When Michonne woke up she had that horrible feeling of not knowing where she was for a few seconds. Daylight glared into the room through the ineffective milky-white curtains, grumbling, she rolled onto her stomach and reached for her phone on the bedside table. She'd slept way past the reasonable hour. It was almost eleven in the morning.
Getting through her morning routine, she called the front desk to find out what manner of breakfast there was if there was any. Within minutes, Dale brought her French toast, two bacon slices, and a cup of coffee.
The coffee was hot and robust, the bacon was crispy, but the French toast was cold and soggy. Michonne knew she'd brought that upon herself. She nibbled on the bacon as she got dressed.
The sky was that semi-cloudy but it didn't feel too cold. When she spied through the window and saw a lonely Rick facing the beach on the sidewalk, she decided to join him and get down to business. He was still standing there when she stepped outside with his hands in his pockets. It was low tide, and the water and waves seemed very distant.
Michonne took in his relaxed attire of dark grey jeans, and what looked like a beaten old, brown t-shirt - and no shoes, he'd folded the cuffs of his jeans so his calves showed.
"Hey Mr. Hollywood!" she said by way of greeting as she approached him. She wondered if he'd been wetting his toes earlier.
Rick looked over his shoulder, one eyebrow lifting in acknowledgment of her teasing. He was quiet until she stood right next to him, in front of a low wall separating the sidewalk from the beach sand.
"Did you sleep well?" he asked politely.
"Eh… I slept," she shrugged. "but man, that Concorde breakfast is five-star," she joked.
Rick chuckled, finally turning his face to look at her. He had that enviably relaxed thing about him again, but his eyes held the truth, there was something else, something sad.
"So, umm… are you ready?" she mirrored him, shoving her hands down her pockets while thinking she was simply projecting her own melancholy onto him. "To talk to Maggie, I mean?"
Rick nodded. "Sure. We'll have to use your phone though."
"What happened to your phone?" she asked, only now noticing she hadn't seen Rick carry one at all.
"It fell in the ocean," Rick said casually.
"It fell in the ocean?" Michonne blinked. "How did that happen?"
"It happened when I dropped it from my sailboat," Rick nodded.
"On purpose?" she couldn't help the squeak of her voice.
"I'd say it was pretty intentional, yes," Rick kept nodding seriously but smiling at the end as Michonne just gaped at him.
Michonne recomposed herself as she fished her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans. They moved to sit on the low wall, their feet touching the cool, wet sand beneath. It didn't take long for Maggie to pick up and Michonne took a deep breath before speaking.
"Hey Maggie, yeah it's me. Yes, I found him," She had to pause to allow Maggie to make a series of exciting noises from the other side. "He's fine and he's right next to me so I'll just let you guys talk."
Rick took her phone in his hand with a resigned and then stoic expression on his face. "Hello," he muttered with a deep breath, he put the phone to his ear.
Michonne stood up and gestured towards the beach to let him know where she'd be.
Rick nodded, absently, probably already getting an earful.
Michonne gave him some privacy, walking towards the water, stopping to kick off her flats and swipe them up in her hand. The sand felt cool and wet beneath her feet but she didn't mind. The wind blowing from the sea was cold and salty and the skin of her naked arms was covered in goosebumps but she braced the wind and walked forward.
This could be her last visit to a beach for a while. She couldn't help a shriek when the rushing cold water touched her feet, and she was glad there was no one else around to hear her. She furtively glanced over her shoulder, making sure Rick hadn't witnessed her little display.
He was still sitting on the low wall, elbows to his knees, holding her phone to his ear. She took a moment to observe him while he seemed distracted. She almost felt bad for interrupting his getaway like that, even if she couldn't blame his family for worrying. He didn't seem upset she found him though. He'd been actually surprisingly welcoming, all things considered. He'd acted almost like he'd invited her along with himself. But that was the Rick she remembered. Always obliging, modestly chivalrous, and effortlessly attentive. Rick was the kind of guy you could have met once, ten years before, and if you'd walked up to him today, he'd remember you and treat you like a close friend. He was the kind of guy who stayed friends with his exes and the kind of guy who remembered your mother's birthday. Who knows, Michonne thought, maybe with Rick, you'd never know when you were overstepping.
Maybe that's why he needed to run and hide like this.
She looked away from him at that thought, turning to face the ocean. The water looked cold and uninviting, but the view was spectacular nonetheless. She glanced around her, unsurprised to find the beach completely deserted. If Rick was right, most citizens were probably indoors playing Scrabble right now.
Suddenly, the wind whipped across her skin like a slap from Mother Nature herself, and Michonne instinctively shrunk into herself, fingers clawing into the shallow pockets of her jeans. Her thin blue Georgia State t-shirt clung to her like a second, slightly damp skin.
Okay, nope. This was not cute anymore. Communing with the ocean could officially kiss her frozen ass.
She spun around, ready to bolt back to the hotel and let her soul thaw next to a vending machine coffee, when she spotted him. Rick. Walking toward her as he'd just stepped out of a sexy beach noir film—hair tousled by the breeze, eyes narrowed against the sting of wind and sand, jawline set to "smolder."
Oh great. Now her hair was joining the rebellion, lashing wildly around her face like it had a personal vendetta. She could barely see him, let alone maintain dignity.
"Oh, it's really windy!" she called out, laughing, arms flailing as she tried to catch her hair mid-storm.
Rick chuckled and stepped close—way too close—and reached behind her, catching a few wild strands with the kind of tenderness that made her stomach do the Macarena.
Jesus, he smells like sandalwood and peppermint. And testosterone. And maybe heartbreak sex. Like if regret had a cologne and it made you want to lick it off someone's neck…
"You're gonna get sick," he said, eyes crinkling with that maddeningly warm smile as he continued to tame her hair, one rogue curl at a time.
She smiled up at him, fully aware that her body was doing something criminal. "Should've probably brought a jacket…"
He shrugged off his own and draped it around her shoulders without hesitation. "Take mine."
"Thanks…" she said softly, cheeks instantly heating. Oh, great. Now I'm wrapped in Rick Grimes' jacket. Should've just laid down in the sand and called it a day. Or a foreplay.
The warmth of the jacket and the closeness of him made her feel all kinds of stupid butterflies. The kind that got drunk on tequila and made you say things like "I like the way your face looks" out loud.
"Your phone," Rick retrieved it from his pocket and handed it back to her.
"Thanks…" Michonne stuffed it into her back pocket. "Did it go alright?" she asked gently as they started walking back, side by side.
"She's calmer now," Rick nodded.
"That's a good start." Michonne felt obliged to interject with enthusiasm.
"I really am sorry my family dragged you into this," Rick said once again, slightly less embarrassed this time. "I should have probably been better at keeping in touch. I just…" he trailed off, facing the path ahead of them.
Over the last decade as Rick's celebrity status grew, so did his growing sense of isolation, mistrust, and lack of personal privacy.
Rick developed a kind of character-splitting between the 'celebrity self' and the 'authentic self,' as a survival technique in the hyperkinetic and heady atmosphere associated with celebrity. There was no true connection.
When he arrived in Concorde he checked into the hotel and from then on left it all behind, unsure if he'd ever return to his former life. Michonne's arrival forced Rick into the self-reflection he had forcefully denied himself these past few months.
He had a feeling she needed some self-reflection too.
"Don't worry about it," Michonne said quickly, to spare him. "It's all fixed now, and I got to see the beach…" she shrugged.
Rick gave her a 'come-on' look and they both laughed.
"Well who needs warmness?" she shrugged again. "Certainly not you…"
Rick nodded. "I was willing to compromise...For the peace."
"I can understand that," Michonne nodded, meaning it more than he could know.