Chapter 3 - Rick
"What are you doing, deputy?"
"You're asking too many questions, ma'am. You need to stop resisting arrest. Now spread your legs and bend over the hood of your car like I told you to."
"What did I do?"
Binding Michonne's wrists behind her back and on top of her ass with a loose silk scarf that barely holds them together, I answer her breathy charge. "Your skirt, ma'am. Entirely too short." The tips of my fingers grasp a hold of the hem of her barely there red skirt, rubbing the fine material in my hands as I slowly lift it to bunch it with her hands at the slope where her back and ass meet, and uncover her full naked bottom. Shaking my head side to side, intrigued by what I've uncovered, instant lust charges my veins, intoxicating my cock with arousal as I push up closer and press myself into the plump cushions. Leaning my torso back, but maintaining the press of my groin to her ass, I angle my head to the side to glance at her feet propped high in the tallest red spiked heels I've ever seen. Blowing out a low whistle I add, "Hmph! These heels, higher than code allows." I swipe between her feet with my boots to inch her heels apart to make more room for me to get even closer to her. Heat engulfs my groin in warm waves from her unconcealed womanhood that's already so wet it's soaking my tan work trousers. " Fuck! Look what you're doing to me, ma'am. I'm going to have to punish you for this too. Or take you in. Your choice. Either way you're in trouble."
Soft brown eyes the color of heated fudge capture my gaze from just over her shoulder and widen in shock. Long dark locs swing over one nude shoulder, bared from where her suit jacket is drooping away from her form. She begins to sway in a seductive back and forth grind. Is she teasing me?
Innocently she blinks, once, twice, followed by a steady sweep from my eyes, laser focused on nothing but the entrapment of her beautiful face, down my chest and finally landing on my cock. "But- but, deputy you wouldn't have even known about my attire if you didn't pull me over." Huffing she accuses me, even as a naughty smile lifts the corner of her sexy full lips and she pushes her bottom into my stiff cock. "This is unfair! I can't handle all of that punishment!"
"You were speeding too. That's gonna make me have to punish you harder, ma'am. But you can handle all of it."
"I- I have to get home to my kids." she whines, her voice lowering in a tone that travels away from the seductive purr she used before. Now she sounds somewhat sad. Confused almost. "I was driving so fast…looking for something."
"Your kids?" A frown dips my eyebrows. "What are you looking for?"
Hastily her eyes dance and skip about my face, searching until she stops and replies, "I'm out of time. I left them at home, but now I have to get back to them. I'm all that's left."
"Where's their father?"
"He left us. He doesn't love me anymore. So, I'm all alone…and I- I could use some punishment from a nice guy. But…not just any guy…my guy…"
"What?"
Turning to face me, Michonne focuses me in her sights. A haughty tilt of her head, and the full bare breasts that greet me from her opened suit jacket, almost retrain my focus on this flirtatious roadside game we were playing where I'm punishing my sexy suspect, but there's something about the mocking twist of her lips that keeps me just slightly off tilt. Knocks me away from arousal and into curiosity. When did the roleplaying end and this begin?
"Yeah, my guy- he- he told me what we have is broken. To leave." Tears well in full pools at the edge of her lower lid, flirting with the lashes until they fall in fat streams down her beautiful face. "So, I should leave, go back to my kids."
"Maybe he - he said it for your own good?"
Shaking her head in a slow sad drag, she pulls her lips into her mouth, pressing down as tears rain across them and her chest heaves to match the emotion of her steely declaration, "He doesn't want me anymore. I have to go back to my kids alone and do this by myself. I'm always so lonely by myself. Without my guy…" She pouts, then drops her head back towards the car.
Speechless, there's something about this whole thing that feels so wrong now. So very out of place. Agitation spreads in my body, settling down to the core of me. Past my skin and bones. Into my heart.
Moments pass. Silence kills everything arcing heatedly between us, and for some reason I feel a sense of shame. Guilt.
"Deputy? Would you help me? I need to feel safe and loved. My kids need a father." She's gotten out of the easy cinch of the scarf and now she's moving towards me. My boots begin carrying me backwards across the highway behind me, cars whipping furiously to dodge my stumbling form. They don't even matter to Michonne though. She walks right through each one as though she's some unreal apparition. A figment of my imagination that with each step her hips jut high in a back and forth sway, as each piece of her clothing falls to the ground in burnt ash. She's glorious and fearsome. Frightening and beautiful. A phoenix rising from whatever grief was holding her down.
Light and easy, she's charging me with only the prance of her delicate toes barely touching the ground. I'm unbalanced, teetering on the edge of a cliff of some sort that leads to a bottomless body of dark, rushing water, filled with walkers. It's the edge of the river under the bridge that I blew up in Alexandria so many years ago.
"Michonne, what's going on? I'm your husband, it's me Rick. I don't understand…we were roleplaying. Just-"
"No…no I don't think so. My husband is dead. I am looking for a new one though. My kids need a father. And," Her hands begin to rub all over her body through the amber flames, touching her breasts, her stomach, her throat. And she begins to laugh. A tiny chuckle that grows in sound and vigor the longer she laughs in my face. "I'm looking for a new husband. Someone who wants to love me, care for me. Protect me. Keep me safe and satisfied. Ooh, deputy, I've missed that so much. I need that…I'll find it again!"
Abruptly her laughter stops. Her smile is gone. Her arms hang limply at her side, until she raises one of them, and with the palm of her open hand, shoves me away from her until I fall backwards. Quickly, almost without thought I reach for her hand but she pulls it back, and instead I just barely grab onto the edge of the bridge and save myself from falling. Instead of instantly plunging to my death, I dangle, with walkers rising from the water to grip and pull at my boots, attempting to drag me down to the abyss with them.
"Michonne! Michonne! Help me!"
Leaning towards where I hang helplessly, she glances down to where my fingers are slowly growing tired of holding on. "Oh now you want my help?" As though all of the energy has left her, she sighs, her shoulders wearily raising with the effort. "No, deputy, I won't help you now. As usual, I have to help myself."
On those last words she smiles and turns away from me and begins walking, her nude form lovingly embraced by a faceless man just as she disappears from my line of vision and I hit sharp rocks below, falling to my death.
"Ahh…oof…" I groan, throwing the covers away from me in an agitated flick of my wrist. Shoving my body to a seated position, I swing my legs to the side of the bed. My head is instantly pounding as I open my eyes, welcomed by the still darkness of a very early morning. Squinting against the pain in my head, I wrap my arms around myself to ward off the sense of unease covering my body in a cool chilly sweat. Breathing slowly, in for three, then out for three, I count to five to calm my nerves against another dream that's haunted yet another fitful night of what I suppose passes as sleep these days.
Hanging my head for a moment, the breathing helps me relax, and eases some of the tight tension behind my eyes. Soothes me just enough until I dare to look over my shoulder to ensure my wife is still there. She is, and nothing brings me back like seeing her form resting peacefully, her head cradled by a soft pillow.
Walking over to her side of the bed, I halt when I reach Michonne's sexy nude form facing the wall. Her left arm is under the pillow, and her right splays across where our baby lies safely inside her stomach. Despite the large swell of her belly, the most obvious other change is maybe the plentiful fullness of her dark berry tipped breasts. They have gotten much larger, and I'm definitely not complaining. Roaming my eyes along the peaks and valleys of her dusky form, I feel a warm sense of awe and pride. Thankfulness that this glorious woman is still mine. From the curvy bump of her hips striated with a few miniature wisps of lighter flesh like little tiger stripes, and thick thighs, to the elegant tilt of her positioned head downwards, tucking her chin close to her chest. Everything about her motherly posture innately closing around herself to seemingly protect her and the life we made inside of her.
With her hair pulled back, I can see her cherubic, rounded face, cheeks puffed a tiny bit since she entered the third trimester. And she's snoring. Louder than she used to. So much louder that I don't dare say a word to her about it. I've taken note of a few self-deprecating comments she's made about how she looks. She's self-conscious, it seems, about me seeing her like this. Curvier. Softer. Different. I'm not sure why it matters to her. It is all new to me, since I did miss her pregnant with Junior, but there isn't a thing about this time or experience that I would change. Everything about her is alluring and enticing. So much so that I have to catch myself from stalking her constantly, the urge to hug and kiss every inch of her urgently insistent. My every thought, want and need is tied to this adoring desire for Michonne.
I can't stop watching her sleep. The easy way she slumbers, appearing to be in a restful, safe place both physically and emotionally. I don't want to disturb her, but something in me won't allow me to head downstairs just yet and abandon my watchful post at her side, even as I check my watch and see it's already 6 AM and it's going to be a long day for our family.
Without conscious thought I crouch down, wincing at the crackling in my knees, and do allow myself a tiny graze of her lips with just the slightest press of my own. A sip of her warm breath riding one of the slumberous snores, heavy, deep. No cares or worries haunting her dreams. Only the slightest curve of her luscious lips upwards into the cutest smirk on the prettiest girl.
Easing away from her face, I check her features to be sure I haven't woken her, then move down to place a kiss to her stomach, right where her little belly button has popped out.
"Hi, Little One, it's your dad." I announce myself to our baby just as I do most days, hoping that he or she remembers my voice and finds comfort in its familiarity once they arrive. "It's early in the morning. Your mama is still asleep. Thank you for being a good baby and letting her get some rest. You'll be here soon and she's going to need her energy to get you here safely." Placing my palm flat to the warm surface of her stomach, I imagine the tiny bits of pressure I feel are the baby kicking and moving through the hardness beneath her firm velvety skin, protectively pulled tight around her body. My eyelids fall, and I try to conjure what our baby will look like. I don't care if it's a boy or a girl, but I silently wish that they will look just like Michonne. Junior already looks so much like me, it would be overwhelmingly greedy to get blessed that way again. Hopefully my genes will let Michonne in a little this time. And of course since my wife is so pretty, a little girl to bless the world with another generation of those good looks wouldn't hurt one bit.
Inching down to my knees from my crouch, I carefully place my ear and the side of my face gently against Michonne's stomach. I want to be closer to her. To our baby. "I can't wait to meet you, Little One. I love you so much already. So much love is here for you. From me, your mama, your sister, and your brother. And maybe…maybe you've already somehow met your brothers Andre and Carl? Maybe, I don't know…" I whisper, emotion clogging my words in my throat. "Maybe, in this messed up world and universe, in all of this, they are with you. Watching over you until you get here? I don't know. I've lost so much, Little One, but you and your siblings, and your mama are every good thing in this world that I have gained, so…I gotta be thankful for it all I guess. Loss, love, winning, losing, it's how I got here… It's how you are getting here. All of us. We found our way to each other in this mess and I promise I will be the best dad to help you through it. I promise."
Perhaps I imagine it, I don't know, sometimes things still get squirrely in my head, but I get a quiet sense of joy flushing through my system. Like a halo of just pure light covering me. Peace. Joy. Love.
With a series of tiny pecks again delivered to my wife's stomach, I quietly rise. I pull the covers back up and over her large rounded stomach and breasts, up to her shoulders. Michonne makes this adorable face that she often does while she is sleeping, scrunches her nose and sighs. It's almost cat-like and it's the most adorable thing. She does it again, and rustles some as she snuggles down into the covers, which makes me chuckle because if she wanted blankets why did she throw them off of her in the first place? Another question I won't dare to ask. I'm just going to enjoy every second of this special time with her.
Pulling on my robe that hangs on a hook on the back of our bedroom door, I ease out of the room. Stopping to poke my head into the bedrooms of each of the kids, I note that they are both empty. For a moment I pause in the hallway of this large, still unfamiliar home, and listen for anything that might indicate something is wrong. There's full time security stationed outside around the clock per my instructions, so I doubt either kid could have gotten out or anyone in without me being made aware.
Almost immediately I can hear rustling and quiet laughter coming from downstairs, and it eases the small bit of gathering anxiousness at the sight of their empty bedrooms. Following the sound I amble down the long hall of this ultra-modern penthouse on Washington Square Park. It's one of the largest and newest residences the Civic Republic has available, and when given the choice, I instantly knew Michonne would love it. She had told me plenty of stories about her slick new apartment in downtown Atlanta from before the turn. It was one of the stories we shared on a quiet night on our porch back in Alexandria before I disappeared. A little story that started with an admonishment of Carl trying to quietly sneak out of the house in the middle of the night past our bedroom, but the floors had one squeaky wood board that gave him away. None of that presents itself in this house that never even saw a tenant, as it was built before the turn, brand new, never even sold. It's the kind of place I knew Michonne would want, and I really want her to have the best of everything.
So here we are, living in this 5 bedroom, 4 ½ half bath behemoth, doing our very best to bury the memory of our distance from each other, embrace the new life before us and fill it with love and laughter. Which I find plenty of as I locate my kids in the kitchen softly laughing at something between themselves.
"Good morning, Dad!" Junior whisper-yells, giving me this cool gesture nod he's picked up since we moved to the Civic Republic a few months ago. He's been placed in an 8th grade class, which I can't believe but am immensely proud of, but he has picked up a few pre-teen mannersims that I wasn't prepared for. I'm just getting to know my 8 year old son, and now his intellect is aging him up socially, and with his long legs that seem to have grown a mile in just a few short months, dangling from the stool behind the long black marble island, he's growing very fast physically as well.
"Good morning, son." I nod back at him, scraping my hand along my face and taking note that not only do I need a shave today, he needs a haircut. Both of our curls have gotten a little long, with his flattened on one side from where he slept. Turning towards Judith seated next to him, I greet my daughter, "Little Bit, good morning."
"Morning, Dad."
"What you guys got going on down here so early?" I ask, turning towards the cabinets to begin making Michonne's peppermint tea and my coffee.
"Lots to do today. Mama's inauguration is gonna be big." Junior excitedly responds, doing that thing where his young energy livens his limbs with a little bounce on his stool. "Dad, did you know that the United States has never had a female president, and only one Black president who was a dude named Barack Obama? But never a Black female president. Like ever in its whole history!"
"Uh yeah, I do recall that."
"But, RJ, this is different because this isn't the United States anymore." Judith chimes in, her tone mumbled as she chews on a piece of toast.
"I know that, Judith, but like this is still that country kind of. Some of the same people. And Mama is Black, she's a woman, and from the south! Her parents are descended from enslaved persons!"
"Um, yeah, why is that important, Junior?" I ask, curiosity causing me to glance over my shoulder at him, trying to catch on to where he's going. This boy is so smart sometimes he's already gotten somewhere while I'm just catching on. How am I the father of this genius?
"Dad! After 1865 and the enslavement of Black people ended, very few Black people have had the opportunity to participate in government without large scale pushback from non-Blacks. There were some during Reconstruction, and some here and there like Barack Obama, but not like this. This is a big deal."
"Right. No, I mean, I get it, Junior. Obama was the first Democrat I voted for. He was a good guy. It's a… a different time now though. It's not like before. I don't think anyone cares about that kind of stuff. They shouldn't have then anyway, but…" Acquiescing to his point but still somewhat confused, I fill up the tea kettle and pull out a few mugs, a tea bag, honey, and milk.
Sighing and throwing up his hands as though he can't believe he has to explain this to his old dad, Junior patiently adds, "Mama won her election and almost everyone voted for her, Dad. Everyone in the Coalition of States! Not even Barack Obama got that many people's votes."
Tilting her head Judith proudly chimes in, "To be fair, no one was dumb enough to run against her. She's a badass-"
"Jude, please watch your mouth." I point at her with my index finger, reminding her of her manners.
"Sorry, Dad, but for real. Mama's a girl boss with a katana. She wrote the charter at Alexandria, and our new constitution for the Coalition. She rescued you after almost ten years of captivity. Who wasn't going to vote for her?"
"I know. I agree with you though. She's always got my vote." Shrugging, I admit that Judith and Junior are right. This is a big deal for the world to recognize in Michonne what I've always known. She's a badass girl boss with a katana, brains, and body. Who in their right mind wouldn't vote for that?
"Agree about what?" Michonne asks on a long yawn, her feet leaving the last step. Belly first, and tiredly scooting her feet across the wood floors in a pair of my socks and a fluffy purple robe, I smile taking in my wife's pregnant gait.
"Morning, Sweetheart." Walking to greet her halfway between the stairs and the kitchen, I guide her with my arm supporting her lower back over to the island. Helping her get seated comfortably on the island next to Junior, I sample her lips with a quick peck. "You ok?"
Clearing her throat, a slightly graveled response rasps with the remnants of sleep. "Yeah, I'm good. Steps make me tired."
"Be careful, Chonne. Ya know, cause of what the doctor said about your lungs."
"I know, Rick. I'm good." Dropping her head on to her upturned palm she gifts me with a patient smile. She knows I worry about her and the baby constantly. About her lungs and the permanent scarring the doctor said she has sustained from the CRM's deadly chlorine attack on her and her friends. Such violence should have claimed her life, but instead left her with breathing that sometimes becomes labored much sooner than it should. Then there is the baby. While nothing is wrong with him or her, Michonne is so close to delivery that every little twinge of pain could mean it's time, and I need to be ready. Because Junior was a c-section, the doctor has explained to us that he doesn't want her to go into labor. They have scheduled a c-section for next week instead, hoping our bundle of joy can hold off until then. At 37 weeks, they are expecting Michonne to be fine for her inauguration today, but I'm taking every precaution and keeping her close.
Then there are the threats from the small leftovers of the rebellion.
Despite that, during these last few months my wife has found a peaceful cadence in her life that is truly awe inspiring, and if I'm being honest has made mine better as well. Not just to witness it, but to be with her, a part of her truly becoming what I think she was meant for. It's a shame that a global apocalypse had to happen for it to come to fruition, but it's amazing nonetheless.
Since our fateful meeting with the Civic Republic Council delegates all of those months ago, back when Michonne and I had just returned to our kids, life has taken off in a way that neither of us expected. We were whisked away from the Commonwealth and back to Philadelphia, where Michonne began working with the Council and delegates from all of the states in the coalition to begin drafting a constitution that would govern all of the members. She reminded me so much of how she was before I 'died'. Head down, reading, studying old texts from the previous government, writing notes. Chatting with me over her thoughts most nights as we sat on the couch, her feet in my hands as I massaged them and listened to the graceful way Michonne vocalized and debated the merits and the drawbacks of different theories and ideas about governance and representative leadership. Even filling me in on how things worked after my disappearance. The good and the bad.
On those nights, with her in my arms, on my lap, I heard in her own words how much our friends had failed her. How strong and steadfast she had to singularly remain in the storm against not just withering friendships, but also psychotic humans cloaked in walker masks. All while birthing our son, and raising our children alone.
Witnessing the play of emotions over her face, angst, grief, sadness, joy, satisfaction, all warring to own her lovely features, I fell more in love with Michonne. I didn't think it was possible, but I did. This Michonne was older, wiser, maybe even more guarded and careful with me and my feelings. I could tell by the words she would sometimes use, or the evasive way she seemed to want to steer around what was probably an emotional landmine, maybe for her, me, or both. And I let her. Between her words, delivered with a polished elocution that I could only hope to possess, and the passionate alignment of her face, hands, and body, each night Michonne gifted me with another layer of who she had become over the last nine years.
I was beyond obsessed. Enchanted. My heart had woven itself around every inch of her to cover my wife. To protect her. Keep her safe. Because in all of those words and hand gestures that's what she was expressing to me. She had told me point blank that she only felt safe with me. Got it. She had told me I hurt her, and made her not recognize herself. Got it. The core of my wife was a woman in pain, who had been rejected physically and emotionally, and not just by our friends, but by her best friend. Me.
Instead of shrinking away from the responsibility of all that I had done to harm the person closest to me, I accepted it. What I had done, intentionally, unintentionally, well meaning or not. Her hurt was mine, and it was in the depth of that well, down in the darkest part of her and me, I discovered admiration and devotion for the woman Michonne had evolved into, and promised each day to let her hopefully discover more of me in kind. I wanted her to. I need her to see me as I am now, just as I see her.
As she kept diligently at her work, doing what she does best, putting back together a broken world, I fell into mine, but with a much different motivation powering my engine than in my last stint with the CRM. This go around I was the head commanding officer, and I had no intentions of picking up where Beale left off. I had a pregnant wife and kids that were always my first consideration, and I was not shy about making that known. I may have been Command Sergeant Major Grimes, but I was different.
Though I commanded the military of the Coalition of States, following the orders of the Council to develop strategies to protect each state from walkers and humans, and put down the Mason Beale led rebellion, the most important part of the job was head of my wife's security. As she had recently been elected the first President of the Civic Republic Coalition, which included all 11 states, I ensured that I was on her security detail at all times. Delegating other duties to those under me allowed me to keep close to my wife and kids, protecting the people most important to me, and the most important person in this country. And it was never hard for me to let others that I had come to trust somewhat to take care of those other duties. Leadership was never something I courted. It had been thrust upon me, and I had unwillingly taken its reins when no one else would, especially if it meant survival for those I cared about.
With Junior and Judith enrolled in school, and with their own security that I handpicked assigned to them when they are there, and traveling with Michonne and I when we leave Philadelphia, I am able to keep close watch over my family.
But as Michonne's inauguration day has grown closer, the threats of rebellion from Mason Beale's group have grown more frequent and virulent. Not just faceless agitators declaring their intention to bring down this new government, but to harm my wife as its new leader as well. Somehow they had decided that though I had killed Beale, Michonne's rise to leadership was a symbol of its demise that they could not abide. And this concerns me. Hence the 24 hour security outside.
Pulling my attention back to her and the kids, Michonne palms the side of my face with her hand, "Everything is ok, Rick."
"Yeah, I know."
"Where are your glasses?" she inquires, tilting her head, showcasing a mischievous glint in her widening, sugar warm eyes. Transferring her hand to my hair, Michonne strokes her fingers through my curls, and tugs on the ends a bit while lifting her eyebrows in question and holding my gaze.
I can almost feel the sheepish cast of a blush reddening my face. She knows I hate those things. They make me look old.
"Rick…"
"Forgot 'em upstairs. I don't need 'em, Chonne."
"Dad! You can't see!" Judith adds with an admonishing tone, rolling her eyes like her mother does and shaking her head at me.
Junior chimes in, supporting his sister's claim. "You cannot see without them. The doctor said you are nearsighted, and it's a miracle you have made it this long without them. Good Grimes genetics can only take you so far, Dad. Time to lean into science. You're always writing, and like Benjamin Franklin-"
"Wait! I'm not that damn old!"
"No, but with you always writing letters and plans, like Benjamin Franklin, who was also big on writing, and invented bi-focals, there is no shame in making sure at your advanced age you can see properly. It's cool, Dad."
"Advanced age? How old do you guys think I am?"
Shrugging they both look to each other, then to Michonne, as they always do when they want a final answer.
Judith breaks the stare off and whines to her mother while gesturing towards me with her thumb, "Mom!"
"It's not nice to talk to grown ups about how old they are, kids."
Blowing out a frustrated breath, Judith abandons her ask of Michonne and tries to reason with me, and threads her fingers together in a calm manner on the island. "Please, Dad. No matter how old you actually may be, you need them so we can go over the itinerary for all of us today. RJ, can you just go get Dad's glasses, please?"
"Junior, you don't have to do that."
Caught in the middle, Junior turns from Judith, to me, to Michonne, his eyes searching for who to listen to. Landing on Michonne he asks, "Mama?"
With a few little kisses to my cheek, Michonne leans into my side and rests her head on my shoulder, appealing to my heart and my vanity. "Rick, don't you want to check the itinerary to make sure it's correct and aligns with your security plans? You might need your glasses for that. Maybe? And…I love getting the letters you write to me each week. Need your glasses for that too?"
Owning a deep frown, a long breath escapes my nostrils, and I know she's right, even if I don't want to admit it. I do need them to see. They're right. But, when I look at myself in the mirror there's something about those glossy black frames resting on my face that I hate. It's a sign of aging, and after beating back death, cheating it of its prize so many times, I feel like these glasses make me look every bit of 50 years old. Or if I let these kids tell it, probably much older. Closer to the true end of this ride.
Glasses are what does it. It wasn't the dodgy knees, or the gray hair and beard that did it. And it certainly wasn't anything with my physical fitness. Michonne has been quite clear that she's pleased with how put together my body is, and with the regularity of our frequent love making. It was the doctor telling me what I already knew as I had begun to squint at the words in stock black letters in reports. Or focus more carefully on the letters I lovingly still write and hand deliver to my wife at least once a week, taking great care and patience to ensure what I'm writing will be legible to her later.
Outside of the glasses thing, I actually feel good in my body and my head again after so many years of emotional and physical stringency and isolation. Inside my heart had died. My flesh had lost sensitivity as it had been starved of affectionate touch. None of that matters since Michonne found me. If anything, I'm feasting and living in a state of abundant joy to have my wife and kids back in my life. Only certain small things like the doctor saying I need glasses, and maybe even the constant appearance of old friends like Ezekiel in my wife's space cause me much agitation at all. But I don't want to think of that right now.
Pulling me down, urging me to place my ear near her lips, Michonne softly utters, "Rick, you know, I'm quite fond of you in the glasses."
"Is that right?" Raising my head, I look down my nose at my pretty wife. I know she's playing me, and I do not care. I'm hers to play with and we both know it. Biting down on my bottom lip, I wrap my arm around her shoulders as she gives me that teasing look of hers that I'm quite fond of. I maintain our closeness, pushing myself a little into her side while I mumble for only her ears, mindful that Junior has already taken off up the stairs to get my glasses, and Judith is back to scrutinizing whatever is in her notebook. "What makes you fond of them, sweetheart?"
"Well, you look very smart and sexy with them on, baby. Maybe I can show you later tonight?"
"Promise?"
"You heard my campaign speeches, Rick. I always keep my promises."
With that the kettle on the stove begins whistling, drawing my attention away from my wife.
"Are you guys done now?" Judith huffs. "You're so embarrassing."
"What? How are we embarrassing?" Michonne wonders aloud as she chuckles at Judith's declaration.
"Do you have to kiss all the time?" Judith mumbles, and mimics the action of throwing up. "Gracie saw you guys kissing once when we were at Alexandria and said it's so cute, but you're my parents. I don't know if it's cute."
Rubbing her hand down Judith's hair, smoothing errant strands behind her ear, Michonne turns Judith's face towards hers. " I know this is new for you guys, but, parents kiss cause they love each other, Judith."
"Well…I'm just not used to it I guess."
"We've always been affectionate like this, honey, you just don't remember."
"Sometimes, I wish I could forget now." she adds, just as Junior returns with my glasses.
XXXX
"This is…surreal. Right?"
"It's definitely not something I ever could have imagined while we were broken down on the side of the road eating dog meat."
"Ugh, Rick, why did you mention that? Ack! I'm gonna throw up!"
"It served a purpose though, right? It was better than the worms and possums Daryl was fond of, that's for sure."
"If I have to think about it, the dog was better than the possums and worms, but I do not want to remember those days if I don't have to. Scavenging for food and water, losing friends and family as easy as breathing. This is much better I think. At first I didn't know if it was the right thing for us, but you were right. This is how we fix things for the future. For Judith, and RJ, and the new baby. All the babies. Even for us. This is the shit we do, and we had to do it. It wasn't really much of a choice was it?" Michonne smiles at me, its brightness growing with pride and satisfaction by the second. "And you do see me, Rick. Better than anyone else ever has. Who I am. What I am. You knew this was for me. Wouldn't you agree, Rick?" She asks, looking up into my face, her eyes focused on mine from underneath the long sweep of her eyelashes. With her hands around my neck, fingers feathering across the back of my head where my hair was before getting it cut down into what Michonne called a fade, she's relaxed and content. Joyous. Proud. She should be, and I want every bit of this for her. I can't think of a person who deserves it more.
Increasing the firmness of my hold around her waist with my left arm, I permit my eyes to consume the beauty of her face and consider her question as we continue to sway to the romantic lilt of the strings accompaniment at her inaugural ball.
Decked out in a white dress that covers only one shoulder, and falls in soft chiffon waves to the floor, hair pinned high in a bun on top of her head, and a dark red color staining her lips, I admire my wife and cannot think of a more alluring sight. She's the goddess Athena. A majestic force of wisdom and war, intellectual and just, the personification of what this new world needs. It's no wonder that the Civic Republic and the Coalition saw in her the rare jewel I had discovered so many years ago myself. Where others might seek personal gain and power, Michonne has been tirelessly trying to stitch together from the ruins of this world, a real united partnership. Governance, law, structure. Safety. A future. The constructs of a new society on which the lives of our children, and so many others would be built. It's that skill for diplomacy, and the intellect to masterfully debate and persuade that not only drafted our new constitution, but obtained full acceptance and ratification of it amongst all Coalition states, while simultaneously winning an election. Impressive is not really a strong enough word here.
Michonne is also my Aphrodite, my own personal goddess of beauty and sexual love, and as her swollen belly warms itself against my abdomen, the embodiment of fertility. She's all things lush and full, blooming curves, yielding and seductive, the magnetism of her gifts abundant and enthralling. Even more so since she has been pregnant. Our pull to each other is powerful, kinetic, the energy almost a palpable real thing. A sticky web that keeps us suspended in each other's orbit across space and time. Souls indelibly tied to each other for eternity with a bond that I'm almost certain is how she found me against all odds. How could I not be bewitched by such a woman?
No one is immune I think. As I've watched her embody her new role as the political and diplomatic leader, it's enthralling to witness her interact with people. She's gentle, straightforward, kind, but direct, always prepared and never accepts less than the best from everyone around her. The quixotic brew of whatever chemistry imbued her with what makes Michonne…well Michonne, is intoxicating and and it's why she believes intrinsically that she can do anything. And does.
I imagine it's why she is popular in the Coalition. Everyone wants to be around her. It seems men cannot take their eyes off her, drawn to her like bees to honey. Women seem to find some kind of female kinship in her congenial and kind manner. And I just want her. All of her.
Despite the remaining undertone of something thorny from our time apart and the tenuous back and forth when she found me, the love and affection is real and intact. I remain hers and she is mine, and nothing will ever change that.
Dropping my face to the sweet perfume of her neck, I breathe her in, deeply, lungs full of her scent, and permit my lips a brief moment to savor the warmth of her skin. I'm sure I should be more mindful of how I kiss and hug my wife in public. Michonne is the president and I'm the commander of the world's largest military. But I don't care about any of that. And of course I should be concerned about it in front of our kids who seem to be adjusting to our affectionate way with each other. Maybe I care a little more about that, but something inside makes me selfishly happy that they seem so put off by it. Can I take it as an indicator that there was no kissing between Michonne and anyone else during my 'death'? Secretly I hope so, and lightly place a few more kisses on my wife, right on her pretty scarlet colored lips.
"I agree, sweetheart. This isn't just better, it's the best of this world, and you and our kids absolutely deserve this."
"We all do, baby. That includes you too, Rick."
The string orchestra changes the song, and I instantly recognize the melody as one belonging to an old country tune that I absolutely loved, which no one would know but Michonne.
Beaming down on her, I ask, "You requested this song for me?"
"Of course. I know it's your favorite, and this night is about you too, Rick."
"I told you I liked this song over ten years ago. While you, Carl, and I were on the road?"
"At the prison."
"Hm. You're right!"
Rubbing her palms over the lapels of my jacket, she recalls, "I also remember you telling me that your favorite color is purple, your favorite show as a kid was Transformers, your first crush was on Daisy Duke from the Dukes of Hazzard, and your favorite car has always been a Ford F-150 pickup because you don't need speed but you do need reliability."
Impressed I wonder aloud what else she's cataloged away about me in that big brain of hers. "What's my middle name?"
"David."
"My birthday?"
"Psh, that's easy, September 14th. Rick, I remember everything about you because you are important to me and I love you." Inching forward, she puckers her lips and delivers a soft easy kiss to my lips as I stare at her in awe. Her sweet kiss and recollections drive a flushing blush of red across my face as my lips tug and animate into a large grin.
This woman. Damn, she always knows how to get to me. It may seem stupid or small that she remembers these things so easily about me, but, after being alone and emotionally dead, estranged from my true self for so long, it feels satisfying for someone, my someone, to still know me so well. To have felt there was something precious and important about these bits and pieces of who I actually am, these castaway casual comments that most would have thrown away. But, Michonne secreted them away, identifying something precious in them, and pours them back into the empty vessel that had become my soul. Helping recreate me.
"Alright then." Wrapping her in my arms, I dip my head and nod at her, then choke down my emotions, chewing on my lips to stifle the urge to kiss her for real. The way I like to, where I can savor the taste of her mouth. I don't want to embarrass her in front of everyone. Instead I hold her tight, and sway a bit with my wife, enjoying one of the many favorites that Michonne apparently remembers about me.
It's an old song so I'm surprised I remember it. It's Tim McGraw and Faith Hill's Let's Make Love and though there are no words being sung, I allow my eyes to settle on my wife's, losing myself in her loving gaze and pray that she can see all of that love directed right back at her. My singing voice is not great, and until Michonne found me I hadn't had much to even want to sing about, but I gift her with the few words I recall of this song, urgently hoping that she finds my heart in them.
'Do you know what you do to me
Everything inside of me
Is wanting you
I'm so in love with you…'
"Oh, Rick…"
"I remember everything about you too. It fueled my dreams when we were apart. How you said you used to eat lunch at a certain park by your office when the weather was nice. That you like soy milk and quinoa, whatever the hell that is. Your favorite book is Half of a Yellow Sun, and you're afraid of spiders and mice. Your first crush was on Theo Huxtable, and your favorite song is…I Can't Help it by Michael Jackson."
"Look at you, Rick! I'm impressed."
"Wait, I'm not done. You have a little birthmark, a tiny little strawberry shaped one on the inside of your right thigh. I kissed it every night in my dreams."
"Oh I'm very impressed. That mark is so small I can barely see it." Michonne laughs, her fingers grazing her lips to try and hide how pleased she is.
Pulling her fingers away I kiss them lightly. "Did you really think I wouldn't remember absolutely everything about you too, Chonne? Me?"
"You could have forgotten me, or some things about me at least. It's been a long time. I wouldn't blame you."
"Did you not believe me when I told you that you're the love of my life? Haven't you been reading my letters?"
"Well, I mean…I have but-"
"Do you forgive me, Michonne?"
"Rick, I-"
"Maybe I haven't earned it yet. I'll keep trying."
"No it's just that-" Her face falls to the floor, concealing her eyes from me.
"Don't worry, sweetheart, I understand. I do." Cupping the side of her face with my hand, I lift her gaze to mine. "I just want you to know that I don't blame you for anything. How you feel. I just want you to know, Mrs. Grimes, memories of you and your face are what kept me alive after I lost Carl. That's what I'm saying in my letters. Each one is telling you about my life without you. Filling in the gaps that time and space built between us." Placing her hand over my heart, I smile down at her sadly, upset that I ever gave my woman a moment of pain over something I've done. "Me and you are the same, Chonne. You told me you could feel that I was out there, alive. I could feel you too, right here." I place my hand over hers on my chest. "There was no way I could know for sure, but my heart told me you were still alive too. Your heart was still beating for me. That's why I wrote the letters then, and that's why I write them now. You have to know that you are my absolute everything, Chonne. My sweetheart. My life."
Michonne's eyes grow glassy, emotion welling in the tears that gather. Lowering her face to the floor again, she tries to conceal herself from me. I don't let her, and with my index finger to her chin, lift her face back to mine.
"Baby, don't cry." Placing my lips on her eyes, I kiss the tears away, savoring what they represent. "Come on, this is a happy night. Let's dance and celebrate. Ok?" Spinning Michonne around slowly, I dip her in my arms, then can't stop myself from kissing the pleased smirk from her lips. Yeah I got some moves in me, and I know my lady needs to hear these things from me. Healing her heart and her faith in me is my mission. I do not intend to fail.
Bringing my lips to the edge of her earlobe I give it a slight bite cause I'm feeling a kind of way right now with her. My chest is tight and I'm grinning. My heart is full. My knees are weak. The lights are low in the ballroom, and the ochre of her lovely skin glimmers with some internal brilliance that causes her to almost glow. I'm in my dress uniform, clean shaven, putting forth my best. Everyone around us is joyful, celebrating, congratulating. Over Michonne's head I sweep the room and see Judith with her friends, and Junior doing some kind of special handshake with Ezekiel over by the food, a guard nearby keeping both kids safe. And even if all of that disappeared, and I'd lost everything like I had before, the world lost to me, it wouldn't matter because right now I have my dream girl in my arms.
Massaging the silky skin across her back, I confess, "Michonne, sweetheart, I've been meaning to tell you all night how beautiful you are to me."
Giggling quietly, she inches her body closer to mine, our baby in her belly greeting me first, "Thank you, Rick, but you already told me that at least five times tonight. You always tell me."
"Oh? I did? I must have forgotten. Hm." Leaning back I tilt my head in thought then dip closer to her ear again, "Did I also tell you I can't wait to get you out of this dress and taste you? All of you?"
"Um…" Looking around us, Michonne angles her head to search around me for any listening ears. "No, you didn't. Tell me more about that though, Command Sergeant Grimes. What are your plans?"
Groaning, I can feel myself growing hard in my slacks, the stiff black material hopefully concealing how urgently I want to sink down into the welcoming wetness of my pretty wife. Squinting I try to gather my composure, flatten the arousal in my eyes, the heat creeping in my skin, both threatening to animate my lips into a grin. I don't want to give anything away to anyone around us. I've already almost kissed all of the lipstick from her lips. "First, I'm going to carry you into our home, because why not. You look like a new bride in this pretty white dress. Then I want to take a good look at you as I'm peeling it off your body. One of my favorite things is unwrapping you, watching you open like a present just for me. Like it's my birthday every time."
"Oh…"
"Once I have you fully naked, I'm going to lay you on the bed and kiss every inch. Especially those lips."
"Which lips?"
"Both. But… I want you seated. On my face. I want you plump, swollen. I love when you're sticky and wet for me." Biting my bottom lip I can almost smell and taste her right now. Sucking down a hard breath, I run my palm over my face to cool down some. I'm sure my face is flushed and turning red despite my efforts. Glancing over her head again, I can see a few people gathering who probably want to speak to her as the night is getting close to an end, but I'm not done with her yet. Angling my face down to hers, I'm so close our noses touch. "Michonne, I want you dripping cum all over my face."
"Yes, Command Sergeant Grimes, I can do that." She nods as though she's agreeing to a new law or constitutional amendment, schooling her face into a professionally stoic grin. Blinking once, then twice, she dances her eyes between my own eyes and my lips, and utters on a whispered moan, "Your face is my favorite seat."
Bowing in acquiescence I agree. "Of course it is, Madam President. I aim to please. You sure my lap isn't your favorite? I think you've mentioned that a time or two before?"
"Why can't I have both? Like it's my birthday?" Quirking her lips, eyebrow raised, Michonne's chest is heaving in excitement. My wife is horny. Lashes lower over her brown eyes, focused in a seductive gaze, her pretty face is giving everything away. I think the party is over.
Gesturing towards the door with my hand, I turn her towards the dais. "Agreed, Madam President. Let's get right on that."
As the music fades right on time, leading into what I believe is scheduled to be the final song of the night, 'Georgia on My Mind' by Ray Charles as a little nod to my and Michonne's heritage, we begin quickly walking back towards the dais at the front of the ballroom. Hand in hand, I keep my lady close, as I can feel her leaning into my side. We're both excited now, and ready to call it a close to this public revelry and begin our private party.
Right as we make it to the dais, Junior and Ezekiel greet us, as he's joined by two women, his bodyguard shadowing every step.
"Rick! Michonne! Michonne, do you remember Connie and her sister Kelly? They were away covering a story the last time you were at the Commonwealth."
"Yes, of course! It's nice to see you both again." Michonne reaches for each of them, pulling them into brief hugs.
"Connie and Kelly, this gentleman here is the famous Rick Grimes. Rick, Connie is the Commonwealth's best reporter."
As Ezekiel is speaking I notice that the woman introduced as Connie's sister, used sign language to translate his introduction for Connie.
"Can someone translate for me?" I ask, not sure if it's impolite to assume her sister will sign for me as well.
Junior chimes in, speaking but signing the whole time, "I can do it, Dad. Uncle Daryl and I learned together so he can talk to Connie."
Eyebrows raised, I'm taken aback to hear that Daryl was interested in someone enough to learn a new language. Things must have changed more than I thought they had in my absence. "Oh yeah? You know my brother Daryl huh?"
A look passes between the sisters that I don't quite understand, but that I catch anyway.
Connie signs and her sister translates through a short chuckle, "We are acquainted."
"Ok, it's nice to meet the both of you."
"Command Sergeant Major Grimes, would you be willing to share your story with our readers?"
Connie's question lands in my ears, but from the corner of my eye I observe that Ezekiel has taken up a quiet side conversation with Michonne while Junior and I are preoccupied with Connie and Kelly.
"I was bragging about knowing the new president personally and told some people at the Commonwealth that I was hoping I might be able to get an exclusive interview with her and her husband who has remarkably risen from the dead. What do you think?"
Looking to Michonne, and drawing her attention back to the whole group, I place my palm in hers and gently ease her back to my side. "Chonne, honey, you think we can give Connie an exclusive interview for the Commonwealth?"
"Sure, but it will have to wait until after the baby comes, and of course my first official visit will be to Georgia. I already promised Victor Strand over there that my home state would be first."
As Michonne continues chatting with Connie and Kelly, and Junior translates for her, I kind of sit back and just analyze the interplay between the group. It's obvious that the three women and Junior know each other pretty well, especially as I pick up bits and pieces about some relationship between Connie and Daryl that I'm definitely going to ask Michonne about later.
But what really holds my attention, and not in a good way, is the insipid grin that covers Ezekiel's face as he settles all of his focus on my wife. It's not lewd or crass, nothing lingering on her body. Actually, I might be less worried if it did. Even while heavily pregnant, my wife is absolutely stunning, has an amazing body, and I have witnessed plenty of men, and some women as well, appreciating her physique. I don't think I blame them. What I do take particular issue with is that the look Ezekiel directs towards Michonne is one full of admiration, yearning. Sweeping her face, categorizing her features. The way she speaks, gestures, smiles. Watches her lips form each word as though he could taste them on her lips. Ezekiel is consuming her with just his eyes, probably savoring each glimpse until he sees her again, and he doesn't seem to either be aware of it, or he doesn't care that I can see him. Neither option is one I can accept.
Circled around each other, with Michonne to my right, my hand in hers, Junior to her right, then Ezekiel, Connie, and Kelly, he's in the perfect position to get a full view of her. But, I'm getting a full view of him as well, and it's in that moment that I decide it's time for he and I to talk.
"Ezekiel, can I speak with you a moment?"
"Is everything ok, Rick?" Michonne instantly swivels her head my way, something alarming dancing in her eyes and the hurried cadence of her question.
"I just want to chat with the man, Michonne."
Michonne doesn't flinch, doesn't retreat her eye's gaze. Nor does she look to Ezekiel. She simply trains her attention on me, maybe trying to figure out what's going on. Why?
"Ok? I thought we were leaving?"
"Soon." Dipping my head to her lips I kiss her softly, reassuringly, then glance around her and I make eye contact with my son who was already carefully watching his mother and I, maybe picking up on the building tension. "Junior, why don't you go get your sister, and I will meet you both and your mother by the door in a few minutes. Can you do that for me?"
"Yes, sir."
"Thank you, son. Ezekiel, why don't we talk over this way?" Turning away from the group, I find my way to the hallway by a side door, away from the attention of anyone's listening ears.
"Rick, what can I do for you?"
"What's going on with you and my wife, Ezekiel?"
"I'm sorry?"
"You will be if you answer my question the wrong way."
"Rick? I - I don't understand?"
"The doe eyed stares, the little touches. Whispering and smiling? Special handshakes with my son. Something's going on. I've noticed it since I returned. Haven't said much cause I figured maybe it's just something I'm imagining. I missed my wife and kids, a lot of time has grown between us and now I'm greedy with their attention. Trying to put my life back together with them. But I see you. There's something else."
Crossing his arms over his chest, Ezekiel drops the fake confusion, and loosens his features into a casual smirk. My memory of the king is not abundant, just short snippets of our interactions. He liked to talk too much. Too dramatic. But, there is nothing in my short recall that brings this look to mind. Nor the looks he's been giving my wife. Even directed at Carol. So what the fuck?
"At some point I knew this would come up. The kiss. Our closeness."
"Kiss?"
"You were dead a long time, Rick. Michonne is a lovely woman. I was in a bad place after Carol, the Kingdom and Hilltop were gone, my sons were gone. Michonne was…is…very special. She understood me and stood by me. She… that woman cared enough to save me and share something very special with me. I can't forget that."
"Ezekiel, whatever happened with my wife-"
"Not - not like what you think, Rick, but… More than sharing of flesh. The kiss we shared was wonderful, but her vulnerability meant more. Do you know your wife, Rick? Do you really know her?"
"I do." I grit out, my head swimming, trying to put together a picture of what exactly Ezekiel is saying happened between him and Michonne.
"Maybe you think you do, but maybe you don't. Maybe not anymore. Have you seen her pain, Rick? Did you know she had given up at some point, envied the death that claimed the walkers? That she was crushed, lonely, alone. She and I shared that. That we were both familiar with that feeling." Gulping down what I can only imagine is the same stone of emotion that clogs my own throat, he halts his words and stares at the ceiling. "Permitting me the gift of seconds to hold and kiss her, had no comparison to her words, her confessions. Her pain. I know her, the hurt of rejection from someone you love. I know what you did to her." Ezekiel brings his focus back down to glare at me, then leans in and whispers the last bit, his tone graveled and angry.
"Step back."
"I know what you did, Rick. Told her to leave? That she shouldn't have come? I could tell she didn't want to tell me, but she did. She's protecting you and your feelings, even though you hurt hers. Ha…what kind of man turns away a woman like that? A woman who almost died to find you? Left her own children behind for you. I would never give Michonne a moment to doubt my love."
"Your love?" I growl. Tilting my head to the side I'm fuming with an anger that's red hot, blistering me from the inside out. Racing through my veins with a ferocity that urges me to reach for my gun. And I do, my right hand rests on the cool metal at my hip. Waiting. Fingering the weapon, indignation and rage clouding my judgment. Michonne told him about that? Told this man who is obviously in love with her? "Watch the next words out of your mouth, Ezekiel."
Smug arrogance furthers his confidence. Ezekiel stands tall in front of me, unashamed or burdened by my threat as he continues, "Why? The truth hurts you, Rick? It might, but not like how you hurt her. That woman is everything! Those kids that you wanted to abandon are the most special kids."
"Leave my kids out of this. Whatever you think you've got with Michonne and my kids, you don't. You don't understand shit about what I've been through. I was kidnapped. Taken from my family! I did not abandon or leave her or my kids behind on purpose. Michonne is my wife! Those are my kids!"
"But I was taking care of them."
"Michonne left them with Daryl."
"And Daryl left them with me. Why do you think he would do that, Rick, if he didn't understand the connection she and I have? There's no love lost between me and Daryl, but he could tell she and I are close. Close enough for me to take care of the people most precious to her."
Pain, anguish, anger. Acrimony is digging a hole so deep and gluttonous it's eating away at my insides. And it's not even at Ezekiel. It's at me. I'm angry at myself because there is truth in what he's levied at me. The charges are legitimate. I hurt Michonne. I couldn't get home to her. I told her that we were broken and it was over. I told her to leave, even after she told me about my son. Like a series of collages playing over a movie soundtrack, I view every scene in my life where I had been the catalyst for my wife's pain. Flashbacks and clips, going as far back as our first few interactions, me telling her she's gone after we get Glenn and Maggie back from Woodbury, to simply moments after I ran out of that apartment in the crumbling building to find her and still tell her to leave.
"Don't think that I don't know, Ezekiel. I know what I have done to her. Everyday I am dedicated to making up for that. That's my pain, and you don't know shit about that! About how far I will go for her, for my kids. I gave my hand, and I will give my life. I appreciate you being there for her and for the kids. If a kiss went down between you, I can't fault her.
But, she obviously wasn't moved enough by it to keep her from coming to look for me. Almost 8 years later. I'm back because of her." My feet send me in a furious pace. Back and forth. Back and forth. Thinking thinking thinking. My hand digs through my hair, wipes the frustration from my face. "I understand, man, I do. She's…Michonne is everything. But, she's my everything and there's no fucking way I'm losing her again. I'd kill anyone or anything that threatens that. So-"
A high pitched buzz, then a loud bang rings through my ears piercing the fugue state of quiet madness clouding my thoughts at Ezekiel's confession.
"Commander Grimes!"
Searching, swiveling my head, my eyes dash around, only catching the back of Ezekiel running back into the ballroom amid a burst of dust and smoke. Immediately, he intercepts a staggering Michonne in the doorway.
"Rick, here take her! Take the kids!" He yells handing Michonne off to me as he barrels past the kids' bodyguard and into the fray of bullets and chaos.
Falling into my arms, Michonne is bleeding from her head in drips, and then trickles of thick heavy streams down the side of her face. Holding onto her stomach with one hand, and Junior in the other, who's also holding on to Judith, Michonne is screaming something that I can't make out clearly from all of the gun fire surrounding us. Pulling her into me, I grab the handkerchief from my uniform pocket and gently apply it to the side of her head at an inch long gash, the source of the bleeding.
"Mason Beale…" is all that Michonne whispers to me as her eyelids obscure her gaze from me, and her body grows limp against me.
"Mom! Mom! Are you ok? Dad, is she ok?" Judith wails, her frightened face searching her mother's as her brother clings to Michonne's side and watches the doorway where their bodyguard returns fire behind him. Then falls to his own death.
"Judith, listen to me, your mother will be fine." I promise. A promise that with the amount of blood she's losing I know I can't guarantee, but one that I know I will die trying to fulfill. Searching the hallway I locate a door. Lifting Michonne in my arms, I lead her and the kids to the door, opening it to find it's a janitor's supply closet, and breathe in a bit of thankfulness that it's just what I need to get my wife and kids to a safe place momentarily. Laying Michonne in a corner, I prop her body against the shelves. Digging around the shelves I find tape and quickly fasten my handkerchief to her wound, eager to stop the bleeding. My hands then frantically roam her body, looking for any other signs of injury, but finding none I allow myself a small moment to pause and thank the universe or whatever is out there that kept her relatively safe.
Breathing heavily, my brain coming back online, I look to each side and notice my children are flanking me, calm and seemingly preparing to fight. Both of them are armed with knives, and turning to face the door. It's the first time I notice that they and their weapons are already covered with blood and what appear to be walker guts.
"Hey, kids, what the hell happened?"
"We were walking with Mama to wait at the door for you, like you said, then an explosion went off on the other side of the ballroom. Walkers started coming through the door. Mama was hit with debris from the explosion. Judith and I were holding her up, trying to keep her from falling. Our guard was protecting us all."
"She was bleeding and holding her stomach. I think- I don't know, Dad, she was saying Beale over and over. We just wanted to get her to you as fast as we could. Walkers were coming though, and RJ and I got two of them."
"Then Ezekiel helped us through the door. Now he's gone…" Junior adds, the last bit coming out softer than rest, riding a twinge of emotion. He doesn't cry though. No tears, no breaking. Determination colors his round face, features set in a frown. Fire in his eyes as he steals a glance at his wounded mother over his shoulder then looks back to me and then the door. "Whoever blew up the side of the ballroom came to hurt Mama. I heard them hollering to grab her. I'm not going to let them."
Clapping her brother on his shoulder, Judith stands tall beside him. "Right, RJ. We're not gonna let them, are we, Dad?"
"No, we're not." Pride washes over me as I watch my children and hear how they reacted and mobilized to not only protect themselves, but their pregnant mother as well. Michonne has trained them well, and for the millionth time in my life I thank her for who she is and what she's done. What she's meant to my life and theirs. Steeling my spine, I search the small closet again, this time looking for anything that can be used as a weapon. "Judith, Junior, those knives are small. You need something else, something longer to keep walkers and people further away from you. So they can't get their hands on you easily, or bite you. What about these mop handles? Can you use them like a staff? Either of you?"
"Yeah, Dad, Mom taught me to use a staff as well as my katana. RJ too."
"I'm better with a knife, even a gun, but I can use a staff."
"Junior, you know how to shoot?"
"Yes, sir. I'm a better shot than Mama is."
"Good! Here, take my gun, Junior. Keep your knife close. Both of you, don't let anyone get their hands on you. Stay close together, watch each other's back. I'll be right with you. We're gonna keep your mama safe in here while we find a way out of here. Got it?"
"Yes!"
Twisting the handle on the mop, I unscrew it and hand it to Judith, then hand over one of my guns to Junior.
"I love you both. Stay close to me. If we get separated, you come back here to your mother and you don't let anyone else in this room other than me. Understand?"
"Yes!"
Crouching down to face Michonne, I check her one more time, needing to ensure I didn't miss any additional harm that could have been done to her. Finding none, I kiss her lips and leave behind a pledge that I will keep. "Chonne, you, the baby, and the kids will make it out of here and be ok. I promise you, we're all making it home alive."