She let out a quiet, satisfied sigh as she melted into the plush mattress, the softness cradling her like it had been waiting just for her. Rick slipped in beside her, the bed shifting slightly with his weight. He pulled the fleece blanket over them, tucking it gently around her shoulder.
"Goodnight, darling," he whispered and pressed a soft kiss to her lips.
It was the sweetest kiss she'd had in years.
And just like that, the anxious storm inside her… stilled. Her body relaxed. Her thoughts settled. Her heart—so tight moments ago—opened just a little more.
For the first time in years, Michonne fell asleep beside a man without the expectation of sex, and somehow it felt bigger, more intimate than all the nights she'd ended up tangled in sheets with men she'd chosen with intention but without hope.
She had dreamed once, long ago, of falling asleep like this—with someone she trusted fully, someone who asked nothing of her body except presence. She never expected it to be Rick. But there she was, wrapped in fleece and peace, her head resting just below his chin, his hand curled loosely around her hip.
And then there was morning.
On the list of things she never expected to experience, waking up as the little spoon to Rick Grimes' big spoon ranked somewhere between finding definitive proof of alien life and catching Sasquatch on camera. But there she was.
She smiled, remembering the night before.
Tentative at first, Rick had leaned in gently. The kiss wasn't rushed, wasn't forced. Just a question waiting for an answer.
He paused, eyes open, searching hers—making sure.
Michonne had met his gaze without hesitation. Her silence had spoken louder than words: Yes.
And then—oh, the kiss.
It had been soft, warm, and slow. A little wet, a little wild. The kind of kiss that made your breath catch and your heart sprint.
They had touched, but only over clothes—hands tentative, reverent. Not because of restraint, but because the moment had demanded something purer, deeper.
For a good five seconds afterward, Michonne didn't move. Didn't blink. Didn't breathe.
What was the protocol for the morning after making out with the boy next door—twenty-five years after you'd first imagined it?
Michonne didn't know.
Rick wasn't a boy, and she was not a girl anymore.
The awkwardness wasn't cute when you're forty-something.
Michonne felt as if she was one with the boat now, swaying and bobbing dizzily over the agitated sea. She had been so comfortable before in a world where she and Rick were friends, distant friends most of the time. She had no idea how to navigate this new world where she knew what his kiss was like.
Rick stirred behind her just as she started contemplating what would the holidays be like between them now...? cutting short her inner panicking. She felt him move, his chest at her back expanded on a breath – his left arm, which had been resting over her waist like a dead weight, now moved. She expected him to fully roll away from her but he didn't. He seemed to inch closer just a little bit, his nose brushing against her neck while his hand found her hip and kneaded gently.
"Morning, Chonne" he mumbled sleepily.
Her heart melted a little bit. He sounded adorable first thing in the morning. Damn. She'd have to rip the Band-Aid out.
"Good morning Rick!" she said as she rolled onto her back and turned her head to face him.
Ugh, no that hadn't helped at all. He smiled at her with that sleepy face. He had half-lidded eyes still misty with sleep. His overgrown hair was now an even fluffier mess on his forehead that made her want to run her fingers through it like she'd done last night. The scruff on his face was just a little bit thicker – she remembered how it'd burned deliciously against her skin and sighed involuntarily.
Damn, holidays would never be the same again. Ugh.
"You alright?" he asked, blinking sleep from his eyes. Rick could not get enough of her, she looked into him as if she knew his desires. And her body, he almost couldn't sleep, his imagination ran wild, there was no focus, only desire and the pain of yearning. The body chemistry is off the charts; she is somehow both lit TNT and a fine bottle of wine.
Michonne nodded, not trusting herself to say anything. She couldn't help but devour him with her eyes. He looked edible. She was sure she looked, unlike the actress's slash supermodels he woke up next to over the years. Dwarfed inside his sweater, hair in need of some grooming, not a stitch of leftover makeup on her face meaning her eyes were puffy and lips were chapped. Not sexy at all. But like a forty-two-year-old federal agent facing forced early retirement and spinsterhood.
Michonne had been so mortified contemplating Rick's mortification at her appearance, that she was caught by surprise when he bopped the tip of her nose with his finger. She blinked her eyes back to his face, arching her eyebrows at his little frown.
"What?" she breathed like a kid caught off guard by a teacher singling them out for a question in school.
"You looked terrified there for a second," he frowned at her, eyes traveling over her face, looking for signs. "You're okay," he assured her. He would make sure of it.
Michonne laughed at herself. Internally she felt bad for making him worry... She sighed, shaking her head.
"Sorry...I- I've just never done this with you, I'm a little lost."
"Done… what with me?" he arched his eyebrows curiously, a mischievous smile tugged at his lips. The thought of what could have been playing in his mind so vividly.
"Had an awkward morning after?" she shrugged and rolled over on her side so their bodies aligned.
Michonne was always at her best when she was fearlessly honest. She wasn't fearless where Rick was concerned. But God, did she feel better just being honest about it..?
"Oh yeah?" He smiled more now. Sleep still prevailed, but he was clearly amused. "I don't know, I kind of like it." He amended, eyes dropping to her mouth deliberately, hoping, praying she liked it too.
"You do?" Michonne's eyebrows went higher.
Rick grasped her chin between his fingers and tilted her mouth towards his before giving her a good morning kiss. With the kiss came the smooth touch of her body, poised, just the right blend of relaxation and tension. She didn't have much time to worry about her morning breath – it was brief and soon he was pulling away slightly to brush the tip of his nose with hers while he closed his eyes and sighed, a satisfied smile on that sexy mouth of his.
Mission accomplished, beautiful Michonne is relaxed in his arms.
"Morning after what exactly, Miss Taylor?" he teased; his sleepy eyes still closed.
Michonne bit her lip hard to keep from reacting too noisily, but she had to shove her nose into the crook of his neck and then they were laughing. Rick's chest was shaking beneath her, his hands rubbing up and down her back while he kept her close. He loved making her laugh, that was her medicine and his.
"I guess it could have been more awkward…" she joked, enjoying too much that he was holding her now.
"Mm-hmm. I'd like more awkward…" Rick agreed. "We could go for full-blown weird…" he laughed into her hair.
Michonne didn't know if she wanted to melt into a delighted puddle because Rick insinuated, that he wanted to have sex with her or if she wanted to die of embarrassment because they were talking about this in the first place.
She remained in the safety of the crook of his neck, enjoying his hands rubbing up and down her back lazily, blunt nails scratching a delicious path over her sensitive skin. Even underneath the thick fabric of his clothes, she could feel his touch as though she was naked.
Nestled into him as she was, she had only to wind her arms around him and breathe him in.
Michonne closed her eyes, sighing softly, thinking no morning had ever felt so perfect. She felt Rick's fingers massaging her hair and her scalp, and she wanted to purr.
She might have.
She couldn't tell.
Because she was still dizzy from every second she spent in his arms, and then suddenly he was tugging her hair back and angling her mouth for another sensual kiss. She was losing herself in it when they heard footsteps on the deck above.
"What the…?" Michonne pulled away, looking up at the skylight just as a shadow moved past it.
Rick sighed, "That'll be Hershel…" he started rolling away from her, "...it's his usual time...I think he left his Miter- saw too."
"Oh…" Michonne quickly scuttled away from the skylight, the thought he could have seen them a moment ago caused her to fret for a whole new reason.
Famous guy.
She was making out with a famous guy and someone might have seen it!
"It's okay, stay here, I'll get rid of him," Rick said calmly before turning around and leaving the room.
Just staying there didn't seem like a good idea. Michonne jumped to her feet and scrambled to find her actual clothes. It would be her third day in them, but hell, she couldn't be sexy wearing his huge sweatpants and sweater, could she?
Dammit, she couldn't be sexy in her own clothes either! She checked herself in the mirror in the tiny bathroom and groaned. Her hair was a mess, although her clothes had dried, they were wrinkled and gross.
Michonne was about as vain as any girl – when it suited her. Most of the time, she was a practical one. She spent her days in dark pantsuits, sports bras, cotton panties, and flat shoes. Makeup and sexy lingerie were for special occasions only – for when she had dates or nights out with her girlfriends, who acted personally offended if she turned up in anything less than a little black dress and designer stilettos.
She hadn't packed anything like that for this short trip. She hadn't anticipated needing to look good for a guy.
Especially not this guy.
Now in her three-day worn jeans and Georgia State -shirt, she looked more ready to slouch on the couch and binge-watch episodes of Dexter than she did for cozying up to Mr. Sexiest Man Alive – Ugh.
What had she been thinking?
Was it too late to fake amnesia?
Michonne braced herself against the sink and rubbed at her forehead, taking a deep breath.
She couldn't let her head go that way.
Michonne had never suffered from low self-esteem. She liked how she looked and had never needed anyone else's validation where appearance was concerned. No, she wasn't anxious about not reaching Rick's standards. Ultimately it wasn't about why her, it was just about why now?
What the hell had flipped twenty-five years later?
Look at that vein in your forehead woman...
No, no, no. Thinking, way too hard. She yanked the door open and left the bathroom.
She stepped out onto the deck and was greeted by another cloudy morning—partly cloudy. The sky above was a soft, shifting layer of white and pale grey. Where the sun pierced through, the light was brilliant, golden. Where it didn't, the shadows lingered like unspoken thoughts.
Rick was waving to Hershel as he pulled away, and Michonne hesitated, standing back, fighting the urge to rub her forehead raw. Her chest felt tight—like something was coming. Or maybe something already had.
When Rick turned and spotted her, he blinked in surprise—she'd changed clothes—but then that easy smile spread across his face. He started walking toward her with those slow, deliberate steps like he had all the time in the world and nowhere else to be.
"Hey, darling… you going somewhere?" he asked, his voice low and teasing as he stepped into her space.
She backed up slightly, landing against the railing, suddenly very aware of how close he was, of how cornered—in the best kind of way—she felt.
"Uhm…" she stammered, as he braced his hands on the railing on either side of her, caging her in. He was right there, all heat and presence, and damn it, she forgot how to breathe.
He grinned—that grin—like he knew exactly how many butterflies he was stirring up inside her. It wasn't fair. She hated that he could do this to her with just a look.
She pouted. It made him laugh.
"Don't go," he said softly, smile fading into something sincere, something deeper. His eyes found hers and held them. "Please… stay. I don't want you to leave me."
She blinked, stunned. The sudden shift from flirty Rick to vulnerable Rick made her head spin.
He leaned in and nuzzled her temple, his arms snaking around her waist. "In your eyes," he whispered, "I see home. And in your heart… God, Michonne, you're everything I didn't know I needed."
Her hands moved on instinct, settling on his shoulders as her mouth opened but no words came. When he pulled her tight against his chest, she closed her eyes, letting the warmth of him settle into her bones. The man didn't play fair.
"Okay," she breathed into his shirt, her arms wrapping around his back. She held on like something in her was finally letting go.
She hadn't known what she was expecting when she walked out there—maybe to say goodbye, or to find a reason to run before things got too real. But his plea buckled her knees,and giving in felt as natural as breathing.
She didn't know what this was.
But damn if she didn't want to hold onto it with everything she had.