and your career," The therapist tells Michonne. "How you feel right now. Whatever matters to you?"

Michonne blinks, and she discovers a new form of discomfort. She shrinks to a size, which she believes renders her invisible. The spotlights on her life always make her self-aware. Michonne fears her demons.

"I don't think it will help Rick," She firmly retorts. "Rick is not himself." Michonne deflects to a subject, which similarly makes her uncomfortable.

"And you will notice the difference?" The question carries no malice, but Michonne hears the taunting sound behind those words.

"I should. I should know," Michonne repeats herself, and she feels some distress before the uncertainty of her claims. "I have known in him most of my life. I can't recognize him beneath everything. I should see the difference, but everything is… Rick is the difference."

Michonne wipes a tear, and she feels ashamed before her admission. She straightens her posture, and she does not feel comfortable.

"He is a stranger?" He supplies the words for her.

Michonne shakes her head, and she refuses to agree. However, the question echoes in her mind. She stubbornly wipes the tears, which betray her state of unrest.

"He is Rick," Michonne retorts. "The same Rick…" She maintains.

"Is he the same or is he different?"

The thoughts collide with many of Michonne's doubts and fears. Since the night when she discovered the truth about Rick's rape, she has been inhabited with unspeakable sentiments. She does not dare to face what she thinks.

"I want him to be the same while I need him to be different." Michonne confesses. "Or it's the contrary. Somewhere in my mind, I know a boy who wouldn't allow me to experience pain. I have thousands of memories of a teenager, who was the hero that fought each of my battles. If I was scared, I ran to him. If I couldn't solve it, Rick had the solution. Finally, there is the man who made sure I kept my innocence. Through all those years, Rick remained the same. I look at him, and I wish he wasn't that man. He is the same, and I hate him a bit for that."

Michonne stands, and she can no longer stew in her discomfort. She paces in silence, which doctor Bradford is happy to indulge. She finds herself stewing in morbid thoughts. She abruptly stops to face the man, who she almost forgot was in the room.

"The thing is Rick has a bleeding heart," Michonne says. "I need him to be different, and so I can have a night of sleep not worrying about how he heals from what she did. I need him to be different and selfish. I need him to be different from a kind and prideful man, and so I don't have to remember how she crushed him before my eyes. "Michonne wipes her tears, and she clings on a breath.

"I walked away. I left him. It's my fault. He doesn't think it's my fault despite what he says," Michonne rambles. "I can tell he is glad I did witness it. I want him to be different, and so he can stop caring about me and let me help." She stops to breathe for as long as she can. "I will pry open my chest to give him my heart, and the idiot will worry I might die." She chuckles mildly amused by her words

"I get it now. I laid in that bed so numb, and I tried to figure it out. He is never going to tell me. He didn't leave because his father asked him too. He didn't leave the house only. He never called grandpa. We tried to bring him home. He left because he didn't want me to go through this." Michonne stops speaking for a few seconds. "Rick didn't want me to find out. He was ashamed. He was scared."

She returns to the couch. The room is silent. Michonne's heart is loud, and her eyes are reddish. She has hardly stopped crying. Michonne inhales, and her lungs burn.

"Rick is the same, and he shouldn't be. The anger, which he feels, should mean more, and I…" Michonne hesitates. "I lied...I lied to you and myself. He is in no immediate danger. I need a reason to help when he doesn't want my help." She sighs.

Kind eyes follow her, and Michonne is thankful for the silence.

"I'm the danger and the trigger. I drive him insane. I poke and probe because he doesn't let me in otherwise. I should be less selfish. I shouldn't want to hold his hand through everything, and then it will drive me insane. He asked why I stayed. The truth is I don't know where to go without him. I don't feel safe anywhere else. He is my home. He has always been. And my guilt."

"Do you think it's your fault?" Doctor Bradford inquires.

"It's Jessie's fault, and yet He has to fix it. He is angry, and I have to fix him. It is her fault, and she is a looming shadow. She haunts him. I can't rescue him. I hate her. I want her dead. "The last words of her statement carry her frustration. "He won't let me heal him because I'm drained. I'm drained. I'm broken. He is right. I did ruin my life for him, or I never began to live it. Some things are my fault," Michonne confesses. "I want a way to help even if it barely helps."

"You want to indulge Rick." He corrects.

"I would have to leave him alone to do that, and it's the sane thing to do," Michonne retorts.

"The sane thing is harder to do when it opposes greater needs," He states. "Have you established your needs, Michonne?" He knowingly asks.

Michonne stares for a second as she guards the answer to that question secret.

"Maybe we can work on the answer another time." The therapist softly says.

---

Michonne hangs the call, and she resolves to take a deep breath to alleviate her anger. Shane's call did not serve its purpose. Michonne looks at the clock, and it adds to her stress.

Exhausted and crushed by the news about the ongoing investigation, Michonne decides to find some solace in a night of sleep.

She grabs her phone and begins to scroll through the missed calls and messages. Michonne finds it miraculous that the story of the incident hasn't leaked in the press.

Her thoughts sway toward memories of Philip. Her ex-agent is trouble, which she must handle. Michonne stares at the ceiling, and she attempts to clear her mind. Despite her growing problems, a major part of her anxiety resides in Rick's absence. Michonne glares at her watch.

Days have passed, and any conversation stretches their relationship from every corner. Michonne hates their talk as much as she suffers from the silence between Rick and herself.

Michonne rolls on the side of her bed, and she switches off the lights. The night will end like many others. She will be alone in her bed while Rick avoids her. Hours after tossing and fighting with her bedsheets, Michonne falls asleep.

…

…

…

Rick's scent wakes her up. The mixture of blended exotic spice and earthy scents fill Michonne's chamber. She cannot immediately say if he was there or he is still in the room. The sound of moving steps convinces Michonne to open her eyes.

"What time is it?" Michonne groans with a voice, which sleep renders grave.

Her hand passes on the eyelids to wipe away the tiredness, and Rick slips his finger between hers to stop Michonne's attempt at waking up.

"Late enough for you to continue sleeping," Rick retorts, and he releases her hand. "Good night, Michonne."

"Walsh called," Michonne announces with the knowledge that Rick will not need more to stay.

Rick stops by the door, and he draws a deep breath. He slowly turns to face Michonne. She switches on the light, and she stares at Rick.

"And what did he say?" Rick scarcely hides his annoyance with the fact that Shane called Michonne.

"Same old things," Michonne laments. "I'm in trouble, and there are a few ways to fix it."

Rick walks back into the room, and he carefully sits at the bed's corner. Michonne frowns, and she hardly accepts the growing distance between her husband and herself.

"I will look into it," Rick firmly states. "You don't have to worry. I will handle it. Shane should have called me." The displeasure transpires in his voice.

Michonne rises out of her bed, and she stretches the wrinkles on her nightgown. She walks around the bed to come to Rick's side.

"We talked about this," Michonne refers to a long and draining conversation, which Rick will prefer to forget. "I don't want you to save the day. Shane knows not to call you when it concerns the case." Michonne openly confesses.

Rick looks at Michonne, and his expression conveys his disagreement.

"Are you handling it?" He rhetorically asks. "Clearly not if you're still a suspect." Rick drags the knot of his tie, and he pulls it over his head.

For a few seconds, Rick focuses on folding the piece of fabric before pocketing it. She watches him still surprised by his obsession for methodical folding.

"I'm trying," Michonne sincerely replies. "I'm doing it my ways, and it doesn't have to please you."

Rick cocks an eyebrow, and his fingers halt on the sleeve of his shirt. Michonne draws a breath, and she prepares herself to face his irritation.

"The same way you're handling your career," He quietly says. "Oh! You don't handle your career, Philip Blake does."

Michonne rolls her eyes. She pushes a bunch of loose locks back into the bun on top of her head. She takes a few steps away from Rick. Michonne is uncertain if she is afraid of an argument. The newfound mild fear of Rick's reaction is unsettling to Michonne, but she cannot overlook it.

"I fired him months ago," Michonne argues. "I handled it," She confidently reiterates.

Rick chuckles, and he looks at Michonne in a way, which makes her want to claw his eyes.

"Until a month ago, you were his contracted client," Rick deadpans. "Firing isn't enough. You make sure to dissolve the contract too, which you didn't. I handled it," He states.

Michonne groans and her irritation with him grows. She begins to pace.

"I'm not a child," Michonne states. "Do you understand that I'm an adult in a mental state to handle my business?" She asks with blatant exasperation.

"Last month, you weren't in the mental state to handle your business. You were in a coma. Who was to blame for it? Philip Blake who left you in a wrecked car. Someone had to handle your businesses," Rick retorts. "It has nothing to do with you being a child. I'm very aware you're a grown woman." Rick's eyes travel her frame, and he sighs. "I'm going to bed."

Michonne has a second of confusion. She steps before Rick to stop his exit.

"I haven't finished talking," Michonne argues. "Take a seat, Richard." She emphasizes his name. "I'm tired of beating around the bush." Michonne continues to display her exasperation. "You conveniently pick when it is beneficial to be my husband."

"Yes, and?"

Rick cocks an eyebrow to express his trouble understanding Michonne's accusations. He begins to fold his sleeves around his arms, and he waits for Michonne to pursue her statement.

"When it's time to poke your nose in my business, here comes the husband brandishing his paternalistic right over me," Michonne says. "I'm going to say again I will handle it alone. I don't want you to intervene. I refuse to take a backseat while you take every decision," She firmly states.

"We're talking about a man who almost killed you. The same man who would be contacting you if I didn't put a stop to it. I will take some decisions if it handles the situation permanently," He coolly retorts. "I mean permanently. He has no reason to be around you. You should have a new agent, and not one who gains his immunity through your thongs," He finishes with a pointed look.

"Oh lord," Michonne sighs. "Yes, I was involved with the man. And?" She straightens her back.

"The consequences speak for themselves." Rick smirks.

"I didn't choose wisely. He's clearly an asshole. I'm aware, and I did what I needed to do. I fired him. Now, can you stop undermining me?" Michonne asks.

Rick sighs, and he cannot explain why every conversation ends in an argument. Sometimes, he is to blame, and other times, Michonne is too stubborn. However, most of the time, arguing is the only efficient way to communicate.

"I'm not undermining you," Rick counters. "I'm saying that you had dinner with a man who you allegedly fired. The same man got you addicted to drugs and drinking. I don't see anything wrong with me keeping him out of my life." Rick clarifies. "You lack judgement."

Rick is the personification of stubbornness, and Michonne can see how little weight he puts on her request. She feels aggravated by his insistence to handle every aspect of her life.

"Most of the shits in my life are results of your actions." Michonne quietly states, but her anger is loud. "The insecurities, you help fester them. The belief that I have to stick to any man willing to love me. You can take the blame for that shit too. This delusion that I can ruin my life and someone will fix it for me is your doing." She draws a deep breath. "The heavy drinking, I had to cope with my guilt. I thought you left because of me. Maggie didn't say it, but she swore it was my fault. Grandpa Richard continued to promise that you would come back." Michonne looks straight in Rick's eyes. "Each call he made, you kept on breaking his heart and mine." She starts to pace.

"Michonne…" Rick attempts to interrupt her, but she immediately cuts him.

"I will stay with him while he passes those calls. At first, you picked them. I don't know what you told him each time, but he hurt him so much. I would leave that office feeling numb and cold like at Christmas. I would get my hands on one of the bottles in the ranch and drink until I felt warm and alive." Michonne confesses, and she has not reflected on the ugliness of those years. "Then you stopped picking the call. You didn't come around like grandpa Richard thought. I wanted you back for grandpa, and I wanted you back for myself. Silly me! I came looking for you and found Philip."

Michonne smiles with bitterness. She stares at Rick in a murderous manner. She is no longer afraid to express her rage.

"When I first met him, he reminded me of you. In so many ways, I thought he could fill that empty spot. He could protect me. Philip was good to forget about you. I got comfortable in the chaos. I naively thought he loved me. It was appealing and comforting. He would never leave, and I would not have to deal with a heartbreak. I couldn't deal with my heart going numb again. I didn't care when he cheated. Silly me! I felt almost relieved that he could fuck any girls he wanted while I didn't have to sleep with him," Michonne deadpans.

Rick has no words, and he did not expect Michonne to spill her guts.

"The first three years after you left, I would go home for the holidays. I would sit with Grandpa Richard, and we would call you. You didn't fucking pick. It would be every night, and then Maggie spilled the truth. Grandpa only tried to call you when I was around. He wanted me to feel better because he knew how much I loved you. I stopped going home after discovering that. I got number. I clung more to Philip who would never leave me. I drank more. Seven years went by, and you come around confirming my biggest nightmare." Michonne grows restless, and she struggles with tears. "My heart could suffer another time."

Rick stands to reach for her. Michonne does not resist his pull, and she finishes in his arms. He does not issue an apology, and she does not demand one, nor does she continue to blame him. Despite the tacit knowledge of who deserves the blame, Michonne needs to express her anger.

Michonne's chin digs in Rick's shoulder. Her tears dampen his shirt. Rick's finger disappears in Michonne's hair.

"I didn't want another heartbreak. I try to stay away from you. I wanted to be out of your sight. Your ego wouldn't allow me to escape. My heart couldn't stick to the plan, and then you go and defend my honour right after putting me through hell for a week. I clung to nostalgia. I found it comforting that you cared enough to protect me. It was silly to come to your room. It was stupid to let you make love to me. I fell right back in that state where I worship the ground you walk on and…" Michonne stutters, and her fist hammers Rick's arm. "You deserve none of it. You're just a silly man with good looks and unbearable character. "

Rick does not utter a word. His comfort comes in manners of the warmth of his arms. He endures her small fist stamping her anger over his body. Michonne stops moving for a second, and she peers at Rick. His tender look strengthens her.

"I felt numb. It was a silly heartbreak. It was so bad I got sick over it. I mean physically sick." Michonne chuckles, and there is no joy in the mixture of emotions in which she drowns. "So excuse me if I thought I could find comfort in old habits. I drank myself to sleep and amnesia. I picked Philip's calls. I almost took him back, but God knows I didn't because you wrecked me. You wrecked me beyond recognition. I couldn't stand not having you. I couldn't stand pretending that I could love another man. I never was good being intimate with Philip, but after that night how was I supposed to do it," She laments. "For you, it wasn't enough. I begged you. It wasn't enough. I tried to show you how much I loved you in that bathroom, and you didn't care. You wanted me out of your life. It was my fault. You swore everything was my fault. I did what I always do. I listened to you. I tried to make you happy. I tried to cope, and Philip almost felt like a good idea. Yet, I couldn't with your perfume all over me. I couldn't look past my heartbreak. I did the next best thing. I drank and forgot the bathroom incident." Michonne finishes her confession. "Everything else that happened to ruin my life is nothing you ignore."

"I'm glad to know I was right," Rick says softly in the hole of Michonne's ear. "You should stop letting me ruin your life."

Michonne pulls away from Rick, and she takes a few steps back. She stands as tall as she can before her husband.

"I agree, and it means I can't allow you to break my heart." Michonne admits. "I have to let you go," Michonne pursues. "Or more like the fantasy of you. Everything that made you an unattainable man. I need to accept how complicated and tangled this is. I have to tell you to let me handle the chaos in my life. You can handle yours. No one is saving anyone."

Michonne hesitantly extends her arm, and Rick takes her hand. Their fingers intertwine. She looks at him with a newfound desire to love.

"I'm a mess, Richard." She laughs with fears. "I love you, and you're a mess." She looks in his eyes. "I don't know how to deal with everything that happened to you, and I don't know if I can help you heal. I want to fix every inch of you. I want to shield you from the world. Yet, I can't do that. I can't miraculously save you now, and I couldn't have when I was seventeen." Michonne wipes a new wave of tears. "I'm not leaving this time. I can't save you, but I can avoid a heartbreak. I will handle my demons and fix the life I ruined. I'm not leaving, and I want you to stay with him…" Rick interrupts Michonne.

His lips muffled her voice, and Rick's hands frame Michonne's visage. The kiss is something oddly warm like liquor flowing through her veins. Michonne wraps her arms around Rick's neck, and she deepens the kiss. There is an umami taste clinging on her tongue. It is a sweetness, which she cannot explain. She cannot have enough of the taste of his mouth, and so she continues to gorge herself in the flavour of Rick's lips for as long as she has breath.

Ultimately, nature forces the pair to break their embrace. Michonne gulps for air. Rick kisses her forehead, and he holds her with the care, which she deserves.

"I think I can do that," Rick agrees. "I can stay for an eternity with you." He kisses the crown of Michonne's head.

---

The silence between them is comfortable, and yet Michonne feels the need to disrupt it. She returns to the bed, and she carefully sits at the edge.

"Since we are trying to work through the hard topics, I have a question." Michonne warns. "Does this night conclude your effort to avoid conversing with me?"

Rick blinks at her claim. He smiles with amusement. He leans by her door as he has been trying to make his exit for the last ten minutes.

"A conversation is not what I'm avoiding," Rick retorts.

Michonne attempts to allocate meaning to Rick's confession. She ultimately ceases to try.

"You're not afraid to talk to me?" Michonne becomes doubtful. "Your efforts to avoid me say otherwise. Maybe I got it wrong, and you weren't doing your best to avoid me." She presses on the issue. "You only chose to spend every hour of the day away from your home."

"You're right," Rick does not deny her accusations. "I'm putting a lot of effort in avoiding you. It isn't because I'm afraid to talk to you. I'm more comfortable than you're with this exchange. I don't hold my thoughts like you do, and you did every other night until you couldn't. Not all the words, which you were withholding, helped the conversation. Everything was awkward until now. Communication isn't the issue right now." He reiterates his original claim. "At least not on my side, and it should no longer be on your side."

Michonne blinks, and she grows curious. She looks at Rick with confusion about his claim.

"And what is the issue?" Michonne inquires.

"Abstinence," Rick plainly states.

Michonne chuckles as she supposes Rick is joking. He remains unmoved, and she sobers. Her joyful outburst transitioned into confusion and disbelief.

"Abstinence?" She questions with aghast eyes. "You can't be serious."

"As a heart attack," Rick retorts. "My sexual habits are…" He scratches his head. "Demanding…" Rick cannot settle for that specific word. "It's complicated."

Michonne rolls her eyes at the cliché summary. His discomfort indicates as much, but she requires an explanation.

"Simplify it for me," Michonne insists.

"I like to fuck," Rick deadpans. "Who doesn't?" He adds before Michonne can point it out. "Let's say I get out of it a lot more than an orgasm."

Michonne sucks her teeth. She fixes her posture to face Rick. She refrains from telling him that he is using too many words to say nothing.

"Lucky you, I guess." Michonne cannot help her sarcastic tone.

"Sex is a way to keep me in control," Rick clarifies for Michonne, and her expression is a blank canvas. "Trying to decide for you is also a way to keep me in command." Rick adds depth to what he says. "I'm able to quiet certain impulses. I have to do the opposite of my emotional unraveling. Sex is an instrument to keep me content." Rick finishes with words, which he judges fitting.

"Okay?" Michonne sighs, and she attempts to make sense of Rick's words. "You're a horny person, and?" She asks directly.

Rick laughs because he had expected a sensible answer. He moves away from the bed, and he heads toward the sofa in the corner. Michonne curiously looks at him, and he feels thankful that she understands his sudden need for distance.

"I'm unhinged," Rick expresses his physical anguish. "Something happened with Jessie," The words flow naturally, and he stops to understand what he confessed. "I will…" Rick loses his bravado. "I'm not in control of this," He admits. "I have relieved my trauma, and I'm angry. I'm a boiling pot with a thin lead." He struggles to word his emotions. "Horny doesn't fit such a dynamic."

Michonne remains silent. She hesitates on the appropriate reaction. Does she push to know more or is it better to indulge with his denial? Her emotions are a swamp filled with anger, frustration, and the desire to help.

"And sex does?" Michonne remains sceptical. "You go around fucking every one with a skirt, and it magically heals you." She fails to withhold judgement, and she appears displeased with the picture she drew.

"I could do that. I did some years back, and it didn't work out." Rick remains unbothered. "Nothing from those years will add to the conversation. Save yourself the effort and don't ask." He halts Michonne attempts to inquire about his past sexual encounter.

Michonne sucks a breath, and the time is poorly picked to display petty jealousy. She has had her fair share of partners. However, it is nothing she will call promiscuous.

"You're a village bicycle," Michonne blurts out. "A community dick." She looks at Rick with surprise marked all over her face.

Rick laughs, and he never heard both saying before she blurted them out of shock.

"I'm neither," Rick replies with amusement. "I'm a sexually active adult. You should have tried being one before being married." He throws in a taunting manner.

"Then I will be on the front page. I went for quality over quantity." Michonne argues, and Rick cocks an eyebrow. "Anyways not the point of the conversation. You were saying sex keeps you content and in control." She bravely returns to the topic.

"Paraphilia," Rick corrects Michonne. "Sex in certain settings can be… traumatic," He looks at her. "Which I told you already." He draws a deep breath. "And so paraphilia."

"Pardon?" Michonne coughs as she chokes on his claim. "Paraphilia?" She repeats twice.

"Repeating my words won't clear the air," Rick retorts, and he pushes his hair behind his ear.

"So…" Michonne clears her throat. "Kinks?" She uncomfortably chuckles. "You're not avoiding me but you're having depraved sex with any willing soul while I worry sick about you." Her voice carries disbelief. "Richard," Michonne waits for a rebuttal.

"I'm avoiding you," Rick agrees on the first half of her sentence. "Because I want to fuck you, Mimi," He deadpans.

"It sounds counterproductive," She suspiciously retorts. "You have a new found habit of not sleeping in your bed, and you confessed to be in need of sex. Call me naive if you want, but never assume I'm stupid as well." Michonne finishes with her eyes looking for the hint corroborating her doubts.

"Michonne," Rick sighs, and he rubs his temples to prevent a headache. "I'm not cheating if those are your current worries."

Michonne waves Rick's claim. She crosses her arms while she intensely stares at Rick. He returns her look while remaining unfazed by her scrutiny.

"You certainly don't want to have sex with me," Michonne points out.

"We're not having this conversation," Rick retorts, and he looks at his wristwatch. "At three in the morning."

"So much about communication," Michonne sarcastically replies.

"Michonne," Rick groans. He is too exhausted to entertain an unexpected jealousy crisis. "Don't," Michonne interrupts him.

"As your wife, I deserve to know why the idea of sex with repulses you," Michonne states, and she leaves the bed.

"You're putting words in mouth," Rick laments.

"I'm interpreting your actions," Michonne argues. "You're avoiding me because you want to fuck. The interpretation is open to the imagination. If you don't like my conclusion, clarify your claim. "

Rick yawns, and he rubs his heavy eyelids. He straightens his back and forgoes the idea of sleep. Michonne is set to finish whatever is going on presently.

"I…" Rick stutters, and Michonne does not allow him to find a meaningful word.

"You don't want to have sex with me," Michonne asks.

"Which respects your wish," Rick reminds her what she decided only a couple of weeks ago.

Michonne snorts, and she glares at Rick. She begins to pace to help clear her mind. She fails at her attempt to quiet her mind.

"Don't put the blame on me," Michonne argues. "Your motives are others. I said we could take thing slowly, but never once, I shut down the idea of having sex with you. You're doing that." Her foot rhythmically taps the floor. "And …" Michonne loses her threads of thought.

"What do you want to hear? What will convince you?" Rick gives up the idea of sustaining an argument with Michonne.

"The truth," She deadpans

"You're a pillow princess," Rick bluntly states. "The closest you came to sexual gratification was with me. By my standard, that night was vanilla. Proper and in brand with what you will like in a bed. I can't do that now." He replies with sobering fury. "I can't make love to you. Not when it is…" He stops to draw a breath.

"A pillow princess?" Michonne scoffs. "A pillow princess."

"Michonne," Rick calls her with exasperation. "All of my present sexual needs will scandalize you," he claims. "You don't understand what I want to do to you. It is certainly not stop at sticking my dick into you while you lay on your back content with missionary sex for fifteen minutes," Rick defends his positions.

"What if you're misjudging me because you created your prudish image of me," Michonne argues with shaking conviction.

"Am I?" Rick sceptically asks while he crosses his legs.

"Yes," Michonne camps on her position.

"Do you want to go down that road with me?" He taunts her with an amused smirk while he relaxes his posture, and yet he appears more threatening to Michonne.

"The road where you tell me why I'm not worth your sexual interest," Michonne replies with intent to sting him.

"Can you stop being willingly dense?" Rick demands. "I said verbatim that I want to fuck you while you will prefer I make love to you." He clarifies. "I said I will have you bent on my lap to spank you and see if it will arouse enough to have your juice drip on your thighs while you will prefer something gentle." Rick looks at Michonne in the eyes and begs her to keep her brave act.

"Don't assume what I will prefer?" Michonne refuses to give an inch.

Rick cocks an eyebrow. He unfolds his crossed legs, and his posture becomes more nonchalant. He can call on Michonne's bluff. The line sets on her forehead are not sufficient to mark her determination. If he pushes long enough, Michonne will back down. The pull and push create an adrenergic rush in Rick's mind. He finds an unexpected way to feel in control.

"Choose your battles wisely, Mimi." Rick warns. "If you have to be sincere, what will you tell me of your sex life?" He inquires while aware of how little she will dare to say.

Despite her protestations, Michonne will call her sexual life a boring journey with unexpected highlights. However, Rick is unaware of her curiosity. If cornered, Michonne will pick stubbornness.

"I'm not feeding your ego." Michonne proudly states. "What will you do to me that will scandalize my virtuous mind? What can you say that is so erotically taboo?" She drags the last word. "I have friends in Hollywood."

---

Rick's eyes fall on Michonne, and he drags the sleeves of his shirt higher than his elbows. He sighs as he wonders why he is so committed to fighting what has become almost an instinct.

"After all you're not a child," Rick enunciates the last word as he drags himself up. "You have a mouth on you that gets you in trouble," He undoes the first button of his collar, and Michonne can see Rick's Adam apple move rhythmically as he pushes words out of his throat. "Mimi," He says softly as he strolls before her.

Rick stops when he is a breath too close to Michonne. His hands come to rest on her shoulders, and Rick's thumbs sneak beneath the strands of her nightgown. His palms spread over the silk fabric.

Michonne draws a sharp breath, and Rick smirks. His thumbs draw the lines of her clavicle while his moving hand makes the silk rubs on her breasts. She withholds a moan, and Michonne looks in Rick's muddy irises. The ocean blue has taken greyish undertones.

Michonne cradles Rick's cheeks, and her fingers bend around the angles of his visage. She waits for a hesitant breath. The thought of kissing him becomes a sudden challenge.

Rick closes the distance. The loose curls framing his face brush her nose, and the pomegranate smell of his shampoo gives Michonne unexpected comfort. She quickly kisses his nose, and her action only cements his belief.

"Maybe not, miss Hollywood." Rick breathes the words out, and his hot breath grazes her skin. "As tempting as it seems, maybe not." He takes a step back, but he remains in the air, which Michonne breathes.

Her hands travel from his face to his shirt. Her manicured nails scrap and draw lines of fire on the little skin between his collar and neck. She desperately clings to his shirt, and her fists wrinkle the fabric. Michonne pulls to drag him to her.

"Maybe I want it," She mouths the words as her lips cover Rick's jaws. Her plea feels like iron sinking in his flesh and threatening to break his will. "I thought you promised trouble," Her tongue runs where her nails have left a burning mark.

One of Michonne's hands loosens around Rick's shirt, and her palm lies on his clothed abdomen. She slowly draws her way back to his face with caresses that are unbearable from how quickly her touch fades. Michonne hooks her fingers below his chin, and she angles his face until the sight of her fills Rick's irises.

"What is your kink?" Michonne allows the words to dance on her tongue.

Despite how sensual she sounds and acts, Rick can tell the hesitation. He finds it endearing enough to indulge in the less dominant role.

"What is so perverse about how you want me?" Michonne interrogates.

Rick smirks and it is as perceptible as Michonne's effort to keep from breaking his boundaries, which she has yet to discern. However, Rick can tell that she is frightened to come as forceful instead of seducing.

"There is no use of telling you," Rick replies, and his palm swallows the fingers holding his chin. "How I'm going to fuck you," He states. "Well if it is what you want of course," He inquires. "Do you want me to fuck you, Mimi?" He takes a step back and pulls another button to loosen his collar.

It reveals almost no skin beyond the notch of his clavicle. He stands too tall and too straight. Michonne has a moment of fluctuating panic. Rick might be right, and her sharp tongue got her in trouble. She cannot tell if it is good trouble or she took a step toward the dissolution of her marriage.

Sex with Rick might be the unconventional bonding she desperately needs.

"There is a time to use your brain, Mimi," Rick haughtily cuts through Michonne's thinking. "Certainly not after you begged and pleaded for me to fuck you. However, consent is yours to give and to withdraw." He smirks. "So what is it? Are we sticking to pillows and missionary or…" He allows Michonne's mind to gallop toward fantasy, which certainly won't turn into reality.

She draws a deep breath, and she looks at Rick, which is the picture of nonchalance. It makes her unconsciously anxious. Michonne is suddenly confronted with a choice, which sums the years of sharing a life alongside Rick Grimes.

"I trust you," Michonne whispers confidently, and she looks into Rick's eyes. "I trust you." She timidly pushes a few loose locks behind her ears.

Rick freezes on the spot for a few seconds. Her reply is nothing, which should surprise him, and yet, it touches him all the same. There is a sudden vulnerability slipping from those words.

"Come here." Rick beckons to Michonne.

….

…

...

She approaches him with remaining anxiety. Rick's warm palms cover her shivering skin, and his thumbs draw patterns on her neck. Rick catches her pulse at each breath, which Michonne takes. His lips graze her jaws.

"I answer to the title of Sir." Rick's lips brush Michonne's earlobe between whispered words. "Some of it could be pleasurable to me and unbearable to you." His fingers threaten to close around Michonne's throat, and they stop when her pulse quickens. "Trust me to stop anytime it is unpleasant for you. Trust me enough to ask me to stop when you can't bear it."

Rick rests his forehead on her shoulder, and he draws a deep breath filled with citrus scents. His tongue steals a taste of her satin skin, and his hands run on her delicate curves. His trimmed nails are still sharp enough to cut when he applies pressure. His touch becomes ink on her unmarred skin.

"It won't always be sexual or it can be too sexual. Consent is yours to give and withdraw at any time. Trust me enough to withdraw it without fear of consequences." Rick's lips brush Michonne's breastbone, and he licks his way to the curve of her neck. "All powers, which I will have over you, are with your consent and end when we're not engaging in anything sexual." His hands descend on her back, and he knows her curves from memories, which he was so eager to forget not so long ago. "When you no longer trust me, you stop submitting to me." Rick claims Michonne's lips, and her moans pour in his mouth.

There is a timidity to her touch, which she comes to possess now. Something of hesitation, which is legitimate, pushes Michonne into the restraint. Rick is attentive to the fluctuations of Michonne's emotions. His kiss is lazy and nonchalant. It is slow and of little passion. His tongue only teases, and it suffices to frustrate Michonne.

Michonne rises on her toes, and her arms surround Rick's neck. She drags him to her height until his back bends, and she insufflates the passion, which Rick withholds. With each tongue stroke, Michonne breaks out of a timidity, which does not fit her. Rick's arms hold her more strongly, and he retakes the lead of the kiss. He gorges on the sweetness of her lip. Her tongue twists and turns at the rhythm of his, and in his hand Michonne is malleable.

"Tell me your safe word," Rick words brush her lips, and Michonne is still chasing after his taste.

---

Rick's leering eyes stay on Michonne, and fully dress, she manages to feel stripped. However, she feels stripped of existing inhibitions. Her lips continue to tingle after the kiss, and Michonne is giddy.

Rick is at the contrary calm. Michonne believes he might have grown before her eyes or it might be the confidence. There is something about the elegance, which surrounds him. Rick moves with fluidity, and he exhales sensuality. He is methodical while Michonne swims in chaos.

"Take your panty off," Rick demands.

"Sorry?" Michonne has to break out of her state of mindless ogling.

She sounds as nervous as she feels. All her bragging comes to bite her ass.

"Take off your panty, darling," Rick reiterates, and he extends an expecting hand.

Michonne drags down her thong, and she carefully places it on Rick's palm.

"Thank you," Rick replies.

Michonne offers her sweetest smile, and something is endearing in her reaction to the gratefulness that he conveys at her obedience. Michonne wants more of it. The praising tone of his voice warns her guts, and something arises and coils in the pits of her stomach.

"Anything else?" She rushes to say too eager to please.

Rick arches his eyebrow. He delicately folds Michonne's thong, and he slowly approaches her. Rick's arm closes around her waist, and Michonne's back leans on his chest. He pushes a hand between their joined bodies.

"Unless addressed by me in a way that requires a verbal answer, you're going to be as quiet as you can."

Rick slides a knee between Michonne's legs, and he lifts his leg until her cunt grazes the fabric of his pants.

"If and when you address me, it is as Sir." Rick kisses Michonne's nape. "Have I made myself clear?" The words reverberate on her skin before clinging on her flesh and mind like tattoos.

Rick's breath dances on her back. His thigh continues to brush softly her cunt. Michonne's nails dig in Rick's forearm when he slips his hand between her thighs. Michonne swallows a moan when Rick's thumb rolls delicately on her clitoris.

"Yes, Sir," Michonne stutters the words as Rick dips his middle finger in her cunt.

"Will you mind parting your legs for me, sweetheart?" Rick demands, and his free hand pushes the hem of Michonne's nightgown higher until it brushes her bottom.

Michonne does as he asks, and Rick's palm whacks her ass. Her surprised cry is a guttural moan, and Michonne's back arches as she rides Rick's finger. She softly moans when he pushes another finger in her.

"A question calls for a verbal answer," His teeth close on her shoulder, and he pushes her nightgown further up until it hangs above her breast. "Now, will you be a darling and answer the question." He removes his thigh from between Michonne's legs.

Rick carefully takes off Michonne's nightgown, and he lays kisses on the curve of her column. She is fully unclear while he scarcely unbuttons his collar. Michonne's position is intimidating and one of vulnerability.

"Yes, I will love to part my legs for you, Sir." Michonne hardly finds her words, and she slowly rides Rick's finger as his thumb works her to a building orgasm.

"Good girl," Rick tugs the hair on Michonne's nape until his lips can cover her.

She exults her orgasm with her lips seeking Rick's taste. Her nails slip on the fabric of his pants while she attempts to dig in his thighs. His hand does not seem enough to quench her thirst. Michonne twists and swirls her hips for more friction. Rick with a small amount of force restrains her. For a few seconds, she has to be content of filtered pleasure. His finger dips in and out of her cunt at a painfully slow rhythm. He toys with her needs claiming power when a cry filled with frustration, yearning, lust, and pleasure fall from her lips.

"Part your legs and bend until I only see your sweet cunt." Rick orders, and with a hand on Michonne's back, he slowly guides her until she bends with her palm flattens on the floor.

On shaking legs, Michonne attempts to maintain the position. She looks over her shoulder to watch Rick, and the desire in his eyes sets ablaze her body. His fingers twist around the button of his shirt, and slowly he reveals more of his skin. He carefully slides his shirt.

"Rick," Michonne cries.

Other cries follow Rick's chastisement and his hand swatting her ass more than once. His palm brushes her labia. She grabs his hand to bear the pain. Her fingers tangle around his wrist, and Michonne grasps for air.

"You have the prettiest cunt," he leans over her, and the fabric of his shirt scraps her skin.

The rough fabric of his pants pressed on her painful button creates soothing friction. She sighs and shivers. His tongue runs on the curve of her neck. His weight threatens her breathing, and she needs her lungs filled as his fingers on her cunt coerce an orgasm out of her.

Slowly, Michonne watches Rick kneel until his tongue can reach her dripping cunt. His mouth closes around the heart of her femininity, and his tongue curls around her clitoris. Michonne trembles out of balance. Blood rushes to her head, and she feels as if she is on the verge of opioid high.

Her ass stings, and it is oddly arousing. Her essence floods his tongue and flows on her ties. Michonne is wetter than she has ever been in her life.

Rick delicately parts her labia, and his fingers curl around her wall. His tongue sucks and licks her clitoris. Holding her moans adds to her arousal, and Michonne's legs tremble as her second orgasm arises. Rick's ministrations drive Michonne to the edge, and she is happy to fall into a crushing wave of orgasm.

Rick grabs his shirt, he ties Michonne's leg to her arm, and he does the same on the other side with her nightgown. He rises and his hands frame her hips.

"Is it too tight?" Rick inquires.

"No, Sir," Michonne replies.

"Tell me your safe word if it becomes too much," Rick sensually commands.

Rick is being light-handed in his corporeal chastisement, but Michonne's lack of experience demands as much care.

Michonne looks over her shoulder, and with an unwavering look, she says.

"Can you fuck me, Sir?"

"Asked so politely, how could I say no?" Rick replies. "Until you beg me to stop, darling." Rick drags the zipper of his pants down, and he drags his dick out of his briefs.

"Oh," Michonne moans as Rick sheathes his manhood in her slick cunt.

Besides moaning, she can react. Bound, Michonne finds reliance. She abandons herself to Rick's desire. His strokes are deep and quite possessive. Rick's fingers dig in Michonne's hip to the point of bruising her skin.

Her moans quickly turn into grunts of pleasure. There is something almost feral in how brutal Rick's strokes are. He withdraws slowly, and he drags the sensation of loss. She is a word away from begging, and yet she has no right to beg. Michonne can only feel anything else is punishable, and so she concentrates on sensations. The tingling of straining muscles and the burning sensation of her skin when his hands slip away.

Her body begins to overdose. Her breathing is in staccato. Drops of sweat draw glistening paths on her back. His dick slams in her core. It is animalistic at best, almost monstrous, and sinful by the barbarism of it. Michonne's body sings under each touch. She trembles of pain, and she shivers with pleasure.

Rick fills her to tilt. He leaves her empty as fast as a moan falls from her lips. Michonne has nothing to cling on, and she has no choice but to complete abandon. Of her body, Rick is the master, and he is free to set it ablaze or preciously care for it. Yet, he silently does her will. Her pleasure becomes his central focus, and the symphony of her moans is a gratifying melody.

"Oh you feel so good, darling." Rick whispers. "Oh fuck!" He groans. "Oh god, Mimi." His strokes are more frantic.

With each stroke, he finds liberty. Rick hardly holds back, and Michonne's body burns between his fingers. She moans louder and louder. Her legs tremble, and Rick keeps her from falling while his dick continues to wreak havoc in her core. She no longer knows when the petite Mort claims her. Michonne feels as if orgasm repeatedly rips through her. Her sweaty skin slips from Rick's grip, and he tightly holds her in an embrace. Michonne's muscles soften, and Rick's stroke becomes arrhythmic. Rick continues to pluck her sweet cunt until he spills his seeds.

Michonne feels lightheaded, and she does not think her legs are going to be of use for the next hours. Rick inhales, and he kisses her shoulder.

"You're perfect," Rick says thoughtlessly.

He begins to unbind her, and his words are cajoling caresses. Rick lays kisses on her shoulders and necks. Once free, Michonne does not bother with any effort. She allows gravity to draw her toward the floor. She finishes sprawls on the parquet while she clings to a breath.

"Are you okay?" He asks while he tucks his dick back into his pants. "Mimi?" he insists when she smiles with certain drowsiness.

"I have no use of my legs," Michonne replies. "I have been truly and gloriously fucked, and I might have to crawl to the bathroom," She genuinely adds, and she yawns. "You're staying right?" Her words bring a sudden fear into her. "I'm not signing any divorce paper so you know."

"That's good," Rick smirks. "I think the wedding vows say until I die, I'm all yours." He adds humorously.

"Rick, don't let me sleep on the floor," Michonne pleads.

He refrains from commenting how he was partly right about her sexual life. If some light bondage suffices to put Michonne to sleep, he wonders how she will handle him.

"Do you want a bath too?" Michonne nods, and she sighs.

Rick kisses Michonne's forehead, and he picks her from the floor where she recovers. She wraps her arms around his neck, and he carries her to the bathroom.