The well worn boots of Michonne and Rick trampled through the tall and thick Virginia grass. While Georgia humidity is tough to beat, the muggy climate in another state still stuck to their clothes.

Michonne wondered if it had been the first time with just her and Rick to scavenge. Not even Carl came around this time, Rick was back on his "you're a man" kick and had him watch the more inexperienced group members.

It had to had been their first time, just the two of them. One on one time with Rick wasn't exactly easy to get these days, especially with adding more to the group. Things just fell into place. At least they stopped in a somewhat rural area before going further up north, walking up a block.

Michonne felt herself audibly gasp as her eyes laid upon the sign above the first storefront in their vicinity.

Beauty Supply.

Her right shoulder shifted to make sure the duffel bag straps were in place. Her left hand reached out to touch Rick's elbow, and she wasn't sure if his skin was always especially dry, or the memory of going into shops like this one drew more attention to it.

Rick focused his eyes on what was giving his friend pause. The sign, followed by the small square windows on either side stained by time, surrounded by old brick painted white. The door was gone but familiar sounds of multiple walkers hissing inside indicated possible trouble.

Michonne was 98% certain that Rick was going to shake his head or roll his eyes. She couldn't blame him. This wasn't a life-or-death necessity. They were supposed to look for grub and opportunities were becoming scarce. However, she worked down her last cocoa butter roll on to its plastic nub. She was going to risk being self serving just this once or she was about to be uncomfortable in her own skin.

To her surprise, Rick turned his head to look at her. "How many walkers does it sound like are in there, for us to take out?"

Michonne studied his blue eyes, unruly beard and hair, handsome face still. "Five or six, I'd gather." Pause. "I think this would cheer Sasha up. Noah too. Gabriel?" Another pause, she wasn't exactly thrilled with the priest at the moment. "I guess I don't want his bald head to get sunbur—"

Rick squeezed Michonne's shoulder delicately, sending faint quivers down her spine. "You don't need to explain this to me. We're doing it."

There was something about his Southern drawl that Michonne found sexy. Was it the low tone that was somehow extra soothing when he spoke to her? Also some of his words were more stretched out than a Quentin Tarantino movie. And when he agreed with her, it never hurt!

They communicated with a sea of accustomed hand gestures between the two of them. Rick ran point to the right side of the doorway. Michonne was behind him, bracing her katana to release from her sheath.

They ran into the store to find the grumbles from five walkers. An older looking male and female with three younger women, all with some sort of resemblance to each other, were closely trapped together due to the rounded cashiers desk bolted to the back wall with a latched saloon door.

"They never broke away from each other?" Michonne said amidst all their noises. Tightened bonds formed during an apocalypse, not frayed apart, like in her prior life, prior to the prison, prior to Rick. Her stance was frozen, her hand still gripping onto the handle of her katana which never left its case.

Rick whispered and pulled out his pocket knife, his eyes squinting. "Are you going to be OK?"

Michonne wanted to nod, but she could only blink.

Ricks head tilted forward, staring at them. "I'm going to just put them out of their misery. I think its time for them. Nothing fancy, I promise."

Michonne gulped and closed her eyes. She heard slashing and groans. Are they making noises because they are existing but not living? She opened her gaze to find all the walkers bodies, lifeless, on the floor. Rick went around to unhook the latch of the sort of makeshift cage that held them.

"I know I'm being weird," Michonne managed to say. A tear rolled down her cheek. "The end of the 'Shop Small' movement. It's a damn shame. I used to support local businesses as much as I could."

That wasn't the reason, and she knew from Rick's generous scoff at her attempt at humor he surmised it as such.

He hooked the crooks of his elbows at the old guy walkers armpits and began to drag him. "Family, I get it." he grunted. He reached the doorway. "Doing what they believed was the right thang while trying to protect each other. I would like to think that you, me, Carl and Judith could be just like this someday. Alive, of course." He trailed off as he moved the body outside.

Michonne was fixated at the open doorway. She patted her scalp with the palm of her hand that once held her katana, while the other hand was at her hip, stunned by his out loud musing. The way he said it was so nonchalant. Not in an apathetic way, quite the opposite, just casual, as if he was talking about a vehicle needing an oil change. Apparently, he already knew that she was embraced into the Grimes family and the four of them were going to end all their days being together in some distant future, and this had to include her.

Rick emerged, not noticing Michonne's eyes gazing at the crotch of his ill-fitting jeans or the bowlegged way he sauntered up to her. "You don't exactly want us to rush back to the group right now, do you?"

She shook her head, looking up.

"Responsibility, right? I hate to say it, but now we have people in our group who aren't able to defend themselves or hunt for food. I don't mind. Hopefully they can show us thangs we need to learn or we can find a stable place to teach them skills. You and I, we've been through a lot. A lot."

He went inside the cashiers station again and grabbed the older woman. "You should look around. Store's fully loaded."

He was right. Shea butter. Conditioning oil. Clear jars of various sizes for hair gel and jellies. Michonne dropped all but one of the empty duffels and began to shove the nearest product at the end cap of an aisle into the bag, giant bottles of moisturizer on clearance.

She heard the saloon doors swing open and shut again. "One time I bought Lori a big thang of lotion from Victoria's Secret, I think. It was not cheap. I ended up using it more than she did." His attempt to relate were followed by sounds of someone else being dragged across linoleum floors.

Michonne chuckled as she moved on to a black bar soap display. What did he mean by that? Was he putting forth an effort to not waste this ill-advised product he bought for his late wife by taking care of dry spots on his body, or were certain coveted parts of him scented with artificial vanilla on a lonely night or two?

A completely stocked mecca. Alone with Rick, who was paying attention to her and only her at the moment. Words in hushed tones and good humor. It all produced a very intoxicating spell.

She was getting wet, first time in a while.

Michonne ventured to the back of the store while she heard Rick sigh, wipe and slap his hands off his jeans, as his cowboy boots clunked over to her. "I had to move them," she heard him say as she crouched down to the bottom shelves. "I figured they have been hidden in darkness for so long, now they should be in the light. I'm sure they were good people."

She nodded and looked at battery operated razors. Would this be considered a luxury? This was less of a need than the lotion. The thought had her sit down flat on the floor. She pointed at the duffels. "I already have a full one. I'd say we just get odds and ends left for the next bag and get out of here, no need to fill up the rest of them, we have to get food."

Rick nodded and walked a few feet away. He stood on his tiptoes and outstretched his lean but muscled arms. That snug brown T shirt displayed just enough bare skin to make Michonne think about seeing his Apollos belt. He turned to her, holding a container of castor oil. "Is this good?"

Michonne gulped. "Yes." She was still on the floor, not helping at all. She shrugged off her katana case. "I'm sorry, I'm useless right now." She laid down.

Rick smiled with closed lips and grabbed a bag. "Its an off day. You saved my ass so many times already. Don't worry about it."

She fantasized about a faint smell of coconut surrounding them, her soon to be butter smooth skin against Ricks rough and naked body, his hands touching her bare shoulders while gently telling her sweet nothings against her neck as her hand slinked down to her sex.

"I saw a good place to get toothbrushes."

"National Gallery of Art, let's go."

"We can stop and find some undamaged cans of Spindrift."

"Michonne?" Ricks voice was not as soft sounding this time. A bit alarmed, actually. Something flat, round and plastic dropped from his hands but he didn't break away from seeing her. "Are you touching yourself?"

Looking down, she did have her hand down the front of her unbuttoned tight fitting pants all right, that part wasn't a dream anymore. In fact, that was the only part that wasn't a dream.

Feeling her face get hot, she raised herself up as Rick walked closer. "I am so sorry. One time on a trip in New York City some bum did this to me unsolicited on a subway so I understand how violated you must feel. But this place is so…everything and you're being so…you, but also calm. Something is happening and it's making me feel tingling things in my body."

Rick swiftly took off his holster and sat down on the floor, inches beside her. "There's a difference between some stranger harassment and us, you with me. Now describe these 'thangs'."

Michonne eyed the noticeable bulge in his jeans. "I can't identify. It's a combination between needing to release something out of my system that's been built in there for a long time and an animalistic desire to rip your shirt off right now."

Rick chuckled. "You can't rip it off. It's the only one I have at the moment." He took it off himself, laid down, and sighed in relief. "The floor is nice and cool." His torso was a little wiry but defined with muscle, his skin pale minus the battle scars.

Michonne lied back down and sighed. "Thank you."

"I haven't had a good meal in a while, I could look better." Pause. "Just wanting you…specifically…to know that."

"No, thank you for taking care of me."

"It's the least I could do." Rick turned his face over to look at her. "You can touch yourself if you want."

"You can touch yourself too." Michonne said.

"Yeah?" He raised an eyebrow, the expression on his face seemed to make of her as a puzzle he couldn't quite solve yet.

Michonne nodded. "Yeah."

Side by side they unzipped their pants. Rick let out a laugh as he saw Michonne moved her head to spy on him wrapping his hand around his cock, inches away from kissing his shoulder. "Maybe?" Pause. It was a question. "We can try to touch each other?"

Michonne moved her head back upright. "No." It was unsanitary, her moistened curls down below were untamed, and who knows, this feeling with Rick could be a moment of lust that would dissipate quickly, things that she didn't want to say out loud. But she did have to ask him something. "What got you so turned on?"

Rick sounded incredulous. "You!"

Michonne giggled. "Really?" She sat up momentarily and pulled the full duffle bag over, placing one of the giant bottles of moisturizer next to him as well as an old pack of crumpled travel tissues that were there previously.

"Yes! I looked at you, I stared at something called a body butter, then I looked at you again and your hand was in your pants and I can see that your nipples were hard under your top." He lazily pumped the lotion in his hand and brought it to his nose.

Michonne laid back down and gasped at this action. "I knew it! That Lori story. Your dick smelled like chemical lavender, didn't it?"

Rick grabbed his cock again and slowly began to stroke, the wet and erotic sounds began to fill in his silence to her question. "I want to know what you smell like." His tone was different now. Hushed but gruff.

Michonne's eyes widened with the realization that they were entering the next level in this relationship together. "Oh."

"I want to bury my face in there."

She put her hand back into place, finding her clit, imagining her fingers as Ricks soft lips and tongue luxuriated in all of her glory. "I wanted to have those railroad tracks to ourselves after you bit that guy's neck. That was the most alpha thing I've ever seen."

"I wanted to be alone with you after you stabbed that cartoon with an eyepatch. I was barely alive but I still wanted to celebrate. I promise I could have got it up for you." His words were more languid now as Michonne watched his hand stroke. "I thought women weren't into seeing this."

Michonne continued pressing on her sweet spot, faster still, the pleasure waves growing intensely. "Depends on the guy, depends on if said guy is thinking about me."

Rick sped up, just a little. "Can I think about fingering you on the steps to the White House? Those tight pants around your knees, seeing your face react to my hand. Right in front of the past. That's why I agreed to go to Washington."

"That's why? You can think about me getting every inch of you in the Lincoln bedroom. That's history."

"No, the Oval Office, finally achieve real social change in there. That's where I get to know what makes you come apart at the seams."

Their panting became in synch.

Michonne daydreamed it. A room shaped to have no end and no beginning, just like her attraction to him. Katana and the Colt Python carelessly strewn around with their clothes all over. Her back and ass pressed against some boring bill proposals that didn't matter now, on top of what once was the most important desk in the free world. Rick was above her, alternating between kissing her and panting with his wild mouth, his piercing blue eyes frantically drinking in her naked body, one hand thumbing her nipple while the other steadied one of her hips. His taut body pressed into her as if nothing else mattered, biceps and shoulders glistening with sweat. All of him was inside her, deep and wanting as her pelvis rolled underneath, never getting enough of him. Together they cried in release.

After a few heavy breaths to recover Michonne pushed her pants back up to her waist with a smile. "I can't believe we did that."

"I can. I hope I didn't land on my jeans." Rick said as he stood up, checking on himself.

Michonne scrunched up her face at his admission. Suddenly all the possible deal breakers that she thought about with him, considerations that came up randomly in her head both in the prison and on the road, came back to her mind. They both got up. "First thing I'm doing when we get to a real spot is burning or washing this whole outfit you got. That's why you couldn't touch me."

"You're not supposed to wash jeans every week."

"I'm sure you could wash them more than every two years."

They said in unison, "Let's never talk about or address this." And they both high fived each other.