Chapter 1: August. Summer.

The end of summer sent streams of sunlight through the opened windows of Michonne Hawthorne's 7th grade Literature classroom. She loved this time of year. The scent of flowers, the chirp of birds, and the flutter of leaves as they fell off of the trees in preparation for the coming fall all created such nice ambient noise and background scenery for the creative works she and her students were delving into.

The lesson for the day focused on The Crucible.

Michonne walked back and forth in front of the classroom. Her natural hair was braided neatly on one side until they tapered off into a shock of pretty curls that framed her face and fell to her shoulders. A black, thick-strap tank top adorned her torso. Her colorful, sheer, floor-length skirt danced around her legs as she moved. The plain black skirt she wore underneath hugged her curves and stopped at her knees. The outfit was completed with black wedge sandals and pedicured toes.

"I want each of you to pick a main character from this play and write a 1-page character analysis," Michonne said. She grabbed a piece of stretchy putty from her desk and began to pull it between her fingers as she listened to her students groan. She waited patiently for the complaints to end before she continued. "It will be due on Friday. And then…" she paused for effect before she delivered her next sentence. "We will have a movie day and watch the 1996 film that is based on this play." Cheers went up around the room. Michonne smiled after having won her class back to her side.

Her eyes went to someone who wasn't cheering.

Carl Grimes.

Carl's journal was open on his desk, but he hadn't seemed to be paying attention at any point during the class. He had either been staring out the window, lost in daydreams, or bouncing a ball against the floor only to catch it in his hand and repeat. Infinitely. It had been driving Michonne crazy.

"Carl," Michonne called. "Which character are you going to choose for your character analysis?"

Carl finally gave her his attention but only to shrug. "I don't know," he said. "I think this story is kind of stupid."

"Stupid?" Michonne asked. "Why?"

"I don't know," Carl said again with another shrug. "It just is."

Michonne smiled gently. "That's not a very compelling argument," she said. "If Mr. Arthur Miller was in this room right now, he'd want to know what part of his work didn't reach you. Was his writing too clunky? Too wordy? Did a character not read as authentic to you? You have to be able to back up your thoughts if you don't want people to just outright dismiss them."

"Okay," Carl said, sitting up in his seat. "I think John Proctor is an asshole."

"Ah! Language," Michonne reprimanded as she walked to the whiteboard and wrote Carl's name down as a strike. The other students in the class released "ooh"s and giggles. "Continue," she prompted as Carl rolled his eyes. She settled back against her desk and crossed her legs at the ankles.

"He cheated on his wife with a child, and then he's the one we're supposed to root for," Carl continued. "Everything that happened is his fault!"

Michonne smiled. She couldn't help but to love the kid even though he had been acting out lately. "Great point," she said proudly. "When looking at The Crucible further than surface level, the work becomes that much more interesting. For example, let's look at it from a feminist perspective. Is Abigail Williams villain, victim, or both?" She wrote the question on the board as she spoke. "You could argue that Abigail Williams is a victim of - not only John Proctor - but the society in which she lives."

"The Crucible is set in 1692 in the Puritan town of Salem, Massachusetts. Growing up in this time period as a woman couldn't have been easy. You only speak when you're spoken to. You have no value besides the value assigned to you by your father or your husband. If you didn't have a father or husband…as a woman, you may as well have been nothing."

"Abigail was an orphaned child on the cusp of becoming a woman. John Proctor has an affair with her. So like the child that she is, she latches onto him. She dreams of a future with him. But there's one problem; John Proctor already has a wife. So Abigail can't be his. So when Abigail and these girls start accusing people of being witches and people actually start to listen to the words of girls - people who had no power in this society - suddenly, they feel powerful. Suddenly, they feel heard. So they keep accusing, and they keep lying. And Abigail takes the chance to accuse John Proctor's wife of being a witch so that she can have him to herself. A villain is born."

"Now, we could also talk about how this story embodies how patriarchy leads to victimized women victimizing other women, but that's a whole different subject matter." Michonne stopped herself before she could go off on a tangent and smiled at Carl again. "Great point, Carl," she repeated. "I think a character analysis of John Proctor or Abigail Williams would be a great choice for you."

Carl tried and failed to hide a smile, happy to be complimented. He cleared his throat and began to bounce his ball against the floor again. "I'd rather write about someone cooler. Like Magneto from X-Men."

"You can write about him," Michonne said.

"Really?!" Carl asked excitedly.

"Yep," Michonne replied. She walked forward and snatched Carl's ball from the air before it could make its way back to his hand. "You can compare and contrast Magneto and Abigail Williams; write about how their past dictates their futures."

"Michonne~!" Carl whined. He huffed and slouched in his seat.

"That's Miss Hawthorne to you." Michonne placed a check next to his name on the whiteboard to denote another strike. She turned to face Carl again. "Anything else?"

"No, Miss Hawthorne," Carl replied with a pout.

Ron Anderson, the boy who sat next to Carl, snickered into his hand.

"Shut up!" Carl muttered. He leaned over to punch Ron in the shoulder.

"Third strike," Michonne said as she placed another check next to Carl's name. "See you in detention, Carl. Let's keep our hands to ourselves."

"He started it!" Carl complained, pointing at Ron.

"Don't argue." Michonne met Carl's eyes with a no-nonsense gaze, letting him know she was done with the back and forth.

Carl sighed in resignation and folded his arms across his chest.

"This sucks," he whispered.

'I first noticed his eyes. They came alive again. His eyes hadn't come alive like that since the good years with Mom. And those years were long gone.'

Carl watched Miss Hawthorne as she typed on her laptop. She was probably grading papers or something. Eventually, she stopped and stretched. Then she closed the PC, apparently finished with whatever task she was working on.

Carl could understand why his father stared at Miss Hawthorne like she was magic. Miss Hawthorne was pretty. For an old person. She was cool too. Once, he had brought a comic book to class to read. He thought she was going to make him put it away, but she took it to the front of the class and taught a lesson on how the way images and text worked together to tell a story in comics could be just as powerful as the words of even the most classic novels.

He approved.

Which was why he had to step in and help his dad get noticed. His dad was hopeless when it came to romance.

"So…Carl," Michonne said. "Do you want to tell me what's been going on with you before your dad gets here?"

Carl shrugged. He hated to give his favorite teacher a bad impression of him, but it was a necessary sacrifice.

If it meant his dad would stop looking so sad and lonely all the time and burying himself in work, he was willing to take the hit to his perceived character.

He ignored Miss Hawthorne's question and asked one of his own. "Miss Hawthorne…I saw that we're going to be studying The Hunger Games this year. If you were Katniss, who would you have chosen? Gale or Peeta?"

Miss Hawthorne narrowed her eyes at him, probably deciding whether to let him get away with ignoring her question, before she answered. "Peeta all the way. Why?"

Carl smiled, satisfied with her answer. "Good," he said.

His dad was definitely a Peeta.

"Sorry I'm late. Am I late?"

Rick hurried through the door of the classroom, breathing heavily. He was still dressed in his sheriff uniform. He took his hat off when he saw Michonne walking toward him.

Michonne Hawthorne was his son's 7th grade Literature teacher. And every time he saw her, he couldn't help but to think about how he never had teachers who looked like her when he was in school. His eyes swept her figure appreciatively before they landed on her own stare.

Her disapproving stare.

Rick swallowed thickly and immediately knew he had been caught "appreciating" her figure. His friend, Shane, always said a scan that lasted less than 10 seconds was respectful. Apparently, he should never listen to Shane. Ever.

"Uhh…Carl, let's go, shall we?" he said, calling his son over.

"Can we actually talk for a moment?" Michonne asked Rick.

"Uh, yeah, sure," Rick said. He turned to Carl who was now at his side. "Wait outside, bud."

When Carl was outside in the hallway, Rick turned back to his son's teacher and gave her a small smile. He hoped he hadn't given too much of a bad impression.

"This is Carl's third detention this week," Michonne said, getting right to the point. "The school year just started. Are there any issues at home I should know about?"

"Uhh…" Rick squinted up at the ceiling, wondering how much information was relevant to share with his son's teacher. "Well…his mom and I recently divorced…If you count two years as recent. It was just finalized last year. But he seemed to be taking it pretty well…I thought."

Michonne nodded. "Divorce can be tough on a kid. Especially when the parents start dating again. Children have to get used to a whole new family dynamic."

"I'm not dating," Rick said quickly. "My wife may be; I'm not sure. But I'm not. I've just been focusing on my job and Carl." Rick glanced at Michonne and continued. "I-I mean, if the right woman came along, I wouldn't say no," he stammered. "But I haven't been…yet. I'm open to it, though. You know…if anyone was interested. I mean, not just anyone! But the right woman."

When he focused on Michonne's face again, he could see that she was trying to hold back a laugh. He sighed. He must have sounded like an idiot.

He cleared his throat and then got back to the safer subject: Carl.

"Do you have any suggestions?" Rick asked. "To help keep him out of trouble?"

Michonne turned around and pulled a pamphlet from her desk. "I do, actually. This is a list of all of the extracurriculars and sports offered at our school. Maybe you and Carl could scan through and see if there's anything he would be interested in. Staying after school doing something productive would be much better than wasting an extra hour sitting here in detention, don't you think? And it might give him something else to focus on and feel a sense of responsibility toward."

Rick's eyes fell on a portion of the pamphlet that was circled in red marker. "What's this?" he asked.

Michonne's lips stretched into a small, guilty smile.

'Cute,' Rick thought.

"I'm a little biased," Michonne admitted. "I oversee a YA Writers' Club. It's a club I put together myself. It takes place every Tuesday and Thursday. I work with a few students to help them put together some writing portfolios and submit them to contests, both local and international. I think Carl would do well. He's very bright, and he has an interesting point of view. I think he would make a great writer if he hones his skills."

Rick smiled. 'Very cute.'

"I'll talk to him about it," he said. "See if he's interested."

"Awesome," Michonne said.

"Awesome," Rick echoed.

When there seemed to be nothing else, he said, "Okay, well…"

Michonne nodded. "Don't forget that our first parent/teacher conference is next month."

"I won't," Rick said. "Thanks," he said, holding up the pamphlet. He then turned to leave the room. But Michonne's voice stopped him before he made it to the door.

"You weren't late by the way," she said. He turned to see that small, secret smile gracing her heart-shaped lips once again. "You never are. It's impressive. And admirable. You're obviously busy," she gestured toward Rick who was still in his work uniform. "But you always show up for Carl. That's more than I can say for some parents."

Rick was touched. He had the urge to turn back and ask her if she wanted to continue their conversation elsewhere. But she walked away and started to clean her whiteboard. The moment was over.

He nodded again. "Thank you."

And then he left.

"Dad, you have no rizz."

"Rizz? What's that?"

"Something you don't have."

Michonne chuckled as she listened to Rick and Carl's fading voices.

'Plan #1: Make them meet outside of school.'

The next day, Carl slipped into Miss Hawthorne's classroom when he saw her step out before the first school bell of the day rang to take her routine bathroom break. His eyes scanned her desk until he found what he was looking for: her planner.

With his heart beating hard, he flipped through her planner quickly until he found something.

Last week of August. 'Tybee beach trip' was written and circled and red.

Carl pumped his fist and hurriedly closed the planner just as he heard the click clack of Miss Hawthorne's heels coming back down the hallway.

He ran to his desk and sat quickly just as she stepped through the door.

She paused and looked at him suspiciously. It was warranted because he knew he was breathing heavily and that she heard his desk scrape across the floor upon her entry. With narrowed eyes, she went to her desk and inspected everything. "What are you up to, Grimes?" she asked.

He looked back at her innocently. "Nothing."

She studied him for a couple more seconds before walking to the board and writing his name down.

"Wha-?!" he squawked. "I didn't do anything!"

"I don't know what you did, but I know you did something," she said as she sat in her chair.

"That's not fair!"

"Maybe not," she shrugged. "Skittles?" She offered him some of the candy from the bowl on her desk.

"...Yes, please," Carl muttered, still pouting.

Rick had no idea why Carl had continuously wheedled at him to come to the beach. He had been of the opinion that Carl wasn't too fond of the beach. He used to complain any time family vacations took them to "sand hell" as Lori used to call it.

But he was here. And he was glad he had come. Especially when he saw Michonne Hawthorne laid out on a blanket further down the beach.

"Carl, look!" he said excitedly. "Isn't that your teacher?"

"Oh, yeah, it is," Carl said. "Whatever. I'm going to the water. Bye, Dad!"

Rick watched Carl run off. He decided he would join him. After he said 'hi' to his son's teacher. It was only polite.

He set up the beach chairs he and Carl had brought and placed their own beach blankets on the seats. He pitched their beach umbrella and then set their cooler of snacks between their chairs. Then he was off.

Michonne saw him approaching over the pages of the book she was reading. Behind her shades, she rolled her eyes.

Michonne's opinion of Rick Grimes was this: He was charming. Presumptuous. And his stares were downright invasive. But one thing she absolutely hated was having to speak to parents on her days off.

She raised her shades to the top of her head and forced a smile when he drew near. "Hi," she said as she closed her book and sat it aside.

Rick made sure to keep his eyes on her face as he returned her smile. He was determined not to make the same mistake as last time even though he wanted to admire her beachwear now that he was up close.

She was wearing an orange, sheer, backless cover up number. A sky blue thong bikini could be seen clearly through the fabric. Her hair was styled into beautiful, thick twists that were pulled back into a ponytail. She was beautiful.

"Anna Karenina," Rick said, reading the title of the book she had laid next to her. "Is it any good?"

"It is," Michonne said. She shielded her eyes from the sun so that she could see Rick's face. He was dressed in a t-shirt, beach shorts, and sandals. "It's about two lovers having an affair…the agonies and ecstasies of love…You know. All the good stuff."

Rick nodded. "Well…hopefully, there's a happy ending," he said.

Michonne smirked. She had already read the book twice before, so she knew his hopes were moot. "You sweet summer child," she joked. "Here," she said, holding the copy of her book out to him. "You should read it."

"Really?" Rick asked, taking the book. The size of it intimidated him a little. He wasn't sure if he would ever have time to read the whole thing.

"Yep," Michonne said. "We can talk about it after you finish."

"Okay," Rick said, suddenly determined to finish it in the next month. "Can I join you?" he asked.

Michonne withheld a sigh. Her precious alone time was gone. "Sure," she said.

After Rick had sat down next to her, Michonne asked, "Do you remember what you said the day before school started? When you were giving Carl a tour of the school?"

Rick thought back to that day. It was standard for the school to open its doors to allow new students who were moving up to junior high to come in to tour the school and meet their new teachers the day before school started so that they could familiarize themselves with everything beforehand. That was the first time Rick had seen Michonne. He didn't remember much past that moment. He only remembered her. She had been wearing a white short sleeve shirt and blue flare pants. "Umm…Not really," he said. "What'd I say?"

"Carl was nervous about taking Literature because it required a lot of reading. You said, 'Don't worry about it. Literature isn't as important as math and science. As long as you do well in those, you're fine.'"

Rick's brow furrowed. "I said that?!" he asked, appalled that he had actually said that and that Michonne - the Literature teacher - had heard him.

"Yes," Michonne said. "I have to admit I've held a small grudge against you ever since."

"Oh, no!" Rick groaned. "And, here, I thought I made a good first impression."

Michonne smirked and shook her head. "Nope," she teased.

"Well, obviously, I don't think that," Rick assured her. "I was just trying to get Carl to relax."

"Good," Michonne said. "Because literature is important. I learned some of my most important lessons through written media."

"Yes, ma'am," Rick replied as if he was getting a lecture.

Michonne laughed genuinely. "Shut up," she said. She let her head turn towards the sky. "Sometimes it's hard to turn the teacher off even when I'm out of school."

"Oh, I get that," Rick replied. "I learned long ago that I cannot take the job home with me. I've seen that drive too many of my coworkers crazy."

"I can imagine," Michonne said.

They continued talking about their jobs. And before long, ten minutes had passed just like that. Michonne was pleasantly surprised that the conversation flowed so easily.

She allowed her hand to play across the warm sand before her eyes moved over to Rick once again. She felt his eyes on her before she saw them. His gaze felt like a physical touch - across her chest, across her taut stomach, down to her thighs.

Michonne squirmed. She hated how her body reacted to his stare. She didn't want to like it, but she had to admit that she felt a little intoxicated from having his eyes on her.

Michonne's movement caused Rick to break his stare and inhale sharply as if he was coming out of a trance. He suddenly looked around. "Are you here alone?" he asked.

Michonne couldn't help but to chuckle again. Carl was right; the man had no rizz. She decided to be playful with him. "If I told you my boyfriend was in the bathroom, what would you do?"

Rick squinted down at her. "I'd ask: How big is he?"

Michonne laughed. It had been a while since she flirted so openly with someone. She had forgotten how fun it could be.

She turned over onto her stomach and watched as Rick's eyes moved down her bare back down to her round ass, barely hidden beneath the sheer cover up. She breathed deeply and let herself enjoy the attention.

Eventually, Rick's eyes moved back up to her face. He blushed when he saw that she had been watching him the whole time.

Michonne held her sunscreen out to him. "Make yourself useful," she said.

Kneeling beside Michonne, Rick squirted the sunscreen into his palm and rubbed it into both hands before he applied it to Michonne's skin. His hands ran up her arms to her elbows then back down her shoulders to her waist. He hoped his breathing didn't sound as heavy to her as it sounded in his own ears. He felt himself getting lost in the smooth softness of her skin.

He was grateful when she started talking again.

"My friend is supposed to be coming to meet me," Michonne said. "But yes…right now, I'm here alone."

Her voice was low and honeyed.

Rick's hand was moving at her lower back right where Michonne's cover up dipped to touch the top of her hips. An intrusive image of Rick pushing his hand beneath the fabric to grip her ass suddenly flashed in Michonne's mind.

She gasped and opened her eyes.

"Okay," she said, causing Rick to pull away. "Thank you."

Rick sat back on the sand. "I'll keep you company until your friend arrives."

Michonne looked over towards the water. She saw Carl battling the ocean waves and losing. "I think you need to go make sure Carl doesn't get dragged out to sea first."

"Oh, shit!" Rick said as he saw Carl literally punching at the waves as he got knocked off of his feet over and over again. Michonne laughed as Rick ran off to save his kid from the edge waves.

By the time Rick stood Carl up and walked them both back to where the waves couldn't reach them, Rick looked back to where Michonne had been. As he expected, she was gone.

On Monday, Donald Okafor walked into Michonne's classroom. Okafor was the deep-voiced, serious principal of King County High. He sat a breakfast sandwich and a cup of tea in front of Michonne, who smiled widely at the offering. She had just been cursing herself for skipping breakfast that morning.

"Tea? Not coffee?" Michonne asked.

"I'll take that as a 'thank you,'" Okafor said.

"Sorry. You're right. Thank you," Michonne said with a chuckle. She took a huge bite of the bacon, egg, and cheese croissant. She closed her eyes and savored the flavors that played over her tongue. "You're a life-saver."

"I'm glad you like it," Okafor said. "So when are you gonna let me take you out and provide you with a real meal?"

Michonne wiped her mouth with a napkin and sat back in her seat. "I go to all of the staff outings."

"Come now, Michonne," Okafor said. "You know exactly what I mean."

As Michonne took another bite of her sandwich, she wiped her lip with her thumb to get rid of any stray crumbs as she gave Okafor's suggestion some serious thought.

Okafor had been subtly showing interest in her ever since she was hired three years ago. It was only recently that he had started being more direct. This was the first time he was asking her on a date outright.

She thought back to the past weekend and how she got turned on from the mere touch of the sheriff.

'Maybe I should start dating again,' she thought. Her eyes went back to Okafor. But it couldn't be him. He was too serious. He would definitely want a committed relationship with marriage and children on a three-year horizon. She wasn't ready for that yet.

She started to think about how she could reject him without making things awkward.

But, thankfully, she was saved from responding when Carl walked into the classroom. He stopped short when he saw Okafor, who was leaned over Michonne's desk with his palms pressed to the surface, before he started walking again. He narrowed his eyes at Okafor and passed Michonne his essay on Abigail Williams and Magneto.

"Am I interrupting something?" he asked.

"Nope," Michonne said. "Thank you for the breakfast, Okafor. I'll see you later."

Realizing he was being dismissed, Okafor left with a tight smile.

For the rest of the class period, Carl was a terror. He kept making farting noises with his armpit and riling the other students up.

"Carl," Michonne said, exasperated. "Do I need to call your father? Again?"

Carl shrugged. "Do it."

Michonne sighed. "See you in detention, Grimes."

"I'm sorry," Rick said the minute he came through the classroom door. "Carl, go out to the car, please."

His eyes flitted over Michonne. A short-sleeve yellow shirt tucked into blue pants that stopped at the ankles. Beautiful.

"I'll ground him," Rick said. "I don't know why he's giving you such a hard time. He loves you. He talks about you all the time."

"He does?" Michonne asked, happy to hear that. She was glad she was making a positive impact.

"He does," Rick confirmed.

He hesitated.

"Listen…" he said. "Maybe…I could buy you dinner as a thank you for putting up with all the trouble Carl is giving you."

Michonne was taken aback. She hadn't been expecting that. "I-" She found herself in a similar predicament as she had been in at the start of the day. "Umm…No."

The classroom was very quiet. Uncomfortably quiet.

"Oh…" Rick breathed. "I…guess I'll see you at the next parent/teacher conference."

Michonne avoided looking in Rick's eyes and nodded. After Rick left, she released the breath she had been holding. "Fuuuck…" she whispered.

She went to sit behind her desk silently for a moment. And then she started organizing her things to keep her nerves and thoughts at bay.

"Let me get this straight," Sasha, Michonne's friend and King County school administrator said. "You have Donald 'fine-ass' Okafor offering to take you out. And then you have Sheriff Rick Grimes asking you out to dinner. On the same day! And you rejected both of them?! Girl, what are you doing?!"

They were sitting at the bar of an Italian restaurant that Michonne usually would say was her favorite, but she wasn't even able to get excited over Pasta al Limone because of how the day went. This was why she had sworn off relationships for the foreseeable future; it was all too stressful.

"It has nothing to do with them," Michonne said, choosing to just drink daiquiri after daiquiri instead of ordering food. "It's me. I'm closed for business. For good."

"That is so stupid," Sasha replied. "You've only been in one long-term, serious relationship. One! And that was with Mike, the crackhead-!"

"Not a crackhead, a weedhead. Come on," Michonne retorted.

Sasha continued talking as if Michonne didn't speak. "You need to open back up for business! You're gonna remain celibate until they lower you into your grave? Does that not sound insane to you?"

"I didn't say anything about being celibate," Michonne rebutted. "I can have sex and not be in a relationship."

"Okay, then let Okafor or Rick be your sex toy. Why not?!"

"Because I run into both of them too often! If I have casual sex, it's gotta be with a stranger. Someone I'll never see again."

A man with a handlebar mustache who was standing next to them and apparently heard their conversation leaned in. "Well, hello. My name is Axel."

"Ew! Go away, perv!" Sasha shouted, shutting him down before he could even get started.

Michonne turned her shoulder, boxing anyone else out of their conversation.

Sasha sighed and her face softened. She offered Michonne a sad smile. "I just worry about you sometimes. I think you closed yourself off too much after-"

Michonne sucked in a breath, stopping Sasha. She was not in the headspace to talk about that. Michonne finished off her drink and called the bartender over to close her tab. "Thank you for the drinks," she said. She breathed the tension out of her shoulders and turned a smile to her friend, someone she knew only wanted the best for her. "I'll see you later, okay?"

Knowing she couldn't force her to talk if she didn't want to, Sasha allowed her to get up to go. "No, thank you," Sasha said. "I love you."

"Love you too."

Michonne left the restaurant and breathed in the summer breeze, allowing it to sober her up a little. Then she pinged an Uber to take her home.

After a warm shower, Michonne settled into bed to read herself to sleep. But when she reached toward the nightstand next to her bed, instead of grabbing the new book she had ordered off of Amazon, she opened her drawer and took out the ultrasound that resided there.

She sighed and let sadness and regret wash over her until she faded off into sleep.