Chapter 3: October. Halloween.
Carl stood in Miss Hawthorne's 7th grade Literature classroom, waiting for his dad to pick up his FaceTime call. It was a Tuesday, and today was to be the first meeting of the YA Writers' Club. It was supposed to start in 30 minutes; Carl figured he would just hang out in the room until then.
As he waited for his dad to pick up his call, he wandered the classroom. He knew it would be a minute for his dad to answer. His dad approached all apps as if he was a prehistoric caveman. It was embarrassing. He would have to teach his dad about more apps now that he finally got with the program and was about to start trying to date Miss Hawthorne.
Carl walked over to the bulletin board posted on the wall right next to the classroom door and smiled when he saw the poster pinned there. It was a reminder about the class Halloween party. Each of Miss Hawthorne's classes had been allowed to choose a theme that everyone in the class would follow when it came to their costumes. Carl had pushed hard for X-Men, and everyone had followed suit. He was super excited about it.
Not only would they be having an X-Men themed party, but they were going to study the character arcs and themes of the X-Men: The Dark Phoenix Saga in the week leading up to the party. Miss Hawthorne just kept getting cooler and cooler.
He would definitely have to get his dad up to speed.
He looked down at his cell phone when it finally connected and his dad's shoulder appeared on the screen. He rolled his eyes as he listened to his dad's mutterings of, "How do I…? Oh. Wait. Damn phone." And then the screen finally landed on his dad's face. Judging by the background, he was sitting in the driver's seat of his squad car. So he was on the job.
"Dad!" Carl said without preamble. "I have to find a Nightcrawler costume for next week."
"What's next week?" his dad asked. He reached over and pulled back into frame with some french fries in his hand. He put them in his mouth and chewed as he listened to Carl's response.
"Halloween party in Miss Hawthorne's class."
Carl noticed Rick's heightened interest at the mention of Miss Hawthorne's name. He shifted in his seat and sat up straighter.
"What costume did you say you were needin' again," his dad asked.
"Nightcrawler," Carl responded. From the look on his dad's face, he knew his dad was thinking of a worm. "He's part of the X-Men," he said, exasperated.
"Oh," Rick said. "The blue guy?"
Glad that Rick was finally on the right track, Carl nodded. "Yes, Dad. Nightcrawler."
"Blue fictional character…" Rick muttered as he typed into the laptop on his passenger seat.
As Rick looked up who Nightcrawler was, Carl went over to Michonne's desk and turned his camera around. "Dad, look," he said. He leaned a bit to see his dad's expression as he showed him the slim vase that now decorated Michonne's desk. The red rose his dad had given her peeked from the top of the vase, healthy and alive.
A small, proud smile stretched across his dad's face. "She likes the flower, huh?" he said.
"I guess so," Carl opined with a small smile of his own. He had also seen her sneaking some of the chocolates from her desk drawer that Rick had sent over last week and popping them in her mouth. But he would wait to mention that in fear of his father doing something truly embarrassing like getting out of his seat and running happy laps around the car.
"Oh," Rick said, having turned back to his laptop. "Is this him?" He turned his phone to his laptop screen to show Carl a picture of…the avatar from James Cameron's 2009 Avatar film.
Carl was horrified.
At that moment, Michonne walked through the door holding a binder in her hands. Carl fled to her for support. "Miss Hawthorne," he whined. "Look at this. Dad, ask her what you just asked me."
He turned his cell phone towards Michonne so that she could see his dad on the screen. "What?" Rick asked, having heard Carl's narcing. "I asked if this is Nightcrawler." He pointed at the image of the Na'vi character displayed on his screen.
Michonne's hand flew up to cover her mouth. She was partly appalled and partly amused to the point where she wanted to bust out laughing. "I'm so sorry," she said to a despairing Carl. That kid was about to have the worst time costume shopping with this guy. "Rick Grimes," she said. "Are you that uncultured?"
Rick squinted over at the image of the blue character, not knowing what the problem was as he heard Carl reply to Michonne: "He's definitely uncultured."
"Now, wait a minute," Rick said as he listened to them gang up on him. "Carl, you're supposed to be on my side."
A distressed Carl ignored his dad and said to Michonne, "I need your help! He's going to have me looking like a Smurf."
"How can I help?" Michonne asked with a laugh. She went to place the binder she held on her desk.
"Help us with costume shopping this weekend," Carl suggested.
He could tell that Miss Hawthorne was hesitant. "Can't your mom help?" she asked as she sat on the edge of her desk.
"She's just as bad as Dad when it comes to this kind of stuff," he said with a sigh. When she still looked reluctant, Carl begged, "Please!"
Michonne looked at Carl's pleading face before she gave a long-suffering sigh. She gestured for the phone Carl held in his hands. When he passed it over, she asked Rick, "Do you have any objections to me coming over this weekend to help Carl find a costume?"
"Of course not," Rick said with a dopey smile. "We'll be happy to have you."
Michonne narrowed her eyes. "I'm coming to help Carl with his costume. Nothing else," she said just in case he was getting any ideas.
"No one said anything different," Rick replied innocently, a goofy grin still on his face. "I'll see you this weekend, Miss Hawthorne. Bye, Carl!"
Michonne handed the phone back to Carl who said his goodbyes to his dad. When he looked back over at Michonne, he wore an impish smile. "What?" he asked when he noticed Michonne's suspicious stare on him.
"I'm watching you, Carl Grimes," she replied lightly. "Sit down. The meeting is about to start."
Rick was being shaken awake by insistent hands.
He blinked his eyes open and groaned. "What's happening?" he asked, his voice groggy with sleep. "We under attack?"
"Get up!" Carl said. "Miss Hawthorne's coming over and you have drool on your face!"
Rick sat up quickly in bed. Carl was right. It was the weekend! He quickly checked the time on his digital clock - nine AM - and bounded from the bed to get ready. "How long do I have?" he asked.
"One hour," Carl responded.
Rick got dressed in a light blue dress shirt that brought out his eyes, tucked it into a pair of his nicest jeans, and put on a pair of brown Oxfords to complete the look. His curls were pushed back and his facial hair was well-groomed. "How do I look?" he asked Carl who was eating a bowl of cereal in the kitchen.
Carl took a look at his dad who was standing with his arms out, waiting for a verdict. "Belt," he said.
Rick looked down to see that he had, in fact, forgotten to put on the belt he had laid out on his bed. "Ahh~" he groaned. He went running off to grab it. "Thanks, Carl!"
When Michonne rang the doorbell at 10:05, Rick was dressed and ready. His eyes took in her form - as usual. She was wearing a black, strapless shirt that allowed her ample cleavage to be tastefully on display. Skinny jeans that hugged her legs were tucked into toeless black heels. And a sheer, airy orange top that tied at the waist flowed all the way down to just above her knees. Her hair fell naturally around her face and touched her shoulders. And she was wearing shades. So Rick couldn't read her eyes to see how she felt about him checking her out…again.
She probably hated it. He tore his eyes away and welcomed her in.
"Would you like something to drink?" he asked. He closed the door and tried not to fidget as Michonne looked around his living room. He looked around himself, hoping that he and Carl had managed to pick up all wayward socks and old takeout containers.
Michonne took the shades off of her face and turned to look at Rick. "No, thanks," she replied. "I'm probably going to grab a coffee while we're out. By the way, I was thinking we should go to Atlanta so that we could hit this great costume shop I know about."
"Magna's?!" Carl asked, appearing in the living room in an excited rush.
"That's the one," Michonne said. A smile bloomed on her face at Carl's appearance.
"Atlanta?" Rick said. He hadn't been planning on going into the city. "This is going to take all day, isn't it?"
Michonne turned over her shoulder again to look at Rick. "If there's something you'd rather be doing, Carl and I could go by ourselves…"
"No!" Rick said quickly. "Let me just grab my keys. I'll drive."
The car ride to Atlanta was fun. It consisted of Michonne and Carl vetoing Rick's music choices and setting up their own playlist for the drive. They ribbed him again for not knowing who Nightcrawler was and then proceeded to give him his whole backstory. It didn't help. Rick was still confused. They eventually gave up on him.
Rick didn't mind that they ganged up on him for most of the drive. He was repeatedly looking in the rearview mirror because he hadn't seen Carl laugh like that in a long time. Not since the divorce.
"Miss Hawthorne?"
"You can call me Michonne when we're not in the classroom, Carl," Michonne said.
"Michonne," Carl said, testing it out. "Cool." A small smile lived on Rick's face as he listened to them talk. "Thank you for helping me today, Michonne."
"No problem," Michonne said. "I'm happy to help." Rick glanced over to see a soft smile on her face.
Magna's was a large shop with costume pieces, fabrics, and props lined from front to back, wall to wall, floor to ceiling. Rick had never stepped foot in a costume shop that big. When he displayed his awe, Michonne informed him that Magna's was quickly becoming a famous shop that large production companies would go to for business.
Rick was afraid that the $50 budget he had set in his mind for Carl's costume wasn't going to cut it. But as Carl and Michonne ran off with excited smiles on their faces, he couldn't find it in him to put a damper on that. So he resigned himself to working longer hours in the next month to make up for whatever they spent today.
The base for Carl's outfit was pretty easy to find - a basic, tight, black stretch suit. Michonne then found white fabric she could use to make three-fingered gloves.
"You can sew?!" Carl asked, amazed. "Awesome!"
Rick was just as impressed as his son. Was there anything this woman couldn't do? When she said that she would probably need to make the vest and tail as well, Rick chimed in. "You don't need to do that. That's way too much. You should enjoy your weekend."
"Who says I'm not enjoying my weekend, Grimes?" Michonne asked before she sent him a quick wink. And then Rick was left to wonder what that wink meant when Carl pulled her over to the special effects prosthetics and makeup section.
When they left the shop, they were carrying bags of Bill Nye makeup, pointy latex ears, costume pieces, and fabrics. And Rick's wallet was much lighter leaving than it had been upon entering. It was the least he could do, though. They were imposing on Michonne's time. She was going to make his son a whole Halloween costume. That would probably take her more than a few hours and a loss of sleep.
Rick watched her walk across the parking lot to his car, mesmerized by the sway of her hips. He wanted to ask her to dinner now, but he was afraid of getting the same response he had gotten last time. That rejection still haunted him. But she had to be hungry after a long day of shopping, right?
"Carl!" Rick called, having suddenly gotten an idea. "Come here."
Carl ran over to his dad while Michonne placed bags into the trunk of Rick's car. She glanced over a few times as they whispered together, but Rick didn't let that deter him from his plan. Once he and Carl came to an agreement, he sent him off with a pat on the back. Michonne looked between the two of them suspiciously, but she didn't say anything.
When they had all climbed back into the car, Rick let out a huge sigh. "Whew!" he said. "That took a lot out of me. What about you, Carl? How you feelin'?"
"Oh, man!" Carl said loudly. "You know what, Dad? I'm actually really hungry! Can we stop somewhere to eat?"
"I could eat myself," Rick said. "But I don't know. Michonne may be wanting to get back." He glanced over at Michonne. "Whaddaya say, Michonne? You got time to eat somewhere? The kid is starvin'."
Michonne looked between the both of them and chuckled in disbelief. Rick smirked. It was clear she was being cornered, but what could she do about it? Deny a child food?
"You better be glad my favorite restaurant is in this area," Michonne said, buckling her seatbelt. "Or I would not be giving in to these manipulation tactics."
Rick smiled triumphantly and started the engine.
"You know how scary that is?" Rick was saying. "Realizing the person you have to trust with your life while on the job every day is an idiot?"
Michonne and Carl laughed as Rick regaled them with a tale of his partner, Shane Walsh's, reckless bravado.
Michonne was again impressed with his humor. She used to think he was a little uptight. But once he opened up, she could see that he had a bit of jocularity about him. She reached to her right and brought her wine to her lips to take a drink.
They were seated at her favorite restaurant, Terminus. It was a bit pricey and hard to get reservations for, but she was a friend of the owner - Andrea - so she always managed to get a seat with just a phone call.
As her lips closed around the piece of lamb on her fork, she noticed Rick's stare. He was again looking at her too hard. Too close. Too long. It caused her stomach to twist in that annoying way. She glanced at Carl, wondering if he too felt that Rick's stare was wildly inappropriate. Carl was looking at his plate and stuffing his face with shrimp, none the wiser. It was just Michonne then. When she looked back at Rick to see that he was still staring, she couldn't take it anymore. She kicked him in the shin.
"Ow! What was that for?" Rick asked with a shocked whisper.
Carl finally looked up from his plate to see what the commotion was about. "Sorry," Michonne said. "Muscle spasm."
She did feel a little guilty about kicking him. But when he looked at her like that, she felt exposed - like all of her was out there for him to see. And she couldn't take it in her present state. Not while she was loose with wine and amused by his words and the company of the Grimes boys.
"Do you guys want to see a movie after this?" Carl asked.
"No."
"What's playin'?"
Michonne and Rick answered at the same time. After a moment of silence, Rick asked, "Is that your favorite word?"
Dinner and a movie. It sounded too much like a date.
"Come on, Michonne. Please!" Carl sent a pout in her direction, and Michonne knew she would be giving in.
'Fuck,' she thought. She sighed. "Fine. What are we watching?"
They quickly decided on a movie - well, Michonne and Carl decided on a movie; they still didn't trust Rick's tastes. And then Carl, who had drank three glasses of sweet tea, excused himself from the table in order to make a visit to the bathroom.
Michonne watched Carl's retreating back. Once he disappeared around the corner that led to the bathrooms, she leaned her arms onto the table and looked Rick in the eyes. "Thank you for the flower and the chocolates," she said.
Rick leaned forward and smiled. He was surprised at the turn of the conversation, but he welcomed it. "You like them?" he asked.
"I do," Michonne replied honestly with a nod.
A hopeful smile touched his lips.
"...But I'm gonna have to ask you to stop sending the gifts."
The smile died.
"Why?" he asked. "If you like them…"
Michonne searched for an answer that would satisfy him and then decided on honesty once again. "Because I'm not ready for a relationship. And I think that's what you're looking for."
"...I'm just looking to get to know you better," Rick said, staring deeply into her eyes. "A relationship doesn't necessarily have to come from that."
Michonne gave him a disbelieving smirk. "Rick," she said. A "be for real" tone peppered her statement. "You're a relationship guy. If you date someone, that's what you would be looking for."
Rick squinted. "You talk like you know me."
"I do. You're very knowable. Besides…" she said, leaning back in her seat. "You're not my usual type."
"What's your usual type?" Rick asked.
"Not a cop, for one," Michonne responded.
"What's wrong with cops?"
'Be for real,' was telegraphed once again, this time in her facial expression.
Rick chuckled. He couldn't help but to find her charming even while she was ruthlessly shooting him down. "Okay," he conceded. "Fine. What else?"
"I've never dated a white guy," Michonne admitted.
"Really," Rick said. His next statement came easily. "Well, maybe I can be your first."
Michonne smiled. She couldn't help it. The latent confidence was attractive. She bit her lip and leaned back in her seat, studying Rick. He leaned back as well, leaving himself open to her gaze. He wasn't shying away.
Whatever was happening between them was interrupted when the server came over to the table with the check. It barely touched the table before both Rick and Michonne lunged for it.
Rick beat her to it. He gave a triumphant smile as he pulled his card out and gave it to the bemused server.
"This isn't a date," Michonne hissed out when the server walked away.
"Never said it was," Rick said with an overly innocent hitch in his voice.
Michonne saw Carl heading back to the table, so she dropped the retort she was about to make.
"What did I miss?" Carl asked as he sat down.
"Just paid," Rick said. "We'll be outta here soon." He wore a smile that made it clear he was way too pleased with himself. But Michonne couldn't find it in her to be annoyed.
A horror movie flickered on the large screen of the movie theater. But Rick was barely paying attention. His awareness was completely honed into the woman beside him and the way their hands brushed every time they reached into the large popcorn bucket that sat between them.
Carl was snoring lightly on the other side of him. He had fallen asleep 10 minutes into the movie.
Now they were halfway through the movie, and Rick was wondering if he should just throw caution to the wind and hold her hand.
He didn't know if it would be welcome, though. She had been pushing him away pretty heavily at the end of dinner. But here in the theater, it was a different story. Whenever his fingers brushed hers, he could swear she lingered just as long as he did so that they could revel in those small touches.
He felt like a teenager again.
Her hand went into the popcorn bucket once again. And like a magnet, Rick's hand followed. His fingertips played over the buttery popcorn until they reached hers. Playfully, he took two kernels right out of her fingers and brought them to her own lips - effectively stealing her popcorn.
She turned to look at him. "Really?" she asked.
He smirked as he chewed.
She reached for more popcorn, and he did it again.
When he attempted the same thing a third time, Michonne flicked at his hand repeatedly. That's when Rick caught her fingers and intertwined them with his own.
He held his breath as he waited for what she was going to do.
She didn't do anything.
She allowed him to hold her hand.
Rick smiled and moved the popcorn off to the side where it sat, ignored, for the rest of the movie.
Michonne found the rest of the weekend to be very strange. She fit in so well at the Grimes home that it was a bit eerie. It was as if she had been misplaced this whole time, and she was just now finding her true port of call.
She went over on Sunday morning to give Carl a tutorial on how to do his makeup. It took the whole morning. So she ended up staying for lunch. And then she finished up Carl's costume pieces with an old sewing machine they had in the attic. That took a few hours. So she ended up staying for dinner as well.
That's where Rick told her he had finished Anna Karenina, and they had a riveting discussion about it - a discussion that had her admitting that she had judged Rick's tastes in creative works a little too harshly. Rick had been very pleased to hear that and had puffed his chest out for the rest of the night.
"I'm never gonna be able to get the grooves in the skin right," Carl was saying of the Nightcrawler makeup. "I'm gonna mess it up."
Michonne had her focus in two places - Carl's words, and the feel of Rick's bare feet against her own. Somewhere during the dinner, they had both decided to kick off their shoes. And their feet had found each other under the table.
Michonne ran her foot gently over Rick's until she reached the hem of his jeans. She pushed gently until her toes were under the fabric and brushing his ankle.
"You can do it," Michonne said to Carl. "We filmed when I applied the makeup, remember? Just follow the video, and it'll be fine."
She kept her eyes on Carl, but she could feel Rick's prying stare. It was burning through her skin.
'Well, maybe you shouldn't be playing footsie with the man and giving him ideas,' Michonne chided herself.
She started to pull her foot back, but Rick caught it between his own and continued stroking his skin against hers. Michonne had never been a foot person; she could find nothing about feet that was sexy. But it had been so long since any part of her had been stroked so gently. She was touch starved.
"I practiced a little bit a few hours ago," Carl said. "It didn't look anywhere near as good as when you did it. Can you spend the night and help me get ready in the morning?"
Michonne, who had been gliding her toes slowly up Rick's shin, stopped short. Hearing the words "spend the night" put her in a fight or flight mood. She couldn't spend the night here. Under the same roof as Rick.
"I can't," she said quickly, bringing her foot back to her side of the table. "My costume is at my house. In fact…" She stood up. "I need to be getting back. I have to prepare my Storm wig for tomorrow."
Rick stood up. "So soon?" he asked.
"Soon?" Michonne asked with a smile. "Rick…I've been here for hours."
"Oh…Right."
Rick and Carl followed her to the door, tripping over themselves as they tried to think of reasons for her to stay.
"Wait! Well, what if I spent the night at your house?" Carl asked. "I really need help with my makeup."
Michonne looked at Carl sympathetically. She really wanted to help him make his Nightcrawler costume as great as it could be. She turned to Rick. "Would that be okay with you?"
Rick sighed. He was jealous that Carl had such a great excuse to stay in Michonne's orbit. Carl and he had been working as a great team up until that moment, but now - apparently - it was every man for themselves. Rick couldn't very well ask to go spend the night at her house for no reason at all. "That's okay with me," he said. "If it's not too much for you," he finished, squinting at Michonne. "You've basically spent your entire weekend on this. It's okay if you want a break."
"I don't need a break," Michonne said sincerely. 'Not from Carl at least,' she thought.
Rick gave a small smile and nodded. "Send me pictures."
"Will do," Michonne agreed. She turned to Carl with a smile. "Go get your stuff."
While Carl went to pack his overnight bag and the two were left alone again, Michonne did her best to ignore the tension in the room.
"Will I see you again?" Rick asked.
"The next parent/teacher conference is in December."
Rick rolled his eyes. "You know I don't mean in that capacity."
"Well…That's the only capacity I can give…" Michonne replied.
The next morning, Michonne and Carl woke up early - before the sun even came up - to get ready. They ate junk food, laughed, and talked as Michonne worked meticulously at Carl's makeup application.
And the whole time, Michonne thought about her unborn son. She wondered if this was what she sacrificed. Because of anger at a deadbeat boyfriend, she was possibly missing out on moments such as this.
She held back tears as she finished up with Carl and then donned her own outfit.
They sent pictures to Rick as promised. He immediately replied, saying they looked great.
And when Michonne arrived at school with Rick Grimes' son and Sasha sent her a curious look, she pretended not to notice. This was all fine. This was all normal. She was still in control. She could admit now that she had a little crush on the sheriff, but that was all it was - a crush. And crushes were fleeting. She was not too far gone.