Jesse's eyes were despondent as she stared at the stacks of boxes littering her living room floor. She cupped a colorful ceramic mug in her hands, its hand painted sunflower design was in direct contrast with the blandness of everything else in the quiet room.
The walls were bare, with no photographs or art to add a personal effect. Much like the rest of the house, it was insipid, saved for some scattered furniture and those damned boxes.
Ordinarily, Jesse would have thrown herself into decorating, it was one of the few things she considered herself to be actually good at, but the desire wasn't there. She had barely gotten the support she needed to move in, beyond that, expectations were low.
If no one else seemed to want to put in the effort to make their new house a home, so why should she make it a priority?
She brought the mug to her lips to sip the vodka and orange juice inside, that was more vodka than anything else. She stood there for a moment longer, staring at the mess, then slowly turned to amble back upstairs.
She hesitated on the bottom step, her eyes fixated on the basement door that now haunted her dreams. She thought about calling a locksmith to have a professional tear it off the hinges. But, deep down she knew, whatever Pete was doing down there would likely incriminate them both.
Besides, he monitored every dollar she spent. Even if she could get someone to open the door, she'd have no way of compensating them for their efforts...or silence.
With a heavy sigh she continued to make her way up the stairs. She realized when she got to the top step that entire point of leaving her bedroom was to attempt to make breakfast for her boys.
She looked down the hall, towards their bedrooms. Ron and Sam both had their doors closed, but she could tell from the sounds coming from each room that they were awake. Like their father, they seemed content to ignore her presence as well.
Ron had barely said two words to her after the move. It was typical of him, being the cantankerous teenager that he was.
Admittedly, his temperament had gotten worse after Pete had announced they would be leaving their old neighborhood behind. Unlike Sam, Ron did have a life outside of his parents and the prospect of leaving that behind had only worsened his already poor attitude.
Jesse wordlessly passed his door, unable to muster the energy to deal with his unpredictable mood swings. She knew from experience, it would be best to let him decide when to emerge in his own time.
She stopped in front of Sam's door, and the stirring of a small smile lifted the corner of her lips as she reached out to turn the knob, preparing to greet her baby boy.
She froze, stuck in a stupor when the door wouldn't open.
Confused, she reached up to knock. "Sam?"
She could hear him shuffling around inside the room and then the door creaked open. "Yes?" he asked, peeking his little head through the crack.
"Hey buddy," she said, attempting to push the door open. "What are you doing in here?"
"Nothing," he said, holding the door in place. "What do you want?"
Jesse blinked at him, something in his tone giving her pause. "Are you hungry?" she asked, stepping back, realizing he wouldn't be letting her inside.
Sam shook his head. "No."
"Oh. You sure? I can make some waffles or-"
"I'm fine, Mom," he insisted, then promptly shut the door in her face.
Jesse stared at the door, hurt and confused. Sam was her sweet baby boy, he never shut her out.
She lifted her fist to knock again, but couldn't bring herself to do it.
A tear rolled down her face as she stepped back from the door and quietly made her way back to her own room, trying to ignore the whisper in her mind telling her how utterly useless she was.
Jesse wasn't sure when she had become a pariah within her family, easily discarded and pushed aside unless they needed or wanted something. While Pete was never the affectionate type, that didn't used to be the case for her boys.
When Ron was about Sam's age, he would greet her every morning with the biggest hug and never minded when she would shower him with kisses in return. Of course, puberty had changed all that, but Jesse didn't mind because she had Sam. Her little buddy, who always wanted to spend time with her. Or at least he used to.
Jesse closed her bedroom door behind her as she entered her room, then headed for the bathroom, or more specifically, the medicine cabinet.
One of the few advantages of having a physician as a husband, meant there was no shortage of pharmaceutical remedies lying around. Jesse had suffered through bouts of depression and anxiety throughout their marriage, and Pete's way of helping her cope was to provide a unending Pez dispenser of self-medication.
Normally, Jesse avoided taking the pills since the side-effects tended to leave her out of commission for an indeterminable amount of time.
But what did that matter now? No one seemed to need her anyway.
She told this to herself as she reached for a prescription bottle at random and popped two little white capsules. She chased it with her vodka and orange juice as she left the bathroom.
Then, she settled on the bed staring at her bland, empty bedroom walls as she waited for the pills to take effect.
"Tom Brady is the greatest football player of all time."
"Tom Brady is the greatest football player of this time."
"He played in ten superbowls, won seven of them. That's more wins than both the Patriots and Steelers," Carl shot back as his brother tossed the football back to him, "how is this even an argument?"
"I'm not taking anything from the man," Andre returned, shaking his head, "he is great, that's undeniable, but, his record can be beat. And, let's not front like one of those wins wasn't questionable or do we need to rehash deflate-gate?"
"Speculation," Carl snorted, tossing the pigskin back.
Andre laughed as he turned to catch the ball before it could go into the street.
"This doesn't look like mowing the lawn to me," Judith noted sarcastically, stepping outside the front door.
Carl looked over his shoulder at her and shrugged. "Fifteen minute break."
"Uh huh," she returned, sliding her eyes from her brother to the riding mower still stationed in the driveway.
"Don't you ever get tired of bossing people around?" Andre teased, making his way towards his siblings. "The world isn't a Judith Grimes production."
Judith shrugged nonchalantly. "Carl's the one who wants a car. Or do you think it's a coincidence Daddy left him with a laundry list of chores to get through?"
Carl sighed and headed for the mower. "Yeah, I hear you. Dre, go get weed-wacker from the shed and start in the backyard," he instructed over his shoulder.
Andre raised an eyebrow. "How did I get dragged into this?"
Carl shrugged nonchalantly as he hopped onto the riding seat of the lawn mower. "Fine, then have fun listening to Dad's Greatest Country Hits on the ride to school every morning."
Andre's face fell and he began to trek backwards towards the backyard. "You said the wacker's in the shed, right?"
Carl smirked watching his exit, then turned to Judith. "As for you, Ms. Know-It-All," he began.
Judith held up a hand to stop him. "I've got shots to edit, and unlike Dre, I value my life," she said, "besides, Dad splits the playlist time with me."
Carl flared his nose indignantly. "Hey, I drive just fine," he simpered.
Judith nodded indulgently. "I'm sure you believe that," she said, turning on her heel to return inside the house. "I've done my part anyway. You'd still be arguing over how great Tom Brady is if I hadn't come out here."
"Fair enough," he relented, starting up the mower as Judith disappeared inside the house.
She made her way towards the kitchen, continuing on her original reason for coming downstairs in the first place. She swiped a granola bar from the pantry and used the kitchen steps to head back upstairs.
Her laptop monitor was opened to her most recent project. She sat down in front of it as she munched on her breakfast, clicking through her gallery for her desired shot.
The project for her upcoming film class. The assignment was a day-in-the-life documentary, which seemed easy enough at first. But pulling her different shots together to tell a cohesive story was proving to be more challenging than she anticipated.
Judith had always loved visual arts, her bedroom was a testimony to the medium.
Her walls were decorated with the works of Ellen von Unwerth. Underneath a string of fairy lights, above her headboard was a shelf filled with the biographies and memoirs of some of her favorite cinematic icons, like Martin Scorsese and Greta Gerwig.
Behind her desk was a wall of her personal collection; photos of her family, her friends, and the occasional abstraction that caught her keen eye.
But her favorite photographs weren't ones that she took herself. There were two of them that made of the centerpiece of the wall, slightly larger than the printouts surrounding them.
One was taken on Rick and Michonne's wedding day. A three year-old Judith was smiling from ear-to-ear on Michonne's lap, while Rick stood to the side of them with one hand on Carl's shoulder, and the other on Andre's.
It was a picture perfect shot of the happy family dressed to the nines for the big day. So, one would never know that Rick had broken a sweat wrangling the two hyper-active boys, further induced by the sugary wedding cake they had just consumed, into position. And Judith, who was moments away from a potty accident and had just told her new stepmother as much right before Aaron had snapped the picture.
The image didn't convey the chaos that ensured before and after that shot was taken, which was why it was among Judith's favorites. That, and the fact that it was the first picture taken of the newly minted Grimes as a family.
Next to that one, was a black and white photo of Judith's birth mother, Lori.
Judith had never known Lori, she died due to complications the day Judith was born. The photo was one a few they kept around the house, along with Andre's biological father, Mike. Their pictures were framed with other family memories, because it was important to Rick and Michonne that their children grew up remembering the parents they had lost.
But, the photo of Lori on her wall was Judith's favorite.
Rick had taken it, just a few weeks before Judith was born. Lori was looking away from him, smiling as she rubbed her extended belly. She looked happy and peaceful, and that was how Judith chose to remember her.
Her cell phone chimed with a text message, causing her to look up from her screen to locate it. Her eyes landed on the window seal, and she pushed back from the desk to retrieve the device.
She paused when something caught her attention outside the window.
From the vantage of her bedroom, she could see the kid she and Gracie had encountered in the woods, exiting the back of the house next door, heading back towards the foliage.
Judith wrinkled her nose in disdain. "Great, he lives next door," she muttered, picking up her cell phone and seeing a good morning text from Gracie. She quickly typed a response, letting her best friend know the unwelcomed news of her new neighbor as she returned to her desk.
She would have to remember to warn RJ about him, as well. The kid didn't look much older than her little brother and knowing RJ wouldn't hesitate to make a new friend had her worried.
After her brief interaction with him, Judith knew right away something was off about the kid, but her brother was much more trusting than she was.
Knowing that, what kind of a big sister would she be if she didn't try to protect him from what she could only assume was a future menace in the making?
She was thankful RJ and Maya were spending the day with their grandfather, so she didn't have to worry about that right away and returned to her attention back to editing.
Pete sat alone in the hospital cafeteria, his attention was focused on the nanny-cam footage he had set up in his basement. He tuned out the chattering background noise around him as he watched Andrea feebly pull at her restraints through the black and white feed. He had correctly calculated that she would be starting to regain some feeling in her body around this time, and watched curiously to see what she would do with her limited mobility.
"Hey Dr. Anderson."
Pete lifted his eyes to find the young Dr. Rhee approaching his table, accompanied by the hippie who looked reluctant to be there.
"Hello," he returned, slipping his cell phone into his pocket.
"We were going to grab lunch from one of the food trucks outside," Glenn said, nodding his head over his shoulder, "care to join us?"
Pete recognized the gesture was made only to be polite, but he had no interest in spending any more time than necessary with either of the two. "No, thank you."
Glenn nodded and Jesus looked physically relieved. "Okay, I'll meet you back in post-op in a half hour," Glenn said before two men departed.
Pete watched them leave, recalling his earlier conversation with the doctor and the new information he had learned from it. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket as an idea occurred to him.
He typed the name Glenn Rhee into Google, and searched the results. He found the man's Facebook page easily enough, and began to look through his photos. The first few he scrolled through were pictures of Glenn with his wife and children engaged in various everyday activities Pete saw no reason advertised on the internet.
When he landed on an image with a familiar face he paused. Two happy couples, out at some high-end restaurant, smiling and laughing as they leaned into each other to fit into the frame.
Pete tapped the picture and the names of tagged virtual friends appeared above their images. He clicked on the only name he cared to see, Michonne Grimes.
Her profile picture was an image of her and her husband in an embrace, neither looking at the camera but endearingly at each other.
As Pete scrolled through her page he learned that she was an NYU graduate, and she currently worked as an immigration attorney for a reputable firm in midtown. He scrolled down a little further and saw that she was just tagged in a picture taken twenty minutes ago captioned: Lunch date with the bestie!
Michonne was smiling in the picture, seated across from the woman Pete recognized as Glenn's wife, who extended her arm to capture them both in the shot. She had even tagged the restaurant where they were dining, South City Kitchen Midtown.
Pete returned the device to his pocket and rose to his feet. He made a quick stop at Central Supply to change out of his scrubs, and reemerged a few minutes later in his own clothes.
Then, he breezed through the hospital lobby to head outside, bypassing the food truck lines in the parking lot to head for his truck.
The restaurant wasn't far from the hospital, only a fifteen minute drive or so away, but Pete made it there in ten. He parked his truck across the street from the popular eatery and waited.
He watched as people flowed in and out of the establishment for nearly a half-hour, but his patience was eventually rewarded when he saw Michonne and her companion make their exit.
He followed them with his eyes as they made their way to a parked BMW just a few cars ahead of him, then slowly pulled out into traffic.
Pete restarted his truck's engine and began to follow them. He was careful to keep his distance, leaving at least two cars between them. He followed them into a shopping plaza he was somewhat familiar with but had never ventured inside himself.
When they parked, Pete did the same, several spaces down.
The pair exited the car mid-conversation, completely unaware of their onlooker as they disappeared inside of a boutique.
Pete turned off his truck's engine, then reached over in the driver's seat to retrieve his baseball cap and sunglasses. He took a deep breath as he donned his disguise before making his way inside after them.
The elegant shop smelled expensive. It wasn't the type of place Pete would frequent, too far out of the price range of anything he was comfortable spending.
There were a few patrons browsing the shelves, but none he recognized as he made his way towards the staircase leading to the second level.
"Hello, how may I assist you?" the young woman behind the register asked with a smile as he approached.
Pete started to respond but hesitated with what to say. He didn't have a plan, having followed his impulses to this point.
"Excuse me," another woman interrupted, emerging from the dressing area to the left of them.
As the cashier turned, Pete recognized the woman as Glenn's wife right away. He instinctively turned his face, even though she had no reason to know who he was.
"Do you have this in red?" Maggie asked, presenting the woman with a black dress on a hanger.
"I believe we do," the cashier returned before turning back to Pete. "excuse me, sir, I'll be right with you."
"Sorry about that," Maggie apologized with a smile as she followed the cashier onto the floor.
Pete looked from them back towards the dressing rooms the brunette had just vacated. He turned back to find both women discussing the inconsequential details of the dress as they crossed the store. While they were distracted, he made his way towards the dark curtain, and slowly pushed it aside.
The dressing area resembled an elaborate walk-in closet. The floor was made of the same gray slate marble as the rest of the boutique, and the walls were lined with mirrors. In between glass shelves showcasing various shoes and fragrances, were smaller rooms covered by black velvet curtains just like the one he was holding.
Pete glanced over his shoulder, ensuring no one was paying him attention then quietly slipped behind the covering.
He could hear a soft humming coming from one of the rooms from a voice he was beginning to familiarize himself with. He followed the sound, anticipating its source with a thrill that surprised him. With each step, he could feel the blood rushing at the unexpected opportunity he was presented with.
Carefully, slowly, he lifted the curtain edge of the only occupied suite in the area.
His heart skipped a beat at what he saw.
Michonne stood with her back to him, absently swaying to the music as she examined the fit of a dark purple assemble in the mirror before her. The silk material stopped just beneath her knees, and hugged her every curve, held up by two thin straps that crossed her elegant bare back.
He took in every inch of her, nearly salivating at the sight of the graceful muscles defined underneath her supple skin. He envisioned what she would look like, splayed across his operating table, how exquisitely her innards would blossom as he cut into her soft flesh.
Michonne held up her hair as she slowly twisted and turned in front of the mirror, unsuspecting of her stalker.
She allowed her hair to tumble down her back, then reached up to pull down the dress steps. Pete drew in a shuddering breath as she unknowingly revealed herself to him.
"Maggie, is that you?" Michonne called out, pulling her straps back in place.
Pete quickly stepped away from the curtain as she turned around, and disappeared behind a neighboring one as she stepped out into the open.
Maggie pushed through the dressing room opening just then, diverting Michonne's attention. "Look what I found," she announced in a sing-song voice, holding up a red satin dress. "Oh, but this one is cute, too," she complimented, taking Michonne by the hand to pull her back inside their privacy suite.
Michonne looked over her shoulder, confused. "Were you out there this whole time?"
"I was on the floor," Maggie replied, hanging up her new find alongside their other options.
Pete took advantage of the distraction and quickly made his way from his current hiding spot to the next suite over, leaving the curtain open as he pressed against the wall to avoid detection.
He suspected he wouldn't have enough time to make it out of the dressing room entirely, and sure enough, Michonne re-emerged from her suite seconds later.
"Hello?" she called out, padding over to the suite next to hers, the very one Pete had just fled from. When no one answered, she pulled back the screen and frowned, knowing she had heard someone just now.
"Are you okay?" Maggie asked, coming to stand beside her, following her gaze inside the empty suite.
Michonne dropped the fabric, knitting her eyebrows together in confusion. "I thought I heard someone," she murmured, beginning to feel silly for being paranoid. The area was empty when they had first arrived, and it appeared to have remained that way.
Maggie looked around, but each of the suites appeared to be vacant. "Just me and you, babe," she assured her, looping her arm through Michonne's to guide her back inside their suite.
Pete watched from his hidden position as Maggie pulled their curtain closed, then he quickly and silently slipped out of the room altogether. He kept his head down as he made for the stairs leading back down to the lower level.
The cashier looked up, surprised to see him appear from the dressing room. "Sir?"
Pete didn't slow down, taking the steps two at a time. He all but ran out of the front door of the boutique, back into the parking lot.
His hands trembled as he fumbled for his keys, hurriedly making his way across the pavement to his truck.
He quickly hopped inside, and took a deep breath to try and steady his heart rate. But, the images of Michonne in the dressing room invaded his mind. He closed eyes, willingly letting the memory consume him.
It was as if she had put on a show just for him, and although he desperately wanted to see how it ended, he knew he was cutting it close.
He put a firm hand over his pants, palming the stiffness underneath.
His developing obsession with this woman was not anticipated. After all, he had other priorities that required his full attention at the moment.
While he wasn't willing to change his plans for Andrea, he could alter them a bit.
He was beginning to see an opportunity unfold before him that he could not pass, not when it lived so close. Perhaps, that's what excited him. It was also the reason he would need to plan his next steps carefully.
With that in mind, Pete started his truck to drive back towards the hospital as the wheels in his head began to turn.
"All right, boys, we're here," Rick announced as he pulled up to the Greene Farmhouse.
"Thanks, Dad!"
"Thanks, Uncle Rick!"
Both RJ and Little Hershel rushed out of his SUV and up the farmhouse steps. Their grandfather waved at Rick as he opened the door for them.
Ordinarily, he would have stopped inside, but thanks to spending extra time in the barbershop so the duo could get matching designs shaved in their heads, he was running behind. He managed to get Glenn's consent before allowing Little Hershel in the barber's chair, but the extra time spent there delayed Rick longer than expected.
He waved from his window as he backed out of the driveway and onto the main road.
His cell phone rang, and he smiled at his wife's contact photo illuminating the touchscreen panel. "Hey beautiful," he answered.
"Hey, are you busy?"
"Not for you," he returned, detecting something in her tone. "Everything okay?"
Michonne sighed. "I just wanted to hear your voice."
"Rough day?" he asked.
"No, nothing like that," she assured him, "I just had a weird feeling."
"What's wrong?"
"It's probably nothing," she exhaled.
Rick wasn't convinced but didn't want to press her. "If you're sure."
"I am. Maggie and I just finished shopping, I found the perfect dress for tonight," she told him, sounding better already.
"I can't wait to see it," he said as he pulled onto the highway.
"I'll meet you at home later," she told him. "I love you."
"I love you, too. See you soon," he said before disconnecting the call.
A short while later, Rick arrived at his office. He strolled through the main lobby and smiled at the receptionist as he neared her. "Hey Nora."
"Hi Rick," she returned brightly.
"Daryl in?" he asked.
Nora nodded. "He's on a call with Mr. King."
Rick raised his eyebrows and Nora grinned sheepishly. "I told Mr. King you weren't available and he asked for Daryl instead," she explained.
"I'll go save him," Rick said over his shoulder as he made his way towards Daryl's office.
He found Daryl at his desk, reclined back in his chair with an arm draped over his eyes, looking like he'd rather be anywhere in the world than on that call. As Rick walked further inside the space, Daryl sat up and glared at him. "Look what the cat dragged in," he muttered, and immediately passed Rick the desk phone.
Rick fought back a grin as he accepted the call. "Ezekiel, how are you?"
"Looking forward to our soiree this evening," the other man returned in his infamously boisterous tone. "I was just trying to convince your comrade to join us."
"I'm sure he will next time," Rick said, looking pointedly at Daryl who simply rolled his eyes.
"Then, I look forward to it, but, I must admit, I'm looking forward to seeing your concepts even more."
"I'll email you the drafts later today. We can discuss them tonight," Rick told him.
"Good man. I knew you were good but your efficiency is sublime," Ezekiel boasted. "In any case, I'd thought I'd make one final appeal to Mr. Dixon but the man remains unmoved so I'll let you go. I look forward to seeing you and your lovely wife tonight."
"Likewise," Rick returned, then hung the phone as he turned to Daryl.
"I'm not going to this dinner or any others, so don't ask," Daryl grunted, glancing up at him from his computer screen.
"Better get creative with your excuses, then," Rick replied, turning on his heel to head into his own office.
Daryl snorted and returned his attention to the work in front of him.
The sun was starting to set, and Sam knew he would soon need to go home. He had been in the woods for the better part of the day, having found his happy place among the dense trees that lay behind his house.
He made sure to stay away from the stream this time, not wanting to risk seeing anyone like before. But he wasn't as lonely this time around.
During his outburst from that encounter, Sam had realization. He now understood that he could make new friends, just probably not in the way his mother would have hoped.
"I have to go home now," he said, pushing himself up from the dirt, "but I'll be back tomorrow. And I'll find new friends so you won't get lonely when I'm gone," he promised.
He stooped to retrieve the bag he packed earlier in the day, and collected the duct tape and sheers he had left on the ground, carefully storing them inside.
He took one last look at his work, feeling pleased with himself as he turned to leave.
The vacant eyes of the mutilated rabbit carcass he had fastened to a tree followed him as he left.
"You have money to order in, right?" Rick confirmed, entering the family room with Carl following behind him.
"Yeah, but I could make something instead," Carl offered.
"How about you make the call to the pizza place," Andre countered from the living room sofa as they approached.
Carl looked at his brother unamused and Rick exhaled a laugh. "Just order in tonight," he advised, adjusting his cufflinks.
Andre turned to face them and whistled as he took in his stepfather's attire for the evening. "Looking good, Pop," he complimented, reaching up to wipe off unseen dust from Rick's shoulder.
Rick smirked, and turned in his dark gray suit.
"Show off," Carl teased, although he had to admit, his father did clean up nice.
"Dad! Are you ready?" Judith called out.
Rick followed her voice to the foyer and nodded up to her. "Yeah. Where's your mother?"
Judith grinned. "She's coming. Prepare yourself," she forewarned, disappearing into the upstairs hallway.
Carl and Andre joined their father in the foyer as Judith reappeared with her camera. She came half-way down the steps before she turned and lifted her lens. "Okay, Mom, come on out," she called.
Michonne was smiling as stepped out of the hall and onto the steps in her Louboutin heels.
Andre whistled again. "Don't hurt 'em, Ma."
Carl slid his eyes over to his father and smirked at the mesmerized gaze on his face. "Too late."
Michonne slowly descended the steps, allowing Judith to capture the moment. The red off-shoulder Dolce & Gabbana dress she wore fit like a glove, accentuating her figure in all the right places. That alone warranted documenting the moment.
She had pinned her hair up into a bun on top of her head, highlighting the subtle but flawless makeup on her face, and the diamond earring that dangled from her ears. She wanted to look perfect for the evening, and judging by the gobsmacked look on her husband's face, mission accomplished.
Judith backed up and lightly nudged her father forward.
"You look beautiful," Rick told Michonne earnestly, approaching the steps to escort her down the last few.
Michonne had started getting ready after him, so he had only seen bits and pieces of the work of art she was putting together before now. But, it was well worth waiting for the masterpiece standing in front of him.
"You don't look so bad yourself," she returned with a brilliant smile.
"And I have the pictures to prove it," Judith interjected, pulling her camera from her face to review her work. "The world is your catwalk, Mom," she praised, coming over to show Michonne what she captured.
"Do we need to go over the rules?" Carl asked, mimicking Rick's famous words whenever he or his siblings went out without parental supervision.
"Let's," Andre replied with a smirk, playing along.
"Keep your hands to yourself," Carl started.
"And mind your curfew," Andre added smugly.
Carl exchanged a look with his brother and laughed. "And, did I mention, keep your hands to yourself?"
"Y'all done yet?" Rick asked plainly.
Andre looked at Carl and Carl nodded. "I think so."
"All right, time for my rules," Rick said to them both, "no company, no loud music, and look after your sister."
"We got it," Andre assured him, "go have fun."
Rick nodded, they were good kids and he did trust them. "We'll need to hit the road if we don't want to be late," he said, turning to his wife and daughter, "still need to stop past Maggie and Glenn's."
"Okay," Michonne answered, hugging Judith. "Behave while we're gone."
"Don't worry, I'll keep them in line," Judith replied, kissing her cheek before letting go to send her father off in the same way.
"That's my line," Carl complained, hugging Michonne next.
Michonne smoothed his hair back from his face as she kissed his forehead. "Stay out of my kitchen while I'm gone," she warned him, only half-joking.
Then she kissed Andre in the same fashion, and stepped out of the front door Rick had opened for her.
Rick bent to collect RJ and Maya's overnight bags before leaving his older children with a final once over. "Call me if it's an emergency, otherwise, don't call me."
"What constitutes an emergency, exactly?" Andre asked, feigning innocence.
Rick pressed his lips together as Judith and Carl snickered. "I'm sure you'll figure it out," he said, closing the door behind him.
Michonne was waiting for him on their front steps, he intertwined their fingers with his free hand and led them to the driveway. Once they approached his Range Rover, he opened the passenger's door, and Michonne smirked at his overtly chivalrous display. "Why, thank you," she said, settling inside the passenger's seat.
Rick grinned, securing her door before tossing the overnight bags in the backseat, then he made his way around to the driver's side.
"Did I mention how gorgeous you look tonight?" he asked as he started the SUV.
Michonne smiled over at him. "I believe you said 'beautiful' earlier," she recalled.
Rick chuckled and reached for her hand with his free one. "I'm sure I'll come up with a few more adjectives before the night is over," he said, lifting her hand to kiss before resting their entwined fingers in his lap.
Michonne squeezed his hand in hers. "I'm sure."
They fell into a comfortable silence, listening to Sade play over the sound system as Rick navigated the road.
He glanced at his wife from the corner of his eye. She seemed to have gotten over whatever had been bothering her earlier in the day, but he wondered if she was ready to talk about it more than she had during their phone call.
"Did you have a good day?" he asked, off-handedly.
Michonne lifted her eyes to him. "I did. Did you?"
He nodded. "Do you want to tell me what happened earlier?"
Michonne had expected he would ask sooner or later, she was actually surprised it had taken him so long to bring it back up. "It was nothing, really," she assured him.
"If it was nothing, it wouldn't have made you feel a certain type of way," he reasoned, caressing her knuckles with his thumb.
Michonne couldn't argue with that, but she wasn't sure how to describe what she experienced in a way that wouldn't make her seem crazy. Eventually, she settled on the truth. "When I was out shopping with Maggie, I had this weird feeling while I was in the dressing room."
Rick raised a concerned eyebrow, but didn't say anything, not wanting to interrupt her.
"It felt like I was being watched," she said.
Rick turned to her, unable to contain the edge in his tone. "What?"
"No one was in the room, I checked," she was quick to say, sensing his agitation, "but, I thought I heard someone breathing over my shoulder," she waved a dismissive hand, "I think I worked myself up following that kidnapping in the news."
Rick's lips twitched in a grimace. He had been loosely following the story, but he knew enough of the details to understand why it would bother her.
"And you're sure no one was there?" he pressed, wanting to be certain.
Michonne nodded her head. "We checked. Every other privacy screen was pulled back. Anyway, I'm sure it was nothing."
Rick let go of her fingers to caress her thigh. "I'm glad you called, then, even if it was just your imagination running away with you," he teased.
Michonne dipped her head as she exhaled a small chuckle at her own expense. "Thank you for not laughing at me."
"I would never," he promised. "I'll even check under the bed for monsters before we go to sleep tonight."
Michonne reached over and swatted his shoulder, he laughed as she pretended to pout but eventually cracked. "You ain't shit," she muttered, the grin on her face evident in her tone.
Rick recaptured her hand to kiss her palm. "I'm kidding. You know I'll always protect you from monsters, seen and unseen."
Michonne turned her head to look at him, and smiled, knowing he meant it. "I know," she murmured, reaching over to run her fingers through his hair with her free hand.
Rick nodded, satisfied that the matter was laid to rest and focused on the road.
Michonne kept her eyes trained on him a moment longer. She was glad she had gotten what was bothering her off her chest, but despite what she said and Rick's subsequent reassurance, something was still nagging her.
It was a feeling in her gut that something wasn't right, but, with no logical explanation to justify it, she chose ignore it. For now.
Pete opened his front door to find his house largely quiet.
He was exhausted after pulling a twelve-hour shift at the busy hospital, a day made all the more chaotic with the images of Michonne he had seared into his mind. He managed to maintain the wherewithal to adjust to his new surroundings, but little else held his attention for the better part of the day.
He started up the stairs, eager to take a hot shower, when he suddenly paused.
On the ground in front of him were small mud prints leading in the same direction.
Suspicious, he followed the tracks up the stairs, and into the hallway until they stopped just outside of his youngest son's bedroom door.
Pete turned the doorknob and was surprised to find it locked.
"Sam, open the door," he demanded, knocking his fist twice against the wood.
He could hear the boy scurrying on the other side, and then the door swung open. Sam looked up at his father in surprise. "Am I in trouble?" he asked, his voice wavering slightly.
Pete arched an eyebrow, staring dubiously at him. "You left a mess on the floor," he barked at him, gesturing to the mud prints leading to his doorway. "What the hell were you doing? Rolling around in dirt all day?"
Sam cringed, stepping back to partially hide behind the door. "I'm sorry!"
Pete sighed, and dropped his shoulders. He was too exhausted to deal with this. "Where is your mother?"
"Good question," Ron inserted, stepping out of his bedroom into the hallway. "Pizza's here, Sam," he said over his shoulder as he descended the steps.
Pete knitted his eyebrows together in confusion, turning back to face his youngest.
Sam raised his eyes back to his father, waiting for him to move first.
"Clean this mess," Pete instructed, and turned without waiting for a response.
He marched towards the bedroom he had yet to actually sleep inside, and angrily forced the door open. "Jesse? Where the hell are you?" he demanded, stomping inside the room.
The lights were off, and there was a stale odor in the air as if someone had been smoking cigarettes.
His brow twitched in agitation as his eyes landed on a lump situated on the middle of the bed underneath the comforters.
"You gotta be fucking kidding me," he muttered under his breath, closing the door behind him.
He crossed the room slowly, rounding the bed until he could Jesse's face peeking out between the folds. Her eyes were open and unblinking as she laid there, gazing at the wall.
He reached down and picked up a near empty bottle vodka and an uncapped bottle of Lexapro. "I see you've checked out," he grumbled, carelessly tossing the pills back at her as he stood.
Jesse didn't move, in fact she hadn't acknowledged him at all since he walked in the room. Not surprising, given her consumption.
Pete considered her for a moment, and realized this worked out for him. With dinner apparently taken care of, thanks to his oldest son, he could shower and handle other things without Jesse hovering around being a general nuisance.
He looked down at the pitiful woman before him, and wondered when their son had surpassed her in competency.
He didn't dwell on the question for very long, however, instead he lifted the bottle of vodka to his lips to finish off as he strolled inside the bathroom, kicking the door closed behind him.
"She lit me up like the Rockefeller Christmas tree!" Ezekiel proclaimed, "Every time she hit me it was a kill shot!" he added as his companions laughed at his performative indignation.
"You're forgetting the part where I broke the high score for clearing the board the fastest," Carol added smugly, lifting her glass of white wine to her lips to cover her grin.
Ezekiel rolled his eyes, playfully. "You'll have to forgive me for repressing further embarrassment," he said to Rick and Michonne, shaking his dreadlocked mane.
After an evening of fine dining, the couples had exchanged their dining room seating for the gorgeous rooftop view from the Four Seasons' open terrace. The top shelf libations they were served had the couples chatting around a firepit as if they had known each other for years.
Rick's features crinkled with his amusement. "I gotta say, out of all the first date stories I've heard, that is a first."
Carol bobbed her shoulders off-handedly. "He's the one who let me pick the place. How was I supposed to know he'd be terrible at laser-tag? Besides, I wanted to see how he handled himself with a weapon."
"And this is why you don't marry into law enforcement," Ezekiel interjected, reaching for his wife's hand. "You're constantly under investigation, even when you don't realize it." He lifted her hand to his lips to kiss, undermining the words he spoke.
"Oh stop it," Carol chastised lightly, and redirected her attention to the couple sitting across from them. "Enough about us. Where was your first date?"
Rick and Michonne exchanged a look, both grinning at each other from the memory.
"Believe it or not, it was the cafeteria in Atlanta General," Rick told him.
That was enough to pique their interest. Carol raised her eyebrows in surprise and gestured for Rick to continue. "Well you can't just leave it there," she said.
"We had to rush our boys into the ER because they used Rick's industrial glue to bind their hands together," Michonne explained, shaking her head at the memory.
"Oh wow," Carol gasped.
Ezekiel looked at Rick, sensing there was more to the story. "Why would they do that?"
Rick exhaled a laugh as he leaned back on the lounge sofa, resting his arm on the edge behind his wife. "Their reasoning was if they were stuck together then Andre and Michonne couldn't go home and would have to live at our house," he recalled, looking over to his wife with a small smile. "By that point, we had been flirting around each other for months, but nothing really came of it until the boys took that drastic step."
"We were sitting in the cafeteria talking about how silly they were for what they did over Jell-O cups, and somewhere along the line we realized maybe we were being just as silly," Michonne finished, returning her husband's countenance.
"That is delightful," Ezekiel commended with a boisterous laugh. "Although, I hope your sons learned that industrial glue is, perhaps, not the preferred way to keep a family together."
"At the time, it was a nightmare," Michonne said emphatically, thinking back on the mad dash to the hospital after she and Rick had discovered what their sons had done, "but in the end, it all worked out."
Rick reached over to caress her back, nodding his agreement.
"A toast," Ezekiel proposed, raising his whiskey tumbler, "to things working out in the end."
Rick and Michonne raised their glasses to connect with their hosts, exchanging a secretive look between each other as they sipped.
"You know, I must say I have thoroughly enjoyed your company this evening," Ezekiel said, resting his tumbler on the coaster in front of him. "I've been eyeing your work for a long time, Rick, and I believe this is the start of a wonderful relationship between our firms."
Rick nodded his agreement. "I'm looking forward to it."
"I know the hour is growing late, but ladies, would you mind excusing us for a moment? I'd like to show Rick the area I've been considering for a future project. You can see it from here," Ezekiel asked, looking between Carol and Michonne for their permission.
Carol waved a dismissive hand. "I'm trying to figure out why you're still here," she said, causing her husband to grin.
He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Thank you, my love," he said graciously as he stood.
Rick looked to Michonne. "You'll be okay?"
Michonne smiled, running her fingers through his beard. "I'll be fine, go," she encouraged him.
Rick kissed her forehead, then stood to walk with Ezekiel across the terrace.
Michonne exchanged a knowing look with Carol as they left.
"He's been wanting to talk shop all evening," Carol informed her, taking a sip of her wine. "I'm impressed he managed to contain himself for this long."
Michonne exhaled a soft laugh. "Rick's the same way. He could go on for hours about the structural history of every high-rise in Atlanta. He's in his element with Ezekiel, I'm sure."
"And God bless him for it," Carol saluted, raising her glass.
Michonne laughed into hers as she sipped. "You know, I thought I knew you from somewhere," she revealed, settling back in her seat, "but, it wasn't until Ezekiel mentioned you worked in law enforcement that it even dawned on me where that may be."
"Oh?" Carol asked, curious.
Michonne nodded, picturing the other woman in dark blue uniform with a badge instead of the emerald chiffon dress she currently wore. "A few years back, you were one of the responding officers on a case my firm prosecuted back when I first started. I remember sitting in on your deposition interview."
"What was the case?" Carol asked, tilting her head.
"Diaz vs. Blake," Michonne supplied, remembering that much clearly.
Carol confirmed her suspicion with a nod. "I do remember that case, unfortunately," she said, referring to its outcome.
Yolanda Diaz, a twenty-seven year old undocumented immigrant, accused her employer, Phillip Blake, of rape.
Carol responded to the 911 call herself. She was the one who found Yolanda, near unconsciousness in Philip's office. She was also the one who interviewed Philip when he provided his ill-conceived alibi.
Back then, Carol naively assumed that Yolanda's testimony was enough to convict.
However, Philip Blake was a prominent businessman with political aspirations, and a seemingly endless supply of wealth and connections that not only helped him avoid trial but would have gotten Yolonda deported, as well.
If memory served Carol correctly, the prosecution was able to intervene with a contingency visa before Philip could have his way.
The entire case left Carol with a bitter taste in her mouth. She would have given anything to see that loathsome man put under the jail, but her hands were tied by higher powers. For that reason, the case would always stick with her.
"That must have been, what, eight or nine years ago now?" she mused, regretfully.
"Just about," Michonne confirmed, "I remember thinking the statement you gave was powerful."
Carol dropped her eyes. "It wasn't enough."
Michonne sighed, understanding the sentiment.
"In the end they're just words," Carol said, lifting her eyes back to Michonne, "they don't mean anything unless you can back them up. I learned that lesson the hard way that day."
"But we did," Michonne contested, "the evidence was there, Yolanda was the evidence."
"It would be nice to have a Yolanda right now," Carol lamented, crossing one leg over the other.
"Don't tell me, you're investigating the Holden case," Michonne guessed.
Carol nodded, reaching for her glass. "That's the one."
Michonne sat up a little in her seat. "I've been following it. You really don't have much to work with, do you?"
"Not much, but some of the details are consistent with a few unsolved cases in our database," she told her quietly.
"I knew it wasn't isolated," Michonne whispered back, feeling somewhat vindicated.
"I don't think it is," Carol affirmed, glancing over her shoulder to see if her husband was nearby.
She knew Ezekiel would have a conniption if he knew what they were discussing, and ordinarily she would have avoided saying this much. However, over the course of the evening she had come to learn that Michonne wasn't an idle-minded housewife, dangling on the arm of her wealthy husband, unlike others she had endured during past business dinners she had attended with her husband. And what's more, Michonne was a prosecutor so Carol felt she could talk a little more freely.
"It would have been helpful to have you on my team," said with a sigh, looking back to Michonne. "We had some officers ready to write it off as a crime of passion."
"What about the truck that drove away from the crime scene?" Michonne inquired and Carol raised a surprised eyebrow.
"You caught that?"
Michonne nodded.
Carol looked at her, impressed. "We got a partial plate, but take a wild guess at how many pick up trucks are registered in the state of Georgia?"
Michonne winced, understanding how frustrating that must have been.
Carol finished the rest of her wine in one swallow before saying, "I've got my CIs cross-comparing what they can, but nothing yet."
"Do you think she's still alive?" Michonne asked, staring down at the dark red liquid swirling around in her glass.
Carol inhaled deeply, that very question had been the one keeping her up at night. "I don't know."
"You said the evidence matched the M.O. of another unresolved case," Michonne pressed, wanting clarification.
"Cases," Carol corrected, "four that I know. In each case, the victim was apprehended from behind, late at night, and drugged with a chemical agent, likely chloroform."
Michonne felt a chill run down her spine at that. "And you don't have any suspects?"
Carol looked at her, her piercing gaze was unwavering. "Not yet, the connection was just established, but we're hoping they yield more leads. He's careful now, but I'm almost certain that wasn't always the case."
Michonne appreciated her optimism, even if she didn't share it. She finished the contents of her glass, almost in preparation for her next question. "What's he doing to them?"
Carol shook her head. "I wish I knew, but without any witnesses and with no bodies discovered as of yet, we have no way of knowing."
The conversation dropped there, with both women falling into their own thoughts. After a moment, Carol cleared her throat, realizing how much the mood had dampened.
"This is probably why Ezekiel doesn't like bringing up the fact that I'm a cop. He doesn't think it makes for pleasant dinner conversation," she joked, in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere.
Michonne huffed a dry laugh in response as she reached over to set her empty glass on the table. "I do feel a little better knowing you're involved in the case."
Carol gave her a small smile in return. "Stay vigilant, just the same."
Michonne contemplated bringing up the dressing room situation. But that had occurred in broad daylight in a public shopping center, nothing like the middle of the night apprehensions Carol had described. She ultimately decided against bringing it up as Ezekiel and Rick chose that moment to reappear.
"Rick tells me you have five children in total," Ezekiel said to her as he stopped to stand behind his wife, "I grew up in a house of nine. My sympathies for your utility bill."
Michonne quirked her lips up in a grin. "My refrigerator needs it more," she replied, settling into Rick's side after he settled down beside her, seeking comfort in his presence.
"I can only imagine," Ezekiel laughingly returned, then looked to Carol. "Are you ready to start the journey home, my lady?"
Carol looked at him plainly. "We live at the Osprey, that's hardly a journey."
"Nevertheless, your chariot awaits," he declared, offering his hand to her.
"We'll have to do this again sometime," Carol said to their companions as she stood, "I can honestly say I had a good time tonight."
"I knew you would," Ezekiel beamed then looked to Rick and Michonne. "It was an honor and pleasure, my dear friends," he said with his unwavering grandiose.
"Likewise," Michonne said with a smile.
"I'll see you at the development site," Rick told him.
Ezekiel nodded in return then escorted Carol by the arm back inside the restaurant.
Rick looked down at Michonne as she toyed with the buttons of his shirt. "Everything okay?" he asked, running his fingers along her side.
"Mmhm," she hummed back, "but, I think the wine is catching up to me."
"Ready to go?"
She shook her head against him. "Not yet."
Rick hugged her closer to his side, willing to do whatever she wanted to do.
"So what did you think?" he asked, letting his eyes wander over the nightlife below through glass encasement of the terrace.
"I was mildly disappointed that the legendary Shiva was Tabby and not the Bengal tiger of lore," she teased and Rick's chest rumbled with his laughter, "but other than that, I think Daryl missed out on a fabulous dinner."
"I doubt he accepts an invitation any time soon, so it looks like you're my standing plus one," he told her, kissing her temple.
"I'm your forever plus one," she corrected.
Rick grinned as he nodded. "Nobody I'd rather be stuck with."
She cut her eyes up at him and started to pull away but he held tight. "Do I need to go get the industrial glue?" he whispered in her ear causing her to giggle.
"You're as crazy as your sons, you know that right," she said, leaning back into his side.
"Where do you think they get it from?" he shot back smugly.
Michonne snorted. "You're proud of that, huh?"
"For the moment."
They enjoyed the night air for a little longer before the chill got to be too much for Michonne. Rick slipped his jacket over her shoulders, then they walked hand in hand back towards the restaurant.
When they got to the elevators, Rick pulled Michonne into his arms, letting her relax against him. "I was thinking," he said, tilting his head to see her face, "since Glenn and Maggie are keeping the little ones, what if we didn't go home right away?"
Michonne looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. "And go where exactly?"
"No where," he shrugged, "we're in a hotel after all."
Michonne's eyebrows knitted together, questioningly. "We can't do that, can we?"
"We're adults, sweetheart, we can do what we want," he reminded her, as the elevator stopped and the doors slid open.
Michonne blinked in confusion, expecting to see the hotel lobby but instead was greeted with the view of a presidential suite.
As Rick led her out of the lift, she wondered exactly how much she had to drink to not even realize the elevator was going up instead of down.
"What about the big kids?" she asked, following him into the bedroom.
"I already called Carl," he told her, guiding her to sit on the king sized bed, "they're fine."
"Oh," was all she could say as he dropped to remove the heels from her feet. "You took care of everything, then."
Rick set her shoes aside and gripped her thighs as he leaned up to kiss her. "Yes, so you can relax," he said, pulling away.
Michonne brought her hands up to cup his cheeks, affectionately running her fingers through his beard. "Thank you, baby," she murmured, kissing him again, deeper this time.
Rick groaned against her mouth, pushing her back onto the mattress to hover over her. Michonne wrapped her arms around his shoulders, needing him closer.
Rick suddenly pulled up and Michonne frowned at him in confusion. "What's wrong?" she asked, bringing up a hand to smooth the hair back from his face.
Rick looked around the room before bringing his worried gaze back to her. "I forgot to check under the bed," he whispered.
Michonne's eyes widened and nose flared as she started to push him off of her. Rick broke into laughter, catching her hands and bracing them on the mattress above her head.
"Fuck you, Rick," she pouted as he buried his face in her neck to hide his laughter.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he apologized, kissing her skin in between chuckles. "That's the last time I bring it up, I promise."
Michonne avoided his gaze but was unable to hide her own grin as Rick nuzzled her face.
"How can I make it up to you?" he asked, pulling back to look at her.
She slowly turned to look at him. "You know how."
He grinned, leaving her with a parting kiss as he ventured lower, hiking up the bottom of her dress as he went.
Michonne's countenance was one of satisfaction as her eyes slid closed while her husband got to work.
A/N: In honor of the Queen, I thought I'd end this chapter on a happy note for Michonne. I know I'm late, but Happy Belated Birthday to the incomparable Danai Gurira, and happy belated V-day to all of you!