Last Thursday
[11:33 PM]
"Didn't expect to see you here so late, Ms. Holden."
Andrea smiled tiredly at the security guard as she got off the elevator and made her way into the lobby. "No rest for the weary, Bob," she returned, stopping at his desk to swipe her access badge.
"Have a good night," he told her with a pleasant smile.
She waved him goodbye and started towards the double glass doors that led to the parking lot.
If the night sky above was not indication enough, the nearly vacant lot was a clear tell to how late she had been working. Most of the business park's patrons were long gone, with only a few vehicles scattered about.
Her heels echoed on the pavement as she strode towards her coupe while reaching around her purse for the keys. She huffed in exasperation when she could not readily find them inside.
"Please don't tell me I left them upstairs," she muttered to herself, plopping her tote on the hood of her car.
While she rummaged around, she was unaware of the hooded man watching her nearby, hiding in the shadows cast from the street lamps above.
Andrea groaned, resigned to the fact that her keys were likely still on her desk. She reshouldered her bag with annoyance, and began her walk of shame.
The hooded man chose then to step out of the shadows and directly into her path. Andrea had to stop herself from running into him, he appeared so abruptly.
She took a step back, immediately apprehensive and instinctively reached for the pocket size bottle of pepper she always kept handy. Then, inwardly cursed when she realized it was attached to her car keys. "What do you want?" she demanded, hoping her voice came across stronger than it sounded to her own ears.
The man didn't say anything as he stepped towards her.
Andrea quickly glanced back towards her office building, but knew she would never make it past the man to get into Bob's line of vision in time. Instead, she tried to run in the opposite direction.
Before she could get around her car he was on her. She tried to scream but he was too quick, grabbing her from behind and covering her face with a cloth.
Andrea's world immediately went black.
It was daylight when she finally came around, jostled by a particularly hard bump in the road. She awoke with a start to find her mouth gagged, and her legs and hands bound together by duct tape.
Terror gripped her as her last memories came flooding back.
The man in the parking lot.
Her eyes drowsily wandered around and she soon realized she was in the backseat of a truck. From her vantage point she could make out the driver, she could even see his eyes in the rearview mirror. She knew those eyes.
"You're awake," he said, lifting his stare to look at her through the mirror, "good."
Cold, hard terror gripped Andrea like vice at the sound of his sickeningly familiar voice.
Although inwardly she was screaming, outwardly just laid there. She desperately wanted to pull against her restraints but her body did nothing to reflect her will to do so.
That's when she realized duct tape wasn't the only thing subduing.
"Does the cocktail feel familiar?" he asked, as if they were having a conversation, "I've tweaked it a little since the last time."
Her blood ran cold at the implication, and she squeezed her eyes shut, unable to do anything other than pray to wake up from this nightmare.
"You should not have come back here. That wasn't very smart on your part," he continued to say, blaming her for her own kidnapping. "You got away once, and that was my mistake. But to come back here, and rub it in my face, that was yours."
A lone tear escaped down her face and onto the worn leather of the cabin seat, the only indication of her protest.
They drove for what seemed like hours until the truck finally pulled to a stop. From her point of view, Andrea could only make out the tall cedars looming overhead through the backseat window.
Her kidnapper leisurely climbed out of the cabin, slamming his door closed behind him. He rounded the vehicle while whistling lightly as if he were just out taking a casual stroll.
She could hear him pulling something from the truck's flatbed. It hit the ground with a thud, and scraped against the dirt as he dragged it back around.
He came to a stop beside the back passenger's door and yanked it open, causing Andrea's upper half to tumble out. He roughly grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her inside the waiting open trunk.
"This will only be temporary," he grunted, shoving her legs inside. "I have plans for you."
Andrea wasn't sure what terrified her more, the threat in his words or the pain caused by his actions or that fact that she was powerless to do anything about either.
Once she was inside, he slammed the trunk shut and secured it with a padlock then dragged it by the handle towards a small wooden cabin nestled in a clearing.
He was intentionally careless with his handling, dragging it roughly up the wooden steps while Andrea's body knocked helplessly against every bump.
He hauled the trunk over the threshold with a grunt, and pushed it into a corner. Then, slowly pulled himself up, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Sit tight," he said, kicking the container, "I'll be back in a little while."
Andrea would have hyperventilated if her body were capable. She was paralyzed by fear more from the known than the unknown.
Memories she had worked years to repress came flooding back to her with horrifying clarity.
Even as she pleaded with her muscles to move, she knew from experience there was no point. And if her kidnapper threat carried any weight, she wouldn't regain control any time soon.
She whimpered a pitiful sound over her gag, angry at herself for allowing this to happen again as her mind ran through the prior evening, trying desperately to understand why she had chosen to let her guard slip after years of vigilance.
She could do little else in her immobile state.
Time had no meaning inside her prison without so much as a glimmer of daylight to acknowledge its passing. She could have been there for days or hours, it wouldn't have made a difference.
It was increasingly difficult to remain awake, the harder she tried the more she depleted energy reserves that were already in the red. She hadn't even realized she had passed out until she was startled awake by the loud sound of steel on steel.
Dehydrated and delirious, Andrea could only groan as she cracked her eyes open. Her cramped space didn't afford her any visuals but she could hear the sound of an engine coming to life, and she could feel the graveled path under heavy tires as they rolled over it.
They were on the move again, only this time she wasn't given the luxury of riding inside the truck. She had been loaded onto the bed in the back, and the sound she heard was its latch securing her in place.
The drive was longer and more jarring than the last. It seemed every pothole he could hit, he did so intentionally. With nothing to hold the trunk in place, it banged and bumped against whatever else was stored in the back cargo.
Andrea could feel it all, and her throat burned with the desire to cry out, to plead for it all to stop.
Even if she could have screamed, it's unlikely she would have been heard. They had picked up speed, and the escalating sounds of other cars on the road meant they were likely on the highway.
Andrea had never been in a car accident in her entire life, but she would have given anything to break that record now.
After driving for hours, they finally slowed to a stop. By that point, she had fallen back into unconsciousness.
The truck shifted with the weight of its driver as he hopped out. He was whistling again, rounding the truck to unlock the flatbed. He reached for the metal dolly first, bringing it to a stand on the pavement. Then, he climbed onboard, pushing aside a large crate and a box containing an unassembled door. He would take care of that later, his priority was in the trunk.
It had been pushed to the back of the flatbed. He reached for its handle and pulled it towards the truck's edge.
He quickly looked around the sleepy residential neighborhood, before hopping down while continuing to whistle his song.
He loaded the trunk up right onto the dolly, and wheeled it down the paved pathway towards the large house he had parked outside of.
The sound of his whistling sounded strangely eerie in the hollow halls of the empty house, marking his path as he wheeled the trunk into the kitchen, standing it up right. He reached in his back pocket for his keys, and unlocked the padlock. Then, opened the door and took a step back, watching Andrea's unconscious body tumble onto the ground in a heap before him.
Curiously, he tilted his head to look at her. "You aren't dead yet, are you?" he asked, nudging her with the toe of his shoe to turn her over.
Andrea didn't respond, but the slight rise and fall of her chest gave him the answer he needed, so he turned on his heel to head back outside. There was still much to do.
His cell phone vibrated from his back pocket, he pulled it out and read the incoming name with a mild look of annoyance.
"Maya, slow down!"
He snapped his head up in just enough time to avoid colliding with a young child maneuvering a tricycle with questionable control.
He stopped her just short of riding over his foot with a grimace, becoming more irritated by the moment.
Just as he was fixing to snap at the girl for her reckless riding, the sight of a woman rushing towards them stopped him in his tracks.
She apologized to him and exchanged soft spoken words with the child, but he didn't register any of it. Instead, he was momentarily stunned into silence by the beautiful stranger.
"She's just learning to ride," she had said to him with a smile, still making excuses for the child.
"No need to apologize. No harm done," he replied, his prior agitation forgotten.
"You must be our new neighbor. I'm Michonne, and this is Maya, we live next door," she offered, extending her hand.
He found that news to be pleasantly intriguing and accepted her hand with a smile. "So it would seem," he said, appreciating the softness of her touch. "Dr. Pete Anderson," he returned, intending to charm her.
He pocketed his cell phone, willing to put his other priorities on the back burner for now to learn more about his new neighbor.
Present Day
[7:01 AM]
Rick rolled his hips forward, burying himself inside of his wife with a contented sigh. Without missing a beat in his steady stride, he ran his hand along her thigh, shifting her leg until it rested on his shoulder, giving him deeper access.
Michonne had one hand clenching their bedsheets, the other buried in his hair, holding on for dear life as he filled her with slow, rhythmic thrusts.
The sun was barely over the horizon, bathing their bedroom in hazy gray light. Everything was still saved for their stolen hitches of breath as their bodies came together.
For Rick, there was a sensualness that accompanied the act during this time of day that he loved. He could see the sun rise in Michonne's eyes, illuminating her in a way that was damn near magical. Like a phoenix coming to life.
With her hair splayed across their pillows and her mouth slightly opened, she wound her hips to match his cadence. "Rick," she whispered his name like a prayer, bringing both her arms to wrap around his shoulders.
Rick answered her by leaning over to claim her lips in a lazy kiss, bending her leg back as he pistoned in and out of her determinedly.
Michonne could feel the familiar ache of her orgasm bloom within and she tore away from his mouth with a gasp. He had found her sweet spot, and both knew it.
Rick bit on his lower lip and he pulled back, taking hold of both her legs for leverage as he brought them to the brink.
"Shit," he grunted, knowing he was close.
"Right there, baby," Michonne whispered back.
Rick leaned over, peppering kisses along her neck and chest as she wildly ran her fingers through his hair. He picked up the pace, feeling her becoming tighter and tighter around him.
Michonne came first, dropping her legs from his shoulders to squeeze them around his waist, holding him in a vice grip as she rode through the wave. While she came undone around him, Rick shuddered with own orgasm, dropping his face to her chest with an exhilarated exhale.
They remained entwined, only the soft sounds of their breathing permeating the quiet room.
"Good morning," Michonne said softly, with a smile in her voice as she lightly scratched his scalp.
Rick hugged her against him. "That it is."
"Who started it this time?" she asked, tilted her head to see his face. She was referring to their tendency to find each other in their sleep and wake up mid-coitus, not knowing who reached for whom first.
"Does it matter if we both finished?" he replied, feeling pleased with himself.
"I guess not," she murmured, making a show of thinking about it.
Rick grinned, and shifted his weight to lean over her, bringing a hand up to push her hair back from her face. He lifted his gaze to the clock resting on the nightstand before looking back at her.
"Still got time for another round," he said, raising his eyebrows suggestively, "the kids ain't even up yet."
Michonne continued to giggle as he dropped his face to press open mouth kisses to her neck and shoulder, making his way further down until he reached just above her pelvic bone. He parted her legs with little coercion, settling between them as he wrapped his arms around her hips to pull her closer, until he could feel the heat of her core on his face.
Michonne let her eyes slide close when she felt his tongue start to make out with her pussy. Her body arched gently from the bed as he licked her from top to bottom, taking care to pay special attention to the sensitive nub at her center.
He put a firm hand on her lower abdomen, holding her in place as he devoured her.
She bucked her hips forward when he started sucking on her clit, and she began to squirm when he brought up two fingers up to join the party. He pumped them in tandem with his tongue, leaving her jaw laxed.
Her legs wrapped around his head as the tremors of another orgasm started imploded inside of her. She came with a soundless gasp, using one hand to hold his head in place as she arched off the bed.
When her grip finally loosened she collapsed back, and Rick emerged with a chuckle. "You alright, darling?"
"Shut up," Michonne returned breathlessly, chest heaving.
Rick laughed again as he leaned over her, capturing her lips in a deep kiss, letting her taste herself.
"Mmm, I have a million things to do today and you're making it hard to even want to get out of the bed," Michonne whispered when they pulled apart.
"So my plan is working, then," he returned, running a hand along her naked side.
Michonne rolled her eyes but smiled. "You have things to do today, too, unless you forgot."
"You just want to make sure I get RJ to the barbershop," he laughed, squeezing her sides before using the mattress to push himself up.
"He's overdue, Rick," she reminded him, slowly sitting up with a languish stretch.
"Yes ma'am," he said over his shoulder, pushing himself to his feet. She wouldn't get any argument from him.
Michonne grinned at the sight of his naked, bow-legged stride as he sauntered towards their bathroom.
She slowly rose to her feet, feeling a little wobbly from their activity, and reached for her robe draped over the chaste at the foot of the bed. She shrugged it over her shoulder, tugging her hair to pull it free from the collar and started after him.
"I was thinking of shopping for a new dress for tonight," she said, joining him by the dual sinks. "Any suggestions?"
Rick turned off his faucet and reached for a washcloth to dry his face. "You'll look amazing whatever you pick," he told her, watching her tie her hair up.
Michonne smirked. "And what if I decided to show up in my birthday suit?" she teased as he came to stand behind her, wrapping his arms around her.
"While that is my favorite outfit, I don't think it's the appropriate dress code for this evening," he murmured, kissing the side of her neck, before releasing her.
She chuckled and continued about her morning routine while he headed for their walk-in closet to find his running attire.
He emerged a few moments later fully dressed in a black t-shirt and joggers, and returned to the bathroom to find Michonne inside the shower stall. "I'm going for a run, don't leave before I get back," he said, pulling back the curtain.
"Wouldn't dream of it," she replied without turning.
Rick reached out to lightly swat her ass, because he couldn't help himself before leaving the room altogether.
As soon as he opened their bedroom door he was greeted by the sight of his five-year-old, clutching her favorite stuffed bunny under her arms, her little fist poised to knock on their door.
"Morning, sweetheart," he greeted.
"Morning, Daddy," she replied brightly.
"Here to help Mommy?" he knowingly asked, stepping aside to allow her entry.
Maya nodded and brushed past him to enter their room.
It was a ritual for the little girl, she loved going through her mother's wardrobe and making recommendations Michonne may or may not choose to take under advisement. But it was the opportunity to play dress up that Maya loved most.
As she settled on the chaste, Rick followed her to turn on their bedroom television to cartoons while she waited for her mother to get out of the shower.
Once he was satisfied that his daughter was preoccupied, he left her alone.
The rest of the house was still largely quiet, with his older children taking advantage of their last days of summer to sleep in, and he made it out the front door without any other interruption.
Pete cracked the muscles in his neck as he washed his hands in the basement's utility sink. He took his time, scrubbing melodically as blood mixed with the water to swirl down the drain.
When his cell phone vibrated on his desk, he took a towel from a nearby rack to dry his hands, and crossed the room to answer. "Yeah?"
"Your rotation starts in less than an hour, why aren't you here yet?"
Pete frowned, resting the device between his cheek and shoulder, and slowly made his way back to the sink. "I'm on my way," he returned, tossing the towel on its ledge.
"Listen, the least you could do is be on time. I'm really sticking my neck out here."
"So you keep telling me. I said I'm on my way, I'll be there." Pete disconnected the call and pocketed his phone as he made his way to the surgical table positioned in the center of the room. His eyes were cold as he assessed his work.
Andrea stared back at him with dull eyes that were incapable of conveying her agony.
"The first procedure was a success," he said, reaching up to smooth back her sweaty hair. "You will feel some discomfort... actually, you're probably already feeling it."
Andrea wanted to move away from his touch, but he kept her in a state of perpetual paralysis, unable to move, unable to speak, but capable of feeling everything.
"Lucky for you, you're in no condition to go back in the cage. But, I expect you to be on your best behavior while I'm gone."
A tear escaped her eye and he caught it with his finger. "I wouldn't waste the water, if I were you," he advised her.
As he pulled back, he doubled the IV drip he had connected her to, then the zip ties binding her wrists and ankles to the table.
"I'll be back soon," he promised, and retreated for the steps that led out of the basement.
He made sure the door was well secured before heading further upstairs to change his clothes. Jesse was in their bedroom, sorting through a basket of laundry, but he didn't bother to acknowledge her as he headed for their bathroom.
He wordlessly strode inside and locked the door.
Jesse was waiting for him on the other side when he reemerged ten minutes later. He only glanced at her as he stalked into their closet.
"Have you been in the basement all night?" she asked incredulously, watching him.
"I was researching," he lied as he began to dress.
"Oh," Jesse murmured, distracted by the mess he left in the bathroom, "well I was hoping we could talk."
"I have to be at the hospital," he impatiently returned, yanking a button down shirt from the hanger.
Jesse frowned, that was news to her. "When?"
"Now."
She sighed, stooping to collect the dirty clothes he carelessly discarded on the bathroom floor. "But you haven't even slept."
"I'm fine," he returned, his tone suggesting he was more tired of her questions than anything else.
Jesse drew her brows together at his tone as she dropped the clothes into the hamper. Something caught her eyes and she reached back down for his white t-shirt, noticing a small splatter of blood on its hem.
"It's a twelve-hour shift, so don't wait up," he said, exiting the closet fully dressed.
Jesse quickly dropped the t-shirt, blinking at him in confusion. "Wait. The whole day?"
"Yes," he confirmed as he left the room.
Jesse looked back at the hamper, her frown deepening. She had waited up for hours for him to come out of the basement, and now that he finally had he was rushing off again.
Not this time.
"We need to talk about last night," she insisted, taking the steps two at time to catch him before he could leave the house altogether.
Pete sighed loudly as he gripped the door handle, summoning his patience. "What about it?" he demanded, turning to face her.
Jesse paused, taken aback by the hostility in his eyes. "It wasn't okay, Pete," she started in a soft voice, not wanting to disturb their boys. "What you did-"
"I don't have time for this," he snapped, swinging the door open to stalk outside.
Jesse balked at his exit, and took a hesitant step after him. Although her determination was wavering, she still needed more than what he was giving her. "Pete, please. We need to talk about this," she pleaded, reaching for him.
Pete didn't stop, continuing towards his truck without another word.
Jesse started after him again, but the sound people nearby stopped her.
She turned to see the handsome neighbor she had met the day before, presumably with his family.
Rick was carrying a small child in his arms, with another following closely behind him. Both children had dark brown, curly hair, and tanned skin. She could tell by their dimpled smiles that they were undoubtedly his.
He looked up and spotted her from his driveway and offered a friendly wave.
Jesse started to return the gesture but the sight of a beautiful woman emerging from the house behind him caused her to hesitate.
She was stunning. Her deep brown skin glowed beneath the yellow sheath dress she wore as she made her way down the paved driveway in matching pumps. She carried herself in a way that was effortlessly confident.
Jesse glanced down at her wrinkled t-shirt and leggings, suddenly self-conscious. She lifted her gaze to find that Pete had pulled off while she was distracted and sighed dejectedly.
She spared another glance at the seemingly picture-perfect family next door just in time to see Rick lovingly kiss his wife goodbye.
Feeling even more out of sorts by her husband's cold exit, she turned and silently sulked back inside her home.
"Grandpa!"
Maya barely waited for her father to set her on the ground before she raced towards the large farmhouse.
Herschel Greene slowly rose from his rocking chair with a warm smile to greet the child.
"There's my little girl," he said, groaning exaggeratedly as he scooped her into his arms.
"Be careful with the old man, Maya," Rick chastised lightly as he slowly approached the pair.
"Oh hush," Herschel returned, bouncing a giggling Maya in his arms.
"Hi Grandpa!" RJ hollered, half hanging out of the back seat of Rick's Range Rover.
Herschel chuckled, waving at the boy. "Not coming in today, RJ?"
"He'll be back after he gets lined up," Rick assured him.
Rick had grown up in the farmlands of Kings County, just outside of Atlanta. During his childhood, The Greene's had been his neighbors and good friends to his family.
After Rick's father passed away, Herschel became a surrogate for him. And with Rick's mother now living in Florida, and Michonne's parents all the way up in New York, Herschel was like a grandfather to the Grimes children, as well.
While Rick and Michonne were at work during the summer, their younger children spent their days on the farm with Herschel and his animals, just like their father used to as a boy.
Another SUV pulled onto the gravel driveway behind Rick. Herschel's son-in-law, Glenn, filed out along with his two children - Herschel's namesake, Little Herschel and Lucy.
Herschel knowingly set Maya down and she immediately raced to greet her best friend.
"I see we're just in time," Glenn said, stepping out of the girls' ways as they rushed to hug each other.
His son looked over his shoulder as they walked up the driveway. His face, the mirror image of his father's, pinched in confusion. "Uncle Rick, why is RJ still in the car?"
"He's gotta get a haircut, but he'll be back," Rick told him.
Little Herschel turned to his father. "Can I get my haircut, too?"
Glenn hesitated, thinking the boy's mother might have something to say about that. "Uh..."
"Well he can ride, can't he?" his grandfather offered as a compromise, resting his hands in his pockets.
Little Herschel's eyes lit up at the prospect. "Can I?"
Rick turned to his friend, and Glenn shrugged, not seeing the harm. "Sure."
"Yes!" Little Herschel cried and immediately took off to join his friend.
"Looks like it's just me and you girls," Herschel said to the giggling five-year-olds' chasing each other around the porch.
"Yay!" they both cried, rushing over to hug his legs.
Herschel smiled down at them. "You boys go on now, we'll be fine," he assured the younger men before him.
"Behave for Grandpa," Rick said, kneeling down to hug Maya.
"We will," she assured him, kissing him soundly on the cheek.
Lucy bid her father farewell in the same fashion, before Herschel took both the girls by the hand. "How about some pancakes, ladies?" he asked.
"With blueberries?" Maya asked.
"I want chocolate chips!" Lucy added.
"We'll see what we can do," Herschel said indulgently with a light chuckle.
Rick shook his head, watching them go.
"We're still watching them tonight, right?" Glenn asked, as they descended the steps together.
Rick nodded. "Yeah, we're supposed to meet the Kings for dinner at eight. Should only be a couple of hours."
"You might as well just let them stay the night," Glenn offered instead.
"I didn't want to ask, I know how hectic your schedule's been lately," Rick told him as they approached their vehicles.
Glenn shrugged. "We have a new doctor coming onboard today, so my schedule's going back to normal, at least for a while."
Rick grinned, happy to hear that. "All right. Michonne and I will drop off their overnight bags before dinner."
"Sounds like a plan," Glenn confirmed, then leaned over to look at the boys chatting away in the backseat. "Try not to come back with a buzzcut," he said to his son.
Little Herschel grinned toothily. "No promises."
"Fine," Glenn relented, "but you're gonna have to deal with your mom."
"I'm just kidding!" Little Herschel hurried to say, much to their amusement.
"That's what I thought," Glenn said with a satisfied smirk, then he looked back at Rick, "See you later."
Rick nodded to his friend with a grin, and hopped behind the driver's seat to head back for the city.
"Welcome to Atlanta General, how may I assist you?"
Pete smiled for the young attendant behind the front desk of the hospital lobby. "Would you page Dr. Monroe, and let him know Dr. Anderson is here to see him."
The attendant nodded and reached for the desk phone. While she paged the doctor, Pete turned around to assess his surroundings.
The lobby was buzzing with activity as care-givers and care-receivers went about their business. Despite their bustle, everything seemed orderly, clean, all the remnants of a well-operated enterprise. Much more than he could say about his previous residency.
"Dr. Monroe is Post-Op, he said to meet him there," the attendant said, drawing Pete's attention back to her.
"And where is that?" he asked, tamping down his offense at not being properly greeted but rather summoned.
She leaned over and pointed at the automatic doors behind her station. "Right through there, I'll buzz you in."
Pete pushed away from the desk, stalking through the doors without another word.
The post operation wing was a little busier. Patient rooms lined the walls, while scrubbed-clad nurses and doctors went about their morning check-ins.
Pete made his way to a nurses station where he could see Dr. Spencer Monroe in the middle of a conversation with what Pete assumed were his nursing staff.
"Ah, there he is now," the younger doctor said, turning to face Pete as he approached. "I was just telling the team about you. Everyone, meet Dr. Pete Anderson. He'll be one of the attending physicians on your rotation starting today."
Pete nodded at the group of six as they offered him warm greetings, but didn't bother adding anything to the introduction his colleague had given.
Spencer cleared his throat. "Right, then. I'll let you all get back your rounds."
Once the nurses were dismissed, his façade lost all pleasantries. "It's about time you got here," he said, turning on his heel to walk down the hall.
Pete didn't respond to that as he fell in step beside him.
"I hope I don't have to remind you of the red tape I bypassed just to get you in here," Spencer practically sneered as they walked into his office. "Close the door," he told Pete as he took a seat behind his mahogany desk.
Pete fought back a grimace but forced himself to play nice for the time being. "And I hope I don't need to remind you of the circumstances that put you in that position in the first place," he returned coolly, taking a seat in one of the open chairs opposite of the other man. "Now if we're done with the chit chat, can we get down to business?"
Spencer huffed a humorless laugh, knowing he was right. "I've partnered you with one of our most well-liked physicians to get acclimated."
Pete scoffed. "I don't need a babysitter."
"It's reassurance," Spencer bit back. "I know you, Pete, and I know your track record. Partnering you with Dr. Rhee should assuage any feathers you ruffle among the nurses, but if you draw the attention of the board, it's both of our asses. Do you understand?"
Pete narrowed his eyes. "Anything else?"
Spencer glared at him, barely containing his contempt. "You'll need this," he said, reaching inside his desk drawer to retrieve a lanyard attached to a key card. He tossed it across the desk and Pete caught it with one hand.
There was a knock at the door, and like a light switch, Spencer plastered on a welcoming smile and called out, "Come in."
A young man poked his head through the door. "Is this a good time?"
"Ah, Dr. Rhee, please come in," Spencer said, standing to greet the man. "I'd like you to meet Dr. Peter Anderson. Pete, Dr. Glenn Rhee."
Glenn extended his hand to Pete. "Pleasure," he said with a smile.
Pete shook his hand, but didn't return the countenance.
"Pete's a gifted surgeon, but Atlanta General is a lot different than the clinics at West End, so I'd like you to show him around," Spencer explained.
Glenn smiled politely. "Yeah, no problem. Ready to get started?" he asked, turning to Pete.
Pete nodded and followed the younger man out of the office.
"So, where'd you transfer from?" Glenn started conversationally as they walked.
"FMC," Pete told him, in a tone that suggested he wasn't keen on saying more than that.
"Well, welcome to the AG," Glenn returned lightly.
Pete didn't respond and Glenn awkwardly cleared his throat as they kept walking back towards the nurses' station.
"Morning, Doc," a bearded man casually greeted me from behind the desk.
Pete remembered him from his man-bun as a part of the collective of nurses he had met earlier.
"Hey Jesus," Glenn returned, then nodded to Pete. "This is Dr. Anderson."
Jesus spared Pete a cursory glance. "We've met."
Glenn raised his eyebrows in understanding, having had a similar impression of the stoic man. "Do you have the patient files I asked you to pull?"
Jesus extended the iPad he had on hand for him. "Hey, what time does Michonne want us to show up on Saturday?" he asked.
Pete arched an eyebrow at the familiar name.
"Around three, I think," Glenn distractedly replied as he scrolled through the tablet, "Of course, I've been enlisted to help, so I'll be there early."
"What are friends for," Jesus returned with a grin, leaning back in his seat.
Glenn snorted lightly. "See later, man," he said, patting the desk, then turned to Pete. "I'll show you to Central Supply so we can get you some scrubs and then we'll head back to Post-Op," he told him, leading the way.
"You know, I think I may be seeing you on Saturday, " Pete offered, falling into step beside him.
Glenn arched an eyebrow at his sudden change in tone. "What's that?"
"I just moved in next door to a woman named Michonne, unless that name is more common than I thought," Pete said with a shrug.
"Oh, wow," Glenn replied, surprised to hear that, "small world."
"She invited me to the barbeque I think you were just talking about with the hippie."
Glenn glanced over his shoulder back at the nurses' station, then back to Pete. "You mean Jesus?"
"Does he really call himself that?" Pete couldn't help but ask.
"His real name is Paul, but he got stuck with the moniker for obvious reasons," Glenn chuckled.
Pete didn't appear amused. "Right."
Glenn badged them into a room labeled the Central Supply Unit. "Well, you'll get to meet the whole gang Saturday."
Pete raised an incredulous eyebrow. "The whole gang?"
"Yep," Glenn said, "the hippie's just the beginning."
Pete wasn't sure he wanted to know what that meant, but he was curious to know how acquainted his new colleague was with his new neighbor. "How do you know Michonne?" he asked, perusing the shelves of prepackaged scrubs.
Glenn leaned back against the counter. "We met back in college."
Pete turned back to look at him, surprised. "Good friends, then."
Glenn casually shrugged his shoulders. "More like family, at this point."
"And her husband's okay with you being so close?" Pete pressed, genuinely curious.
Glenn arched an eyebrow at the question. "Rick? Why wouldn't he be?"
Pete shook his head, understanding the young man did not see the impropriety the way he did. "Never mind. Are the lockers through here?" he asked instead, pointing to the door just behind him.
"Yeah," Glenn slowly returned, still slightly miffed by the insinuation.
As Pete disappeared behind the door, Glenn made a mental note to have a conversation with Dr. Monroe to find out more about Dr. Anderson from FMC.
Michonne's brows furrow in consternation as she reads the article on the computer screen before her.
The unresolved kidnapping of a woman leaving her place at work at night had her transfixed.
How many times had she burned the midnight oil in her office, especially when working on an active case? If something like this could happen to a white woman, how many women of color had fallen to the same fate without the news media to bring attention to them?
Those questions had been plaguing her ever since she had first learned of Andrea Holden's unfortunate story.
She was so immersed in the unresolved details in the article, she barely noticed her friend breeze in through her office's open door.
"Now that is not the face of the woman fresh off of a successful reunification case," Maggie observed, taking a seat in the tufted chair across from her friend. "Congratulations, by the way."
Michonne smirked as she rolled her eyes over to the woman. "Thank you," she replied. "Have you been following this kidnapping?"
"The Holden case? Isn't it terrible?"
Michonne frowned, continuing to scroll through the details investigators have released to the public. "They have almost nothing to go off of, no suspects. The CCTV footage doesn't capture anything other than the initial attack."
Maggie nodded, solemnly. "They're speculating it may be personal."
"I think it could be serial," Michonne objected, clicking the video embedded in the article to replay the grainy security camera footage of the incident. "He doesn't appear nervous at all when he's handling her. He knew what he was doing."
"Well whoever he is and whatever he's doing, let's hope keeps it far away," Maggie said, smoothing unseen wrinkles from her pencil skirt as she stood. "Are you ready to go?"
Michonne narrowed her eyes at the footage before her, and used her cursor to take it back a few seconds. "Just a second," she murmured, squinting at the scene.
"You see something?" Maggie asked, rounding the desk to lean over her friend's shoulder.
"That truck. Do you see it?" Michonne asked, pausing the clip to point at what appeared to be the back half of a truck driving away off screen.
"Could be the getaway car," Maggie mused.
Michonne hummed her agreement, she had thought the same. It was unseen by the security cameras up until that point and sped away too quickly to identify the tags. At least, not with the footage she had access to.
She started to take the video back again when Maggie shot her hand out to stop her. "Okay, that's enough," she said.
"Maggie-"
"Don't Maggie me, I cut my deposition short just to give us extra time to shop today."
Michonne took one look at the southern belle, with her hands on her hips and knew she was serious. "You didn't," she scoffed, laughing lightly.
"Oh please, it's a corporate suit that's most likely to settle," Maggie said dismissively with a grin of her own, "Now, let's go."
Michonne took a final look at the news article before closing the tab. She reached for her purse and got up to meet her friend, closing her office door behind her.