Chapter 1 (Michonne)

"Michy, what do you say we go have a mani/pedi day, do brunch, the whole bit?"

"I'm all for a mani/pedi day, Mom, but the fact that you are offering after we just had one last week makes your offer fishy."

"Maybe, I just want to spend as much time with you since you've been gone away at college all year. Ever think of that, smartass?"

"Yeah, Ma, I did think of that. But, then again, it's still fishy. So, what's up? Bad news? Good news?" I ask, my eyes roaming over my mother's face, attempting to pick up on anything that might give away a hint to the nature of her request.

With not a wrinkle to her name, Mona Kelly, my mother, is probably the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Creamy dark skin, the color of rich fertile earth, drapes her keen nose, high cheekbones, and a tall curvy body that is always impeccably dressed. She has faithfully worn her hair the same way, for as long as I can remember, in voluminous loose curls that fall to the middle of her back. My cousin Sasha says her hair is like that because we have Cherokee in us, but my mother said the truth is that we come from as complicated a mix of slaves and slave masters as anyone else. With her statuesque frame, when I was little I thought she was a model, or a celebrity of some sort. There is just something about her charismatic presence, her constant smile, her kind eyes. My father used to call her his dark chocolate Pam Grier. She's not famous like Pam Grier though, she's the head of sports medicine at Emory Hospital, but sometimes I'm so in awe of her graceful poise and beauty that I question if perhaps the world got it wrong and she should be.

"Michy, let's have a chat then. Sit down here with me for a sec." She pats next to her on the bed, smoothing out the comforter where she wants me to sit.

Climbing atop the king sized four post bed, having a seat next to my mother, I realize by the tone of her voice that this conversation is more serious than I originally assumed.

"What's up, Mom?" I ask, trying not to sound worried, but the anxious look on her face is concerning me.

"It's just been me and you since your dad died five years ago, kiddo. I know it's been rocky sometimes, and you had to quickly grow up a lot since then. I never planned on being a single mom, so it was a big adjustment for both of us, right? And you have turned into an amazing young woman, Michy. I'm confident that you will accomplish every goal you set. I'm really proud of you honey." She smiles brightly at me, showing off her luminescent white teeth.

"Thanks, Mom."

"And even though we have been closer than I ever could have imagined, and I guess that is the only silver lining to your father passing away, you've gone off to college. Moved on. And well, you know me, Michy. I'm not good with being alone."

"That's true. But I'm just over at Spelman, Ma. You're not really alone."

"No, Michy, I am now. And that's ok. Change is good. You have school, and your friends, and Mike. This is a great time for you, I want you to enjoy being young and carefree. But no, I won't be alone much longer." Pursing her lips tightly as if she is attempting to fight off a growing grin, she continues. "You remember Hershel, right? Dr. Greene? We went to that Hawks game with him and his daughters over Christmas break. Visited his farm last month for Easter?"

"Yeah. Old white guy, right?" My brain is racing. I'm trying to put together what she's saying, what the point of bringing this guy's name into our conversation about me being away at college is. And then it hits me. We weren't just hanging out with this guy and his girls, she's been dating him. As soon as my realization bursts through she admits it…and more.

"Yes, that's him. He and I have been seeing each other for about nine months now. I really like him. And you seemed to get along great with him and his girls. They liked you. He wants to get married. To me. This spring, next month actually. I said yes, because I love him, and he loves me, and this is my chance to be happy again."

"What? You can't get married, you're already married to Dad. We're happy already, Mom." I stutter, letting the sting of her confession and my denial of her truth hang between us.

"Yes, we're happy. But, what you don't understand yet, sweetie, is that no I'm not married anymore, and I miss that. I miss having someone to be with, to help around the house, to love. It's a different need from being a mom, it's about being a woman. Having the affection of someone who loves you like a woman." Pausing her eyes roam over my face, gauging my reaction. Seeing the unresponsive stone wall my face has morphed into, she reaches for my hand then continues. "I don't say much because I know you are a smart young woman and we have had the safe sex talk, so I know you understand some of what I'm saying because of your relationship with Mike. Right? Because of how you feel about him? It's different than mother/daughter love, Michy, and that's ok."

"But, my daddy has only been gone for a few years. You want to try and replace him with that old white guy?" A few tears begin to form in my eyes, blurring the sight of my mother's face. Hurriedly I turn my head from her, and snatching my hand from her hold, I try to wipe away the tears threatening to spill down my face before my mother notices.

"No. Your father is irreplaceable, Michonne. I loved him fiercely, right up until the doctors said he was gone. That a damned heart attack took him from us. But, him dying didn't end my needs, my desires. This is a good thing for me, for both of us. All of us really. Hershel is a widower himself, losing his wife to breast cancer. And, he loves me, I love him, and his girls need a mother. Give this a chance, Michy. For me, please? I would like to know that you are ok with this because you mean everything to me. You may be grown, but you are still my baby girl." My mother asks, a note of pleading in her voice. Mona Kelly doesn't plead. She doesn't beg. As one of the best sports medicine doctors in Atlanta, mainly working with the Hawks, she is very used to being in charge, in male dominated spaces especially. So, for her to come down from that place where she is usually leading and commanding, to ask anything of me in this way, I know it's important to her.

My mother and I have become best friends since my father's untimely heart attack snatched him away from us when I was 13. He was a PhD, a physics professor at Morehouse, and from what I understand, the love of my mother's life, and she the love of his. Losing him hit both of us extremely hard. Me as a pre-teen who was very close to her adored father, and her as a woman who lost her best friend and soul mate. In our grieving we pulled together, leaned on each other, and as a result became tighter than ever. It's one of the reasons that when my boyfriend Mike and I decided to begin a sexual relationship last year, I didn't experience any of the hesitance to discuss it with her that my cousin Sasha experienced with her parents. I told her how I felt, that I researched different birth control methods, and that I felt like I was ready for this step. She understood, respected my honesty even. We get each other, and considering this from that perspective I feel like I owe it to her not to be a barrier to her happiness.

As much as my mother is an analytical, powerhouse doctor, she is also a bit of a romantic. So, yes, I get that she feels like this guy, Hershel, is her future, that she's in love. But, still the thought of leaving my father's legacy behind stings, and I am mourning the end of an era with us. The end of the Kelly family, the end of our best friend relationship, and the beginning of this new unknown thing as…the Greenes?

"Ok, Mom. Ok. So what? He and his girls are moving here from King County?"

"No. We're gonna move to his farm. It's only 45 minutes away, and they have a lot of room. It's a huge house, remember? I think you're gonna like it!" She perks up at the first hint of me thawing and warming to the idea of her remarrying.

"Wait! What about work? Your friends, family?" Exasperation is evident in my rapid fire questions as the reality of this is coming to light.

"Cars. There are these things called cars. You know, they have wheels and take you from place to place. Sometimes fast, sometimes not so fast. I've got a really nice one!" She jokes at my expense. Laughing lightly, she hugs me to her, and for a moment my mood improves. Clutched tightly to my mother, snug against the warmth of her form, her familiar powdery scent of Donna Karan's Cashmere Mist in my nose, I'm comforted that this thing will work out. "It will be ok, Michy. I promise. Hershel is excited, and he's telling his girls today as well. It's going to be nice to have a kind of big family right? To have little sisters! You always wanted someone to boss around, well here you go."

"Mom!"

"Hi, honey. You look beautiful." Hershel leans over and hugs my mother tightly to his chest, and grins down at her. Spotting me behind my her he turns his attention to me. "Hello, Michonne, it's good to see you again." He reaches for me, and captures me in an unexpected bear hug.

"Hi." Squirming a little in his hug, I have to admit that it's not the worst thing to experience the coziness of a fatherly embrace again. Releasing me, he gestures for us to head over to the living room.

Running down the steps, Maggie and her little sister Beth in tow, barrel into the room with all of the youthful exuberance one would expect from young kids. Making a beeline for me, Maggie takes the lead. "Hey, Michonne! Do you remember me? I'm Maggie!" Unexpectedly she hugs me with fervor equal to that of her father's hug, then looks up to me, her green eyes wide with question.

"Yeah, I remember you. What's up?" I lightly hug her back, wary from all of the explicit affection from the Greenes.

"I'm excited! Like, can you believe our parents are getting married? It's gonna be so cool to have a big sister. Right, Beth?" Maggie exclaims in her deep country accent, tossing her long dark ponytail over her shoulder. Shorter and younger than me, Maggie is a nice girl. Very sweet and open, mature and with a hint of sadness to her, also a little protective of her father and little sister. I remember when we went to the Hawks game she always kept her little sister's hand clasped tightly in her own, and her dad firmly in her sights, as if she might lose either of them any minute. She sticks close to her dad, and I recall my mother telling me that even at only 13 years old, she helps her dad with the horses on their farm whenever she can. I respect that. I assume like me, she had to grow up quite a bit when her mother died 6 years ago. At the time she was only 7 and her younger sister Beth was still a baby really, at only 3 years old. I think a big gap was left in this family by her mother's absence, and a young Maggie has tried to some extent to fill it.

"Yes. But I already have one sister, so I guess having two is fine." Beth shyly shrugs in a small voice, hiding partly behind Maggie. She is a tiny thing, wearing a pair of well worn jeans, and a My Little Pony t-shirt. Sporting wild blond hair that could use a good brushing, it falls a little over her forehead and into her big blue eyes. Not wanting to leave her out of this apparent love-fest, I step around Maggie and lean down to embrace Beth as well.

"Well I guess I'm it. You can just add me to your big sister collection." I agree, and reach back for Maggie again, to hug these two girls, my sisters to me. Deciding right then to try and be as welcoming to this thing, to this new family, as I can. Last night after my chat with my mother, I laid awake for a long time. Looking through pictures of my family, my father, my mother and me before Dad died. In those pictures I noticed a stark contrast in how my mother looks now to how she was then. In the way she smiled, in the light in her eyes. The spark has definitely dimmed since my father's demise. Since she lost a part of herself in that cold hospital room 5 years ago.

Honestly giving it some thought, there have many been sad days for my mother that my juvenile mind reconciled away as something other than what it was, loneliness. There have been a few other guys that I can remember her dating, but nothing serious or lasting. Nothing that has put so broad a smile back on her face as she has now. No one has re-lit that fuse. No one has given Mona Kelly a reason to want to transplant her busy life from the city, to a quiet farm in the middle of nowhere. I considered all of this, and in my heart, I had to admit that this is right for her.

My mother deserves this, she needs this, the warm glow of affectionate and romantic love. The attentive hugs and kisses of a man that adores her. As long as this Hershel guy is a good guy, who is committed to giving her these things back, then I'm not going to stand in the way. I want that light to come back in her eyes, that flirty grin she always tossed at my dad to grace her lovely features again.

Observing how smitten Hershel appears to be with her right now, staring affectionately at her as he helps her find a seat on the loveseat next to him, their hips touching, his arm casually, but possessively thrown across her shoulders, he's mired in it too. In their romance. I can see that he loves her. My eyes are open now, and what my youthful self-centeredness did not allow me to recognize before, is now blatantly obvious. They are in love. It's a beautiful thing that I hope for myself some day.

"Can I sit next to you, Michonne?" Beth asks in that whispery voice of hers, as she pulls on my t-shirt to regain my attention.

"Sure, yeah." I agree, finding a seat on the couch facing my mother and Hershel, with Beth on one side of me. Maggie takes a seat in the armchair at her father's right hand.

"I'm glad we are all getting a chance to be together like this, to merge these two families. I'm very excited to welcome Mona and Michonne to the farm, this is going to be your home soon, and I want you to feel comfortable here." He addresses my mother and I, his smile open and inviting, genuine. "We have five bedrooms, so you can still have your own room, Michonne. No need to share. And I'm sure a young woman of 18 needs her privacy, so you'll still have that here, to a point. No boys in bedrooms, though you can still have visitors. And, there are a few chores that we all share on the farm, though there are workers for the majority of it. And my nephew Shane, and the Grimes boy help out when they aren't running the street." He pauses as if to think of what else he wanted to discuss. "Let me see. I run my veterinary practice out of the pole barn in the back of the property. I'm always looking for help, so if you want to earn some extra money this summer while you're home, you're welcome to work there some as well."

At this point my mother decides to chime in after allowing Hershel to pretty much run the conversation. This is a familiar dynamic, as she used to do the same with my dad. Letting him lead, then bringing up the rear.

"Now that you have completed your first year of college, we decided to give you a car. That Jeep that you have wanted for so long. But, in order to earn it, you have to watch Maggie and Beth over the summer. After that, you can take it back to school with you. This way you can still keep your connection to everything in Atlanta, help out with your new sisters, and get to know them better. What do you think, Michy? Not so bad, right?" My mother offers, using my nickname that only family is privy to.

Internally squealing with delight, I try to keep my cool in front of my new family, but my mother knows me well, and I'm sure she can tell that I want to scream. Instead I maintain my casual indifference and just nod my head in agreement. "Yeah. I can do that. It's a deal."

"Good! See, Mona! It's all going to work out just fine. Before we eat, while I get the roast from the oven, Maggie, Beth, why don't you take your new sister upstairs to show her around so she can pick a room?"

"Follow me!" Maggie exclaims, launching from her chair and heading towards the stairs in the center of the first floor.

Walking up the stairs I catch the faint sound of my mother and Hershel in the kitchen talking.

"See, Mona bear. It's gonna be just fine. I told you. I love you, you love me. We've got us a family here."

Did he just call my mother 'Mona bear' I wonder and roll my eyes, thankful that my mother can't see the grimace on my face. While I want to gag at the corny endearment, it just confirms what I've come to realize and accept. This is real, and this is a good thing.

"Hey, Michonne, up here!" Maggie calls to me, breaking me out of my thoughts. "So here is the master bedroom. I guess your mom will move in here with my dad. It's pretty big. My mom designed the house, when my parents got married and tore down the old house. This farm belonged to my granddad, he's dead. And he and my dad never got along, so when my dad inherited it, he tore down the house and built this one."

Opening the door to the master suite I don't want to be rude and go in and snoop around. Even though I was always welcome in my mom's room at home, I assume things will be different here. Who knows what's going to go down in there? I don't want to think too hard on it, so I just do a quick perusal and confirm that though the country décor will never match my mother's style and taste, and will probably be replaced, I could see her living there. It's just going to be difficult to imagine her doing so with a man that isn't Andre Kelly, my dad.

"Then down there at the end of the hall are the other rooms. My daddy calls 'em Jack n Jill suites cause the two on each side of the hall share a bathroom. Beth and I are in these two, so I guess you luck out and get one of these with your own bathroom." Maggie explains and gestures as she talks, reminding me of a tour guide or the realtors you see on House Hunters.

Walking into the room that will be mine, it's about the same size as my room in our house in Atlanta, but again the décor is too country for my taste, and I hope Hershel and Mom will be cool with me changing it up. There is a large closet, and a nice sized window that looks out onto the back of the house, onto the sprawling grass that leads out towards the woods. The window also has something that I've always wanted, a window seat. Joining me in the room, Maggie and Beth sit in tandem on the full sized bed in the middle of the room.

"So what do you think?" Maggie asks, watching me curiously from where she sits cross legged on the bed.

"Do you like it? Will you stay with us, or do you wanna go back to A'lanta?" Beth asks, eyes wide. She almost looks frightened when she asks this, as though I might actually say that I'm going to leave and abandon this growing family.

As a person that is used to being an only child, this is going to be a bit of a departure for me. Having to share my parents' doting affections was never a concern, and despite the fact that I'm 18 now, I don't know how I'm going to feel about dividing her time with these two motherless girls. But, the fact that they are also familiar with the aching loss of a parent's death, I feel compelled to submerge any past selfishness, and put it aside for the possibility of what could blossom in this new family by simply keeping an open heart and mind.

"Of course! It's great. What about you guys? Are you ok with this? My mom and I moving in, us being family?" Taking a seat on a nearby chair, I decide to dig a little deeper and get to know these two girls. My new little sisters.

"Well…I've never had a mama. So, I guess I want one. And if you'll share your mama with me that would be fine. She's real nice and pretty. And even though I only know one other family of black people, the Joneses, Daddy says folks are folks, so it's fine that I'll get to have a black mama, and a black sister." Beth honestly replies, beaming anxiously at me. Giddy I suppose at the thought of actually having a mother.

"Beth, you had a mama, she just died when you were too little to remember." Maggie pats her sister on the back, exasperation with the younger girl's assessment creeping in to her tone. "I'm cool with it too. Beth's right, it will be nice to have a mama again. I don't care what color she is, your mom is real pretty and real cool, and oh my gosh, Daddy is so smitten with her."

"Oh yeah? Why do you think that?" Knowing what I have witnessed on my own, I'm still curious about their perspective of things, and what these girls know about our parents' relationship.

"He calls her everyday. Like, when he sends us to bed, you can hear him on the phone in his room talking to her, like all night long. And Daddy hates to talk on the phone. And he was talking to Mr. Grimes and Uncle Dale earlier and telling them he's gonna get married, and he just kept saying how beautiful and smart she was." Maggie proclaims excitedly, happiness in her eyes.

"Heart eyes. Daddy has big ol heart eyes for your mama." Beth adds, nodding emphatically.

"It's gonna be a real nice wedding too. Everybody in King County is gonna want to come cause everybody knows Daddy. He tends to everybody's animals. It's a big deal round here. And, well cause she's black." Maggie adds knowingly, tilting her head at me and Beth as though she has just hipped us to some great secret that we were previously unaware of. To this I have to chuckle a bit. The sheer honest innocence and precociousness of these two is really pulling at my heart strings.

Truthfully, I never really gave too much thought to our blackness potentially being a big deal out here. When my mother mentioned us moving to King County, the main thing that crossed my mind was that I would now be 45 minutes from everything I've ever known. Once again confronted with the reality of what all of this change actually means, I have to consider that being out here is going to be more than just a simple move to the country. As the girls said, folks may be folks, but everyone doesn't feel that way.

I've been a city girl all my life, born and raised in Druid Hills, and in a big city like Atlanta you see all kinds of people and families. But I guess out here in the country, more isolated from the outside world, it might not be that way, and for the first time since my mother told me of her and Hershel's plans to wed, I'm a little nervous. I cringe to think of what negative thoughts the good folks of King County might have about my mother and I. In fact, I can only imagine the reaction this town might have to one of my best friends, Aaron, who happens to be gay and dating a guy named Jesus.

It must show on my face because Maggie immediately proclaims, "Daddy would never let anyone be mean to y'all though. To him you're already family, and he told Mr. Grimes and Uncle Dale that. He and Mr. Grimes are best friends, and Uncle Dale, and Mr. Jones too. They play cards and used to drink together before Daddy had to stop drinking after my mama died." Her voice lowers to a slight whisper on that last part, as though speaking about her dead mother still pains her. I'm sure it does, and though I am older, I can definitely relate. What I also take particular note of is that she probably inadvertently divulged that her father may have had a drinking problem at one point. I have to remember to mention this to my mother.

"There are no other black folks around here other than the Jones family, huh? Seriously?"

"Yeah. But now the Greene family is kinda black too, right?" Beth chimes in, an impish grin on her face.

"I guess so." I laugh, surveying the room again. "Tell me about King County. I have only ever seen this farm, so is it all country like this or what?"

"Oh, um, kinda. There are mostly farms around here, and then there is a small kinda town area. It's really just like a few buildings, the post office, sheriff's office, courthouse, a diner, a bar, and a general store. Maybe a few other shops, but it's nothing like Atlanta."

"Hm. How far are the neighbors from here? Seems lonely out here by yourselves. Who do you play with, where do your friends live?"

"Maggie is my friend. And I have a few friends at school, but they don't live close by."

"Awe, Bethy, you're my friend too!" Maggie declares, once again hugging her little sister close to her. "The closest neighbor is the Grimes farm about a mile west. And our cousin Shane, Rick Grimes' best friend, lives about 5 miles the other way. There's a creek that separates our properties. They don't have a farm really, cause my uncle Dale is a lawyer, just a house. Um, my best friend Tara lives closer to town. She hangs out when she can get her brother Eugene to bring her, but he's weird so…" She shrugs as though her noting that he's weird explains something.

"Who is Rick Grimes, I keep hearing his name? How old is your cousin Shane?" I'm beginning to get more interested in their answers now with the mention of neighbors and family members. I wonder what they think about Hershel and my mother?

"Rick is cute!" Beth answers in a dreamy voice, raising her eyebrows in a way that is more comical than anything coming from someone her age.

"He's ok. He's old though, older than you, Michonne. Like in his 20s. Rick is a deputy, Shane's his partner. He's real nice, kinda quiet. He and Shane used to babysit Beth and I sometimes, and they'll still work on the farm in the fall for harvest if they have time." Maggie answers with assurance in her voice, but not really providing enough details about Rick or Shane, I let it go and figure that eventually I will have to meet everyone in this small town anyway.

"Michonne! Maggie! Beth! Come eat y'all." Hershel hollers up the stairs and breaks up our little chat.

"Yes! I'm so hungry! And Daddy is a real good cook, but he said your mama can burn, so it's gonna be nice to not have to just eat steak and pot roast all the time." Maggie jumps up from where she's seated on the bed and rushes out of the room.

Beth follows behind her and stops in front of me to reach her tiny hand out in offering. "Come on, Michy."

"This horse is yours. Her name is Flame. We just got her, and she is a beauty. What do you think, Michonne?" Hershel asks me, as he strokes the coat of the chocolate brown mare. "Your mother thought you would like her the best."

Standing together in the stables, I take a careful pause before I answer him. During my first year of college I have matured a lot, and a part of that growth has been me trying to think about others and how my words and actions affect them. Losing my daddy was the hardest pill I have ever had to swallow. At 13 I was adrift in melancholy, no longer wanting to live. Buried in anger and pain, I was a defiant and aloof mess. Lashing out at anyone who tried to help me, wounding my mother with my careless behavior, I was so detached I was nearly lost for good. But, my mama brought me back. Her attentive guidance, and love, her will and desire to not lose me as well is what saw me through the darkness of loss, and into a place where I want to bask in the light of life. This thirst for life, mindful living is what now allows me to see past the slight blur of selfishness and recognize how my reaction to this marriage can help or hurt the situation.

"She's beautiful! Thank you very much, but you didn't have to get me a horse, or a car. You guys don't have to try and buy my agreement." I respond in awe of the grandness of this gift. "I'm happy for the two of you, I am. At first I was caught off guard because my mother didn't tell me you two were dating. And, well it felt like at first she was doing something against my father. I know he's dead, but it hurt a little to think about her moving on from his memory. But now, seeing you two together, how close she is with you and your daughters already, I'm good with it."

"You know I can't replace your father. In your mother's heart, or yours. But I am going to try every day to make her happy, to let her know I love her. And you too. I'm a man that was destined to be blessed with women in my life. My daughters. My brother Dale and I have four sisters. I am grateful for the opportunity to add you and your mother to that group. I love her more than I thought I could love again after the death of my wife. But your mama has opened my heart in a way that is wholly unexpected. And I know that you will do the same. You are a smart, beautiful, young lady. I'm proud to call you my daughter, if you're ok with that." Expectantly, and with hope in his blue eyes, crinkled in the corners from age, Hershel looks over to me and pats me on the shoulder.

Giving him a once over, I notice that Hershel could not be any different from my father, but I can't help but think that once again Mona Kelly has chosen well. About four inches taller than my 5'7" frame, he is fairly average looking, at least by my adolescent estimation. Probably in his early 50s like my mother, his hair is a dazzling mix of stark white, gray, and some chestnut brown strands, all groomed together and combed back from his receding hairline. His eyebrows are a little bushy, but hold the same color mix as the rest of his hair, and his full beard that surrounds his thin lips. With a medium build, clad in a pair of slacks, white shirt, and suspenders, he seems to always be standing tall, erect, maybe even a little stiff. But the kindness of his blue eyes, combined with the steady directness of his voice, make me feel at ease in his presence. And when he's around my mother, he seems to feed off her relaxed charisma, with his demeanor becoming more tranquil and carefree. I suppose all of that combined is what attracted her to him.

My father on the other hand was very tall, and lean. Well over six feet tall, I remember my uncle Ronnie used to call him "Stork" as a nickname. If I close my eyes I can recall everything about him, the roundness of his nose, the constant smile on his full lips, traits we both shared. Wearing glasses all of his days, he looked studious, uptight even, a visage similar to Hershel's. But, even though he was a physics professor, smarter than any other man I have ever met in my life, he had a great sense of humor, often pulling laughter from both my mother and I at the drop of a hat. I loved that about him. And he was protective and kind, and more than anything, the greatest loss of my life. When my daddy died, my mama tried to keep the laughter and lightness alive in our house, in our hearts. It was never the same. But, she tried, and for that I will always love and respect her.

So, Hershel is correct in that he can never replace Andre Kelly in my life or heart, but I have to admire a man that is up to the daunting challenge to try. While he isn't the jokester my father was, I have never felt anything but a pleasant but halting curiosity from him towards me, as though he is not entirely sure how to interact or engage me in conversation. I assume this is due in some part to my mother telling him that I might not take so easily to their relationship, but I really am attempting to give this thing between them a chance now that I am fully aware of how deep their "friendship" actually goes. Giving his kind words some thought, I once again get the sensation of a cozy fatherly thing between us, same as when he hugged me earlier.

"I'm fine with that." I say, a hint of bashfulness coloring my admission. My heart feels a warmth I haven't experienced in 5 years, but also my stomach clinches a bit, hoping that my father is in heaven, proud of my acceptance of this man's role in helping my mother find her way back to love, and in his pledge of fatherhood to his daughter.

"Good! This is gonna work out just fine!" He happily throws his arm around my shoulder and places an unexpected kiss to my temple. "Ya know, I think once school is out and you're moved in, after the wedding, I will have my nephew Shane, come on over and show you around town. Help you get acclimated. He's a knucklehead, but he's got a big heart, and generally means well. Him and Rick are like peas in a pod, and I'm sure they would be happy to show you around."

"Cool." I agree, eager to embark on this new journey with my new family.

"Cool indeed." Hershel parrots my agreement. "Let's get back to the house and see what your mama and the girls are up to."

"I used to go out to parties
And stand around
Cause I was too nervous
To really get down
But my body yearned to be free
I got up on the floor and thought
Somebody could choose me…"

Entering the house with Hershel following behind, I can immediately hear the blare of my mother's favorite song by Marvin Gaye, accompanied by her awful, off-key singing. Mona may be beautiful, accomplished, and intelligent, but a singer she is not. Following the trail of the music, bellowing, and raucous laughter, I locate my mother and the girls. Bopping across the floor, bumping her rounded hips against a giddy Maggie and a giggling Beth, I find my mother. Swiveling my head back to check out Hershel's reaction to the scene unfolding in front of him, I witness something that at first impression would be completely antithetical to who I think he is. But, I'm finding out that I don't know what I think I know.

Popping his fingers to the music, kicking up an off-beat two step, is Hershel. Gliding his way towards my mother, he wraps his arms around her waist. Putting down a mean shimmy and grind on him, she pops a little kiss to his lips, that he instantly returns. I watch the joyous scene for a moment, taking it all in. Shrugging my shoulders, I decide to join the fun, and break out a few on-beat moves of my own, thinking anybody who can get down to some old school Marvin Gaye is alright with me.

Chapter 2 – Rick

"What's she like? The lady Hershel is gonna marry?"

"Uh. I don't know. My dad said she's pretty. Real pretty. Nice butt, nice tits. Way too hot for my uncle. She doesn't look as old as he is either, but she's got a daughter who's 18. Cool lady though. She's a doctor for the Hawks."

"Oh yeah? A doctor just like Hershel. I guess that's a good match. My dad said she's black. Never saw that coming, at least not from Hershel."

"Me neither, but shit, hot is hot. She's gotta be knocking his damn socks off for him to get remarried. And he's probably never met a black woman other than Mrs. Jones in his life, and won't know what the hell to do with all that she's working with. Lucky son of a bitch." Shane blurts, looking over at his uncle. A loud guffaw escapes him at the thought of his own lewd comments about his uncle's fiancée, and his uncle's lack of sexual prowess. As usual the heightened degree of ridiculousness of his antics draws attention to us.

Nervously smiling to dismiss the stares we're getting from Shane's rude laughter, I scrunch up my face and respond to his musing. "I don't wanna think about that, man. Why did you say that? Now I'm gonna be thinking about it during this whole wedding! And you say that like you have. How many black women have you met? Talked to let alone actually been with? I'd say your uncle's already got a leg up on you." I grumble, the thought of Hershel's romantic dalliances causing a grimace to cover my face again.

"Whatever. I'm not listening to the guy who was confused about the difference between 1st base and a home run. And lied about both."

"I didn't lie… I was mixed up about which things counted as what. I'm 24 now, I think I've got it figured out." I grouse, smarting at Shane's reference to me misunderstanding the difference between the bases the summer after I turned 16. I wouldn't say I was a late bloomer, but at that age I was definitely not as experienced as Shane, who had already slept with our art teacher, Mrs. Sanders by then.

"Yeah well your reliability ain't stellar, buddy. Anyway, you don't know everything about me, Rick. Remember that summer Morgan's cousin Tanya was here? Yeah, I met her, talked to her, and some other stuff too. So there you go."

"I don't believe you. By the way, you know Morgan said she had a baby the winter after she was here that summer right?"

"Bullshit!"

I shrug, smirking at the revelation.

"Whatever, man, you made that shit up!" He asserts, watching my face to gauge the truthfulness of my words. Giving up, he makes a dismissive snort with his mouth, and focuses back on the wedding. "I'm happy for my uncle. It's all good, though. Add a little color to the family. Her daughter is cool too. I met her last night at the rehearsal dinner. She's hot as fuck, but in a different way. Like not how Lori is hot, but in a more exotic way. She's my cousin now, so I guess that doesn't matter anyway."

"Exotic?" I ask, incredulous at his description of her. "Exotic is not how you describe a person. That's like for an animal or something…not a person, Shane." I shake my head, a little ashamed on his behalf, because god knows Shane doesn't have an ounce of it in his body.

Interrupting our conversation, the sound of the strings quartet playing a slow tune begins, and we quiet our words and turn our heads away from the end of the aisle where Hershel and my dad, and Shane's dad stand waiting on his bride, and look towards the back rows. Sitting amongst a crowd made up of a good chunk of the population of King County, it's a warm spring day, and the brightness of the sun illuminates our surroundings in a light that makes everything seem new. With a balmy, mild breeze making its way across the farm, the afternoon couldn't be more idyllic. Some in the crowd anxiously stare down the aisle, but Hershel stands proud, erect, eagerly looking forward to the arrival of his future.

The first two people coming down the aisle are Hershel's daughters and Shane's cousins, Beth and Maggie, whom I've known all their lives. In pretty white dresses, Beth tosses flowers to the ground, and Maggie follows behind, crunching them under her slippered feet, and clutching a small bouquet of roses. They are adorable as ever, and have grown up quite a bit since I saw them a month or so ago.

Seeing how much they have grown reminds me of the past. When their mother passed away six years ago they were so young, and the way they experienced the loss, individually and as a family was heartbreaking to witness. My dad used to spend a lot of time monitoring Hershel's drinking, making a concerted effort to try and keep him sober enough to still look after his girls. Though he successfully navigated that pitfall, he still needed a great deal of help with them and the farm, and so I spent a lot of time trying to help out with both, while they helped me figure out a few things as well.

At only 18 when Hershel's first wife died, I was desperately adrift in terms of my life ambitions. As a recent high school grad, I did not have the clear cut path some of my peers did. Morgan left for college to become a dentist, heading up north to Ohio to attend some black college his cousin Tanya was also attending. Shane always knew he wanted to be a cop, and went straight to the academy. Me though, I didn't have a clue. I wasn't the best or the worst when it came to school, a strong C student if anything. Given my average educational performance, there was no real desire to continue with such an underwhelming experience. My own father is a farmer, and so was my grandfather, so I was well acquainted with that line of work, and enjoyed the satisfaction of planting something and watching it grow, but wasn't sure if that was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. The idea of trying to figure that out at 18 felt wrong. It was a task I was ill-prepared for, yet the world fully expected it of me.

During the same time, my mother was spending a considerable amount of time at Hershel's helping out with the girls, the house work, and cooking. She mentioned that he could use some help around the farm and so I approached him, and ended up working whatever jobs he had that needed doing, including babysitting. I only have a brother who is 6 years older than I am, so I didn't know much about little girls, but Maggie and Beth made it pretty easy. They were sad and lonely, and well it didn't take a genius to see that what they really needed was a distraction from the heavy weight of mourning and loss that was overwhelmingly perched on such little shoulders. So, when I was around the farm and my work was done, I would take them to the county pool, to the park, you name it. Maggie was older than Beth at 7, and was easier to manage. Beth only being 2 years old, and not potty trained presented a unique challenge I was not prepared for.

Despite the small hiccups, I figured it out along the way and that summer turned out pretty fun. It also sparked in me a desire that I never had before, despite my ongoing relationship with Lori, and that was to one day have a family of my own, a wife, children. Unfortunately, I think my mother and Lori also picked up on that, and that's when they both began pushing ideas of a marriage between Lori and I. Though I was fine dating her, I wasn't interested in marriage then, and I'm not interested now.

The ending of that summer also represented the end of my innocence in a way, and that is what led me to unexpectedly pursue a bachelor's degree in criminal justice, and very recently become a deputy.

Pulling myself away from my memories of that summer, I am back focusing on the wedding procession. Rounding the chairs lined up in the back row, coming up the path from the house, I see a tall, dark skinned woman. For a moment the sun obstructs my view of her, craning my neck left then right, I am able to make her out again, and then her form emerges from the haze of the sun's rays. It's almost ethereal, heavenly maybe, the way she reenters my line of vision, making everything around her disappear. And my god she is stunning. Not exotic. No that word doesn't do her beauty any justice. Even though you can tell she is young, she has a poise about her, an elegance even, something I wouldn't expect to see in an 18-year-old. In a short white strapless dress, her skin is a mix of umber and sepia tones, and the contrast is breathtakingly sexy. She struts up the aisle in a pair of high heeled shoes that delicately cradle her tiny feet, on lean legs, firm with muscled calves. From what I can tell given the short length of the dress, she has equally muscled and tight thighs. Cascading over her dusky shoulders is a long curtain of dark, nearly black, bone straight hair, parted to the side, feathering over her wide coffee colored eyes, and just hitting the angled planes of the middle of her back. Her face is round and cherubic like that of an angel, but she has a set of pouty kissable lips, glossed in a slight reddish hue that are inciting in me all manner of devilish thoughts.

Gawking at her, witnessing the hypnotic swing of her hips and her full rounded bottom, I am initially caught off guard by the assault of her beauty, but now I'm in a full on trance. Only the tingling swell of my cock in my suit pants, and a nudge to the ribs from Shane can pull me from her enticing spell.

"That's the new cousin. Like I said, she's hot." He barely whispers, once again drawing stares as Shane is rarely able to tell the difference between, as my mother likes to call it, his inside or his outside voice. Both of us are awestruck in a way, and I know I can't seem to physically divert my eyes from her. "She goes to some fancy all girls' college in the city. Home for the summer."

"Yeah. She's amazing. She's how old? 18? That's it?" I ask, disbelieving that the woman who just treated us country folk to our very first catwalk, modeling extravaganza, is barely legal.

"Yep. Wait, here comes her mother. Check her out and tell me my uncle Hersh ain't gonna stroke out after a honeymoon of loving from her." He loudly laughs again. This time it is effectively drowned out by a change of the melody delivered by a violin, and the emergence of a soloist who belts out the words to "At Last" by Etta James.

Just as beautiful, but in a more mature and filled out way, Hershel's bride is indeed a sight to behold. In a champagne colored lace dress that just reaches the floor to cover the tops of her feet, she is what my pops would call voluptuous. In total agreement with Shane's previous assessment she indeed possess more butt and boobs than one would expect, especially in a curvy proportion to her overall build, which is a lot more pronounced than most women around here. She glides down the aisle with less of a strut than her daughter, but the gazelle like grace is still there, and I can easily see where her daughter got it from.

A wide smile is on her face, and even though she may physically be too hot for Hershel's muted, salt and pepper haired, older man look, she appears every bit as smitten with him as he is for her. Making it to the end of the aisle, she hands her bouquet to her daughter and turns to Hershel, joyfully taking hold of his outstretched hands.

The ceremony begins, and Shane finally quiets down, turning his attention to the couple saying their vows. I can't say the same for myself though, as my focus is targeted on the daughter. There is something about her. I keep trying to fight it though, as I don't want to be busted by Shane staring at her, but my gaze continues to be drawn back, to travel the length of her form. At one point my eyes wander over her for a moment too long, and she and I make eye contact. Hurriedly I attempt to snatch my eyes away, hoping that from three rows back from the front, she couldn't really tell I was staring. I suspect that I'm not that lucky though, as a nearly imperceptible grin takes over just the corner of her full lips. Gotdamn. Even that little smirk is driving me crazy.

"Dude, why don't you just ask her dance. I won't tell Lori." Shane offers, smirking over at me.

"What?"

"You've been staring at my new little cousin since you saw her at the ceremony. Want me to introduce you? Just remember she's off limits."

"To who? She's off limits to you because she's your cousin. And Lori and I aren't together anymore."

"Oh yeah? I didn't know y'all called it quits again. She still trying to get you down the aisle?"

"Yeah. Her and my mother. I'm not interested."

"That why you keep eye-fucking my new cousin?"

"She's just…there's something about her, she's different. In a good way though, I don't mean that how it sounds."

"I gotcha. She's nothing like your usual. Ya know, like Lori." He teases, continuing to obnoxiously name drop my ex.

Prepared to abolish any more discussion of my on again off again ex-girlfriend, Shane's uncle Hershel, and his new wife approach.

"Boys, it's good to see you. Glad you could make it." Hershel says, clapping Shane on the back, then shaking my hand, broadly smiling at each of us.

"Thank you for inviting me, sir."

"Of course. Let me introduce you guys to my new wife. Mona this is my rascally nephew Shane, Dale's son. He was at the rehearsal last night, but I don't think I got a chance to introduce him to you. And this is my friend Rance Grimes' boy, Rick."

"How nice to meet you both. I'm Mona. Thank you for coming."

"Happy to be invited, ma'am." I answer, scrutinizing her face a little, as it's like looking into her daughter's future. This is definitely what she's going to look like one day.

"Wouldn't have missed it. It's good to see Unc get hitched to such a beauty." Shane winks, flirting in a way that is totally him.

"Awe. Aren't you boys sweet. You know what, hold on. Let me introduce you to my daughter. I haven't seen a whole lot of youngsters her age around here for her to get acquainted with." Turning to look for her daughter in the crowd, I can feel myself tense up at the prospect of her coming over. It's one thing to admire her visage from afar, but I'm not sure that my nerves will allow me not to make a fool out of myself close up.

"You ready, loverboy? Here she comes!" Shane whispers.

"Now listen, you both be nice to my new daughter. I want you both to take her out soon, and show her around, but I won't tolerate any disrespect. I'm not too worried about you, Rick. But, Shane, you keep a civil head about you. None of that wolfish, hot-headed behavior you're known for. Like I told you at the rehearsal last night. She is family, so hands off!" Turning to greet his new daughter as she approaches, Hershel's face relaxes away the tension it held as he was admonishing both Shane and I.

"This is my daughter Michonne. Michonne, you met Shane last night. And this is, Rick. He's Rance's son."

"Hey, Shane. Nice to meet you, Rick." She waves a small hello at Shane, and reaches her hand out towards me to shake in polite greeting. Stricken by how stunning she is up close and personal, I initially miss the socially expected queue for me to shake her hand, and I leave her hanging as I just continue to stare at her.

"Rick, you gonna shake her hand or leave her hanging, dude?" Shane asks on a loud chuckle.

Embarrassed beyond belief, I awkwardly jut my hand out towards her now withdrawn hand. I leave it there for a moment, then finally noticing that she has taken her hand back, I draw mine back as well, as she offers hers again. It's a mortifyingly ridiculous thing to experience at our first introduction, and it must be even more agonizing to watch as her mother lightly laughs it off, Hershel groans, and Shane bursts out in a guffaw that I'm sure the whole reception can hear.

"How about I help you dorks out?" Grabbing my hand and hers, Shane orchestrates a handshake.

With her hand now in mine, I catch the release of a small sigh from her full lips. Lips that my eyes don't want to release the sight of, but I'm momentarily dazed by the feel of her tiny hand in my larger one, and I briefly look into her eyes. Growing warm at the electricity transferred between us when our hands meet, I'm indulging in the grasp of her slender fingers around my hand. Needing to devour all of her, my eyes travel slowly over her eyes and lips, her neck and cleavage, then back to her eyes to see if there is any indication in those dark brown pools that she senses the immediate connection between us. Gifting me with a glimpse of her perfect white teeth, she just smiles confidently and tries to ease her hand from mine, which I'm now clutching on to with both hands eagerly wrapped around her smaller one. Though she gives another small tug, indicating that she still wants her hand back, I am reluctant to release her, and instead raise it to my lips to place a small kiss to her knuckles.

Gathering my wits about me, needing to make up for the handshaking gaffe, I clear my throat and run my tongue across my lips. Finally finding my voice, I speak to her with all the confidence I can muster. "It's my pleasure to meet you, Michonne."

For what seems like forever, there is a pause, a sliver in time where nothing exists but her and I, frozen in this moment together. It feels like I could stay here with her forever. I could live and sustain myself on her wide chocolate gaze. Feast on the elegance of her swan like neck, the high perky swell of her breasts, her lean toned arms and legs. It's a heady trip, to be adrift in such a brief spontaneous encounter. Stranger even, Lori and I have been together romantically off and on since I was 16, and I have never experienced anything so enchanting as this. Not sure what to make of it, hoping that she's sharing the same tingle of awareness, I'm content to fall down this rabbit hole with her and see where it goes.

"Aren't you quite the gentleman!" Her mother exclaims, her eyes bouncing between her daughter and I. Michonne's hand still in mind, the confidence in her stare is now waning with the sound of her mother's voice breaking into our trance.

"Uh. Thank you. I'm gonna get something to drink. Excuse me." Michonne turns and hastily prances away from our little group, once again throwing a mean sway into her hips. Instantly I'm drawn to her retreating figure. Though she's thin, lean and toned, she definitely has a womanly hint of hips and a more rounded bottom than I'm used to. I'm not Shane, and would never use a loaded word like "exotic" to describe a person, but she is something else. Her velvet like skin is so soft, and striking in contrast to my own. I'm not some backwoods hick. I've been exposed to the world, been to college, seen beautiful women before, black and white, but words are not sufficient to describe Michonne, or the strength of the visceral reaction I'm having to her. At this moment I have to fight the indescribable urge to pursue her. To pursue her where ever she has retreated to, and kiss her lips. To run my own lips across her shoulders, down her back. Damn.

Over the speaker system a slow country tune, an oldie that I have heard my mother play many times, draws my attention back to our little gathering. Patsy Cline is belting out "Sweet Dreams" in her strong, lilting twang, backed by a light accompaniment.

"Sweet dreams of you
Every night I go through
Why can't I forget you and start my life anew
Instead of having sweet dreams about you…"

Sweet dreams indeed. Unbeknownst to me, before the music began there was a deep silence hanging over the group, as all eyes were focused on me as I witnessed Michonne's retreat. Clearing his throat, Hershel brings everyone's attention back around. "Well, I'm going to take my new bride for a spin on the dance floor. Mona, will you do me the honor?"

"Of course. See you later, boys." She waves with a flutter of her fingers.

"Man, what the hell was that?" Shane questions, a look of shock and concern in his furrowed brows.

"What do you mean?"

"That whole weird thing with Michonne. You just eye-fucked her in front of her damn parents man!"

"No I didn't. I just introduced myself."

"Man! Come on, let's get a drink so you can cool off. I ain't never seen you behave like that. Get yourself together, or you're gonna scare her coming on so strong. Shit, she's only 18, Rick!"

"I didn't mean to scare her. She's just…I was caught off guard is all." In a bit of a panic now, I run my hand down my face, growling at the thought that I might have come off as pervy or weird. Shit.

"Yeah, well, get your shit together, playboy. You was moonin' over her like you've never had a sniff before. And I know Lori's been givin' you plenty of sniffs, so just play it cool."

"Shut up! Why you keep bringing up Lori? I told you that is over. I'm done with her." I swipe my hand across my neck to signify that relationship is finally dead.

"Yeah. I heard that before."

"You know I take dance lessons now, Rick. My daddy says that's why I'm such a good dancer." Beth proudly proclaims as she moves about in a series of rather clumsy stomps, mixed in with a few claps and pops of her fingers.

"Oh yeah? Well you are indeed a good dancer, Beth." I agree, commending her on her moves.

"Watch this!" She twirls around, and the skirt of her dress billows out like a bell around her little legs. Spinning, over and over, she becomes unsteady on her feet. Giggling and giddy, just about to whirl to the ground, I lunge out to grab her, but Michonne comes up and catches her before she falls.

"Easy there, little sister." Michonne grins down at her, hugging her close to calm her down some.

Nearly hysterical with laughter, Beth is red-faced, and maybe just a little embarrassed. Taking easily to her new sister's affections, Beth hugs her back though. The song changes up from the old Tim McGraw song that I can't really remember the name of, and moves into a slow paced R&B song that I'm definitely not familiar with.

"Awe, this song is too old and slow to dance to." Beth scrunches her face in disgust. Cute as a button, with her hair now wild and falling free from her bun, her grin showcasing her missing front tooth, Beth eases out of Michonne's arms. "But you guys could dance to it together."

"Uh, Rick is probably tired from dancing already." Michonne stutters.

"Rick is not." I reply, offering my hand to her, beckoning her towards me and hoping to charm her into accepting.

Wordlessly she secures my hand in her own and proceeds to wrap her arms around my neck, her hands loosely draped at the nape. With my own arms snuggly wrapped around her petite waist, itching to gravitate further south, I'm holding her firmly against me. Guiding her in a side to side sway to the music, I'm inhaling the sweet scent of her perfume, light and airy on her skin.

"You were meant for me
No one else could come between this love, I know
Cause I'll never let you go

You and me...it seems
Never have a problem we can't overcome
Cause you'll always be the one

Never thought I'd be so happy
Loving you has made feel so fine
I can see my friends turn green with envy
Everytime I tell them, I'm so glad you're mine

The hopeful, romantic lyrics float between us, as I delight in the feel of her against me, unreasonably relating to the meaning of the words. It has gotten later in the day, and with dusk's emergence, the lights draped around the dance floor cast an ambient glow that make this whole scene feel as though it's been snatched from a movie. I'm almost giddy to have her in my arms now, to have the opportunity to get closer to this woman. A woman that has caught me so off guard, and not just with her physical beauty, but her presence. More than any woman I have ever met, she has a self-assured and confident way about her that is simply beguiling. Needing to hear her voice, I initiate conversation.

"Thanks for catching Beth. I almost had her, but you kinda swooped in and saved the day before I got a chance." It's a weak conversation starter, but it's all I could think of on the fly.

"Mmhm. I think she has a little crush on you." Her response is brief, but presents me with the perfect opening to engage her further.

"Really? What makes you think that?" I question, amused by her declaration.

"She told me you were cute. Doesn't get any more direct than that." She shrugs. Shorter than me, and with her head turned to the side, it is difficult to gauge her reaction to the conversation. So I cling to the crisp enunciation of her words, colored with just the slightest hint of a southern inflection.

"Hm. What do you think?"

"About?" Briefly glancing up at me, she furrows her brow in confusion.

"Beth's assessment."

"I see no lies." She succinctly answers, and her shoulders bounce with the light accompanying chuckle. With the tiniest of smiles, she turns her head away from me, and once again silence envelopes us. Feeling hopeful and encouraged at her veiled compliment, I keep talking.

"This is a nice song. I think I've heard it before."

"What do you know about Donny Hathaway?" She asks, returning her pretty face up towards me. With her manicured eyebrow quirked, and her lips pursed in question, I am momentarily tripped up again, and nearly forget to answer her.

"My friend Morgan Jones, his dad plays a lot of old music like this at their house. I'm…familiar."

"Ah, the Jones family. The only black family in King County." She knowingly asserts.

"You know them?"

"Why would I know them? You think all black people know each other?"

"No! You just-" My staggered attempts at answering are cut off by her light laughter, and I realize she is making fun of me. Rubbing my hand down my cheek, scratching at the stubble, I can feel my face growing bright red for the second time today. How is it she seems to keep doing this to me?

"Ha ha. You got me."

"I did. Beth and Maggie told me about them. You, Morgan, and Shane all grew up together, huh?"

"Yeah. We've been friends for as long as I can remember. Anyway, what do you think of King County so far?" Not wanting to hog the conversation, and really just wanting to get to know her better, and hear more of the alluring timbre of her voice, I send the questions back her way.

"It's different from Atlanta, obviously, but I won't be here that much. I'll be back at school in August. My cousin Sasha and I are going to get an apartment near campus. Dorm life is not for me." She informs, shaking her head slightly, obviously disturbed at the thought of living in the dorms again.

"I heard you were in college at…Spelman, right?"

"You were asking about me?" Tilting her head up, delicate chin raised, she's blinking those dark eyes at me in a seductive, teasing manner. I don't feel teased though, at least not in the way she probably intended to.

"Maybe."

"Why would you do that? Something about me interesting to you? You see something you like, Rick?" Michonne smirks her red glossed lips. I want to taste those lips so bad. Licking my tongue over my own I recognize her actions and words for what they are. I realize that she isn't just harmlessly teasing me, she's flirting.

Nodding my head slowly I save my words, afraid that I will blurt out my true desires to this stranger.

"My boyfriend might have something to say about that."

"I'm not interested in him so why would he care?" I flirt back, emboldened by the inebriating effect of her coquettish demeanor.

"Doesn't matter. I heard you have a girlfriend anyway." She leans her head to the side, her eyes roaming over my face.

"You been asking about me?"

"Maybe."

"Something about me interesting to you? You see something you like, Michonne?" Using her own words, I'm desperate with anticipation to hear her answer. While the presence of a boyfriend is unfortunate, there is something about this connection with her that won't allow me to back away from her. To take my foot off the gas. Biting down on my bottom lip I await her answer, the expectancy of her delayed answer is killing me.

Briefly looking away, as if giving my question some serious thought, she slowly recaptures my eyes, and hesitantly responds. "Yes."

Her admission drops from her lips, sugary sweet as candy. The win is short lived though, as our dance is broken up by the deep, imposing voice and presence of a well built black guy.

"Hey baby, here you are. Sorry I'm so late. I just got back to town."

Hastily stepping back from me as if caught doing something she shouldn't, she releases me from her grasp. Michonne turns to the man, and gifts to him the brightest smile I have ever seen grace her face, reaching all the way to her eyes. Immediately I'm jealous that it's not directed at me, and confused as to why it isn't.

"Mike! I'm glad you could make it!" Embracing him, she plants a quick kiss to his lips. They are creating a little world for themselves right before my eyes, and I don't like it one bit. In the pit of my stomach an ache has begun, and now its radiating out to seize the rest of my body in a painful swath of discomfort. About to walk away, to avoid the sight of her in his arms, and make some effort to hang on to the magical moment she and I just shared, I turn on my heels but catch the introduction thrown my way from this guy, Mike.

"How you doing? I'm Mike, Michonne's boyfriend." Offering me his outstretched hand, I grasp it, making sure my grip is firm and steady.

"Rick."

"Thanks for keeping my girl company until I could get here. My Michonne likes to dance. Don't you, baby?" Standing long and lean over her, he places a kiss to her temple that transforms the ache into a ball of fire. Staring directly at me, he's laying his claim on her, and I can't say that I blame him. If she were mine, I wouldn't take kindly to some guy trying to take her from me. Because that's exactly what I was trying to do.

Noticing that Mike and I are locked in a stare, Michonne tries to lighten the tense scene, and responds to his probably rhetorical question.

"I do like to dance. You got me." Fidgeting a bit under the tight hold Mike has around her waist, Michonne moves away from him a little, and gestures to me. "Rick and his family live at the next farm over. Um… Anyway, thanks for the dance, Rick. Mike, why don't we go get you something to eat, let my mom know you're here?" Michonne pleads, attempting to break up this impromptu confrontation.

"Sure. Nice meeting you, Rick." Mike turns her away from me, and they begin to walk off. But just as I'm losing faith in her earlier admission of interest, and the connection I felt with her, Michonne turns her head, and makes eye contact with me. Gifting me with one of her dazzling smiles, I'm back on her hook.

"Met her boyfriend, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Saw you dancing with her. Does that mean you and Lori are finished?" My dad questions, taking an easy sip of his bourbon.

"Yeah. That's been done, Pop. Her and mom were trying to push me into a marriage I don't want. No, I'm done with her."

"I saw Lori coming out of your apartment in the pole barn last month, so I didn't know if you guys were getting that band back together or not…"

"Nope. That was a last time, shouldn't have even happened, kinda thing. I'm serious."

"I gotcha, son. Just remember that sex complicates and can confuse things. Emotions. You may be done, but she might not be. Be a man and be clear about what you want, or don't want, and stick to it this time. Got it?"

"Yes, sir. I do. I'm not ready to get married, especially not to Lori." I explain, feeling a little ashamed that my father busted me in a moment of weakness.

Lori did pop up at my apartment in the pole barn on my family's farm last month. I did sleep with her. I hadn't been with her or anyone in months, and I hate to admit it but shit, I needed an itch scratched. Why did I do that though? With her. She called me everyday for a week straight, my attempts to ignore her not effective at all. Finally, I was forced to answer one of those calls and remind her that a hookup in the middle of a non-relationship, that is already broken up, doesn't count as us being back together. As expected, that was met with tears and hollering, all on her part.

I can't blame anyone but myself for that, and since then I have been successful in staying away from her. And thankfully she hasn't miraculously shown up at my job or my apartment since, both of which she has been known to do.

"And the dancing?" My dad brings the conversation back to the reception, and me dancing with Michonne. "Seemed intense."

"Just trying to get to know Hershel's new daughter is all. She seems nice."

"She's pretty. Very pretty. Her mother too."

"Yeah"

"Different."

"Huh?"

"You heard me, Rick."

"Yes, sir, I did. But I don't understand that last bit." I replied to my father, clearly confused about what he means when he says 'different'.

"What I mean, son, is that just because she is different than what you are used to, doesn't mean you get to live out some fantasy at her expense. Understand me now?"

"Yes, sir, I do. I would never be so callous, you raised me better than that. My interest, attraction, to her is not wayward. I think she's pretty, stunning actually. And I want to get to know her better. Just like I would with any other pretty girl."

"Ok. She's now the daughter of my best friend. And she's younger than you are. Basically, I'm saying don't be a dipshit, ok? Be respectful, and mindful of your manners, son."

"Yes, sir."

"But the boyfriend… Now that's a problem."

"Not really. I think she likes me. I'll just play it by ear for now, but I'm not worried. Gonna ask her to lunch tomorrow."

"Moving fast. Good luck. I guess I will have to tell your mama to let go of her dreams of Lori being her daughter in law then."

"Absolutely."

Chapter 3 (Michonne)

"And then I say, that's not right, that's not how you know a boy likes you!"

"No, I don't think so either. No one wants their hair pulled just because a boy likes you. I would rather he just say he likes me." I reply to the ending of Maggie's story about some boy who likes her friend Tara, and pulled her hair.

"Tara's not even into boys like that, so he's wasting his time anyway. Ugh sometimes boys are so annoying!"

"Not all boys!" Beth pouts, as she stops slurping at her quickly melting ice cream cone. "I know a boy who's not annoying, and wouldn't pull anybody's hair."

"That's true, not all boys, Beth, you're right. And, you girls shouldn't expect that it's normal for a boy to hurt you in any way to get your attention, or show he likes you. It's not cool. Ok?"

"Got it!" They say in unison. Winking at them, noting how adorable they are with ice cream all over their faces, and clothes, I think I have an idea of who Beth is referring to when she says she knows a boy who doesn't pull hair. He's definitely not a boy, and from what I experienced two weeks ago at Hershel and Mom's wedding, he's not into pulling hair. At least not in the manner that Maggie is talking about.

"Beth, who is the boy you know that doesn't pull hair?" Maggie asks quizzically, echoing my unshared thoughts.

"Rick, duh! He would never pull a girl's hair, he's a cop! And he's cute. Right, Michonne?"

Tending to my own ice cream cone, I lick away a bit that's dropped on to my thumb. "He is a cop, and so you're right, he probably would not pull a girl's hair to let her know he's interested in her. Good point, Beth."

"And he's cute right, Michy?" Beth presses, noticing that I strategically did not answer that part of her question.

"Yeah, Michy, what do you think about Rick?" A deep voice with a heavy southern twang from behind me asks in an amused voice.

Giggling in her girlish way, Beth jumps up from her seat on the bench in front of the ice cream shop, and runs to Rick, who is apparently standing right behind me. Turning, my breath momentarily catches at the sight of him donning his deputy's uniform, hat, boots, and holster. Beth embraces him, leaving a sticky smudge from her ice cream covered face on the side of his shirt.

"Hey, Rick! Ugh, Beth you left ice cream on his shirt." Maggie complains on his behalf.

Dropping his head to check out his shirt, he laughs, and hugs Beth again, dismissing any concern over the stain. "That's alright, I'm about to get off duty anyway. You ladies enjoying yourselves?" He asks, cocking his head and now focusing those ridiculously blue eyes only on me, lowering his lengthy hazel eyelashes as he awaits an answer.

I didn't even know they made eyes that clear and blue, and it's throwing me off, again. When we met and danced at my mother's wedding a few weeks ago, those eyes completely knocked me on my ass then too. Especially given the way his navy colored suit hung so nicely on his lean, angular frame, setting off the lighter ocean blue of his eyes just right. Groomed well, his dark chestnut hair, with a sparse blend of a lighter butterscotch twined within, was just long enough for me to notice the slight curl to his locks. Brushed back from his high forehead, and tapered in the back and on the sides, he sported sideburns that were a tad too long for my taste, but his haircut framed his handsome face well, allowing the masculine prettiness of it to not be overwhelmed. Anchored by a straight aquiline nose, his face also includes a pair of lips that are a rosy pinkish color, giving off a sense that they must be soft to touch, sweet to taste.

I've never been that attracted to non-black men, it's just never been my thing, but there is something compelling about Rick Grimes. A touch of cockiness and confidence, mixed with country boy goodness and chivalry, and maybe even an underlying hint of naughtiness as well. All put together in such a sexy package, it all seems to be drawing me to him in a wholly unexpected way. Not to mention the manner in which he gallantly kissed my hand, or pulled me into his body to dance, his long fingers splayed along the small of my back, heating my core in an indecent way. Add to that the faint scent of his woodsy cologne, and he truly had me spellbound. So much so that I shamelessly allowed him to flirt with me, and I flirted right back. Going so far as to not only admit that I see something I like when I look at him, but to also give him a backwards glance as I was being led away by my boyfriend.

My boyfriend. Mike. The guy I have been seeing for some time now. The guy that everyone, including myself, has always assumed was my perfect match, my destiny. Last year I lost my virginity to Mike, I went to prom with Mike, I know his family, went to their family reunion last summer. It all adds up to a perfect picture. And normally I wouldn't question that, because Mike is good. Mike is the embodiment of everything that I think I want. He's handsome, tall, ambitious, smart, and he loves me. Even though he's never said he loves me, I know he does because everything about us together makes sense, and for Mike, an engineering student at Morehouse, logic is everything.

The only thing…and that's if I have to pick a thing, is his lack of passion. Excitement, lust, a thirst for something outside of the clear cut plan his family has laid out for him, and apparently for me as well. Undergrad, grad school, job, marriage, kids. The expectations are there and easy for us to follow for a successful outcome. That's how they talk about us. About life. As though you can create a blueprint for the unpredictability of life. That's how Mike talks about our future too. Like the path to a happy fulfilling life can be drafted as easy as one of his architect father's building plans. Or a computer program for a robot. If we put in the right codes, the program works, the building is constructed, the robot walks, life is good. But if not… Well Mike doesn't like if not scenarios, so we never even get there.

So, right now, witnessing the bow-legged strut of Rick Grimes, looking like the most delicious if not scenario I have ever seen, my programing is returning an error code that is telling me to not entertain this anomaly. And yet…

Realizing that I have drifted away from the conversation the girls are holding with Rick about summertime and ice cream, I drag my gaze away from my appreciative head to toe perusal of his tightly muscled form, and focus on how to get away from him before I do or say something I might regret.

"You girls ready to go? We need to get home soon and get to our chores before dinner." I remind, hoping it's a good enough excuse to explain the hasty exit I'm desperately trying to make.

"Alright. Let me walk you to your car then." Rick gestures his hand out towards the row of parked cars, waiting for the girls and I to lead the way. Allowing Maggie and Beth to walk in front of us, Rick hangs back with me, and places his hand firmly to the small of my back, guiding me to walk next to him, slowing down the quicker pace I was intent on setting to walk ahead with the girls. "Ya know, I've been meaning to stop out to the farm and talk with you, but it's been pretty busy at work lately. Working extra shifts to cover for a few guys who have been out sick."

"That's nice of you, to do that. To cover for someone."

"Yeah, I guess. It works out for me. I'm saving to buy a house, so the extra money is a good thing."

"Hm. So, what did you want to talk to me about?"

"A date. When are we going on a date?" Stopping at the driver's side door of my truck, Rick turns to me and places one hand on the roof, and the other lightly rests on his hip at his holster. Grinning at me, his eyes rove my face waiting on an answer.

There is a part of me, and I'm not going to lie, it's a big part, that wants to say we're going on a date tonight. I don't know why that part exists. Charming as hell, Rick Grimes is the worst kind of temptation. But the rational part of me, the part that belongs to Mike, the part that has a small belief that this attraction between us is some kind of 'Jungle Fever' fluke, kicks in and downgrades my wayward curiosity about him, and motivates me to do the right thing. At least I think it's the right thing.

"You're a nice guy, Rick. But, no date. Again, I have a boyfriend. You met him, remember? Tall, dark, handsome?" I slyly remind him, goading him a little with my description of Mike.

"I kind of remember someone, an unremarkable fella, interrupting our dance at your mother's wedding, but that's not important. What's important is that we get to know each other better. That you let me show you around. You're new around here, I can give you a deputy escorted tour of King County." Giving me that handsome smile of his again, he smoothly handles my reference to Mike, and keeps his concentration on the date that can never happen. "What do you say, pretty lady?"

Tempted by the smooth timbre of his voice, the flirty grin he's showcasing, and the way he has those tawny brown eyebrows quirked mischievously over those sexy blue eyes, I do pause momentarily. Sniffing out the partial weakening of my once adamant decline of his offer, he leans down, closer to my face. Licking his lips in that lazy, devil may care way of his, drawing my gaze to the wetness left behind on the plump crest of his bottom lip, he whispers in my ear, "You want to. Say yes."

Like a deer caught in headlights all I can do is stare straight ahead in a futile attempt to not give away how turned on I am, how badly I do want to say yes, to figure out what it is about this guy that has me nearly curious enough to actually follow his command, and say yes. For a moment we both just stand there, stock still. Him waiting for me to agree, and me waiting for the courage to step away from the attraction to this man that has me bolted to the ground where I stand.

Finally, a banging on the driver side window from Beth and Maggie shocks us both out of the electrically charged stupor we're rooted in.

"Oh my god! Are you guys going to kiss?!" Maggie hollers, while Beth grins like a Cheshire cat, stopping only to make kissy noises with her puckered lips.

"Oh lord," I grumble, instantly dropping my head into my upturned palm. "I have to go."

"Ok. Hey, Michonne," Rick drops down a bit, bending his knees to try and make eye contact with me. Taking a hold of my chin with his index finger and thumb to lift my gaze to his, he smiles and states with gravitas, and such an inordinate amount of bold, straight forward confidence that I have to believe him, "I'm not giving up just yet, pretty girl."

Standing up straight from his slight crouch, he raps his knuckles on the window then points at Maggie and Beth. "You girls be good and stay out of trouble!" Winking at them, he strolls away, and back towards his police cruiser.

Swiveling my head around slightly to watch, hoping that he doesn't catch me giving him another look, I bear witness to the sexiest, John Wayne like swagger I have ever seen a pair of brown uniform pants, and cowboy boots throw down. God help me.

With a deep inhale, and a staggered exhale I muster my wits about me enough to get into my Jeep.

"Are you and Rick dating?" Maggie asks. A gleeful delight dances in her green eyes, and across her smirking lips.

"Wait. What about Mike?" Beth leans forward from the backseat and asks, throwing her hands up in question.

"What? Who?" I ask, temporarily still in a daze.

"Exactly! Mike who? Michy is all about Rick now, Beth." Maggie exclaims, clapping her hands in delight. "This is so romantic!"

"Not a word of this to anybody. You guys hear me? Sisters' promise!" I declare, tossing my pinky out to each of them.

"Promise!" They echo in concert.

"I'm glad you finally decided to hang out with someone older than Maggie and Beth tonight, cuz." Shane tosses a pat to my back. A little rougher than expected, I jerk forward a little, throwing my hands to the dash of his Camaro to catch myself. He's driving way too fast for my taste on these narrow roads, so I'm already on edge.

Tossing him a sideways glance, I have to hold my tongue from fussing at him about his driving.

"Yep. It'll be cool to get away for a little while. So, where are we going?" Watching the darkened scenery whiz past the car windows, I have to admit that from what I have seen so far, King County really is beautiful, quiet, serene. I could see the allure for some. But, I'm a city girl, so it could probably never be my forever home, but every day that we live here, I gain a better appreciation for what is now peacefully anchoring my mother here. Well, besides her new husband and daughters. Things have gone so well with our merged families, that it almost seems unreal. But, as my mother reminded me as she watched me get dressed to go out with Shane tonight, if you make your mind up that something is going to work, and that you are willing to do what's needed to make it work, then it will. It's that kind of go get 'em, southern belle charm, and spunk that has gotten my mother and I through the toughest times one could imagine. And for that reason, I wholeheartedly believe in her words.

It's with these thoughts of my mother's can-do, tenacious attitude, that I'm led to thoughts of my earlier encounter with the beguiling Rick Grimes. Forgetting my stoic, unimpressed façade for a moment, I don't give Shane a chance to answer my question about our destination, and ask an unexpected follow up. "Is Rick going to be wherever we're going?"

Silent for a moment, Shane doesn't immediately respond. "Oh! I see now! You're liking ol' Ricky Dicky Grimes huh, cuz? Huh! He is a charming son of a bitch. Nah, I don't think he's gonna be out tonight. He's been working a couple double shifts lately."

"Oh. I was just wondering since I know you guys are friends. That's all. I have a boyfriend, so no, Rick Grimes is of no concern to me." I roll my eyes, a shallow attempt at disguising and submerging my blatant interest in seeing Rick again.

Giving me a sly grin and a wink as he masterfully pulls into the parking lot of a bar on the main strip in King County, he ignores my thin protests. "Whatever you say. Anyway, this bar is owned by some friends. Daryl Dixon and his old lady, Carol, own this place. Now, I can't let you drink, little cuz, but the food is good, the music will be loud, and the company will be entertaining!"

A little annoyed at his reaction, I quickly exit the car, and immediately begin straightening out my clothes. With no real expectation of what I'm going to find in this bar, and no clue as to where Shane was taking me, I threw on a of pair snug jeans, a halter top, and a new pair of chunky heeled-sandals I talked my mom into buying me on our last shopping trip, hoping that this outfit would suffice. With my hair freshly flat ironed, and parted down the middle, some eyeliner, mascara, and lip gloss, I think I look pretty and prepared for a night out in the sticks.

"Enough primping, you're already cute. Let's get inside." Shane directs, nodding his head towards the door, and playfully grousing. Over the past few weeks I have gotten to hang out with him a few times, and Hershel was completely spot on with his assessment of Shane. He is a knucklehead, but legitimately I think he's a nice guy, with a big, loud personality. Once a high school football and baseball star, he's pretty much always been a big fish in a little pond, and as a result he's been unequivocally spoiled by the preferential treatment he's always received. From girls. And from everyone else who seems to either grudgingly tolerate his sometimes boorish behavior in lieu of an easily lost confrontation, admire his prowess, or pay him no mind. This becomes extremely evident when we cross the threshold of the bleak, smoky bar, and not even 30 seconds have passed before a blonde is draped on his side, and some guy is offering to get him a beer in thanks for letting him off with a warning on a recent speeding ticket.

Despite the overly affectionate girl at his side, that he promptly introduces as Andrea, Shane keeps me in his sights as we make our way through the crowd on the small square dance floor, and he makes sure we get settled in at the bar, front and center. Somewhat self-conscious at being the only black person in the room, and from feeling the curious glares of the patrons wondering at my presence, I'm more aware of my surroundings than usual. Shane, observes my minor discomfort, and attempts to ease my anxious fidgeting. Proclaiming to the approaching bartender, loud enough for most in the bar to hear over the blast of the country music playing speakers, that he'd like a beer, and a Coke for his cousin. With heavy emphasis on his and cousin, and a menacing stare-down sweep of the bar, he has effectively put everyone on notice that I'm not to be bothered. Though I like to think that at 18 going on 19, that I'm a tough city girl who can handle anything, this is new terrain for me to navigate, and my cousin'sguidance is extremely helpful and comforting.

"What are you doing here? I thought you said you were heading out of town?" Shane asks Andrea, his arm affectionately covering her shoulders.

"I am, but Lori wanted a last hurrah tonight before she heads to her Granny's in Macon tomorrow morning." Gesturing with her thumb over her shoulder, I slightly turn my head in that direction to see who Lori is. In a sea of grinding bodies and line dancers, it's impossible to pick out which of them is Lori, so I turn back towards the bar, accepting my drink from the bartender.

"Coke?" He asks, placing my drink down in front of me. "No Jack to go with it? No bourbon?" He rasps, a frown marring his face, which is already partially hidden behind strands of stringy brown hair. Sporting a leather biker vest, over a sleeveless shirt, he has just enough of a tough guy look to slightly intimidate me into thinking I shouldn't have wasted his time with my plain Coke.

"Leave her alone, Daryl. That's Hershel's new daughter. She's underage." A thin gray-haired woman reprimands him from behind, placing her hand lightly on his shoulder.

"New daughter? She's too old to be new." The guy named Daryl grunts, giving me the once over, and thankfully not focusing on the color difference between my step-father and I.

"Hush. Hi, I'm Carol and this scraggly grump is my husband Daryl. Your step-dad used to come here a lot after his first wife died. He got himself together though, and now we don't get to see so much of him anymore, but he's a real sweetheart." Offering me her hand for a friendly shake, Carol gives me a kind smile. "Here, you want some grenadine in your Coke? Spice it up a little?"

"Uh sure. So you say, my step-dad used to frequent your bar huh? Is that something my mother should worry about?"

"No!" Shane interrupts. "My uncle Hershel just went through a rough patch after his wife died. He's human, it happens. Don't be in here gossiping about my family, Carol."

"Hey! She can say what she wants in her own damn bar. You watch how you talk to my wife." Daryl warns from further down the bar, apparently still tuned in to the conversation at our end.

"Hi everybody! Guess who just walked in the door? Must be my lucky night after all!" Whirling at the loud, half shouted announcement, I find another woman now leaned over the back of Shane. A slight look of displeasure is covering Andrea's face, as she rolls her eyes, and looks away from the new addition to our group. Noticing me looking between her and Andrea, she attempts and fails a whispered question to Shane. "Who's the black chick?"

"Lori, this is my cousin Michonne. Michonne this is Lori." Shane introduces. Remembering that Andrea mentioned her before, I take quick note of her, but noticing nothing remarkable about the thin, brown haired woman clad in jeans, a tank top, and cowboy boots, I turn back to Carol who is still standing in front of me, waiting to finish our suspended conversation about Hershel.

"Oh. Hi." She sends my way. Turning back to Shane she asks directs another question his way. "Why is she black?" This time she doesn't even bother with a whisper.

"Shut up, Lori! What kind of question is that? Her mother married my uncle." Shane reprimands her. "That makes her my cousin. Don't be rude, damn! She don't mean nothing by that, Michonne." He apologizes, waving her off his back in an annoyed manner.

"This is her? The one that Rick was dancing with at the reception? Definitely not as pretty and much darker than I expected." She shrugs smugly after giving me a once over, then offers a tight inauthentic smile. "Humph. Come on, Andrea. I need to freshen up my makeup in the bathroom real quick." Walking off, she doesn't even wait for Andrea to answer or follow.

"Sorry. Sometimes she's just a real bitch." Andrea scoffs and hops off her barstool to follow Lori to the bathroom.

Her rude question, and fake smile are pissing me off, but I'm no hot head, not easily rattled. No one could ever accuse Michonne Kelly of not knowing how to defend herself, verbally or with hands, but even though this Lori chick is getting on my nerves, I would never allow her to see that she has gotten my emotions out of pocket. That's just not my way. I'm Andre Kelly's daughter. My temper is a slow burning, well-controlled, chemical reaction. One that no one wants to be on the receiving end of.

Resolving to ignore and avoid her for the rest of the night, I begin sipping from my drink.

"Hey listen, don't pay Lori any mind, ok? She's not a bad person. I'm sorry for what she said though, it was rude. You ok?" Shane looks over at me, trying to make eye contact with me, attempting to gauge my mood. But I would never let these people see me sweat, so I just give him a thumbs up and silently keep sipping my drink. "Shit! Look who's here!" Shane taps my arm to get my attention.

"Hey!"

Agitated by Lori's remarks, and Shane's attempts at apologizing on her behalf, I flinch at his nudge, but instantly perk up at the sound of Rick's voice.

"Hello." Pursing my lips to try and control my smile, not wanting to allow it to divulge how excited I actually am to see him again, I give him a small nod of my head to acknowledge his presence.

"I guess everyone is out on the town tonight. Daryl, get Rick a beer!" Shane hollers to the bartender.

"Guess so. Good to see you again, Michonne." Rick grins, taking a seat on the bar stool next to me.

"Same." God he smells good. He always seems to smell good. But not in a cheesy, trying too hard, may have bathed in half of the bottle kind of way. It's a light but heady mix of soap, maybe a dash of talc or aftershave, and him. Just Rick.

Doing that thing where he leans in to address me, greedily snatching and absorbing all of my attention, his eyes give my body a slow up and down gaze. "You look pretty, as usual."

Glowing, feeling my body warm at his heated stare, I squirm a bit in my seat, determined not to show how affected I am by him. "Thank you. You look nice as well."

"Thanks. So, you're hanging out with Shane tonight huh? You could do worse. But you could definitely do better." He laughs.

Catching his comment, Shane joins in the laughter, and the now jovial mood at the bar. "Damn! For real, Rick?"

"I'm just joking." Taking a hold of the cold, wet beer bottle set in front of him, he gives a slight up tilt of his head in thanks to the bartender. "Thanks, Daryl. What's up, man?"

"Same shit, different day. For the record, Shane brought his jail-bait cousin into my bar, but she ain't drinking nothing but Coke. I don't need you deputies trying to set me up to get my license taken." He says, a stern grimace on his face.

"That's good to know, Daryl." Rick responds, bouncing his attention between me and Daryl.

"I'm serious. After that fight that went down in here those few years back, we almost got shut down. I can't have no drama in here again. That goes for everybody. Maybe especially you, Rick, cause Lori's here, and she's already got her hackles up about Shane's pretty cousin over here."

"Lori's here?" Rick asks, the pleasant quirk of his lips immediately falls into a frown.

"Hey, Rick. Good to see you, baby." Lori returns from the bathroom, and wedges her frame in between Rick and I, effectively blocking us from each other's sight. Wrapping her arms tightly around him in a hug, that he stiffly accepts, I can see that she's trying too hard. Way too hard.

Removing her arms from around him, Rick gently places them back to her side, and leans around her to address me, "Sorry, Michonne." Turning back to her he grouses in a steely voice, "Lori, don't you see I was having a conversation here? You just barged in, that's rude. Don't disrespect her. You should apologize before you leave."

"Oh. I didn't realize you were talking to her. I thought you were talking to Daryl." She replies in a softer voice. "I haven't seen you in a while, we should catch up."

Already sick of her act, and not interested in waiting on an apology that probably wasn't coming, I get up from my stool. "Excuse me, gonna get some fresh air. I'll be right back." I direct towards Shane, and walk away from the bar, heading out of the door. Once I'm outside, the contrast of the swarthy Georgia heat, in comparison to the air conditioned bar, is a welcome shock to my body, causing a rush of goose bumps to break out on my arms.

Running my hands over my arms, I amble over to Shane's car and hop up on the trunk, needing to take a moment to gather myself. Pulling my phone from my purse, I call the one person who I can always depend on for a laugh, my cousin Sasha.

"Bitch."

"What's up, Sasha?"

"You still hanging out at the honky tonk with your new kin?" She asks, sarcasm in her words.

"Yeah. I'm ready to go though."

"Why? What happened?"

"Nothing really. Just this rude chick came in, saying stupid stuff. Doesn't matter, it's just not the same as hanging out with you and our friends. I miss you guys."

"Do I need to come out to the sticks and kick someone's ass for making my cousin sad? I will."

Barking out a loud chuckle I know that Sasha is serious. If I said yes, she would be here in her father's Mercedes in a minute, ready to fight. Sasha's father and my mother are twins. With Sasha and I being the only girls in a family full of boys, Sasha having 4 brothers, we pretty much stuck to each other growing up. We're even the same age, and born only a month apart. Basically we are more like sisters than cousins, and as such, I know that she always has my back, and I always have hers. It's how we were raised. And with a horde of boys to keep anyone from messing with us, one of whom, my cousin Tyreese, is a first baseman for the Atlanta Braves, we have never seen a situation we can't handle.

"You are a mess! No. I will see you at your party tomorrow night. Maybe I'll bring my new kin Shane with me. You would get a kick out of him."

"Michonne? Michonne?"

"Wait, who is that calling your name?"

"Michonne, why are you out here alone?" Rick walks from the door of the bar, and begins heading my way.

"Ok, whoever that is sounds sexy as hell. In a hillbilly kinda way though." Sasha asserts.

"Hush. That's him."

"Him, who?"

"The guy from the wedding. Look he's coming over here, let me call you back."

"Heffa, you better."

Hanging up the phone and placing it back into my purse, I look up to see Rick strutting the rest of the way through the parking lot over to me. My attention is drawn once again to the bow of his legs, now clad in a pair dark washed blue jeans, snugly fitting to his thighs. Once again, he's sporting his brown cowboy boots, but he's also wearing a white t-shirt that fits so snugly across the planes of his chest, that it's hard for me to avert my gaze to conceal the way I'm checking him out.

Making his way to where I'm perched on Shane's car, a look of worry wrinkling his forehead, he stands in front of me with his hands resting lightly on his lean hips.

"You shouldn't be out here alone. It's dark, this is a bar, guys have been drinking. Not a good idea, Michonne."

"I can handle myself, thanks though."

"I'm sure." Running his eyes over me, he's doing that thing again, that elevator, head to toe perusal of me. The look that sets me on fire every time. "Just looking out for you. That's what deputies do."

"Got it. Well maybe you should be more worried about looking out for your girlfriend in there?" I smugly point back towards the bar.

"I don't have a girlfriend. Lori is the past; you don't need to worry about her." He shakes his head. "Can I join you?"

"Sure."

Accompanying me on the trunk of Shane's Camaro, he's sitting so close that I can feel the hair on his veiny, tanned forearms tickling my own arms.

"I do want to apologize for Lori though. How rude she was to you. I guess she heard from my mother we were dancing at the wedding… She and I used to be together, and now we're not. I'm sorry for how she behaved."

"You don't have to apologize for your girlfriend. She's a big girl. She said what she said, and I'm sure she meant to be disrespectful. No problem."

"Why do you keep calling her my girlfriend? I just told you she's my past."

"She doesn't know that. At least not by the way she was all over you."

"That bother you, Michonne?" He asks, a smirk to those pretty pink lips of his.

"Nope. I could care less. I have a boyfriend, one that I claim. Remember? We've had this discussion before."

"Right. I've told you before, I'm not worried about him." Leaning forward, his hands clasped together hanging between his legs, his voice gets a softer tone to it. "Listen, I like you. I just want to get to know you better. Give me a chance to do that. You already admitted you like what you see."

"I think that would be disrespectful to Mike. Ya know, dating someone else while I'm dating him. Maybe they don't frown on that out here in King County, but in Atlanta that's cause for a fight."

"Fighting is never something I've had a problem with. Not for something I want." He tilts his head a bit, making direct eye contact with me, a hint of seriousness in the firm assertion of his words.

At a loss for a comeback of my own, I say nothing. I can't find words sufficient enough to address his comments. So I don't. I just let them hang there between us, riding the dynamic wave of attraction between us. With no words left to say, the hum of cicadas and katydids in the background, coupled with the inky blackness of the sky above, scattered through with a smattering of stars, this moment is near perfect in it's solemnity. Giving his words some thought, we are interrupted by Shane emerging from the bar.

"I knew Rick would find you, cuz. Let's get going, we can grab some dinner from the diner down the way, then head home. I'm gonna hook up with Andrea a little later on, so we are gonna cut this a little short. You don't mind do you?"

"Not at all. I'm ready to leave anyway." Ready to jump off the trunk of the car so we can leave, Rick hops down first. Coming to stand in front of me, between my legs, he places his hands around my waist and lifts me from the car. Gently, he places me on the ground, gifting me with the tiniest brush of a kiss to my cheek.

"Think about what I said." And with that, he nods his head to me, pats Shane on the back, then heads over to a blue pickup truck, which I assume is his.

Stuck in place for a moment, I'm only jolted into motion by the banging of Shane's large hands on the roof of his car. "Let's go, cuz! Shake a tail feather!"

Silently, I walk over to the passenger side of the car, legs wobbly, my head in a cloud, I can not shake this odd feeling of carefree, weightlessness, of falling. I'm instantly reminded of Alice in Wonderland, and her tumbling into the unknown, down the rabbit hole.

"Girl, he kissed me. Not kiss kiss, not on my lips. Not even like a full on kiss, like just a little peck…but man…"

"What? You got all kinds of hillbilly, Young and the Restless drama happening in the bar, and you're outside making out with the sheriff? King County is too much for me, girl!" Sasha teases.

"Shut up! He's not the damn sheriff, silly. He's a deputy. And girl, in that uniform… Oh my god!"

"Wait a minute, what about Mr. Perfect?" She asks, referring to Mike. Sasha and Mike don't get along the best. Her personality is too wild for him, too chaotic. And he's too structured for her, way too uptight. Basically she's no fan of his, and dare I say, maybe a little too excited at the prospect of me stepping out on him.

"I wouldn't cheat on Mike; you know I'm not like that. But… there's just something about this Rick guy. I can't call it, Sasha. I don't know what it is. And you know me, you know I have never been attracted to white boys. I leave that to you."

"Girl, I've been telling you, men are men. Lights go out, dick works the same way." Sasha offers on a naughty cackle.

"So I've heard. Hold on a sec, I have a text coming in."

"Who is it from? Mike?"

"Nope. I don't know this number. Hold on."

Unknown: Just wanted to make sure you got home safely, and let you know that you looked beautiful tonight

Michonne: Who is this?

Unknown: Rick

Michonne: How did you get my number?

Unknown: Shane

Michonne: Of course he would just give out my number without asking me first

Unknown: Don't blame him, I begged

Michonne: Did you now? I bet that was interesting… you don't seem like the begging kind

Unknown: I don't normally have to…but for you I will

Michonne: …

Unknown: Save my number in your phone

Michonne: Why would I do that?

Unknown: So you don't have to ask who it is when I contact you… I don't want you to forget me

Michonne: I don't think that could happen

"Michy, you got me on hold too long girl. I'm hanging up. Who are you texting?"

"It's him. It's Rick."

"Oh shit. Tell him to send a dick pic. We need to know what he's working with. Otherwise all of this flirting might just be a big ol waste of time."

"You don't need to know anything about his dick. I'll talk to you tomorrow, Sasha!"

"I noticed that you didn't deny that you do though. Night, Michy!"

Unknown: Confession… I wanted to kiss you tonight

Michonne: I don't even know what to say to that… you kinda did kiss me tho

Unknown: Not the way I wanted to… There is something about you Michonne… I can't stop thinking about you…

Michonne: …

Unknown: Have breakfast with me in the morning… please?

Michonne: I could eat

Unknown: I can feed you… see you at 8 AM

Michonne: I'll be ready

Unknown: Goodnight pretty girl

Michonne: …

At a complete loss for any more words, I end the text there, and do as he requested and save his number to my phone. My head feels like I'm doing something wrong, and its warring with the butterflies fluttering around the chambers of my heart. It keeps trying to send a warning signal to my heart that this is all against my programming. My heart is in charge right now though, and basking in and seizing at the indescribable sensation elicited from Rick's words. But, like he said, there is something about him, about this thing between us.

Alone in my room, I feel safe enough now to entertain the thought of him. Grinning at the very idea of getting to see him again in the morning, in just a few short hours, I lean over to the night stand and plug my phone into the charger. As soon as I lay down in the bed, and snuggle down into the covers, my phone lights up with another text message. Picking up my phone I see it's a message from Rick again. It's a link to a You Tube video of Donny Hathaway's "You Were Meant for Me". The song that we danced to at my mother and Hershel's wedding.

"Oh my god!" I whisper to myself, having to admit that not only is he cute, but he's also a romantic. Not wanting to tip my hand as to how affected I am by him not only remembering the song, but sending it to me, I don't respond to the text. Instead, I play the song a few more times, until eventually I drift off to sleep thinking only of Rick.

Chapter 4 – Rick

"Good morning, Hershel!"

"Good morning, Rick. What can I do for you this morning?" he asks as he slowly sips from his coffee mug, eyes still focused on his newspaper.

"I'm here to pick up Michonne for breakfast, sir."

"Is that right?"

Climbing the stairs to join him on the porch, I take a seat in the rocking chair next to his.

"Yes. Is she ready?" I ask, eager to set my eyes on her again. Last night, after I texted her for the last time, hoping she was remembering me, our dance, I could barely sleep. The memory of her tiny waist clasped in my hands, her perky breasts held up in that little shirt she had on, it all kept my brain abuzz for most of the night with anticipation of our breakfast date the next morning. If I closed my eyes I could almost smell her fragrance still wafting in my nostrils. It wasn't heavy. It was sweet, crisp, almost like an apple, and the comparison made me think she must taste the same. Sweet and crisp. When I helped her down off of Shane's car, I couldn't help but press my lips softly to her cheek. It was the most chaste thing I could do, because I really want to taste her lips. Kiss the red gloss from them.

The brief moment we shared last night at the bar was not enough to sate my need of her. Every time I see her, talk to her, it just makes this deep seated urge to be around her even stronger. I can't lie and say it's not scary, because God knows it is. To experience such an instant bond with a complete stranger. But, it's also exciting, and as my tired, sleepless countenance suggests, distracting.

"She's been up for awhile now, doing her morning run, taking care of her horse."

"Can you let her know I'm here?" I ask him, gesturing towards the house, noticing that he did not say if she is ready or not. With this realization, I'm a little hesitant now about allowing Hershel to see how anxious I am to see her. "Wait, um. Are you ok with us having breakfast together?"

Laying his newspaper down on the small end table between us, he stops his chair from rocking and turns towards me, offering a small, almost sad smile.

"Michonne is a good girl, Rick. Smart, mature, focused. She's about to turn 19 next month, and I have never met a young woman who has such a good grasp on life. She's very in touch with her instincts, good intuition. And you, my god son, I have known you all your life. You are a good boy, with a good heart, and I have never known you not to try with everything in you to do the right thing. To lead others by example. I need you to remember though, your daddy and I have been friends forever, grew up right here together. Your mother and my wife were close friends. That's kind of the way King County is, isn't it? Small, close, everybody knows everybody, and what everybody is up to. And everybody isn't always so happy about what everybody else is doing. Are they?"

"Are you saying that you're not ok with us having breakfast together?" Confused by Hershel's statements, I think I'm missing something in his words. There appears to be an implication of something else there that I can't quite put my finger on.

"Is it just breakfast?" He asks, his words so straightforward and direct that they leave nothing open to subjective interpretation.

"I'm sorry, what?" I nervously laugh, his question so loaded that I can only respond with a question of my own.

"Well, I was there when you met, remember? I saw the fire in your eyes, and I saw the flinty spark in hers. It's very obvious that the two of you have an…interest in each other. But, I also know there is a young man named Mike somewhere in the middle of this. I don't know what to make of Lori. And well, son, I know your mother. I would never say anything bad about her, but I know she is not a fan of certain kinds of folks. Just like some other people in this county aren't. So, with all that I have seen and all that I know, I just want you to be careful, mindful of my daughter. Finding your someone special…it can be powerful, and you are a little older than she is, more experienced. The world around you, some people, may not always be as joyful about the treasure you find in each other, as you are. I love you both and I don't want either of you hurt, by others, or each other." He explains, his kind eyes making contact with my own over the top of his reading glasses.

The intensity of Hershel's observation is throwing me off. Maybe because of the truth in it, the slight hint of a warning. But, it's helpful for me to be reminded of these things. My brain and my heart have been in a constant haze and flutter since I met Michonne, and I have not given a second thought to anything outside of getting what I want, what I need. Michonne.

Mike is a non-issue in my opinion. I may not have the lengthy record with women that Shane does, but I know that a woman can't be taken from a man that she's in love with. That's not how women work. They aren't wolfish and slavish to what they see like men are. A better body or a cuter face isn't going to pull a woman in love away from the man she adores. No. It's about how they feel. And if Mike was on his job, making her feel loved, needed, secure, giving her passion, my flirting at the wedding would have been met with a brick wall. My texts wouldn't have gotten a reply. And I wouldn't be here right now to take her to breakfast. Like Hershel said, she's a good girl, but given our interaction yesterday, she feels something for me. However tiny that something is, it's something to build on, it's a chance. And well, I'm gonna take it.

Then there's Lori. I don't know why it took me so long to wise up to her, but 6 months ago I called it quits. She's more drama than its worth, and I know I fucked up by sleeping with her last month. But, her antics over the years have taught me to be extra careful with her, and always wrap it up tight. I won't be revisiting that mistake again anyway, so in my mind, just like Mike, Lori is a non-issue.

Then there is my mother. She is what my father calls, old south. I won't lie and sugar coat it, she is often mired in the memories and tradition of a world that has long since been replaced by a more progressive and inclusive one than the one she grew up in. Ellen Stafford-Grimes, my mother, while dearly loved by me, is a flawed woman. Though loving and kind to those she deems worthy, she can hold blistering judgment of others, and I have seen the kind of scorched earth damage it can leave behind. My mother's staunch traditionalist views are one of the reasons why I blanche so stubbornly against her concentrated efforts to push a marriage between Lori and I. If I ever believed that it was anchored in a true belief that Lori and I were meant to be together, or if I were even faintly in love with her, I might entertain the idea of a marriage. But I'm not, and my mother knows this. No, she has thrown her weight behind a marriage between us, and initially orchestrated our relationship, because Lori is also from an old southern family. I get it. I understand it. I do not like it.

Considering Hershel's words, I comprehend what he is getting at, and I can feel anger rising in me at the thought of any kind of detrimental machinations on my mother's part towards Michonne. This attraction, this feeling is already too important to me. I won't tolerate interference from her.

"Hershel, I respect you putting that plainly to me, sir. I understand, and I remember what happened to Morgan, how this town can be. I would never allow any of that to touch Michonne, for her to be hurt, you have my word. I do like her, more than I can put into words. Like just isn't even a sufficient enough description…it's…more." Dropping my head, I'm ashamed that this has to even be something to discuss, my mother's, and this town's moral failings. I won't apologize or make excuses though. I will leave that to people like my father, who despite his high moral expectations for my brother and I, over the years seems to have built up a normalized tolerance to what he often refers to as my mother's 'quirks'.

"Good, I would expect no less from you, Rick. You know, when I lost my first wife I thought I should just die along with her. I wanted to. Drank myself numb hoping to speed up our reunion. You remember those days don't you? You helped out a lot around here, you, your family. I am forever grateful for that. I could never repay you. You helped me keep my family together during that dark time." Staring off across his land, Hershel has a faraway look on his face, like he has moved on from this place, and is somewhere else in his head. I suppose thinking of the memory of losing one's wife will do that.

Turning back to me, away from that painful recollection, he continues his story, and waves his hand as if dismissing those thoughts altogether. "Anyway, when I stopped drinking, I was going to AA meetings in Atlanta. I went for a long time, and then somehow I found out that the therapist's office also held grief counseling, in a group setting. So hell, I went to those too. I needed all the help I could get in those days, and if it meant sobbing about losing my wife in a room full of other sorry saps then so be it. First meeting comes, and I walk in, take a seat in the back, nothing remarkable at first. Then the meeting gets started and the therapist asks for a volunteer to go first. Wasn't gonna be me, so I sit back, ready to hear some real dreary stories about death and loss. Instead, from the front row, this tall, dark skinned woman stands up, turns around, and in that moment nothing else, no one else existed. Nothing. Well put together in a snug red dress, with all this long, curly hair, voluminous around her, almost like a halo or something." Snickering at his own recollection, his mood has improved greatly, a slight reddish blush coming to his face at the thought of his now wife.

"Oh I remember that day so well, Rick. She opened her mouth to speak…wearing blood red lipstick to boot! I'm a man, I'm old but I'm a man, and I've always loved red lipstick on a woman. And my Mona has the most beautiful lips, shaped like a heart. She spoke, and she had me, Rick. My heart belonged to her as soon as she stood up and instead of telling some weepy tale about how she had lost someone close to her, do you know what she said?"

"What did she say?" I ask, honestly interested, engaged in hearing how a stoic, sad man like Hershel Greene fell in love.

"She said, 'I'm done crying over losing my husband. He's gone, his soul has moved on to its next journey, but mine has not. I'm not interested in miring the rest of my life in sadness. I'm interested in how to keep living. How to keep exploring and enjoying this journey, my time with my daughter, and the family and friends that are still here. My Andre would want that.' Hope, Rick. Life. My Mona stood up and spoke directly to my heart, to my soul, Rick. She spoke life back into me. My life had become this sad rote routine, like a machine on an assembly line putting together widgets. Doing the same thing everyday, the same way. Not only was she beautiful, but her soul is beautiful, Rick. I loved my first wife, deeply. You knew her, she was a fine woman, and blessed me with two beautiful girls. But my Mona? She has given me life. She helped me find my way back to life, Rick."

"Wow…"

"Wow indeed. Everyone in King County ain't as happy about that as I am. But you know what your daddy said to me at my wedding? He said 'fuck 'em'!" Hershel delivers a loud guffaw of a laugh, as raucous as one I've ever heard from him, and slaps his leg, all on account of my father's blunt advice.

"Well you know my pop doesn't give a damn about what anyone thinks, Hershel. Never has, probably never will."

"You're right. Rance looked at me, so in love, alive again, and gave me the best advice I've ever gotten. Now, I say to you Richard Grimes, the same thing your daddy said to me, fuck 'em. When I saw you look at my daughter the first time you met her, now looking at you walking up to my porch like a peacock with your chest puffed out, cheesin', with your new plaid button up, and your Sunday boots on, I know what's going on here. I've watched you since you came back here from college, doing the same thing everyday, the same way, with the same girl you been messin' about with for years, going nowhere. And now here you are. It's like a new life, a breath of fresh air, isn't it?"

"I…" Enthralled by his story, his spot on assessment, and feeling the similarity to the way I felt the first time I saw Michonne, I can't even fully answer him. The words won't come, because they don't exist to describe this feeling, the link I feel to her, the attraction. The weightlessness I floated over here on.

Hershel reaches over to pat me on the back, and shortly after, our attention is drawn to the front door as it swings open. "Ah, here she is. Good morning, Michonne!" Hershel rises from his chair, huge grin on his face, and hugs his daughter in a tight fatherly embrace. I know by the heavy subject matter recently discussed that he has serious affection for her, grown to love her as his own.

"Good morning, Hershel." She greets him, hugging him back just as tightly as he hugs her. Turning towards me I get that tightness in my chest again, the weakness in my limbs I seem to get when she's around. It's her stare that disarms me. The heated warmth in those fudge colored eyes of hers, as she looks me over. "Rick."

"Michonne." I nod, keeping my distance, not sure I can keep a hug chaste in front of her father. This morning she has on a short billowy sundress, a soft pink with tiny white flowers on it, and thin spaghetti straps. Showing off her long toned legs, shoulders, and cleavage again, it's proving difficult for me to keep my hands off of her. Checking her out from head to toe, I take note of how cute her pink painted toes are in her strappy flat sandals.

"My mama is in the kitchen looking for you. Said something about a shopping trip for summer clothes for the girls."

"Oh hell. I hope she doesn't want me to go with them." He shakes his head in distress. I know as well as Hershel does, especially after the story he just told me, that if Mona asks him to, he will go. Gladly. "You kids have a good time." Waving goodbye, he makes his way into the house, and Michonne and I are left alone on the porch.

"He's definitely going shopping." Michonne lightly laughs, pointing her thumb at Hershel's departing form.

"I imagine so. You ready to go?" I ask, excited to get our morning started.

"Sure."

"Let's go then." I reply, holding my right hand out for hers to lead her down off the porch, and over to my truck. At first she doesn't accept my outstretched hand. Instead she pauses and gives me a look of exasperation. But, with a hint of a smile on those beautiful lips I know this is just more of her trying her best to fight the inevitable.

"Rick, this isn't a date. You don't need to hold my hand. It's just a friendly breakfast. I'm hungry, you're hungry, so we decided to eat at the same time." She shrugs, limply letting her hand rest at her side.

"You're right, Michonne, this isn't just a date. This is our first date." Walking over to her, I stand in front of her, take hold of her hand, and kiss the inside of her wrist. "Come on, pretty girl." Noticing that she has on the same sweet fruity perfume from last night, I take in a deep inhale, loving the scent, and place another kiss there.

"You are too much, you know that?" Michonne bashfully states, bringing her other hand up to hide the wide smile gracing her face, putting a twinkle in her already sparkling eyes.

"Come on, let's eat." Jumping out of the truck, I hurry over to Michonne's side to get her door open before she does so on her own. Surprise on her face, she easily this time, accepts my hand to assist her in exiting the truck. Keeping her hand tightly held in mine, I lead her into the diner.

Walking inside, it's early on a Friday morning so there aren't that many folks inside, as most who would stop at the diner for breakfast are already at work. Removing my sunglasses, the glare of the early morning sun no longer causing a blinding brilliance, I place my hand on her small waist, and guide her through the homey diner. Finding a booth in the front window, Michonne takes a seat, and though I would like to sit on the same side with her, I don't want to be too forward as to presume she would welcome that just yet. On my way to her house this morning the thought crossed my mind that my intense interest in her may seem, from her perspective, somewhat overbearing. Considering that she is only 18 turning 19 next month, she is still relatively young. In my opinion our five-year age difference means nothing. She's of legal age, she's an adult. Shit, my father is ten years older than my mother. But my heart keeps reminding me not to scare her off and fuck this up, so while I'm deeply committed to pursuing this thing with her, I'm going to try to fall back some and follow her lead.

Picking up her menu, she immediately begins to study the diner's breakfast offerings. Already knowing what I'm getting, I'm content to just watch her, be in her space, while she decides on what to order. With the light from the sun bathing her in a bright glow across her frame, its picking up lighter flecks of honey in her dark eyes. The brilliance of her russet hue against the soft pink of her dress is creating the most alluring of pictures, and I can't help but feel like the luckiest man in the world to be here with her right now.

"Hey, darlin', what can I get you? Your usual?" The waitress Patricia asks, pulling out her pad of paper to jot down our orders.

"Hi, Patricia, yeah I'll have my usual, with coffee instead of juice please. Michonne, what about you, see anything good yet?"

"I see something good." She flirts with me over the top of the menu, making eye contact, causing a wide bashful smile of my own to break out on my face. "But for breakfast I will have the short stack of pancakes please. Oh and bacon! I'll take a cup of coffee too please. Thank you." She responds, handing her menu to Patricia.

"What's the something good you see?"

"It's really just a suspicion of goodness. I'm still trying to figure it out. I'll let you know when I do though."

Leaning across the table, I whisper, "You be sure to do that. I'm eager to hear all about how good it actually is."

"You're such a flirt! Tell me something, cowboy, what's the deal with you? Why are you trying so hard to get to know me when you have that chick Lori all over you?" Michonne asks, getting straight to the point. Her bluntness catches me off guard, but I do like how straightforward she is, avoiding any unnecessary games. She's a lot like me in that regard.

Grumbling at the sound of Lori's name though, I decide now is as good a time as any to explain things, and hopefully talk about Lori for the last time. "Lori and I have known each other for as long as I can remember. Our mothers are friends, play cards together, quilt together, you name it. It's just kind of always been this orchestrated thing by our mothers for us to be a couple. So, when we were in high school I decided to just do it, to ask her out. She said yes, and that was it. Over the years, I have come to realize some disappointing things about her, about a lot of the people in my life. For a while I was apathetic about some things, let a lot of it slide, never said much to correct her on her negative beliefs, or hateful things she has said. Going to college gave me a very different perspective on things, people. I'm trying very hard to live differently, to be a different person, be better. She can't be better because that's who she is, and she doesn't want to be different. That's not going to work for me. That's not the kind of woman I want in my life, in my bed, as the mother of my children."

"Children? You want children? You seem more like the life long bachelor type. I mean you hang out with Shane, and I cannot see him as someone's father!"

"You might be right about Shane." I chuckle, noting that she has my best friend properly pegged already. "Me on the other hand, I love kids. I hope that one day I'll have a few. What about you?"

"I like kids, I could see Mike and I also having a few in the future." She offers, nodding her head as if it is a well known and sealed deal that she and Mike have a future together. Not if I can help it. The very thought of her running off and marrying that clown, and having his babies, makes my heart immediately feel like it might drop out of my chest.

"What's the deal with that guy? You love him?" I ask, pain arching through me in anticipation of her answer. God help me if she says yes.

"Mike and I have been together since I was 16. Just like you and Lori, we have been kind of put together by our parents, and the expectation is that yes, we will finish undergrad, grad school for him, law school for me, then marriage and babies."

"But, do you love him? You didn't answer my question." I press forward, needing her to put me out of my misery either way.

"Love is just some cultural expectation for couples, but it's flimsy and doesn't last, Rick, it's unrealistic. Respect, admiration, shared goals. Those are things that last. I want something that is going to sustain over the long haul. I'm not interested in some tempestuous flash in the pan that only provides temporary thrills." She answers, adding cream and quite a bit of sugar to her coffee. Taking a slow tenuous slip, checking to see if it's too hot to drink, she looks up at me, wondering at my silence. "Nothing to say to that?"

"Is that what you think this thing between us is? This attraction? A temporary thrill?" I question her, a frown on my face at the thought that she thinks so little of our connection already, that I would pursue her on some frivolous whim. It may not be fair for me to be slightly offended, but I have to admit that I am.

"I don't know, cowboy. I think maybe you have a little 'jungle fever'. Seen one too many hip hop videos? Wanna try something new? Again, I don't know, but you can't blame me for putting everything together and coming to that conclusion." Michonne shrugs, smiling as if what she just said isn't a hurtful indictment of my character that she used as a tactic to still skillfully avoid answering the question.

"Hm. In all of that you still never said that you loved that guy. Says a lot to me, that you have been with him for years, and you can't even say it." I assert, reminding her of her significant omission. "And what gives you the impression that being with a black woman would be something new for me?" I question, smirking at her assumption.

"Did you love Lori?" She throws back at me, pursing her lips as if she has made a point that I can not argue with. She's still not answering any of my questions though, and I can't help but wonder why.

"No. Lori was convenient. She was a friend for a long time. But, like I said, she's not the kind of woman I need or want. Why do we keep ending up back on her?"

"What did she do that was so bad? I mean, she definitely deserves to get her ass kicked just on the strength of how she acted towards me last night, but to break off a long term thing… I don't know, Rick, seems harsh. And she clearly doesn't think it's over. You're probably even still sleeping with her."

Feeling somewhat caught, I can't deny that there is a tiny modicum of truth in her assessment, but I'm not going to let even that tiny bit go unaddressed. "I'm not a saint, Michonne, I never claimed to be. The last time I was with Lori was nearly two months ago. That doesn't change the fact that she and I are not together now, and we won't be in the future." I somewhat evasively answer, trying not to get too specific about my past transgressions.

"Is it because she's probably an ignorant racist? Is that what you're delicately dancing around, Rick? You don't have to sugar coat anything for me, I'm from the south. I know how this goes. And you sleeping with her is really not my business, I was just trying to make a point. I mean, isn't that what boyfriends and girlfriends do? Sleep together."

Sensing that our conversation has completely gone off the rails, I take a deep breath. This isn't what I intended or expected our time together this morning to be. Michonne is not just being straightforward, she's also goading me with the 'jungle fever' mess, and talking about Lori, while also being intentionally cagey about her true feelings for Mike. And, basically she has answered none of my questions, and told me nothing about her except that she is unsure of me and my intentions. Except I did pick up on her inadvertent admission about her fear of love. About the possibility of of its thrill waning, its potential unsustainability. And perhaps that tells me more about her than a direct admission ever would.

Also, she doesn't love Mike. She's never been in love. Never truly experienced its euphoric highs. Truthfully neither have I. I've been in like, and I've been in lust, but I know how she makes me feel, and while I doubt that it's already love, I don't doubt that this particular feeling is unique from anything I have ever experienced before. At least not so soon. This is different.

Mistaking my silence for some sort of assent or admission of guilt that I don't feel, she continues. "You're from King County too, so what makes you any different from Lori, Rick? Honestly, like I said before, I assume what's really got you sniffing so hard after me isn't chemistry, but it's because I'm black. Let's put our cards on the table, ok? I'm young, but I'm not stupid. We definitely have chemistry. I think you're sexy, and cute, and charming. You've got this whole cowboy thing going, and it's kind of thrilling that you are interested in me. For some girl like Lori you are one hell of a catch. But, I'm sorry, I don't think this can be a real thing for us just based on the fact that we are physically attracted to each other, and the sex would probably be amazing. Being caught up in something with you would be like riding a rollercoaster. It's breathtaking and electrifying, for like 30 seconds. But for some people, when it's over you're so sick you wanna throw up. If this thing falls apart, I'm the one left throwing up, Rick, not you. You're the one who walks away unscathed, hanging out having a good time." Staring at me with those dark eyes, some of her usual warmth is absent. The sunny glow from before, is now more akin to a fiery blaze of indignation. But maybe this is a good thing. Being frank and direct has always been my style as well, so why should I be any different now? If I really believe that this energy between Michonne and I is the real thing, then I should be as transparent with her as she's being with me. Maybe then we can cut through all of the pretense and get to the fun part.

Deciding right then to give her what she's asked for, I'm momentarily halted from doing so by the arrival of our food. Dismissing our conversation all together, she directs her attention to slathering her pancake stack with butter, and just a dab of syrup. Michonne takes a bite and immediately the most heavenly moan leaves her lips. Momentarily I'm distracted by the sound, the images I'm conjuring in my head of what I could do to get her to moan like that for me again. While my mind is drifting on the possibilities, Michonne finally notices me staring, and my accompanying silence.

"Aren't you going to eat your pancakes?" She asks, lifting her eyes from my untouched plate to my face, frozen in a daydream about her. A bit of the syrup is shiny and sticky on her bottom lip, and I can't stop my arm from animating and reaching out to wipe it away with my thumb. Pulling my arm back, I lick the sweetness from my thumb. Relishing the candy like flavor, I feel myself becoming aroused at the thought that she probably tastes so much sweeter.

"Sorry. Yeah, what was I saying?"

"Before you took the liberty of tasting from my lips? You were going to tell me what makes you so different from your girlfriend Lori." Leaning her head to the side, she gently places her fork back on to her plate, and sits back in her seat again. Arms folded, as though she is protecting herself from whatever harshness I may reveal in my coming words, her face is now a placid wall of stone. As stunningly beautiful as Michonne is, I could live the rest of my life and never want to see her staring back at me like this again. With so much distrust and wariness in her eyes. And maybe a little fear too. Fear that I'm going to end up every bit as awful as Lori is, proving to her that I'm not so different at all. Fear that this attraction is some sordid fetish fantasy.

"Please don't call her that anymore." A tightness is constricting my heart at the thought of what she thinks of me. And so to relieve the pressure, to bring back the feathery lightness that this woman has been inciting in me, I settle in to clarify some things for her.

"When I was 19, when your step-dad Hershel had lost his wife and was drinking pretty heavily he was out at Daryl's bar one night, getting wasted. It was a common occurrence at the time. He was grieving, so everyone pretty much left him alone, but kept a close watch on him. I'm sure I've mentioned before that Morgan Jones' dad, my dad, Dale, and Hershel are all pretty close, all from right here in King County. One of those nights that Hershel was drinking was somehow worse than the others, he'd become belligerent, definitely not able to drive himself home. His keys were taken, and Daryl's older brother Merle called around to see which of his friends would come and take him home. Morgan's dad was the only one who answered, it was pretty late at night. Morgan's dad came to pickup Hershel and take him home, and Morgan who was home for the summer, drove Hershel's car. On the way home Morgan was stopped by a deputy who was familiar with Hershel's Cadillac, and did not understand why Morgan was driving it, assuming that he stole it, despite Morgan's protests, and explanations. He was roughed up pretty badly, charged with auto theft and resisting arrest. When Morgan's father found out he enlisted Hershel and Dale's assistance to get Morgan released, and his name cleared, but it was all a bunch of bullshit.

"That deputy saw a young black guy driving Hershel's car and the only conclusion he could up with was that he stole it. Not only would he not listen to Morgan, but he had no need or right to beat him, to hurt him, because even his partner vouched for Morgan. Shane was a rookie, fresh out of the academy, partnered with that old asshole, who he had to witness beating one of his oldest and closest friends. Of course he got off, no reprimand, no suspension, nothing. But everyone else? Well Morgan doesn't come home anymore. He lives in Ohio permanently now. Said he couldn't build a happy life in the south. Hershel stopped drinking, probably more out of guilt than anything as he felt as though none of it ever would have happened had he not been drunk and needed a ride home. Shane and I lost our best friend. Shane lost respect for his partner, for what the badge stood for. How could he vow to protect and serve, when he couldn't protect his best friend?

"And me, I just wanted to get away from all of it. From the ugly and casual way everyone acted as though what happened to Morgan was somehow his fault, offering up every asinine excuse they could. Ranging from he must have been speeding, or talking back, to he must have been drinking at the bar as well. Anyone who ever met him would know that he does not drink, he does not smoke, he does not curse, and has never ever been in a fight in his life. Morgan is the mildest mannered, easiest going guy I have ever known, always has been. Regardless of any of that, he had been vilified by his own community, the place where he also grew up. Where he was supposed to feel as safe and welcome as anyone else.

"I didn't know what I wanted to do, where I wanted to go, just that I wanted to leave. Shane's dad Dale had some connections at UC Irvine who helped me find the criminology program there, which specializes in the social issues that create criminal behavior. I was a fish out of water at first but I wanted to learn as much as I could to come back here and help fix this shit. It was naïve of me to think that a bachelor's degree would be able to fix generations of entrenched racial bullshit, but here I am, trying to be different."

Silence. Her face no longer frozen in a mask of indifference, there's now a glimmer of a pitying understanding there. "Rick, but you're at least doing more than most folks. You're not allowing apathy, or ignorance to keep you from doing the right thing. You're fighting the fight, and that's better than not. I admire that."

"Maybe." I simply nod. "Anyway, listen, enough about me and the seedy King County chronicles." Reaching across the table I tug at her firmly folded arms, unraveling them from their defensive clutch. Holding her delicate hand in mine, my is thumb caressing her palm, soothing her previous agitation. Tell me something about you that you want me to know. Anything." I nod towards her, ready to dig into my own stack of pancakes, taking notice that she has almost obliterated her own.

At my request a slow smile pulls up the corners of her plush lips. Making up her mind to at least give me this, the wall she's put up between us is slowly crumbling and she begins to speak. "There's not really much to tell. And knowing you, you probably already know quite a bit." She smirks, then grabs her cup of coffee with her free hand, and takes a sip. "Tell me what you know and I'll fill in the blanks."

"Contrary to your belief I don't know nearly enough. I know you're 18, you go to Spelman, you're from Atlanta. See? I'm sure there is much more to you than that."

"Ok, let me see. I just finished my first year at Spelman, and my plan is to head to law school directly after, to be a lawyer. Probably get into politics. Um, I don't know what else you want to know. I will be turning 19 next month, on July 4th actually. Having a joint party with my cousin Sasha, she's like my sister."

"Sounds fun."

"It always is. We do it every year, we have since we were little and our parents planned them. Her dad is my mom's twin. Now that we're older we have the party at her brother Tyreese's house because he has this huge house, with an awesome pool, waterfall, hot tub, you name it."

"What does he do for a living to have a house like that?"

"He plays ball for the Braves." She answers nonchalantly, reaching over to my plate to nab a piece of bacon. Breaking off a piece she pops it in her mouth, then holds her hand out to offer me the rest. Caught off guard by her admission of who her cousin is, probably the best first baseman and hitter in the league right now, I don't say anything about her eating off my plate. It's cute and I don't mind. I like that she has an appetite and isn't shy about showing it.

Instead of taking the bacon from her hand though, I open my mouth for her to feed me. Hesitant at first, she brings the piece to my lips, which I proceed to capture with my lips. Not pulling back just yet, she uses her thumb to wipe my bottom lip, much the way I did for her. She even put that same thumb in her mouth, sucking slowly, and pulling it from between her full lips. Dear God.

Clearing my throat, I'm trying hard as hell to get myself together, my thoughts back on track and off of her succulent lips, and the naughty things I bet she could do with them.

"So, ahem, Tyreese Williams is your first cousin huh? He's one of the best ball players there are right now."

"He's alright, with his big ol' head. But, yeah he lets us use his house and the party is usually a lot of fun."

"Do I get an invite to this birthday party you're having?"

"I don't know, Rick. I'm still trying to even figure out what's going on here. Between us, I mean. You've definitely got game. You're smart, kind, caring. But, I've got a boyfriend, and a plan. I don't know how you and those eyes of yours fit into that plan. And I hear what you're saying about passion and all that but, my head, logic is telling me that this is…" Floundering a bit, she is unable to find the words to dissuade us from heading down this road.

"What about your heart? Your heart is probably doing some crazy, erratic thumping. Just like mine. Because, let's be honest with each other, Michonne. There is something going on here. Don't you want to find out what it is? I do."

"Rick…"

"I know you are absolutely the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I know that you are smart, and driven, and that you have a big open heart that has made room for a widowed old man, and his daughters to make a family with you and your mother. But, I don't have all of the answers. Because I still want to know why I can not stop thinking about you, Michonne. Why I was frantic at the thought of you being outside of that bar last night by yourself. Why I couldn't sleep last night, because I was excited to simply be near you again. Why every time I'm anywhere near you, when I look in your eyes I feel like I'm falling…"

"Like Alice down the rabbit hole?"

"Yes! That's it exactly."

All we can do is look at each other, and I'm thankful and surprised that Michonne doesn't look away. No. My girl is gifting me with a stare that is full of passion, so many questions, and again a hint of fear, and it's taking every single bit of willpower not to reach across this table and grab her and suckle at her lips, hold her close, chase away any doubts she may have about the strength of this attraction, and what it means for her faithfully adhered to plan.

"What about Mike?" She asks, raising my hackles at the sound of his name.

"Fuck that guy. What about Rick?" I raise my hand, gesturing towards the window, to wherever out there the guy who wants to keep her from me is.

A slow smile creeps across her lips. "Rick this is… This is scary to you too right?" Taking a deep breath, she leans back in the booth again. This time she keeps those almond shaped eyes on me, roaming over my face, searching for something. "Because it's scary to me to think that the man that I thought was my destiny just might not be it. That the path I've been on, diligently following since I was 16, might not be right. Instead, that I've found this magnetic connection with some cute, bow legged guy with blue eyes that I met at my mother's wedding." She shakes her head. "I just need some time to figure this out. Ok? Let me think."

"What's there to think about, to be scared of? We are as much of a match as you and that other guy. And deep down you know that. That's what's really got you scared isn't it?"

"Maybe."

"How about this. I'll call off work tonight, if you will give me your time for the rest of the day. Let's spend some time together, just me and you. And if at the end of the day you're not interested, I'll leave you alone. Deal?"

"You would call off work for me? I thought you were saving to buy a house?" She questions, disbelief in her words.

"I think this is time equally well spent, if not more so. What do you say?"

"This is crazy… Ok. Why not? One day isn't going to change anything. You got one day, Rick." She says, holding up her index finger. "So, what are we going to do?"

"You'll find out."

Chapter 5 – Michonne

Michonne: I'm not gonna be able to party tonight…I've got a thing

Sasha: What thing? Ew a Mike thing?

Michonne: No. And if he shows up at your party, just tell him I'm home sick

Sasha: What kind of fuckery is this? You finally chucking the deuces at dry ass Mike?

Michonne: I'll tell you later…

Sasha: Is this about the sheriff?

Michonne: Girl bye…I'll tell you later…just cover me with Mike ok?

Sasha: Alright… have fun…and do everything that I would do…and I mean EVERYTHING!

"Did you find a swimsuit?" Rick asks, pushing his cart over to where I'm standing in the middle of the junior's section at Target looking for some last minute attire for our day together.

Laughing at Sasha's text reply I have to admit that my feelings are all over the place. On one hand I feel like a rat fink for blowing off her party, spending the day with Rick, and not telling Mike about it. On the other hand, there is real excitement coursing through me at the thought of doing something so spontaneous, and maybe a little naughty. I tried not to tip my hand to let Rick know this, but I'm so curious about him, about having him to myself for a whole day that he can probably see straight through my thinly veiled attempts at hiding it.

After this morning's breakfast, I get the feeling that I'm slowly starting to put together who Rick Grimes is, and if I'm honest with myself, he is the most intriguing man I've ever met. When I came at him with some hard questions, he didn't flinch or get defensive, or even try to turn it around on me. He's confident, purposeful, and mature. When he said he was done with Lori I believed him. I didn't want to, because that makes it so much easier to dismiss him. To brand his attentions as just a part of some horny, fetish laced conquest. But, no, I don't think that's what this is at all. Not anymore.

Rick is the real deal. His self-awareness and earnestness regarding his own flaws, and those of the people around him is breathtakingly refreshing. Hearing him talk about Morgan and what happened to him, and how badly he wants to fix things in King County, turned me on in a wholly unexpected way, and one that I can identify with. One of the main reasons that I want to get into law and politics is to help change things, not just for my city or state, but for black folks, women, girls, anyone who has ever felt marginalized really, and seeing this desire in Rick too is…exciting. I suspect that he really is a good man, and a reluctant leader, but one who is not running from or shirking the responsibility of doing the right thing. No, Rick is the guy who runs towards the fire to save people, instead of running from it hollering for someone else to put it out. I like that. It's sexy as hell. It's part of the reason that even though I'm scared as hell about what this could mean, how it might set the fluttering butterflies in my heart free to lavish in this feeling and burn down past expectations, I'm deciding to take this small leap with him, and see where it goes.

I hate to compare them, but the qualities that I'm finding so enticing about Rick, are wholly absent in Mike. Even now, watching him stroll through Target with that cowboy strut, pushing a cart, I'm getting domestic flashes of a future like this. Us, together, coming to Target with the intention to pick up 32 rolls of toilet paper, but walking out with $100 worth of things we never knew we needed or intended to buy. Mike hates shopping, and would never spend more time than absolutely necessary to walk the aisles browsing, and going through the clearance items on the end caps. I don't know if it's fair to consider shopping habits when making life altering decisions, but if I am, score one for Rick, who has already spent over thirty minutes in Target, my happy place, with no complaints.

"I can't make up my mind on which one. It's between this red one piece, which I kinda like because of the cutouts over the stomach, or this orange bikini. What do you think?" I ask, holding up both choices.

Bouncing his gaze between the two, he squints a little then shrugs and declares, "Get 'em both."

"I can't afford them both, Rick. And I don't need them both, so it's impractical to buy them both."

"You don't have to pay for any of this stuff. I got it."

"What? Rick, you don't have to do that. I may not be pulling in those big bank deputy dollars, but I have money."

"I'm not pulling in those dollars either." He laughs. "But you don't ever pay when you're with me. And, I asked you out today, so you let me take care of it. Ok?" Taking each swimsuit from my hands, he tosses them into the cart on top of the hot dogs, burgers, buns, chips, and drinks already there.

"Ok, boss man. What else do we need?"

"Nothing else that I can think of. I think we're ready to roll."

"Oh wait, what about flip flops? If we're going somewhere we need swimsuits we need flip flops." I remember, pulling the front of the cart to direct him towards the shoe section. Immediately finding a pair of simple gold ones hanging on the wall along the back of the department, I drop them to the ground to try them on. "What do you think? They can go with both suits, cause gold is neutral, so that's important, right?" I ask him, modeling the shoe to get his opinion.

"Uh, yeah I guess. Get more wear out of 'em. Makes sense." He nods his head, and runs his hand over and through his hair, completely clueless as to what I'm talking about, but game to have the slightly ridiculous conversation anyway. It's cute that he's trying at all, instead of huffing and sighing to indicate his impatience. If he keeps this up, we'll be ready for marriage by the time we hit the register.

"Cool." I grin, feeling like I hit the jackpot on some $3 sandals. "You need a pair too to go with those ugly shorts you picked out."

"Were they ugly? They have flowers on them, aren't flowers ok?" He asks, scratching at the scruff covering his cheeks and chin. He hasn't shaved in maybe a day or so, and it looks so good on him. The way the shadow blankets his square jaw, and frames his lips is very enticing, and gives his almost too pretty face a dash of gruff masculinity.

What's even better is that he seems completely unaware of how handsome he is. He may be self-aware socially, and confident, maybe even slightly cocky, but I don't get the sense that he understands how attractive he truly is. Again, comparisons are unfair, but Mike knows he's good looking. It's not a bad thing, more of an observation. Mike uses his looks in a purely shallow manner to gain an advantage over people, to sway their opinions, to get what he wants. Rick appears so unassuming regarding how hot he is, that he probably never even considers to use it. Or maybe he does. He's definitely gotten me trapped in those blue eyes more than once. Either way it's not overt, and well, given his probable obtuseness to it, I don't always feel like I have to give him praise for it, be on the lookout for when he might be using it against me, or be thankful that he's gracing me with it. Actually, his lack of awareness makes me want to mention how handsome he is even more.

Reaching up to his face to help him with the scratching, I use my nails to run them through the short stubbly strands. At first Rick pulls his head back a bit, probably in shock at my actions. But he doesn't pull away fully, and instead stands stock still, breathing steady as his eyes focus down his nose, watching me.

"That better?" I ask, slowly withdrawing my hands. Instantly he lightly grabs at my wrists, circling them with his long fingers. The woodsy talc fragrance he seems to always wear is missing today, replaced by a slightly heavier scent, one with a bit more bite to it, its top notes hinting at a moderate splash of musk and sage. Enveloped by the scent, I steal a long inhale, appreciating the affect.

"Yeah, that's better. Thank you." He nods, then kisses at the pulse erratically thumping through each of my wrists. "It itches when it's growing in. I usually keep it cut when I'm working."

"Oh. It…um. It looks good on you. I've never seen your face like that, but…it's good." I tilt my head each way, as though I'm assessing the handsomeness of a face that I have already deemed ungodly in it's attractiveness. Reluctantly he releases my wrists, and dropping my head, I then turn back to the wall of flip flops, making an attempt to break up the intensity of his stare. I head towards the end where the men's shoes are. "What size shoe are you?"

"Uh, an 11. I don't really wear sandals though, so you don't have to look for me. I'll just go barefoot."

"No, you need them. What if you hurt your foot stepping on something? And you can't wear cowboy boots everywhere, Rick."

"Can't say that I don't try though." He rasps under his breath in a self-deprecating manner. Grabbing a pair of basic brown flip flops, I toss them down to the ground for him to try on. "I gotta take off my boots to try these on? Can't we just assume they fit?"

"Nope. Sit, cowboy." Finding a little bench, he begins tugging off his right boot, and sock. "Yeah, you definitely gotta loosen up a bit today. No more boots ok?"

Shoving his foot uncomfortably onto the flip flop, getting the little nub situated between his long toes, he flexes them as if trying to get used to the feeling. "I don't like the way that thing feels between my toes. That don't feel right."

"You'll get used to it."

"I don't know how to walk in these things. Can't I try those other ones with no thingy between my toes?" he nods his head towards a pair of plastic slide ins.

"Only if you're 80 years old, Rick." I laugh, seriously concerned about his lack of style and flair when it comes to non-cowboy attire.

"Alright. Well, they fit. Can I put my boots back on now? At least until we get to where we're going?" He pleads, gathering his disregarded boot and sock.

"Yeah ok. I'll take it easy on you."

"Thank you. Everyone isn't as stylish and pretty as you are. It's gonna take me awhile to get used to playing dress up. Matter of fact," he says, stopping for a moment to reach out to me, his large hands wrapping deftly around my waist. "I need your help getting my boot back on."

"Oh!" I exclaim, shocked by him easily picking me up and placing me on his lap. "Rick, you're always picking me up!" I playfully slap at him. "And, you probably put these boots on everyday by yourself. You don't need me."

"You're wrong, I do need you. Come on, pretty girl, help me pull it up." With one arm firmly wrapped around my waist, the heat of his chest to my back, I lean over to pull up the boot.

"There, you happy now? You know you didn't need my help with that!" I grumble, trying unsuccessfully to scoot off of his lap, but his arm is still holding me snug to his body.

"Nah I didn't, I just needed a reason to get you here." He admits softly in my ear, his hand rubbing freely across my abdomen. Sensing his chest bulking behind me, on a deep inhale he continues, "You always smell so good. What's the name of that fragrance you're wearing?"

"Uh, it's um… uh, Be Delicious by DKNY. You like it?" I stutter, thrown off by the slight pressure of his nose and lips so close to my neck and ear.

"I do like it. It smells sweet, like fruit or something. Makes me want to taste you, see if you're just as sweet." He admits on a broken moan.

"Shit. We should get going and get our day started." Not loosening his hold on me one bit, I call his name to rouse him out of his apparent daze. "Rick?"

"Yeah?"

"Shouldn't we be leaving now?"

"One more sec. That damn perfume is definitely delicious." He groans, easing his arm from around my waist, and holding to my hips while he helps me up. "Let's get going."

Pushing the cart away from the shoe section and towards the front of the store where the registers are, he has once again taken my breath away with the strength of his flirting and teasing. I stay back a little to gather my wits about me, and shamefully to watch him walk with a side to side gait that has his knees turned outwards like he's moseying up for a duel at the OK corral. Sighing in appreciation, I admire the snug fit of his jeans, and how they hug his tight little butt and firm thighs.

Calling my name, he's swiveling his head looking for me, and finding me steps behind, gives an amused snort. "What are you doing back there?"

"Nothing. Checking out the view is all."

"Ah ok. Objectifying me like I'm a piece of meat. Got it. I'm alright with that though. Please continue."

Rolling up to the checkout register we begin unloading our cart onto the conveyor belt. "Oh my god they have the king sized Kit Kats! I've gotta grab one." I squeal, finding my favorite chocolate candy bar.

"Kit Kats? You seem like more of a Reese Cup girl."

"I like 'em both, but Kit Kats are the way to my heart, man. I'm getting two."

"Shit. The way to your heart you say? Just grab the whole box then. Let's just seal this deal now!" Swiping the whole box from the checkout lane rack, he adds it to our pile of snacks, swimwear, drinks, flip flops, and sunscreen.

"Thank you, cowboy. This is a good start." I tease, rubbing my hands together at the prospect of getting my hands on the sweet candy bars.

Ringing up our items, the middle aged, female cashier joins in the jovial laughter between us. "You guys are a cute couple. Real playful. My husband and I have always been like that too. You gotta have laughter. I always say, if you have a good time together, make each other laugh, then that's always a good start for a long relationship. By the looks of you, I think you guys will make it."

"Thank you! I completely agree. Don't you, honey?" Rick says, sliding his arm around my waist, and pulling my body close to his. He lays a big kiss on my cheek. It's not the first time he's kissed me on the cheek, and it's not the first time I've gotten the accompanying tingle from it either. But, this is the first time that I allowed myself to unabashedly enjoy it, and wished it was on my lips instead.

Not wanting the good feelings between us to end, completely caught up in the moment, I ease up on to my tiptoes and lay a kiss on his cheek in return. I can tell that he is caught off guard by the pinkish blush coloring his handsome face, and the way his eyes pop open wider, showcasing those baby blues. "Yep, I agree too, sweetheart."

"Is this your house or what?" I ask Rick, looking over the mid-sized lake house that we are pulling up to.

"Kinda. My granddad left it to me and Jeff, but since Jeff is overseas in the army, it's mostly mine for now."

"I love Lake Lanier. I would just live here all the time if I could. My parents used to bring me all the time." I wistfully reminisce, thinking of those happy times when I was a little girl and my daddy was still alive. "My daddy and I used to fish, and my mama would cook it up. Only if my daddy cut the head and scales off though. Mona Kelly can only handle fish filets."

"I could see you being a little girl fishing out here. We used to that with my dad and granddad a lot too. I would like to do it more, but with the extra shifts it's hard to do."

"But you already have a house, this house. Do you really need to keep working so hard and saving to buy another of something you already have?" I question, not understanding his logic around not just living here.

"Nah. I need a place of my own, that's all mine. Bought with my money. Where I can make my own rules, with no interference."

"Where do you live now?"

"I have an apartment in the pole barn on the back of my parents' property. I pay rent, and it's good so I can still help out on the farm when needed, but it's not ideal."

Jumping out of the truck, Rick rushes over to my side to once again open my door for me, and help me out. Since this morning I have noticed that he never allows me to open a door for myself. Ever. Just like when I mentioned to him that I could pay for my own stuff at Target, he scoffs at the idea of me opening my own door, admonishing me for even having the thought. Even now, as I head around to the bed of the truck to grab some of the bags from our shopping trip, he shoos me away towards the front door, and won't permit me to carry any bags. Rick Grimes definitely has the southern gentleman thing down.

Opening the door to the house, we are met with a stale odor. Dust is disturbed by our entrance, and our movement about the house, sending it dancing around, illuminated by the bright rays of sun breaking in through the windows.

"Sorry about the dust and the smell. I haven't been out here in almost a year I think." Rick walks into the kitchen directly to the back of the house, and drops our bags on to the wobbly wooden kitchen table. Waving away specks of dust from around his face, he takes a brief survey around the room.

Unloading the bags, I find the swimsuits and toss Rick's his way. "Where can I change?"

"You can change in any of the bedrooms upstairs. I'll change in the bathroom down here, then head out to the docks to get the boat together."

"Boat?"

"Yep. So hurry up!" Rick takes his trunks and turns to head away and down a hall, I presume to get changed.

Once I'm upstairs in what appears to be the master bedroom I try on the red swimsuit first. It's nice, and with the cutouts over the stomach area, it really shows off the definition of my abs. But when I try on the orange bikini, I know this is the one I should wear today. It's a size smaller than what I needed, but I really liked it, and it was the only one they had left so I took a chance. With string ties on each side of the bottoms, and triangle cups that barely contain my moderately sized breasts for the top, I think this is the one that will drive Rick wild. Checking the back, the minor coverage is almost giving off a thong effect, and I have no doubt that I will get the desired response.

Rick has made it no secret that he likes my ass. I have caught him numerous times checking it out. Especially last night in my tight fit, skinny jeans. It's probably not right, but I do get a certain thrill from him being so interested in me. It makes me feel powerful, in charge of my sexuality. It's a completely different feeling from how things are with Mike where it sometimes feels like we are doing some sort of orchestrated dance. But, Mike never seems overwhelmed by me, or fascinated in the same way that Rick does. There is a perfunctory duty to the way Mike approaches sex and intimacy with me, so there is a deep seated desire inside of me that wants to explore truly unhinged passion. Rick is so enamored, and he hasn't even had a taste yet, hasn't really touched me, but I can't wait. Tingles and goosebumps break out all over my body at just the thought of it.

A minor sense of some initial hesitation about all of this crosses my mind, but I submerge it. I've made up my mind to give this day, this attraction a chance, so I'm not going to continue to second guess everything. Instead I am just going to go with the flow, and for once in my life do what feels good instead of what someone else tells me is right. What's the worst that could happen?

Slicking on some red lip gloss across my lips, I put my hair up in a bun, and admit that I look damned good. Eager to see Rick's reaction, I head back downstairs and towards the back of the house through the French doors and out to the patio. In some Hawaiian printed swim trunks, Rick is loading up a nice sized boat with a cooler, and the food provisions we got from the store earlier.

With the brightness of the day it is difficult for me to fully make out the details of his form, so I head down to the docks to get a closer look at him, and what he's preparing for our day together. Approaching, I can see the broad expanse of his back, muscles bunching and contracting, already reddening in the bright noon day sun. His long legs and tight thighs are covered in fine dark hair, leading down and over his rounded calves. Bending over to hoist the heavy cooler over to a spot near the rail, his biceps bulge and contract with the strain imposed on them. Stopping his activity, he appears to be taking a moment to survey his work.

"Ahem. So, we're going boating today?" I ask, approaching the boat, docked at the end of the pier. Rick turns to me, and presents a picture from the front that is even more enticing than the one from the back. Though his hips are lean, his chest is broad, also covered by a sprinkling of the same dark hair that's on his legs and arms, leading down into his trunks. Hands on his hips, anchored by veiny tanned forearms, I finally have his attention, and the intensity of his reaction to me glows brightly in the cobalt blue of his eyes that he slowly run up and down my scantily clad body.

"Damn." Is all he says.

"Is that a good damn, or a bad one?" I ask, curious about his verbal reaction.

"It's a uh…a good one. Shit, I almost don't trust myself with you right now. Damn, Michonne." Running his hand vertically down his face, he almost has a pained expression, and internally I'm loving it. I know I look good, and the way I'm standing, with my perky breasts jutted forward, a slight dip in my back to emphasize the sloped curve down to my ass, it's all intended to elicit the exact response I'm getting. Good.

"You going to just stand there and stare, or are you going to help me on to the boat, cowboy?"

"Yeah. Yeah! Come on." Grabbing my outstretched hand, he guides me closer, and picks me up, his hands tucked under my arms to bring me over. Placing me gently to the ground, my body slides down his, breasts grazing across his chest. Nostrils slightly flaring, I can hear the deep cadence of breaths he's taking to calm himself. "The orange swimsuit was a good call." He utters, his eyes locked onto the sight of where my cleavage is pressed hotly against him.

"You think so? It's a little small though, right?" I take a small step back. On a 360 turn I give Rick a good look at me, hearing his breath catch at the sight of my ass in the too small bottoms.

"No. It's… it's good." He rasps, swallowing down any other thoughts that seem to be forming behind the heated glare he's giving me.

"Great! Thank you for buying it for it me, Rick." Leaning in to him, I thank him with a soft, innocent peck to his chiseled and bearded jaw. I'm throwing down a mean tease, and I have to give Rick credit, he's being a total gentleman, and not falling back on any kind of aggressive or overly forward behavior. His restraint is commendable, but that's not really what I want now. Not now that I've decided to see this day through.

"You're welcome." He offers on a sigh, closing his eyes as I walk away to inspect the boat.

"You've never been to Europe?"

"Nope. Went to Mexico a few times on spring break, Canada once with my dad, but that's it."

"Wow. You should go one day, before you start that family you were talking about earlier." I remind. Reclined on the couch cushions that line the side of the boat, I'm sitting across from Rick, snacking on a cluster of grapes. Seated in the chair in front of the steering wheel, he's sipping from a bottle of water, fully engaged in our conversation.

We've spent the day on the lake, lounging, eating, asking and answering questions, devouring every bit of divulged information about each other. While his eyes have steadily feasted on me throughout the day, I suspect that our blunt discussion earlier at the diner has somewhat discouraged him from getting too close now, and as a result he's keeping our conversation steered to fairly benign topics. It was never my intention to scare him away, or douse whatever flame was building between us, not really. I just needed to get some certainty around this crazy thing. I needed to know that he wasn't trying to satisfy some itch for black girls he may have. Vacillating, being a wishy washy back and forth person has never been my style, but he makes me feel uncertain of myself. Of the way he makes me feel, of what it is that he could possibly see in me. I don't want to, but I'm questioning it all, even though I'm wildly attracted to him. None of this makes any sense.

A modicum of despondency has set in now though, thinking of how this was a wasted opportunity. I've pretty much thrown in the towel on the flirting and back arching in favor of just enjoying his company. Rick really is fun to be around, and he's extremely easy to talk to. So easy in fact that I told him about my one encounter with tequila, when Sasha and I snuck some from her parent's liquor cabinet last year. I was totally embarrassed to admit that not only was I shit faced off of one shot, but that when I woke in the morning, cotton mouthed, with a splitting headache, I had also apparently peed myself. Rick thought it was funny, and even though he's a deputy, offered no legal judgment of Sasha's and my pitiful, and illegal drinking choices.

"Maybe. I don't think that having a family or kids will stop me from being able to do anything. I fully intend to enjoy myself, my wife, and my kids. Happiness and fulfillment are not mutually exclusive from a family life; those things don't have to exist independent of each other."

"I don't know. I have heard that the party is pretty much gonna be over once I'm married."

"That's only if you marry the wrong guy."

"It's all but decided at this point. I think I've got the right guy, though. I'm sure Mike and I will be fine."

"Is that right?" Rick asks, hands folded tightly together, hanging between his widespread legs, as he leans over, bringing his face closer to mine. Scrutinizing my face, jaw tightly clenched, he seems to be searching my face for the truth in my words before I'm even able to answer.

"Yeah. I assume you have come to a similar conclusion as well." I gesture towards him. "We've been out here on the water for hours, and you haven't even sat on the couch with me."

"Hm."

"That's all you got to say, cowboy?" Sitting up, and turning towards him, I'm goading him now, trying to get him to do something. Rick needs to make a move on me or let me go. Right now his whole look is tantalizing, offering up something it appears that I cannot have. Sun kissed, his skin, pulled taut across his sinewy muscles, is a golden tan. While his desire may have waned, mine has not, but if it's a losing battle at this point, I need him to just say so. My experience with men is not extensive at all, with Mike being my only real boyfriend and the only man I've ever had sex with. So my tool belt for how to handle Rick's hot then cold turn is limited. Hence me falling back on a rather immature tactic, one I'm not proud of, but I'm employing nonetheless.

"I like listening to you talk. Watching your lips. Even if what you're saying is bullshit." Easing down from his chair, Rick is now sitting on the floor of the boat in between my legs. Knees bent, his his arms rest there lightly, and a small smirk covers his lips. He's completely unbothered, and well, I think my plans have pretty much failed until I realize that he thinks my comments are untrue.

"What?"

"You heard me. It's bullshit. You came out here in that bikini, teasing me. Hell you probably picked it to tease me. And I'm a man, I like a good tease, but I also like to fuck, and I know you're not ready for that. I'm trying to be respectful, to give this thing a chance to be based on more than just sex, but now I'm wondering if that isn't exactly what you want, Michonne. You want me to fuck you, pretty girl?"

"I want you to do something or take me home. You got me out here, and before you were laying down some heavy game, cowboy. But, now I think you have no follow through. That's cool, maybe our first and last date is over?" I spit. Tilting my head to the side, my eyebrow quirked, I feel as though I have laid out a challenge to Rick, one that he has no choice but to respond to. Whichever way he decides will dictate how we move forward. I'm done guessing.

Reaching out to me, he places his strong hands on either side of hips, and pulls me to the edge of the couch. Wordlessly, Rick's hands are grasping me tightly, in a firm squeeze of my ass. All the while he has yet to break eye contact, and its got me aroused, squirming in his hold. Watching him, waiting, he turns his head and kisses the inner fleshy part of my thigh. His kisses turn into light nips and suckles, setting my body aflame. Removing his right hand from my ass, he runs it smoothly over my abdomen, then up to my breasts, firmly squeezing at the small orange triangles of the top covering each.

I can't speak, I can't move. Short staggered breaths are escaping my mouth as I'm making a last ditch effort to control my response to his ministrations. But there is no use, as Rick drags his large hand back down my abdomen, using his thumb to shift the crotch of my bottoms to the side.

Tearing his gaze away from mine, he momentarily stares at my pussy lips, and the wetness of my arousal surely evident. "Is this what you want, Michonne? Or do you want me to stop? It will kill me not to taste you. But, I will stop if you want me to. I'll take you home, and we can forget about this whole thing. Try to anyway. Tell me what you want, pretty girl."

Still kneading my ass with his left hand, I can feel him subtly pulling me forward. Biting down on his bottom lip, he raises his eyes back to me, waiting on my answer. Licking and biting on my thigh again, the sensation of falling, of careless weightlessness is overcoming me, and all I can think about is the pleasure I might find from his mouth. I've never had this done to me before. Mike said he doesn't like the taste, and that it's not necessary for either of us to enjoy sex. I've also never given him head, so it all feels so foreign for this handsome man to be here, between my legs, offering me some unknown pleasure. Near bursting from the thought I nod my head, giving my consent, and on a broken gasp I offer, "Please, Rick."

Gently, Rick unties each side of my bikini bottoms, watching intently as the front of them falls over to reveal my slick pussy to him, open to his exploration. Like he's unwrapped a present meant just for him, a wide appreciative smile covers his face, and he utters on a raspy groan, "Thank you."

His left hand is now pressed to my back, and with his right, he runs it over and in between my breasts, urging me to lay back. With my back now arched, and my shoulders resting on the couch, Rick takes me leg and tosses it over his shoulder. Light pressure is applied to my back, thrusting my core closer to his face, and I'm met with the warm wafting blow of his breath across my mound.

"You have the prettiest pussy I've ever seen. Dear God, Michonne. Look at you, baby." He whispers on a long sigh, then pushes his finger inside of me, opening me to his exploration. Thrusting and twisting, he adds another finger and I'm exalting in the tightening pleasure that's building deep within. Quickening his pace, an obscene slosh of my juices is heard against the wet smack of his fingers within my core. Withdrawing his fingers, there is an immediate sense of loss. Guiding my gaze down towards him to see what has caused him to cease, I witness him placing his fingers in his mouth, sucking my juices from his digits. Watching him raise my thigh higher on his shoulder, he begins licking up and down each of my pussy lips, then in between, using his tongue and nose to nuzzle through my folds to reach my clit. The sensation causes me to crumble, to fall apart and sink into the cushions of the couch. The pressure of his licks intensifies, and I can faintly sense and hear a throaty hum of vibrations coming from him as he feasts on me.

I've never known a feeling like this, so erotic, so sensual, I've lost complete control, and my groans and moans leave my lips on a wanton plea for more. "Please, Rick! Oh my God, more!"

In a wordless response to my demands, I can feel Rick's tongue pushing, thrusting forcefully at the entrance to my canal, to my opening where his fingers were. Closing my eyes to the dazzling thrill, I'm writhing and desperately shoving my pussy onto his face. Helping me to sit up, he places his hand at the small of my back and lifts me to a sitting position. With both legs over his shoulders, and my ass supported by the edge of the couch, I'm wide open for him to continue ravaging me. With long licks from my hole to my clit, ending in firm nibbles of the sensitive nub, thin quick pants are falling from my lips. Worked into a frenzy, I'm grinding my pussy against his lips, and tightening my thighs around his head. Eyes clamped tightly shut, I'm reaching my climax, a place I've never truly been. My heart rate is speeding up to match the tightening clench and contraction of my sex. Tension is at an apex, and the pain pleasure mix is a shocking delight.

Leaning back from me, he's panting, attempting to capture a breath, while he's massaging my thigh. "You taste sweeter than I thought, Michonne. You are delicious." He claims, rubbing his free hand down his beard, licking my scent from his lips. Dipping his middle and ring fingers inside me, he's methodically digging and twisting again, a slow syncopated rhythm to his movements. All the while he never takes his eyes from me. Enjoying the way he's driving me even crazier while I ride the descending wave of my orgasm, Rick smiles a wicked grin, and removes his fingers once again. Groaning at the loss of his fingers inside of me, he brings them, slick with my essence to my lips. "Taste how intoxicating you are, pretty girl." Opening my mouth slightly, Rick inserts his wet fingers past my full lips. A fire blazes in his eyes while he watches me suck them, moaning around the digits. Flitting my fingers across his scalp, through the fine shortened strands of his slight curls, he closes his eyes, and bites down on his pink bottom lip. "Fuck…"

Wrapping his arms around my waist again, Rick drags me down his torso to set me on his lap, his rock hard cock resting on my abdomen, nestled between us. Finally opening his eyes, those prismatic blues are a darkened hue, teeming with unsatisfied lust behind them. Lax in his hold, my arms over his shoulders, I'm not experienced enough to know what to do next, but I know that I want him to feel as good as I do. Without thought I grab a hold of his dick, tentatively wrapping my fingers around the thick, weighty girth of him. He's hard in my hand, and I can feel a beating pulse coursing through the throbbing veins.

I have never had sex where I was on top, and the uncertainty of how to proceed must show through in my halting tugs of his dick. A rough breath passes through his lips, and he wraps his hand tightly around my own that's now tugging in a more aggressive up and down pace. Biting and licking at my neck, my cheeks, the sensitive skin along my clavicle, Rick brings his rosy succulent lips to mine with a suction that draws them into his wet mouth. Vigorously he's roaming the inside of my mouth with his tongue, sucking and biting on my sensitive lips.

Rick's kiss is unlike any I've ever had, carnal in both its intense hunger and greed, and I can hardly withstand the passion he's unlocked within me. It's causing me to ache inside, desire and need driving me to reach for my own soaked sex, slicking my fingers with the sticky, viscous fluid. Unable to control myself, finding my own touch insufficient, frustration clouds my face. "Please, Rick! I need… I-"

"I'm trying to be good here, Michonne. I'm…" He shakes his head, as if the thought of not fucking me is causing him physical pain. "Only if you want to."

"Please…"

"Don't say it if you don't mean it."

Nodding my head, and removing my hand from his cock, I move them both to my heavy breasts. Taking a hold of each, I thrum my nipples, attempting to massage away some of the anguish of needing to be filled by this man. This handsome beautiful man, who has spent the day feeding me, floating across the small bobbing waves of the lake, as he asks me to tell him about my most trivial thoughts, hungrily absorbing each as though they were the most precious and treasured of secrets. Who has spent the day sharing with me some of his favorite memories of fishing with his dad, granddad, and brother, on this same boat. The same man who told me how hard he cried, completely broken by the death of that same grandfather. And of course, the man who respected me enough to not attempt to coerce or take from me something that he clearly and desperately wants.

Yes. I want this man. More than anything.

"You want me to fuck you, Michonne? I need you to say it. Tell me to fuck you."

"Rick…"

"Tell me to fuck you, and I will. I will make it so good for you, baby, just say it."

"Fuck me, Rick. Please-"

Instantly my words are cut off, drifting down into a shallow gasp, by the dull prodding of his dick's blunt tip against my entrance. With a sharp urgency lacing his words, Rick commands, "Lift up on your knees a little, you're tight as fuck." With his arm wrapped stiffly around my back, he assists my lift. Repositioning his dick, holding it tightly at the base, he uses his vise like grip on my waist to drag me down, and impale me on the length of him. Again a ragged gasp lingers on my lips, and is quickly joined by a growl of pleasure from Rick.

"Gotdamn you're tight! Oh fuck, baby!"

Now firmly seated atop him, with light airy breaths skimming my lips, and on to his, I'm frozen and unsure how to proceed.

"Babe, you've got to move. You're so tight, it's killing me if you don't."

"Ok… I just don't know… I've never… I'm sorry."

"You're perfect. I got you, baby, just hold on."

Lacing my fingers together at the nape of his neck, I do as directed, and hold on. With his hands in an unyielding grip at the back of my head and around my waist. Slowly and deliberately Rick is guiding me up and down on top of him. A stable creeping sensation is crawling up my spine, transmitting pleasurable spikes throughout my body.

"Oh god, oh god…" I chant, the only words I can gather while being pummeled from below.

"Mhmmm… You feel so good. Too good!"

Safe in his hold, Rick rolls us over in the tight space on the boat's floor. Settling snugly between my thighs, he begins a slow roll of his hips, followed by a quick and sharp pump. In a continuous rhythm, Rick's hard body covers my own, both sticky from the humid heat dancing above the water, combined with the vigorous slapping and writhing of our bodies against each other.

No longer able to tolerate the zinging pleasure, I stiffen in place, legs and arms wrapped tightly around him. Another orgasm, this one even more intense than the other, sends my head and heart soaring high and past the waning sun above, accompanied by a visceral mewl of pleasure.

Seemingly aroused by the tension of my orgasm, Rick follows shortly behind, a loud growl announcing his cum's arrival with a swift series of lunging drives. Balancing his leanly muscled frame on his elbows, he hovers above me, a rapid grin curling his lips upward. It's a smile made up of the stuff of every sappy, sugar filled love song I've ever heard, and I hope to God he can recognize the same in the weak one I'm giving him back. Leaning in to kiss me, I greedily accept his tongue, still hungry for the thrill of our fiery connection. My bun having come undone, Rick begins regathering the loose strands to tuck them back together in the lopsided remains atop my head, and places a series of small wet kisses at my hairline.

"You're so damn beautiful. And amazing. And smart. And sexy." He says, with each proclamation topped off with an accompanying kiss somewhere on my face.

"You're kinda alright too." I tease, rolling my eyes at the ridiculousness of how insufficient those words are to express how I truly feel right now.

With the water creating a slow bob of the boat, coasting heavily atop the lake's waters, I can't imagine anything that could ruin the quiet perfection of this moment. Rolling to his side, removing himself from inside of me, his leg still possessively thrown over mine, a grave flash runs across his face, alerting me to something being amiss.

"I uh, I forgot to use a condom. I'm sorry, that's never happened to me before. Ever."

"What!?"

"I'm so sorry, Michonne. I didn't bring you out here for this, for our first time together to be like this." He apologizes, a sincere look of regret in his eyes, now cast somewhere in the sky above the boat.

"It's ok. I've been on the pill since I was 16. It helps regulate my periods. We should be fine, though I wish I'd been more careful. It's just never happened before with Mike-" I explain, while my hands rub through the hairs spread over the expanse of his wide chest.

"I don't want to hear his name on your lips again." He looks back down to me, his voice tight and serious.

"Rick-"

As if his ears were burning at the broken off mention of his name, my phone, still resting on the couch beside us, glows softly in the pending darkness. Retrieving the phone on my behalf, Rick gives it a quick glance. Recognition covers his face as he hands it to me, and I see Mike's name and a message emblazoned across the screen.

Mike: Where are you?

With the silence created by Mike's untimely text hanging heavily between us, Rick's voice finally breaks through. "So, are you going to tell him? Or should I?"

Chapter 6 – Rick

"Hi, Mom, I was just calling to say I'm out with Rick still, so it might be really late when I get in, ok? Just don't want you to worry."

With her laying naked in front of me, her at the head of the bed in the master bedroom, and me at the bottom, her feet delicately in my lap, I can faintly hear her mother's drowsy, sleepy voice creeping through the phone telling her to be safe and have fun. Dancing my fingers up and down the curves of her tiny foot with one hand, the other massaging the firmness of her calf, I'm enjoying the sight of her chocolate kissed form atop the stark white sheets. With the ghost of moonlight spotlighting her angelic presence, my hunger for her is growing. Again.

Like I told her on the boat, I did not bring her here with the intention to sleep with her. Time. In my heart we just needed time. To be in each other's space, to really see what this attraction is about. Her questions at the diner were so revealing that I knew there was honesty in her words, even if somewhere in between the lines she was giving me an even deeper truth about how she felt. Michonne is smart, and she will make a hell of a lawyer, using her inquisitive interrogation style to get what she wants from someone. Hell, she got me to cop to a lot more than I intended at our early morning breakfast. But what was most important to me, what I realized in all of that bravado, and cross examination is that Michonne is a woman that knows her heart and her mind, and when she looked at me with those big coffee brown eyes of hers, and questioned my intentions towards her, I knew she was telling me that she is scared of this. To some degree, she is scared of me.

So this means a lot, me bringing her here, to a place that means so much to me, a place where I can always get away and be myself. A place rife with memories of my childhood, of some of the happiest times in my life, is a way for me to associate her with that kind of joy and warm happiness. I've never brought Lori here, and I can't explain why, but it never even crossed my mind to do so. And when Michonne brought up his name this afternoon, made some reference to a life with him, belonging to him, I couldn't help but to act. I knew what she was trying to do, that my restraint was throwing her off. I just didn't want her to think this was all about sex. But, God knows I wanted her. Bad. The minute I saw her in that bikini, I wanted to devour her. I couldn't just give in to those base instincts though, I need our connection to be so much more than physical.

I really needed her to see me. To see that I'm just a man, who finally met the woman, the woman who was meant to be his. That's it. There is no white or black about it. No minor infatuation with her body. No mere lustful desire to fuck her and move on. Truthfully my heart recognized hers before my brain even registered the magnificence of her physical form. She showed up at her mother's wedding and that is all that has mattered ever since. I felt that shit all the way down into my soul, and I'm not losing that feeling, not losing her. Everything I need is with her, and I will show her the rawest, most uncomplicated, parts of myself if I have to. To get her to trust in me, trust herself, this feeling, this growing burst of energy between us. Because I have no choice at this point. Now that I have tasted the sweetness of Michonne, felt the wet heat of her gift, the passion in her kisses. Even the bitter sting of her uncompromising judgment of me incites more emotion than I've experienced before. No, there is no turning back.

"Ok, Ma, bye." Pressing the button to end the call on her phone, she tosses it to the night stand, and sinks lower onto the bed.

"Everything ok?" I ask, continuing to massage the ball of her foot, not wanting to let on that I was eavesdropping on her call with her mother, listening for any hint of concern or dissuasion on her mother's part. Not hearing any, I'm internally pleased to find that her mother seems to approve of Michonne spending time with me, even at this late hour. Even if she didn't explicitly say that, her mother's lack of direct censure or disapproval when Michonne informed her that she was still with me, and it's after midnight, leads me to discern that there is no problem with us being together.

"Yeah. Sounded like her and Hershel were sleep. I only called as a courtesy so they don't worry, even though I pretty much come and go as I please."

"That right? You go out overnight a lot?" I ask, curious about the nature of her relationship with that guy. To a point. I know that the guy was her boyfriend, but he's clearly been slacking. How is it that this beautiful woman is so sexually inexperienced in terms of receiving pleasure? When I entered her, she was so tight I almost exploded just at the constricting, glove like fit of her around me. She was so wet and responsive, eager to please, but inexperienced as to how to go about it, that I was initially confused. While I don't want to know too much of anything about the sucker who has lost her to me, I kind of want to understand what kind of deluded fool lets a woman like Michonne slip through his fingers.

"I used to stay the night at Sasha's a lot before college, and I think now my mother is just used to me being an adult, and not being home, so she doesn't really question it. But, since I'm staying with her and Hershel for the summer, it just feels like the respectful thing to do."

"Makes sense."

"But, I should probably get back soon anyway. I've been gone all day."

"Just a little more, ok?"

"Rick, it's been a full day…"

"I know. The real world is going to intrude on us soon enough. Right?"

"I guess so."

"You need to get rid of that guy. Right? I have to get back to work. So, let's enjoy this quiet time a little more right now."

"Maybe we should talk about…him."

"Nope. I don't want to talk about anyone else. Me and you are all that matters anymore. This right here." I gesture between us. Bringing her foot to my lips, I place a kiss to the bottom of her foot and watch her squirm on a light giggle. She's ticklish. "This right here." Using her foot to pull her down the bed to me, I continue kissing up her body, from her toes to her ankle, her legs, her thighs. "Definitely this right here." I proclaim, nuzzling my face in the curls at the apex of her thighs.

"Rick, haven't you had enough of me yet?" She questions on a laugh.

"Never. Wait, this right here matters too. Don't distract me, woman." Slowly dragging her further down, and underneath me, I dot the lines of her well defined abdomen with kisses, imagining it one day full and heavy with my babies. A grin takes over my face at the thought, and I linger there, dipping and circling my tongue around her belly button. Edging upwards, I grasp one of her breasts that fill my hands, and try to fit as much of it in my mouth as I can. Rolling my tongue around the blackberry nub, I can feel it getting rigid and tight against my tongue, increasing her moans and spurring me to suck harder.

"Ohhhh god…" Michonne exclaims from her slightly parted lips, drawing my gaze upwards. Needing to drink from her plump lips, I wrap my arm around her body and bring her body flush underneath mine. Her slender fingers somehow find their way to my beard, which has been happening a lot, and she flutters them through the hairs. Feeling like a puppy getting his belly rubbed, I'm closing my eyes, delighting in the feel of her hands on me. Gently, she pulls my head down to bring our lips together. Just before our lips touch, a shy whisper escapes her lips, making my heart explode, intensifying my addiction to her. "You matter to me too, Rick. I'm right where I want to be. But-"

"Shh...No buts -"

"No, let me say this, please. At some point we are going to have to deal with the world, you're right. But, I'm not going to be in that world without you. Ok? We do this together."

"Ok then."

"Make love to me now, deal with the world later." She smirks, kissing me with a hunger and ferocity I have yet to witness from her.

Reaching my hand down between her legs, where my hips are already situated and widening her thighs to welcome me, I find her already wet with arousal. Dipping my two fingers into her canal, she throws her head back, eyes tightly shut, groaning at the way I'm opening her up to receive me.

"I'm ready, Rick, please. Now, please…"

My other hand is cupping the back of her neck, rubbing at her rapidly beating pulse with my thumb. Latching my lips and teeth on to her long neck, I'm sucking and biting, causing her dampness to increase and flow stickily over my fingers. "You don't have to beg, baby. This dick is yours. Always. Put me inside of you." I mumble over the sensitive skin of her throat, needing to feel her warm hand wrapped around my dick.

Grasping my girth, Michonne is following my directions and eases me to her entrance. Lifting her hips to get the angle right, she's immediately whimpering as I sink into her, bottoming out inside of her. "Uhhh…" She utters, tensing somewhat at the abundant fullness she must feel. Reminding myself of her tightness, I hold myself back from pillaging and plundering, roughly accepting what's mine, and instead I set out to satisfy us both with a slow steady rhythm. Taking a hold of her ass, squishing the soft cushions in my greedy hands, I bring her pussy up with each of my thrusts, to increase the pleasure of my grind against her clit.

Delighting at the perfect way she fits to my dick, as if made specifically for me, a vague idea crosses my mind, causing me to momentarily pause and raise up on my knees. "Damn, baby. You're still so tight… Are you ok? Not too sore?" The thought that I might be hurting her, that she might be too tender from earlier, halts all movement.

Shaking her head, groaning at the cessation of our lovemaking she opens her eyes again. "No, Rick. It's good, baby, don't stop. You can fuck me harder." Raising her long legs higher around my waist, and lifting her arms above her head, grasping on to the spindles on the headboard, she's inviting me to finish what I started. Michonne, laid out before me like this, her breasts sitting high and perky, offering herself to me, my dick deep inside of her, is the stuff of dreams.

Holding on to her fleshy thighs, opening them wider, I begin a side to motion with my hips, creating a decadent friction against her walls, hitting all of her spots. Encouraged by the heightened pitch of her moans, I start to lose a grip on the steady pace I've set, and begin to thrust harder, faster, watching her breasts bounce with the power of my stroke. Mindful of their bounce, Michonne takes a hold of each in her hands, palming and twisting at her own nipples. "Uh, uh, uh, uh…" is all she utters, punctuating every drive of my hips, matching the slap of my balls against her ass.

Words are at a minimum between us, as my quickly approaching climax is greedily snatching everything from me that does not involve me pleasuring this heavenly woman, or myself. "Mmmmmm…" I hum, wondering at the delectable deliciousness of her, how this woman has turned me so inside out for her so quickly. Now winding her hips, and bouncing in a way that makes the drag of her pussy over my dick even more wicked in its strangling grip, I try to remember that her pleasure is my priority. Adding firm pressure to her clit with my thumb, her pink tongue is now laving the heart shaped peak of her lips, and it has set my dick to a granite like state.

"I'm – I'm-"

"That's it, give me that pussy, Michonne. Come on my dick!"

Blowing out a long puff of air from between her succulent lips, Michonne's orgasm is suffocating my dick. Gripping me so tight I think I might black out at the rush of my own cum near bursting. Remembering at the last minute that we don't have any condoms, I don't want to take any more chances and I attempt to pull out in time. Just about too late, Michonne has wrapped her legs tightly around me, and her pussy greedily gulps most of my sticky arousal, before I am able to withdrawal from her canal.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…" I growl, rubbing out the last of my cum in thick white rivulets across the already sweat slickened hair of her pussy. Bowing my head in exhaustion, sweat gathers on my face and races down the bridge of my nose. Eyes tightly shut, I'm attempting to take control of my breathing, but I can still sense a few pulsing spurts from dick, further weakening me.

"Rick, I told you I'm on the pill. It's ok if you cum inside me. I kind of… it feels good. To have your wet, stickiness inside of me. Sliding down my thighs." She admits, her words soft and full of a nastiness I didn't know my Michonne was capable of.

Laughing in disbelief, I'm further taken aback when she reaches for my hand that is now resting on her lower belly. Sitting up, she takes it and runs it through the slick remains of my cum in her pubic hair, then places my fingers in her mouth. Running her tongue over my fingers, she's sucking clean my white sticky arousal. Moaning, she closes her eyes as if enjoying the flavor, then slowly removes my fingers from her damp, heated mouth. "Tastes good. Maybe I will learn how to taste it directly from the source one day?" She asks, grinning and quirking one of her perfectly sculpted eyebrows at me, and falling back on the bed.

Frozen in place, laser focused on her heavenly lips, and the innocence of her angelic face, so at odds with her devilish actions, I'm completely ensnared and owned by her. Dear God.

"Damn it's too hot out here for this shit! When I'm ready I'm not gonna have a damn farm, no grass, nothing! I'mma move into the city and get me a condo so I don't have to be bothered with grass, or cows, or horses."

"I don't mind it. I like doing stuff with my hands, but it is hot as hell out here." I agree, taking a large gulp from my water bottle. Feeling the cold wet liquid slide down my throat, I temporarily forget how hot and exhausted I am.

"I mean, I don't mind helping Unc out with the grass cutting, but shit, it's acres of fucking grass out here! We're gonna be riding these damn mowers and weed whacking all damn day!"

"If you didn't want to do it why did you say yes when your dad asked you to help your uncle out? You know how big your uncle's farm is. And, you called me over here to help too, so now I'm confused." I ask Shane, wondering at his motivations for being here, and asking me to come help.

"I figured you would be happy to be over here, sniffing after my little cuz. You making any progress on that yet?"

Seated underneath the shade of the large white ash tree near the shed that houses all of the mowing equipment for Hershel's farm, Shane and I have taken a break from mowing, to eat lunch and catch up. After taking the day off last Friday to be with Michonne, I have been working doubles for the last 5 days straight, and I've been helping my dad with stuff around our farm. I've been extremely busy, and this is the first chance Shane and I have had to hang out, with him being partnered with a new rookie, Paul Rovia, for the time being that I'm on nights.

I haven't even had the opportunity to be with Michonne since last Friday, despite the fact that it's killing me not to. We have spoken on the phone a few times, exchanged a couple of texts, but it's not enough for me. After finally tasting her, feeling her, hearing her beg to be fucked by me, it's never going to be enough.

Last Friday, once we left the boat, we went back to the house and spent the night making love. The sex is indescribable, but Michonne herself, the woman is more special than I could have ever expected. Because of that, and the intensity of the feelings I'm rapidly developing for her, there is some hesitancy on my part to share any portion of my brief experiences with her. Even with my best friend. But, Shane knows me well and he's right. When he called me this morning and asked if I would help him with the mowing over here on her step-father's farm, I couldn't turn down the chance to possibly get a moment with her. Unfortunately, she's not even here, as her mother said she is in the city with her cousin Sasha.

"Uh, we are getting to know each other. She's a nice girl."

"That's it? She's a nice girl? What the fuck ever, man. The way you set Lori's ass straight at the bar for being rude to her, and ran after her out to the parking lot, I'd say you think she's more than nice." Shane teases, taking a large bite of one of the sandwiches that Michonne's mother prepared for us.

"I don't want to jinx it, but I dig her. Just gonna give it time and see where it goes."

"Alright man, don't let her get away if you like her is all I'm saying." Shane shrugs, devouring the remains of his sandwich. "I'mma need another one of these bomb ass turkey clubs Unc's wife made." Shane says, standing and dusting off his shorts. "You coming?"

"Yeah I'll come. They were good. I could eat another."

"You better hope little cuz learned how to cook from her mama. The food quality over here has dramatically increased since Unc got married. Last Sunday my dad comes home with a plate from eating dinner over here. It was uh, oxtails and greens and macaroni. You ever had oxtails, Rick?" He asks, turning to me, his face bunched in question.

"Nope. Never heard of 'em." I shrug my shoulders, wondering at what kind of meal would be made from the tail of an ox.

"Bro, it was like some sort of stewed meat. Man it was so damn good. And the greens had like pieces of pork fat in it. The macaroni was like a piece of pie maybe, but real gooey and cheesy. None of it was like nothing my mama used to make. Shit I was over on Monday looking for leftovers. Shit was so damn good."

"For real? It was that good, huh?" I ask, following Shane through the back door that leads into the kitchen.

"Yeah, man, it was that damn good. I'm gonna be over here next Sunday dinner, that's for damn sure."

Walking into the kitchen, we find Michonne's mother Mona, instructing Maggie and Beth on how to make a peach cobbler. Shane immediately looks over to me, and makes a face, mouthing, "See, told you!" and pointing towards them, hunched over the island.

"Hey, boys. Is there something I can do for you?" Mona asks, looking up at us with inquisitive brown eyes, the same coffee brown as Michonne's.

"Hi, Ms. Mona, would you happen to have anymore of those sandwiches from lunch?" Shane asks, using his best manners, and sounding a lot less gruff than he did outside.

"Sorry, Shane, I don't. Michonne and her cousin Sasha got in about fifteen minutes ago and ate the last of them. But, if you're hungry I can warm you up some leftover meatloaf from last night's dinner." She offers.

"Yes, please!" Shane quickly blurts, moving towards the kitchen table, and having a seat. He looks to me expectantly, waiting for me to ask for meatloaf as well but I don't see or hear anything past her saying that Michonne is now here. Anticipation of getting to hopefully see her now has my insides fluttering, and my mouth watering, not at the thought of food though, but that I might be able to at least get a brief moment alone with her, and a kiss.

Mona must have picked up on that because she is now looking directly at me, having turned those familiar eyes my way. "What about you, Rick, you still hungry too, son?"

"Um, yes ma'am, I could eat." I nod, growing nervous under her studious gaze.

"Ha! My daughter always says the same thing when I ask her if she's hungry. How cute." She mutters, ambling over to the refrigerator to retrieve the leftover meatloaf.

Taking a break from their baking, Maggie and Beth take seats at the table with Shane and I, as we wait for the food to warm up. "I really appreciate you boys helping Hersh and I out with the mowing. Apparently some of his seasonal help did not return this summer, so that's real nice of you boys. Matter of fact, me and the girls will make an extra pie for each of you to take with you when you're done. Y'all like peach cobbler?"

"Yes, ma'am, I will take one!" Shane again rushes to answer, the thought of food spurring him to such quick action.

"Thank you, ma'am, that's kind of you. I appreciate the trouble."

"No trouble at all. I'm teaching my girls to bake, and it's good practice for them. Michonne already knows how to cook about as well as I do, so these girls got a ways to go to catch up. But, we're getting there."

"That's right! Mama taught us how to fry a chicken too. And I didn't even get grossed out at the blood or nothing."

"Nope, you did just fine, Beth." Mona winks, bustling around the kitchen to pull out additional ingredients for more pies.

"So, you said that Michonne is here?" I finally ask, looking around the part of the house I can see from the kitchen table, eager to lay my eyes on her after so many days apart.

"She's upstairs gettin' fancy for some party with her boyfriend." Maggie replies, providing distinct emphasis on the word boyfriend while looking directly at me, smirking at the reveal.

"What the-" I utter in response, catching myself before dropping the last word of my statement of disbelief. Dragging my hand down my face, attempting to calm down before I let my emotions get out of hand at the revealed statement. Before anyone gets a chance to say anything else, Michonne's voice wafts through the house and into the kitchen.

"Ma, is this too much cleavage?" Michonne queries of her mother, walking gracefully into the kitchen.

Her question cuts through the thick silence, and attracts the eyes of everyone in the room directly to her. Standing in the entryway to the kitchen, Michonne is clad in a sleek, form fitting blood red dress, with only thin straps holding it up over the smooth creamy skin of her shoulders. Her bountiful bosom is near overflowing, creating a push up effect for the jeweled necklace that rests in her cleavage. With a long split that goes up the side of the dress, nearly to her thigh, I'm jumping from my seat at the table.

"Rick! Hi, I didn't know you were here." She hesitantly offers. Her eyes nervously bounce from her mother and sisters and then back to me. "I wish you had told me you were coming by, I have a, uh, function to attend in the city tonight."

"I heard. A date. With your boyfriend, right?" Raising my eyebrows, I'm pushing her to come clean about the details of her plans.

"Uh-"

"Hi, I'm Sasha! Michonne's cousin, and best friend forever and ever. You must be Rick. I have heard a lot about you. All good stuff too." Sasha enters the room, now frozen once again with silence and tension. Approaching where I'm sitting at the table, she reaches her hand out to me in greeting. Stiffly I take her hand, giving it a lifeless shake, my eyes still on my girl. Even though I'm raging with questions internally, I'm also straining with the effort to maintain my composure externally.

"Nice to meet you, Sasha."

"And you are?" Sasha turns to Shane, who has not uttered a single word since Michonne and Sasha entered the room. Staring at her, eyes glassy with unspoken interest, completely enamored with her presence, Shane just stands and offers her his hand.

Somehow finding himself on mute, Beth hops down from her stool at the island to help the introductions along. "Shane! You are so weird!" Waving her hand in front of his face, Beth admonishes his odd behavior. "This is our cousin Shane. He's not usually like this at all. Normally he's always talking."

"Yeah, Shane, why don't you say something?" Maggie goads, delighting in the awkwardness at play in the room between Shane and Sasha.

"Shut up, Maggie. Uh, yeah I'm Shane. I was just caught off guard is all."

"It's cool." She waives it off, dismissing his odd behavior as though it's not a complete anomaly for Shane, which it is. I've never seen him clam up around a woman before, but I recognize the interested look in his eyes, and immediately pity Sasha. If I know my best friend, he will be back to his old self soon, and in full on chase mode.

This whole time my eyes have only left Michonne for a very brief moment. I'm rooted to my spot at the table because I don't trust myself right now. Not with the idea that she is going out with that guy swirling around my head, or the sight of her sexily filling out the slinky red dress. Her mother stands with her now, chatting softly, and fussing with her dress and hair. As far as I'm concerned there is nothing of importance occurring outside of her explaining this date thing to me. Needing answers, I slowly rise from my seat, and approach her.

Instantly recognizing the scent of fruity perfume, my nostrils are flaring to inhale her delicious smell, and in anger that she is wearing it for that guy. Attempting to keep my tongue civil, I school my face before I speak, not wanting to give away how absolutely furious I am. "Excuse me, can I speak to Michonne a moment, Mrs. Greene. Just for a moment."

"Sure. I was just fussing over her. She looks good right?"

"Breathtaking." I softly admit, my eyes catching the anxiety in hers. Grasping her smaller hand in mine, I direct her to the study that I know is off the main living room near the other side of the first floor. Closing the door behind us, I immediately whirl on Michonne, wringing her hands and standing nervously with her back to the door.

"You're still with him. Going on a date with him. You dressed up for him." Each sentence more a statement than a question, the truth in each is twisting my gut as though I have been stabbed.

"Rick…"

"Can you explain to me what's going on here, Michonne?" I grit out, my voice steely, agitated by how badly I want to hold her, kiss her, fuck her, but I can't right now because there is a volcano of anger within me, threatening to explode.

"I haven't had a chance to break up with him yet, and I forgot I promised to go to this fraternity thing with him tonight. So, I couldn't just cancel on him last minute, Rick. But, I will tell him tonight, after the party, I promise." The words fall quickly from her lips, a rapid fire utterance of excuses that do provide a modicum of relief. Reaching out to me, I guess she can sense how tense with anger my body is, and she grazes her hands down the planes of my chest. Not in a pushing away type of motion, but in a soothing, caressing manner, her touch placating the beast within. "Rick, I didn't forget. I don't think I can ever forget. I'm sorry that this is hurting you." Stepping closer to me, pressing her breasts into my chest, she's wearing heels that bring her closer to my height, making it easier for her to capture my lips in a kiss.

Starting off slowly, with little wet pecks of our lips together, her hunger for me is now reignited. Holding on to the sides of my face with her fingers, she thrusts her tongue into my mouth, owning me with the aggressiveness of her impatient ravishment. Now equally turned on, I back her up to the door, giving as good as I'm getting. Itching to touch her, one of my hands grabs her ass, and the other is stroking the hollow in her throat with my thumb.

"You're my girl, Michonne. I don't share." I declare, pausing from our kiss to ensure that I let her know what's in my heart.

"I know." She pants, her breasts heaving with the effort it's taking for her to catch her breath. Dropping my eyes to her breasts I have to admit she looks good enough to eat. So I will. Leading her over to the desk in the corner of the room, I carefully urge her to lay back. Perched on the edge of the desk, legs slightly parted, I rub at my dick. The ache found there would drive me to fuck her right now, to ease its tight rigidity. While the idea of sending her out with that guy with my cum running down her thighs, a reminder of me being inside of her, pleases me, I don't want to make my baby uncomfortable. Instead I stick with my original plan. On my way down I stop for a second to lace her cleavage with a series of wet kisses and licks, running my tongue avidly between her breasts. Gravitating lower, to my knees, I push the hem of her long dress up to her waist. Finding her wearing a full pair of panties underneath pleases me, as I don't know if I could tolerate the thought of her with him in anything less.

Deciding not to remove the panties, I gently push them aside and proceed to fuck her with my tongue. Hungrily I lick from her entrance to her clit, where I proceed to lick and suck as though I'm sloppily kissing her mouth. My head is buried, ears cushioned by the plumpness of her inner thighs, making it difficult for me to see or hear her reaction. But, I can feel her squirm, and grind her pussy down onto my face, suffocating me in her juices. With an unquenched thirst for her, I hold her hips steady, continuing to feast on her sweet, sticky offering. With her body stiffening, solid with the thrill of her orgasm flushing through her body, I remove my head from between her thighs, excited to watch her come undone. Needing to ensure she has a full and complete orgasm, I reach between her thighs and rub vigorously at the petals of her silky, drenched pussy.

Fingers over her lips, Michonne's head and body are leaned back, relaxed. Rising to my feet, I lower her dress back down to cover her legs. Stepping to her, I lift her head to me, taking a hold of her lips with my own, kissing away the red of her lipstick.

"Oh my god, Rick." Michonne moans, and I'm exulting at the sound of my name on her lips, weary from the pleasure that I gave her.

Hearing the chime of the doorbell I feel myself growing angry again, realizing that it's probably that guy coming to collect my woman. Snarling at the thought, watching Michonne fix her dress and hair to get ready for this guy, I touch her hand to stop her from fussing over herself and pull her closer, clutching her body tightly to my own.

"Rick, I will tell him tonight. I promise." Her voice soft and soothing, her wide eyes gazing into mine. Weak at the truthful promise I sense in her words, I can only nod my head, and kiss her one last time before we exit the office. Not wanting to make it too apparent what we were doing while away, I allow Michonne to walk ahead of me, and I hang back a bit, taking a seat in the living room on the couch.

"Babe! There you are. Oh wow, you look great. You're so beautiful in that dress." I hear him exclaim. I can only imagine the light in his eyes as they roam over my baby's sexy curves, filling out the dress as it drapes over the roundness of her hips and ass. Tightly I close my eyes, trying to ward off the details conjured in my own imagination. "Let's be on our way. Did you bring an overnight bag to stay at my place?" he asks, and at that I'm launching myself off the couch, marching straight to the entry foyer where I find him with his arm around her small waist, his hand resting on her hip.

My entrance is met with a variety of responses. Both Beth and Maggie are watching the whole scene unfold with wide expressive eyes, eating up the pending drama of my arrival. Sasha stands next to Shane, each displaying a wide grin, as though waiting to bask in the joy of my explosive reaction to seeing my girl with this guy. Shane goes so far as to break out into a small snicker, his hand over his mouth, rubbing over his lips as he tries to gain my attention.

Unable to ignore his erratic behavior I turn to him and ask, "What?" sending Shane and Sasha into uncontrollable fits of laughter. Unsure of what's gotten into them, looking to each person in the room, my eyes finally land on that guy, at the same time his land on me.

Sizing each other up, he plasters a fake smile on his face. "Uhh…you look familiar. Sorry, I'm terrible with names."

"Rick."

"Right... You must be a field hand here or something? Judging by your, uh, attire that is." Mike gestures towards me, taking note of my wranglers, boots, and sweat stained t-shirt.

"Nah, I'm a sheriff's deputy. Just helping out on the farm." I answer, looking from him to allow my eyes the pleasure of perusing Michonne once more in that red dress.

"Nice." Taking note of the way my eyes follow the curves of Michonne's body, devouring her with my eyes, he continues, speaking directly to me, never loosening his hold on her waist. "You see my Michonne? She looks good right?" Leaning down he places a kiss to her cheek, never breaking eye contact with me.

Staring at Michonne, her eyes are cold and flat at his overly expressive words and actions. In her stare I recognize pleading, as though she's asking me to keep my cool. Knowing that Michonne is now my girl, that this asshole will soon be a quickly forgotten memory, I run my right hand, the same hand I used to finger her pussy earlier, underneath my nose. On a long whiff of my fingers I respond, "She does look good. I bet she smells good too."

On a roll of her eyes, Michonne quickly grabs that guy's arm, and turns him to hurriedly rush him from the house. With their departure, Maggie and Beth, who have easily missed the majority of the adult themed back and forth, and head back to the kitchen, seemingly disappointed that there was no drama or fight to witness based on their overheard conversation.

"Dang! I thought Rick was gonna kill that guy!" Maggie exclaims, disappointment causing her face to drop into a frown.

"I know, but he's a good guy, good guys don't do that, and they still get the girl in the end, Maggie." Beth wistfully answers, not realizing how close I came to wanting to fulfill Maggie's wish.

Michonne's mother eases the front door closed. Turning to me, she tilts her head away from the foyer, and walks me backwards a little, returning to the living room. Looking up at me, her mother whispers just loud enough for me to hear and smirks. "You and my daughter… you just couldn't wait? You had to suck face right before she goes out? Both of you showing up guilty as sin, with her lipstick smeared all over your lips." Shaking her head, disconcerted though clearly entertained by her daughter's and my antics. "I hope you to know what you're doing." She adds, as she walks back towards the kitchen to help her girls finish making pies.

"Bro, what the fuck?" Shane questions, catching up with me on the porch as I stand there and watch that guy drive off with my girl in his fancy black car. "You slick son of a bitch, what did you do?"

"I've got nothing to say."

"Shit, you don't have to. Lips all red, sniffing your fingers talking about how good she smells. Who knew you had it in you, Rick?" He claps me on the back, laughing, and clearly enjoying the whole scene a lot more than I did.

"Shut up, Shane." I grumble, still smarting from my interaction with that smug bastard. Feeling my heart break a little, knowing she's with him, I have to acknowledge that Michonne and I have chemistry, but her and that guy have history. With everything in me, down to the core of my being, I pray that chemistry is enough. That the ghost of my touch on her skin, on her lips, inside of her, is sufficient to keep her promise to me, to tell him it's over and return to me.

"Rick Grimes. Man, you and Michonne are definitely a pair." Sasha comments, coming out of the door to join Shane and I on the porch. "Listen," she touches my arm, looking for my attention. Softening her voice, she addresses me head on, a concerned seriousness focusing her words. "That asshole is nothing to worry about. My cousin really likes you. She didn't give me the details, but I know what's up with her, and she's not checking for him at all anymore. Whatever you're doing, keep doing it. You're exactly what she needs."

12:45 AM

Michonne: Rick, are you up?

Rick: I'm up

Michonne: I'm really sorry about tonight. If I could I would have been with you… I already miss you

Rick: …

Michonne: I told him

Rick: Good

Michonne: Are you angry with me?

Rick: Never

Michonne: Can I see you? Can we… finish what we started earlier?

Rick: When?

Michonne: Now

Rick: I'm on my way to come get you…

Chapter 7 – Michonne

"Ok, watch this, Michy! I can go off the high dive into the 12 feet." Beth exclaims, taking off in a little trot towards the diving board.

"You might want to keep an eye on her. She can barely swim, but she swears she's a mermaid, so…" Maggie warns, applying more sunscreen to protect her skin under the unrelenting blaze of the noonday sun.

"Can I use some of that, I completely forgot to grab some?" Sasha asks Maggie, reaching her hand out.

"Black people need sunscreen?" Maggie asks, tentatively placing the bottle in Sasha's outstretched hand.

"Yeah, girl! Not as much as white folks though. Melanin gives us more protection, but I don't want to burn, and I don't want to get all wrinkly, which the sun can do. I'm too cute for wrinkles." Sasha explains, slathering the white lotion over her arms and shoulders.

"I actually knew that. My brother Eugene told me that we don't burn as bad as regular white people, and that we get so tan because we're gypsies, which is technically a bad word, but if you're a gypsy I think you can use it." Maggie's friend Tara details, pointing to Sasha in a knowing manner. Sasha and I both look at each other, unsure of how to respond and unpack half of what Tara just said, so we just nod our heads in agreement, and continue applying sunscreen. Tara is a sweet girl, and Maggie's best friend. She doesn't live close to the farm, living closer to the center of town, so I have been picking her up to take her out and about with me and the girls as much as I can, since it seems that her only other friend is her older brother Eugene. I've also picked up on the fact that Tara is gay, which makes no difference to me, and totally warms my heart that Maggie also knows this, and it makes no difference to her as well.

It is this kind of unexpected, open arms acceptance of people that endears me to the Greenes, and let's me know that even in a small, fairly homogenous town like King County, you can still be an open minded person. Probably boils down to simple good home training, but honestly in my brief time here it seems to be hit or miss. Then of course there is always the uncomplicated choice to just not be a bigot, which doesn't seem that difficult of a choice to me, but again I've been surprised by how often folks choose not to trust what should be basic humanist principles and not be a total shit.

"Right. Ok, well you girls go on and swim, have fun." I encourage, wanting them to take full advantage of the pool, and the downtime from farm chores, orthodontist appointments, dance classes, and any other activity that comes along. Despite the fact that I would easily choose to spend as much time with Rick as I possibly could, I still enjoy spending time with the girls. Getting to know them, embracing them as my little sisters, has been such an accidental gift to me, one that I never knew I wanted, that I am happy to sacrifice as much of my time with Rick or my friends, to be with them as I realistically can.

They are just sweet girls, and not just Maggie and Beth, but Tara as well. There have been many times when I have sat with Maggie and Tara and fielded questions about boys, dating, even attempting to offer any tiny bits of advice I can think of to Tara as well, which unfortunately for her is limited. But I try, going so far as to ask my friend Aaron if he can think of any age appropriate sources I can direct her to for more information or asking questions. Hearing about and seeing the world through their young eyes, from their perspectives so different from my own, heavily colored by their own life experiences, reminds me so much of myself at that time. I may seem put together, and that I have all the answers, but I've become a protégé of the fake it till you make philosophy. I would consider myself smart and confident, but I have my own issues too, which for these girls seems to make me even more relatable to them. And honestly, them to me as well.

Maggie especially. I was also a child who had lost a parent, and I know how difficult it is to navigate those kinds of heavy, dark emotions. Despondency, sadness, melancholy. Losing my father created a black hole in my life, a vacuum that sucked out so much of my joy that I could hardly identify a reason to continue to choose life. While my mother was there to redirect that negative energy through therapy, love, and support, Maggie hasn't had nearly that much. Though she usually comes off as well adjusted and happy, Maggie has divulged to me how heartsick and dejected she felt when her mother died. How she felt like the person who she loved most in the world had abandoned her. At the same time, so many grownups were telling her that she had to be strong and mature, to help her father grieve and move on, and to help Beth since she was just a baby, but who was going to help her? The cheerless ache in her voice as Maggie describes that time of her life to me, makes me feel so much more connected with her than I ever thought I could with a little white girl from the country. Who knew that in the wreckage of death, my little sister and I could find such a strong life long bond?

On the other hand, Beth has experienced the loss of her mother in a totally different way because of how young she was. At two years old, her mother dying was just like the coming and going of anyone else, but what is more striking is that her mother's absence since then has created a significantly unique void for her. Rick has described for me a rather funny story of him trying to potty train, quite unsuccessfully, a two-year-old Beth while babysitting. It's a cute story but it highlights perfectly that something for her was missing. My little Beth is also keenly aware of everyone's comings and goings, as if at any moment someone might leave and never return. It breaks my heart, and once again, endears me even more to my new family, and makes me more aware of how attached to my mother and I they have all become so quickly.

What's more is that because of his previous involvement with the Greenes, Rick completely understands, encourages the connection, and doesn't make me feel like I'm neglecting him when I dedicate time to them. Which makes me wonder if he could be more perfect?

"So, now that the kiddies are away, you can tell me all about this messy little love triangle you have going on. Spill, bitch."

"There is no love triangle, Sasha. I broke up with Mike and now I'm with Rick, and we're just seeing where it goes." I shrug, trying to dismiss the drama from two weeks ago, and training my eyes across the pool to the deep end to watch out for Beth's high dive act. Though to be fair, it really was quite intense. Everything from Rick's surprise appearance in my mother's kitchen, our liaison in the study, him and Mike coming face to face again, to me finally letting Mike know we were through. I have been lax to talk too much about it, preferring to put it behind me, but I know Sasha is only going to let that ride for so long.

"I'm not buying that, Michy. Rick looked like he was literally going to kill Mike, and I know Mike, he was pissed as hell. He may be the most boring man alive, but I know he didn't just let you break up with him and let you go so easy. Spill the damn beans, girl!"

Sighing, accepting that I am going to have to share something with her to satisfy her nosy self, I explain some of what has happened. "It was hella awkward because even though Mike didn't say anything until after the party, he was extra touchy feely all night, which isn't really like him. But, you know, with his frat brothers around he does act a little more ok with PDA. After the party he took me back to his apartment, and tried to be…intimate. I couldn't… like the feel of his hands on me, him trying to kiss me…it just all felt so wrong that I'm not even sure how I used to enjoy it so much. I let him kiss me one good time, just to see if maybe there was still a spark for him, something. Girl, it was dead. The kitty didn't purr, nothing. On the other hand, if Rick even looks at me the right way, the damn kitty is drowning!"

"Bitch, what?! Ok, wait, back up. You went to his apartment, and you let dry ass Mike kiss you that night? I mean, it was already kinda jacked that you went out with him. And I get it, you promised and already had the dress, but going to his place? Kissing? I hope to god you didn't tell Rick about that." Shaking her head Sasha looks at me with a look of censure in her eyes.

"Real talk, my emotions were all over the place, Sasha. Rick makes me feel crazy, like I'm in heat and can barely control myself or something. This shit can't be normal. So, I just needed to see if it was a thing with me, or if it is just this chemistry with Rick. I mean, what if I let all that time and history with Mike go to chase after some fake BS with Rick? It could all just be a total fluke, right?" Shaking my head at how foolish I was to put myself in such a precarious position, I continue. "I don't think it is though. It's Rick. Those lips, those eyes…"

"Dude does have some killer blues right?" Sasha agrees, nodding her head and pointing to me in agreement. "So, what did Mike say when you told him?"

"He was pissed. Said he knew something was up, but thought I was smarter than to let some white boy get me turned inside out. That I was throwing away my future to let Rick experiment. He was just real nasty and broke up about it. Tried to kiss me again, I wouldn't let him and tried to leave. Mike grabbed my arm to try and stop me from leaving, but I slapped him. Shit just got out of hand real quick. When I slapped him he kind of snapped out of it though, apologized. Told me to go get my 'something new' but when I was done letting Rick make a fool out of me he would be there to pick up the pieces because he and I are the same. I took an Uber home, and that was that. I haven't talked to him since, but he did text the next day to apologize."

Remembering the theatrics of that night, my heart does hurt a little for Mike. We have been friends, then a couple, then lovers for so long, our history together spans the majority of my life. Given that I really hated hurting him, telling him that what we share was no longer what I wanted, that he was no longer the man for me. Thinking on it now, that is some life altering stuff right there.

Flashes of that night often run through my mind, when I'm alone, no longer swaddled in Rick's consuming and cloistered affection. I can see it. Pain radiating across Mike's face when I told him I wanted to break up. Realization when he put the puzzle together and figured out that it's Rick who is taking his place. The harsh break in his deep voice when he asked about the smudge of my lipstick, Rick's lipstick stained lips and cheek, how unresponsive I have been towards him all night. Lashing out, transferring his rueful agony into aggressive anger, his words became much more forceful and antagonizing, accusing me of a racially tinged level of stupidity that I did not believe he would sink to.

Shame and guilt at being the cause for his distress, for him acting this way led me to allow the kiss to happen, coupled with a last minute doubt about regarding letting Mike go. We did have common goals, still do. We do have history, can't change that. Mike's argumentative diatribe against Rick, citing my vulnerable and naïve stupidity, did give me pause to question this thing with Rick. Again. So, when Mike became apologetic at his own hurtful words, and reached for me, to soothe our shared hurt with a kiss, which I used to emphatically enjoy, I gave in. As usual, Mike wrapped his long, strong arms around me, and pressed his muscled body to mine. In his embrace, warm and familiar, I wondered if I might once again identify with this place, this man, as my home. But no. Instead it felt foreign and alien to me, my body reacting adversely to his amorous affection. His kiss wasn't deep enough, wet enough, consuming enough. There was no kindling of fire in my belly, no weakening of my knees, or arousal in my core. Nothing but a sick discontent spreading like a contagion throughout my body.

At that I pushed away from him, and asked him to take me home. He refused, I tried to leave, and he summarily wrenched at my arm, in a strikingly rough manner, and I slapped him as hard as possible, with everything I could muster. Later that night, under the stark bright lights of my bathroom at home, I discovered the bruising reminder of Mike's words and actions, a darker hue than my already deep blackberry skin.

"Did you tell Rick, about how Mike reacted? Cause we might need Ty and my brothers to pay Mikey a visit."

"No. It's good. It's done. I think he felt a little ashamed when I slapped him. And he did text an apology. I just want to move on." I wave, wanting to release the negative energy from that encounter, and remembering how thankful I was that it was pitch black that night Rick came to pick me up. That the lighting in his apartment cloaked us in a sepia shade instead of a brighter hue that might reveal the night's activities.

"Well you just let me know. Damn he's an asshole. Let's be honest, Michy, Mike hasn't been serving up that juice for awhile now. He's just not the business, at all. Now Rick Grimes? That white boy has some serious swag, I wasn't ready!" Sasha laughs, snapping her fingers for emphasis. "And that cousin of yours, Shane? Yeah, he could get it."

"What? Really?"

"Girl, yes."

"Ah, so that's why you've been hanging out in the sticks with me so much. You trying to get some of that country boy loving, Sasha?" I tease, figuring out Sasha's motives, and thankful for the added dose of frivolity to our conversation, and the direction happily veering from my own romantic dalliances.

"I'm not looking for a husband or a boyfriend, but a little summer fling with him wouldn't hurt. You know me, Michy, I'm too young to fall in love or anything." She scrunches her face in distaste at the thought.

"If you say so."

"Wait! You in love, Michy? Tell the truth, cause you've been sporting a goofy grin since OG Rick Grimes showed up, and I'm wondering if it's more than the sex, or some ridiculous 'plan'." She says, throwing up her two fingers on each hand to denote quotations around the word plan, in reference to Mike's oft referred to plan for our lives. Sasha removes her sunglasses and sits up in her chair, no longer lounging. Steadily focusing on my eyes, studying my smile, she seems to come to her own conclusion. "Bitch!"

"I'm not in love, Sasha! You know I don't even believe in that mess. But, I'm in some serious like with Rick. It's more than swag, it's this glowy, glittery, gooey, thing!"

"Yeah, that's just an orgasm. I know ol dry ass Mike wasn't putting in work to give you one, but you get used to it."

"I don't know. It's just different being with him. It's not just the amazing sex, cause that shit is amazing. Like turning me out, nasty, freaky, trying some shit, sex. It's also something I can't describe, ya know?"

"No I don't."

"Sometimes he will look at me like I am the center of his world. And he'll say things like, nothing else matters to him but me. Or, he'll focus those blue eyes on me, and hot damn he'll tell me that I'm the best thing to ever happen to him. Who says stuff like that in real life?"

"Girl… You may as well pick out the dress and reserve the church. Mark it down that I said it! And I better be the maid of honor."

"Shut up, Sasha!" I playfully slap at her arm, internally wondering if there is any truth to her words. I've never loved anyone who wasn't my family, and I was never in love with Mike. So, truthfully, how would I know if I was falling in love with Rick?

"Anyway, let's talk birthday prep. We've got two weeks, and from what Ty says everything is a go. What are you going to wear? I need like a really cute bikini, cuter than the one I have on, which is gonna be tough. And, I need a cuter cover up, dress kinda thing. Oh! And maybe get my hair braided or something. I just need a change." Speaking animatedly as we talk about two of Sasha's favorite things, partying and fashion, she's moving her hands around to emphasize her words.

"Right! I was thinking of something different for my hair too. I don't know. I've been growing my hair for so long, never had a real haircut. Maybe it's time?" I wonder aloud, running my hands through my now frizzy blow out. Pulling out a hair band, I pull it up into a bun, wanting to take a dip in the pool soon, but definitely not wanting to get it wet and let all these white folks spazz out as it kinks back up. Going native right now is definitely not an option.

"Don't I know you?"

"Me?" I ask, leaning up to sit straight on my lounger, I remove my sunglasses, trying to make sense of who is speaking to me. Slow realization creeps up on me, jogging my memory, and I realize it's Lori and her friend Andrea. Great. "Yes. We've met." I eek out, cringing at having to interact with this chick at all. I have Maggie, Beth, and Tara with me, I don't need any drama. But, if it happens I also have Sasha with me, so I'm completely unbothered.

"Oh yeah, you're Shane's friend. I wouldn't expect to see you at a pool. I didn't know black people knew how to swim." She offers on a haughty laugh, crossing her arms over her non-existent chest.

Though too skinny in my opinion, I can see why a guy like Rick would have gone for a girl like Lori. She's thin in a way that it seems white men like, her hair is a dark chestnut, and very long, almost at her waist, with soft waves that frame her face. Not busty, and not really curvy at all, she and I couldn't be more different. And for a moment, that gives me pause. But dismissing any impending doubts about myself or Rick, I immediately check to my right to see how Sasha is handling this first time introduction to Lori. My cousin doesn't necessarily have a temper; she just doesn't take any shit. And I'm the same way. Sasha hasn't moved though, but she is at attention, pretty much ready for anything.

"Shut up, Lori." Her friend Andrea admonishes her, and quickly diverts the conversation to something less…racist. "Hey I haven't seen Shane recently, what's he been up to?" She asks, holding her hand over her eyes to protect them from the sun as she squints and awaits an answer. At her question, Sasha finally does make a slight movement to turn her body towards Andrea, giving her a head to toe once over. I assume she deems her no competition because she easily reclines back on her lounger, completely disinterested.

"I don't know, working I guess." I reply, not really offering any actual information on Shane's whereabouts. This chick Andrea isn't as bad as Lori, but the fact that she hangs with her doesn't bode well for my opinion of her. Actually, again I have to school my thoughts because, well Rick was with Lori for a good amount of time. Pesky and persistent, those doubts are always waiting, eager to imbed themselves in my consciousness, until that warm glow he stirs in me rears its head and swats it away.

"Well, tell your cousin to call me, ok? I'm Andrea, just in case you forgot."

"He's not her real cousin, Andrea. I could just imagine Shane's granddad rolling over in his grave at the thought." Lori smirks, tilting her head in a smug way, making eye contact with me.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sasha asks, now inserting herself in the downward spiraling conversation.

"Shane's daddy, Dale Walsh might be all progressive and shit, but his granddad was old southern. There's no way he would be ok with the Walsh family getting…darker. Only those liberal Greenes would do something like that and think it's ok."

"Obviously the Grimes are ok with it too. So why don't you run along now, confederate Barbie." Sasha shoos her away, effectively dismissing her from the conversation.

"I take it you haven't met Mrs. Grimes yet then? Nah, Rick knows better. This infatuation won't last long." Dropping this little snarky bomb, Lori and Andrea walk away, leaving behind a load of unanswered questions.

"What the hell? Who is that?" Sasha snarls, death staring at Lori's departing frame.

"Rick's ex. The one from the bar, remember?" Feeling a bit of anxiety at her words seeping in, I also watch her and Andrea walk away.

"Ew. I expected better of him. Oh well, those who know better, do better. You are definitely better for him. Don't let her bother you. Keep your shit together, ok, Michy?" Reaching her hand out to pat me on the knee, she must be sensing that Lori's words have disturbed me to some degree.

"I'm not worried. And my shit never stopped being together." I unconvincingly utter. Laying back on my lounger, I let my imagination run a little wild, allowing it to conjure all manner of questions, issues, possibilities, and scenarios regarding Lori's comments. Breaking through my rapidly darkening thoughts, I hear a loud screeching scream, and in a start I'm up from my lounger, looking for Maggie and Beth.

Finding them huddled with Tara, doubled over in laughter, they are bearing the brunt of a curse filled rant from Lori.

"Those brats pushed me in the pool on purpose! You saw them didn't you, Andrea?"

"I wasn't looking. I missed it." Andrea shrugs, walking away from Lori's floundering form, splashing and slapping at the shallow water.

"Alright, girls, why did you guys push Lori in the pool?" I ask, making eye contact with Maggie in the rearview mirror of my Jeep, as we head towards home.

"Did she say something mean to you guys or something?" Sasha adds on, turning to survey the little sun reddened faces of my little sisters and their friend.

"No. But she's always saying something mean to someone. I heard her being nasty to you, Michy. She can't be that way to my sister. Remember when she called your brother a freak, Tara?" Maggie huffs, crossing her arms across her chest in a defensive stance.

"Yeah. Eugene didn't take it so bad, but she's pretty much a constant bitch to everyone but Rick, Shane, and Andrea." Tara confirms, absently biting at her nails as if she is already bored with talking about Lori.

"Really?" Sasha nudges me with her elbow, and raises her eyebrows at that revelation.

"I don't want her to make you mad and you wanna leave." Beth sadly comments on a sniffle, her big blues glistening with unshed tears.

"Hey, listen, I'm not going anywhere, ok? I do have to go back to school next month, but my home is still with you guys. We're family now, you can't get rid of me." I promise, hot anger rising in me at the thought of Lori causing any distress in these already sensitive girls.

"Right! No skinny witch is gonna send my cousin anywhere." Sasha confirms, confidently turning back to the front of the Jeep. "Right?" She turns to me on a defiant smile, looking for confirmation.

"Right!" I add, quickly swiveling my head around to give the girls a reassuring smile.

"Hey, Mom, what are you in here doing?"

"Nothing much, catching up on some reading." My mother answers. Dressed in a silky nightgown, she's sitting up in bed with her iPad across her lap.

"Where's Hershel?" Looking around the room I take note of the changes that my mother has already made to her and Hershel's bedroom in the short time that we have been here. She's already replaced the old furniture, taken down the wallpaper, and put up some new window treatments. It's got a more contemporary southern look that is all Mona, mixing light lavender, gray, and white colors, with heavy rustic wood furniture, and elegant glass lamps, and a classy chandelier ceiling fan that only she would be able to even find.

"Poker. He left out about an hour or so ago. What are you up to, Michy?" Removing her reading glasses and patting the bed next to her, my mother invites me further into her room to join her.

Accepting her offer, I lay across the foot of the bed, resting my head on her ankles. "Nothing much either. The girls and I just got back from swimming, and they are taking their showers. Sasha just left to head back to the city, and I'm just hanging before I go out with Rick later."

"Ah, Rick. He is impressive. I can see why you like him."

"Yeah?"

"Oh yeah. Tall, smart, handsome, kind. Maybe a little older than I expected for you, but I completely get the attraction between the two of you. Which leads me to assume that there will be no more of the drama from before with Mike. Right?" Tilting her head to the side, she is staring directly down at me, giving me the look that lets me know she is more aware of what has been going on than I thought.

"I broke up with Mike. I'm with Rick now. I like him." Keeping it brief I answer my mother's question without giving up too much detail.

"You know, Mike's father was your father's fraternity brother, a close friend. And because they were close we may have pushed you two together, creating something that might not have been as organic of a relationship as it should have been. Sometimes we overlooked how much of a spoiled shit he could be, or how boring and singularly focused he was, because at the end of the day your daddy and I thought he was a good steady bet for a husband for you. A solid young man that would take care of our baby girl. I'm sorry for that.

"But, I still hope that when you broke up with him you handled your business like a woman, not like a girl. I hope that you were respectful of his feelings, because even though you're all about Rick now, there was a time when you were sure that Mike was your present and your future. It's perfectly fine to change your mind, and Mike has to deal with that like a man. And hey, if you meeting Rick and falling for him is some serendipitous event, some real magic, then I certainly get it, Michy. I do, you know I do."

"It kind of is. At least I think it is. Rick's convinced it is, though I had my doubts for a while."

"That's a great feeling right? But, I don't want you to be messy about it, Michonne. I know what happened with both of them being here wasn't your fault entirely, but I get the distinct impression that Rick was not aware that you were going on a date with Mike, and Mike was clearly none the wiser about Rick. Don't be careless with others' feelings, sweetie, ok? I could see that Rick was just about ready to explode. Face all red, with anger and your lipstick. Mike was so confused, but could sense something was up. It's just not the way to handle things, honey. And definitely not in front of your little sisters."

"I'm sorry, Mom. Seriously, I did not intend for any of that to happen. I completely forgot about the Kappa thing with Mike. We hadn't even spoken for days, so it didn't cross my mind until he called to confirm that morning, and you know how serious he is about his fraternity stuff. So Sasha and I had to rush out and pickup the dress I ordered months ago. It was a mess. It was even worse when I broke up with him that night."

"I could see that. Imagine if the shoe was on the other foot, caught off guard like that." She lightly offers, her voice soft but with a hint of scrutiny.

"I know." Shaking my head, I cringe at the thought of being on the receiving end of that kind of situation. Except instead of with Mike, with Rick giving me the boot. The idea of it blooms a deep seated panic in my chest. But also not wanting my mother to think poorly of me, I attempt to offer more clarity. "I did kind of get caught up. I didn't want Rick to get mad about me keeping a promise to Mike, and I hated hurting Mike, but I just don't feel the same about him anymore."

"Michy, you're a woman now, and I understand. As your mother I am just trying to help guide you, not scold you or make choices for you. In my heart I just want you to be careful. With yourself and others. Don't let the ferocity of the emotions you are suddenly experiencing for Rick get things twisted. Be honest with these guys, it's the only way. Own that shit, honey. If you want to be respected as a grown woman, you have to act like one." Tossing her long hair over her shoulder with a little Mona sass, her lips are pursed and her eyes are laser focused on my own, letting me know she means what she says.

"Yes, ma'am. And that's exactly it though, Mama. Sometimes, when I'm with Rick, it's like nothing I have ever felt or experienced, it's totally unreal, Mom. The way he treats me is like I am this grown up, free spirited, special, womanly goddess or something. Like I have this power over him, and it makes me feel strong, and sexy. That's not wrong is it, to want that…power? Mike never made me feel like that. He always had to be in charge, or he always had to be right. When it came to sex, he actually made me feel dirty sometimes for wanting to try…stuff."

"Grown woman talk, Mama to Michy, it's more than fair to want to explore and enjoy this newfound thing with Rick. He's a little older than you are, and has more experience, but I think young Mr. Grimes sees exactly all of that in you, sweetheart. Sexual exploration and freedom is as much a woman's right as it is a man's. Ya know, some men need to be in charge of their woman in order to feel important, but some men don't need that, they just want to be with you, share that something special with you, feel the heat of that womanly power within you." She bounces her shoulders, and wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. "Come on, you know what I'm talking about, don't be shy now."

"Mama! Oh my god!" I plant my face in my palm in embarrassment. Internally I know exactly what she's talking about. And after being with Rick, I knew sex with him was a completely different sexual experience than the intimate encounters I had with Mike. They didn't even compare. Mike was an excellent kisser, and his hugs were like being on a cloud. But, when it came to sex, it was what I now know to be fairly plain. It consisted of mostly rote missionary sex, a few times in doggystyle, but most often not. Mike had his preferences and that was pretty much what we did, with him letting me know that my suggestions were either not realistic or were too deviant for the woman who would be his wife.

On the other hand, Rick seems to relish in the unpredictability of sexual fulfillment. Whatever gets each of us off is fine by him. He doesn't mind me being on top, or that I want to taste or feel his cum, or even that I begged for him to fuck me harder. He sees to love the taste of my pussy, smothering his own face in between my thighs, slurping and swallowing on a delighted hum. All of it arouses him, and that fact makes my desire, my sexual appetite for him grow tenfold.

"Whatever, Michy. Don't forget your mama is also a newlywed. I know what happens between a woman and a man in the bedroom."

"Ok, change of subject. I can't continue this conversation with you. Just…ugh!" Remembering that I am laying on her and Hershel's bed, I cringe, and on a fake shiver, I redirect our conversation. "Hey, um. I have another question, that's kinda off topic."

"Shoot, what you got?"

"What do you know about Rick's family? Like has Hershel ever said anything about them to you, since I've been dating Rick?" Shyly I ask the question that will drop me back onto a minefield of issues that I have been going over in my head since my encounter with Lori earlier today.

"Hm. Rance and Ellen Grimes. I've obviously met Rance, that's Hershel's best buddy. And I've met Ellen a few times. Once we had dinner with them while Hershel and I were dating, maybe a time or two in passing after that. Ellen did not attend our wedding if that tells you anything. Rance was over a couple of days ago. Anyway, he hasn't said much of anything about them to me, about you. Are you asking for a specific reason, honey?"

"I don't know honestly. Did you ever feel like they didn't like you because you were black? Like do you think based on when you met them, that they wouldn't be ok with me being with Rick? Is that why his mother didn't come to the wedding?"

"Oh. Ok. Did Ellen say something to you? Let me know, Michonne, because I will handle it if she did." In her no nonsense tone, my mother lets it be known that she knows more about Ellen Grimes than she is letting on.

"What do you know about her, Mom? This chick earlier was all, 'you must not have met her yet', like she's the boogeyman or something. It's making me think Rick has a reason for not introducing me to his parents yet."

Sighing, my mother looks to the ceiling as though she is preparing for a difficult conversation. "Listen, you know we live in the south. And now we live in a small, rural piece of the south. With that said, you know that there are people who are not happy that couples like Hershel and I, or you and Rick exist. That's a fact I cannot change. And, Rick's mother might be one of those people. The few times she and I met she was neither friendly nor personable, so if she ever makes you uncomfortable or wants to pop off at the mouth, you let me know. I will not stand for her disrespecting my daughter. It's not going to happen."

"Did you say 'pop off at the mouth'? Who are you, and what did you do with my mother?" My raucous laughter at my mother's word usage adds a moment of levity to the conversation.

"Girl, you know I'm from the SWATs. That woman doesn't want any drama with me. Anyway, I'm sure Rick will introduce you to his parents soon enough. Maybe he just wants to take his time getting to know you first. Don't be in a rush. From what I remember his mother wasn't anything impressive, though his father Rance is a handsome man, looks a lot like his son. And funny! That man has a devil may care way about him that is really something. I see where his son gets it."

"I don't understand this show. If Olivia loves the president so much, why doesn't she want to be with him? Didn't you say he divorced his wife for her?" Rick asks. We are seated on his bed, and I'm leaning back in between his bare legs, bent at the knee, as he is propped up against the headboard. Shirtless, and in just his boxers, the heat of his chest warms my back through his uniform shirt that I've taken to wearing. Naked from the waist down, the hair on his arms, and legs tickles against my own smooth and hairless skin.

When Rick got off work, I met him here at his apartment, as has become our routine, and after a meal of takeout Chinese food, we're now watching Scandal. I'm attempting to get him caught up and explain some of the relationship drama between Fitz and Olivia, but it's hard to explain the ups and downs of 6 seasons to someone who has never even heard of the show.

"Well, it's complicated."

"No, it's not. Either she loves him or she doesn't. Either she wants to be with him or she doesn't. If you love someone, you don't hurt them, then still claim to love them. Love doesn't hurt. It's patient and kind. Haven't you ever read Corinthians, woman?" He questions, giving me a little pinch on my side, then closing his solid arms securely around my shoulders, hugging me closer to him.

"Yeah, but, sometimes it is painful and complicated too. Like maybe she feels like his family would disapprove. Or like they are too different for their relationship to actually last. Who knows?" I shrug, fidgeting with my hands in my lap. Thankful that he's behind me and can't easily sniff out the questioning vulnerability thinly veiled in my eyes.

"Are we talking about Fitz and Olivia, or Rick and Michonne?" Lowering his lips close to my ear, I close my eyes to the warm sensation of his breath caressing my sensitive skin.

Not wanting him to knock me off course with his affections, I gather as much nerve as I can, and continue. "Both?" Admitting to transferring this into a real life conversation, instead of a fictional, hypothetical one, I turn to him, giving him a sideways glance. "I've been thinking. How come I haven't met your parents yet? Do you think they won't like me? It's been a month now, and I spend the night here at least twice a week. Your parents live like less than 100 yards away, and yet, nothing. Does that mean something I should be worried about or what? Cause if it does you can just say so. My feelings won't be hurt. I will just have an idea of about how far this thing can realistically go. And, hey, it could just be a summer fling for you, which is fine with me. If you're not into another long term thing ya know? I remember you were with that other chick a long time, so you might not want to get into something like that again now…or if at all. I don't know if it's a big deal for you, me meeting your parents, so I don't want to pressure you. It's nothing. Nevermind." Nervously rambling, on and on, I finally stop myself, realizing that with my verbal diarrhea I have thrown out all kinds of feelings and assumptions that I'm both scared and fearful of discussing, of finding out the truth behind them. Given that other chick's cloaked comment about his mother, and my own mother's feedback, my confidence about this subject is falling fast.

"Whoa. Hey, Michonne, what is this about?" Rick grasps me gently around the waist, turning me to him slowly. Now on my knees before him, my arms limply at my sides, we're making full eye contact and a deep frown is sullying his masculine beauty. His eyes, now colored an uneasy and stormy blue, are scanning my face, searching for the source of my discomfort. "Do you want to meet my parents? Is that important to you?"

"No! It's whatever, Rick. Forget all that rambling, it's stupid." I try to dismiss. Now seeing the concern on his face, darkening with each of his steadily paced words in response to my spastically uttered ones, I realize that I might not be ready to tackle this subject just yet. And that's a surprising revelation for me. Since going through therapy after my father's death, I have learned to never shy away from the tough stuff. Even if it hurts. Even if my mind tricks me into thinking my heart can't handle it, I have to remember that my soul knows better. I'm made of the toughest stuff, and I can handle anything. But with Rick? My heart and my soul always feel like they are comprised of the sweetest, stickiest, softest stuff. He makes me feel so light and airy, but also vulnerable and constantly near bursting with the fullness from the gift of his affectionate words, soft warm kisses, strong hugs, and sturdy hands.

"It's not stupid to me if it matters to you." Exhaling slowly, Rick searches my face again, then gives me a sad, apologetic smile. "I get it. I'm sorry for making you think that I'm not serious about you, or that you are some secret or something. I promise it was just a stupid oversight on my part. I've never had a woman important enough to me that I wanted her to meet my parents. Lor-"

"Ah! I don't want to hear her name on your lips anymore." I interrupt, placing my finger over his soft lips to stop him from saying that awful chick's name.

Chuckling at me using his own words against him, Rick drops his head amusedly, then grins up at me. "Fair enough. That girl was always around; from the time I was a kid. So there were not any introductions to be made with my parents. Hell, they knew her before I did. But, now, with you and me, it's something I need to take care of, and I appreciate you communicating with me to let me know it. You can always be honest with me, and trust, I'll take care of it. I've been so wrapped up in having you to myself, but again, baby, I'm sorry. Forgive me?" Pouting, Rick adorably pushes out his rosy bottom lip in a perfect pucker, and blinks slowly so that his lengthy eyelashes cause a dramatic sweep of his cheeks.

To sway and speed up my forgiveness, Rick reaches towards me, and his long fingers begin to studiously unbutton his shirt that hangs oversized on my petite frame. Working away at the few buttons that are fastened his voice takes on a deeper, arousal tinged tenor. "Michonne, whether you know it or not, baby, you are my future. How could I be ashamed of that? Of such a stunning, intelligent woman. Hm?"

Watching him through half lidded eyes that are now drooping with anticipatory lust, I question his certainty. "How do you know that, Rick? That I'm your future? We've only been together like a month. That's crazy!" I toss my head back in exasperation, but also to hide the pleased smile pulling my lips into a satisfied grin.

"I know that because I'd always rather be with you, wherever you are, whatever you're doing, instead of being anywhere else. Because I could listen to you talk about anything, from politics to some dramatic show that I don't even understand. Because you are absolutely the smartest person I've ever met, and despite you being younger than me, I learn something from you everyday. You're confident, kind, unselfish, and sexy as fuck. I love to hear you say my name, to watch it fall off these beautiful full lips…" Rick runs his large hand over my hair, stopping at the nape to grasp a hand full. Lightly tugging my head back, he grazes his fingers across my lips with his other hand as his thoughts trail off.

"Rick…"

"Just...like that." Licking his lips, he closes his eyes for a moment, and tilting his head, releases a satisfied sigh. "And because, I feel you here, in my soul." Calmly and deliberately he drags his hand from my lips, and over my throat, to the space between my naked breasts, exposed through his unbuttoned shirt, now loosely slipping down my arms and shoulders. Resting his hand there atop my heaving chest, he pulls me closer to him with the hand still soundly clutching my hair. Crushing me to his chest, abrading my nipples with the fine tickle of his chest hair, on a hushed sigh over my lips he admits in the deepest southern twang, "It's an indescribable happiness, Michonne. I have no future without you and that happiness in it. It's not possible."

Trembling from the intensity of his quiet declaration, of the undelivered kiss promised in the breathy whisper dancing across my lips, I'm under his spell. Desire is flushing through me, demanding immediate satisfaction. Lingering in each other's space, tension crackling like electricity between us, I straddle his hips, with my knees pressing into the mattress on either side of his thighs. The pads of his fingers stroke over my shoulders, pushing the shirt to finally drop and pool around my trim waist.

"You're not worried about your parents liking me?"

"No. I like you, that's what matters."

"You do?" I ask, though I already know the answer. I like to hear him say it. Hear his deep voice utter the words.

"Oh you know I do." He mischievously grins. Sitting on his lap, my hands resting on his abdomen, he tilts his head a bit, and commands me to act. "Touch yourself, pretty girl. Do it like your hands are mine. Make yourself feel good."

"I don't know how." I shyly confess, the mere thought of touching myself for him casting a burnished rosy undertone to glow through my dark skin.

"Yes you do. Show me how you want me to touch you." He growls on a deeply affected sigh. Sensing my hesitance, he leans back, no longer huddled against my breasts. "Let me show you." Shoving down is boxers, Rick grabs a hold of his cock. Thick and veiny, its length and girth is more than his hand can contain. My eyes admire the beauty of it, nestled in a thatch of thick dark pubic hair, with his balls heavily cushioned beneath. Rick is stroking himself from the base to the leaking tip, back and forth, at a measured pace. With his lips slightly apart, a profound grunt and moan emit from somewhere deep in his diaphragm, to shatter the quiet eroticism of this moment.

Spurred to action by his demonstration, and his resultant verbal signs of self-inflicted pleasure, I take a hold of my breast with one hand, and tentatively dip my fingers into the petals of my flesh with the other. Kneading and massaging my most erogenous zones is not only threatening to send me over into the abyss of decadent gratification, but it's also aroused Rick to such heights that he can no longer tend to himself.

"Oh god, Rick, I'm getting so wet..." I moan, the soft silky touch of my own fingers sliding against my womanhood and nipples heightening my pleasure.

"You're going to make me cum before I can get inside of you."

"Not yet." I plead. "I want it."

"I know you do. Look at you, pretty girl. Is that how you like to be touched?"

"Yes."

"Your breasts are amazing. Can I taste?"

"Yes."

Parting his lips, he licks his wet tongue out, laving and sucking at my stiff nipples. "Gotdamn, baby, I can't wait any longer. Sit on my dick, Michonne, can you do that?"

"Yes." It's the only word I can fix my lips to say, because Rick's words and my own hands have created a debilitating thrill of tension in my core, that threatens to spill down my thighs and on to his lap.

"Condom?" He asks, checking for my preference. When we began sleeping together last month I made an appointment with my OBGYN and got a refill of my birth control pills, and though I have never had sex without a condom until now, I had a series of STD screenings completed as well. Following suit, Rick did the same, and with matching negative test results, we have forgone condoms ever since. Since I religiously take my pill, I have, maybe stupidly, not wanted the feel of latex between us. While Rick has diligently inquired more times than not since our first few times without, I can't imagine going back to the artificial intimacy that so heavily colored sex with Mike. No, I crave the wet slide of his cock against my walls, and perhaps I will foolishly one day find the pill to be insufficient, but right now, something inside of me tells me that between Rick and I, this is right.

"No." I shake my head. Removing my hands from my body, I steady myself using his shoulders. Raising up on my thighs, I ease my pussy down slowly, and swallow the fullness of his cock. Needing to catch my breath from the sudden and complete way he engorges my canal, I take a moment to swallow my lust and focus. Impatient, Rick places his hands at my waist, and begins to lift my body, encouraging me to move. Still not entirely confident in my own sexual prowess and ability, I hesitantly begin to grind up and down. "That's it. You feel amazing, baby. Bounce a little harder, take what you need, pretty girl."

"Rick, you feel so good."

"Mmmmm...shit, Michonne." He sighs, blowing out a long breath, he continues to instruct my hips, teaching me to bounce and pound down on his lap at the right rhythm to please us both. Rolling his hands around to my ass, he greedily grabs a hold of my cheeks, smashing and spreading them apart as he begins a hard thrust from beneath, forcefully meeting each of my downward strikes. "Come here." He commands, once again bringing my upper body flush against his.

Taking control, I hungrily latch my lips on to his, sucking and licking his pink tinted lips, softly biting the plumpness of his bottom lip between my teeth. Increasing the speed of my bounce, my bucking is causing the headboard to bang out a steady rhythm against the wall. I'm racing to my climax, sensing its delicious buzz within reach. With a carnal compulsion for Rick to release the arousal from his orgasm simultaneously with my own, I twist my head to nuzzle the responsive skin of his neck. Vigorously licking and sucking until he's clutching and hugging me to him, Rick explodes inside of me on a long, husky growl laced with my name, at the same time that I stiffen and drown deep in the murky fog of my climax.

Moments of silence peacefully crawl by, the hum of the late evening news on the television the only sound heard above our labored breaths. Wearily sprawled over Rick's chest, I'm listlessly losing the fight against sleep, but offer a few simple words to add a sense of finality to our discussion about meeting his parents. "I forgive you."

"Hm. Well…" I hear the faintest of words mumbled from his lips in response. "I love you."

Chapter 8 – Rick

"I'll talk to you later, I gotta get in here and get changed. Michonne and I have dinner with my folks, then probably gonna go out for a bit." I sigh, releasing the stress of a long work day.

"Yep. Hey, uh, Michonne ever say if her cousin Sasha has said anything about me? I kinda got the sense after we met that one time that she was feeling me, but she's hard to read ya know? I saw her again at the farm, and she invited me to their birthday party tomorrow night, but I don't know, she's flirty but not like what I'm used to."

"You mean she's not throwing herself at you like Andrea?"

"Yeah! I mean I put some of my best stuff out there, and she's not exactly giving me vibes like she's thrilled with it." Shane says, disappointment coloring his words.

"Well, maybe you don't need to put your best stuff out there, and instead try just being yourself. You got an invite to the party, that's something." I offer, not really knowing how to respond to this uncharacteristic bout of vulnerability I'm seeing in Shane. I've known him all of my life, he's been my best friend since kindergarten, and I've never heard him sound so uncertain about a female. "Listen, I'm pulling up at home. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Alright, bye! Hey, ask Michonne about Sasha for me!" I hear him holler into the phone as I'm hanging up. Michonne's cousin Sasha seems to have thrown Shane for a bit of a loop, and I can't say I'm not surprised. Shane has been with a lot of women. A lot. And the majority of those women have either chased him, or he has barely lifted a finger to get their attention. So for him to be so interested in someone that doesn't seem to fall into that pattern, is fascinating. Honestly, given what I know about Sasha so far, I think she's enjoying watching him chase and squirm a little bit. Good for her.

Driving down the back road that leads from the street to the pole barn on the back of my parents' farm, I see that Michonne's red Jeep is parked out front. I didn't expect to see her until dinner with my parents tonight, but it's a welcome surprise that she's here. I gave her a key to my apartment last week, and despite her initial hesitance to take it, I suppose given the fact that she's here, she has gotten over that and has used it. I'm glad that she did, and the idea of coming home to her, not just today but everyday, fills me with a sense of calm satisfaction that easily overcomes the tired feeling from a long day of work.

Opening the door, I can hear the low mumble of voices speaking a foreign language coming from the television in the bedroom, in the back of the apartment. Dropping my keys on the kitchen table, next to Michonne's own keys and purse, I head towards the bedroom. Laying across the bed on her stomach, legs crossed at the ankle, in nothing but a t-shirt of mine, Michonne's attention is enraptured by the movie she's watching, barely offering me a half wave of her hand and a grunted hello. Wandering my eyes over her prone dusky figure, with the slowly approaching night, the glow of the light from the television, casts a bluish highlight over the cute dip at the small of her back, leading to the curved hump of her plump ass.

Appreciating the sight before me, I'm wondering if we have time for a quickie before heading across the way to my parents'. The tight throbbing of my cock in my pants thinks that we do. Dragging the pads of my fingers from the soles of her feet, up her long smooth legs, to lightly smack, grab, and massage the pillowy cushion of her bottom, I release a groan deep in my throat at the sensation of her satiny skin gliding underneath my fingers. Witnessing the slight jiggle of her ass from my touch, I lick my lips, making up my mind that we can definitely make time for a quickie.

Beginning to squirm from my attention, she swivels her head my way. "Rick, that tickles!" She giggles, shooing me with her left hand.

"Say it again. I like the way you say my name. It almost sounds like you're saying 'wreck' instead of Rick. It's cute."

"What? I say it the right way." She pouts, narrowing her eyes on me as I take a seat next to her on the bed.

"You can say it however you want, as long as you say it again." Leaning over her body, I place a series of kisses along the column of the back of her swan-like neck, and over to her ear.

Giggling again at the wet licking of my tongue along the hollow of her ear, she shakes her head, denying my request. "Nope, because if I do, it's going to lead to something else that we don't have time for, Rick."

"There it is. Wreck!" I laugh, continuing to massage her ass, my ears perking at the continued dialogue from the the movie. "Is this movie in French?"

"Mmhm." She mutters, still squirming under my hand, but also attempting to refocus on the television.

"There's no subtitles? You speak French well enough to watch a full movie in it?" I ask, surprised and delighted to find out something new about my girl, turning my head to the side to make eye contact with her, to witness the mischievous glimmer in her eyes. Everyday that we are together, it seems that I learn something new about Michonne. For one she is a close sleeper. Close as in she literally sleeps tucked right underneath my chin with her arms wrapped snugly around my waist, me spooning her with my leg and arm over her, or her nuzzled up on me with her face in my back, regardless of how hot or sweaty we may be. Somehow she claims this is the only way she can get restful sleep, which I find suspicious since from what I know she has mostly slept alone, except for if or when she slept with that other guy… but I don't like to think about that. I suspect that she really just enjoys being close to me when she sleeps and I don't blame her. On the nights that she stays here, the scent of her in my nose, with her little body pressed tightly against mine, it usually gives me a sense of domestic calm that lulls me blissfully to sleep. I wouldn't trade it for the world. Even if we have to sleep snuggled together like koala bears.

Michonne is also the most intelligent person I have ever met. This is no exaggeration. Sometimes we will watch Jeopardy, and my girl knows the answers to all of the questions, while I'm generally struggling with anything outside of certain categories. It's pretty amazing. Though some guys might find that kind of brilliance intimidating, I find it sexy that her brain is a treasure trove of knowledge, and facts, some simply useless, but still entertaining. A great example is when we were over on Hershel's farm one day, watching the pigs being fed by one of the workers, and she commented that a pig can orgasm for nearly thirty minutes. Why would she know that? Amazed, and maybe a little confused, I could only stare at her in wonderment. What was even funnier was that she couldn't remember why she knew that or how she found out that bit of odd information in the first place. Because she will literally read any and everything, we both assumed she must have read it somewhere, and her astounding memory filed it away somewhere so that she could pull it out at a moment like that one.

Probably the most fascinating thing that I have found out about Michonne though, is that my baby is a freak. A certified, newly discovered, passionate freak, which is something I did not expect, but was delighted to unearth. Our first time together, the untamed intensity of her enthusiastic orgasm, like a small explosion, its heat and vigor nearly burning me alive, virtually caused me to blackout with the gluttonous gratification I experienced. I initially believed that it must have just been about the anticipation of finally being together in that way, for both of us, and that the magnitude of her need for me, and mine for her, would decrease over time. But each time after has been even more fiery, and dynamic, with her eager to try new things, to take more control of our shared pleasure. Her hunger for me, her desire for me to ravage and gorge myself on her, excites her in a way that elicits in me a near dangerous level of obsession with her.

Initially I was worried, concerned that my age might afford me an unfair advantage with her sexually. That she might not be ready or able with her young, lithe body, only softly curved in the hips and ass, to accommodate my size, or my appetite. Lori never truly was, often complaining that I wanted to have sex too often, too aggressive, you name it. For her it was simply too much, and over time, that coupled with everything else about her got tiresome. But, this concern is completely unfounded with Michonne. The truth is that this intelligent, beautiful woman has corrupted and spoiled me, addicted me to the pleasure I find with her. So much so that I spend most of my time counting down the time until I'm in her presence again, delighted by the warmth found in her smile, her arms, and between her thighs. This is the only time that I am thankful for that other guy's apparent neglect of her. Michonne is now mine, and I intend to foster and cultivate her more amorous nature, for both her benefit and mine.

"Oui, je parle français."

"Say something else in French." I plead, attentively awaiting the seductive movement of her lips as she forms the words.

"Va t'habiller, Richard."

Aroused by the sexy sound of the foreign words rolling off her tongue, anchored by my name, I nudge her over to her back, now adjusting my lean hips between her soft thighs, my groin against her heated mound. "That's very sexy, Michonne. Why do you know French? And what did you say?" I inquire, questions coming rapid-fire. Focusing on her lips, wanting to hear the enticing lilt of the foreign language drip from her lips again, especially the way she says Richard, I quirk my eyebrow, waiting for her to stop squirming underneath me, making my dick harder than it already was, and answer my questions.

"My name is French, silly. My mother's family is from Haiti, where they speak French. And I said, that you need to get dressed, Richard."

"Fuck… Yeah I like the way you say my name in French better." Leaning in to capture her full lips, she raises up to meet me with equal hunger, licking and sucking at my bottom lip, and now grinding herself up and against me. "Wait, baby, let me take my holster off" Standing up on my knees, I begin unbuckling my belt when I notice that with her t-shirt pulled up to her breasts, the rippled cuts of her flat abdomen exposed, my eyes fall lower to see that her pussy is completely bare of the hair it had just last night.

"Aimez-vous?" She asks, biting at her bottom lip, and using two fingers to rub at the dark, glistening lips of her pussy. I've never seen it like this, her arousal so obvious, and sticky, no longer disguised in part by pubic hair.

"When did you do that?" Swallowing a groan, I'm reigning in my errant impulse to latch onto her womanhood, and devour the plush, sticky lips. "Sasha and I went to the spa today. I got a full body wax for my birthday. Do you like it?"

"Yes. Yeah… I- uh. It's a surprise."

"A good one?"

"A great one." I utter. In the motion of pushing my uniform pants down, there is a knock at the door. "Fuck, stay here. Do not move from this position." I command, taking one last look at my girlfriend, spread out naughtily across my bed, legs open and waiting for my return.

Fastening my pants back together, I close my bedroom door behind me, and rush to answer the front door. Frustrated that I had to leave the comforting warmth of Michonne's thighs, I throw open the door to find one of the guys who works as a migrant farmer here, and has for a few years, standing on my step. "Hey, Tomas, what can I do for you?"

"I just saw you come in and wanted to let you know that today is my last day. I'm heading back to my country. It has gotten bad for us here in America. It's not so good right now with your American politics."

Frowning now, hands on my hips, I'm trying to understand why or how things have changed for Tomas. I know that there has been a lot of discussion about illegals since the last election, but Tomas and a lot of the other guys have been working here for years. We only hire documented legal workers here, but I know that not all of the farms do, and even as a law enforcement professional I realize that people need to work, so I won't pass any judgment, deserved or otherwise.

"I'm sorry to see you go. Did you talk to my dad yet?"

"Yes. The other guys and I talked to him this morning, but I wanted to talk to you because a lot of the guys who are left have been getting harassed in town. It's… difficult. If you could help in any way that would be great. You are a good one, Rick. Thank you." Tomas offers his hand to me. Accepting it, I reciprocate with a firm shake. Watching him turn to leave, I have to admit that I'm pretty upset to hear about the trouble coming to some of the workers around here, but realize that this might explain why Hershel has also been experiencing some issues with having enough help on his farm as well.

Backing away from and shutting the door, my head is swimming with the information I was just given. My arousal from earlier is nearly forgotten, until I re-enter my bedroom to find Michonne no longer how I left her. With her hair pulled atop her head in a bun, and now fully dressed in a royal blue, shorts romper, with gold designs zig-zagging across it, she's standing in the mirror applying lipstick.

"Hey! What the hell happened to me telling you not to move? You're so hardheaded sometimes. I'm gonna have to teach you a lesson." I toss up my hands in fake frustration. Easing up behind her, one of my arms around her tiny waist, hand splayed across her abdomen. With the other across her chest, caressing her lips, smearing her lipstick with my thumb, I'm kissing along the nape of her neck, hoping to get her back to the bed so I can partake of her newly bare pussy. Dropping the tube of lipstick on the dresser, ceasing its application, and delighted by my attention to her, Michonne gives a tiny whimper, then proceeds to suck my thumb into her wet mouth. The heated suction of my thumb, her tongue laving the length of it, sets my dick to stone with the mere thought of her using her mouth on it. I have yet to experience that with her, but know that given the ferocity of her sexual affection for me, it would be a mind-blowing experience.

Feeling the prod of my cock against the cleft between her ass cheeks, Michonne turns around to fully face me, and begins unbuttoning my uniform shirt. On a tortured groan, red lipstick smudged on her lips, she raises her sultry eyes to me. "Rick, you need to get dressed. You said your parents are expecting us for dinner at 6, it's 5:30. We don't have time for sex right now."

"First, that's blasphemy, Michonne. There is always time for sex. Right now is the perfect time for it. Second, you look very nice and put together, but all I wanna do is get you wet and messy." I flirt, trying my best to get her back in the mood she was in before Tomas was at the door. Placing my hands around her waist, I hoist her little frame on to the dresser, and step in between her widespread legs. "We need to pick up where we left off. You were playing with those plump little pussy lips of yours, remember?"

"We need to get over to your parents' to eat, Rick." She breathlessly reminds.

"My parents aren't going anywhere." I declare, kissing her neck, then moving lower to skim across her clavicle, around the edge of her collar, and then over the tops of her full breasts. I mumble into the swell of her bosom. "I'm ready to eat something else right now. Just a taste, pretty girl? Please."

"Rick, no." Slowly shaking her head back and forth, she throws her arms around my shoulders, lightly rubbing and caressing the back of my neck. "You're such a horndog." She utters on a thinly veiled moan, apparently enjoying the sensation of my lips dancing against her creamy skin. "I don't want to be late." Moving each of her hands to the sides of my head, she pulls me back to her gorgeous face, attempting to regain my focus on getting ready for dinner with my parents. "Can you please shower and change your clothes, Rick?"

Seeing that she's not going to let me have my way, I give up, but only on one condition. "Do you promise that later we can pick up where we left off earlier? You know, with the French speaking, and the fucking?"

"Oui, Richard." 

Smiling at her use of French, and my name to get me back in line, I'm also sobering at the thought that Michonne is about to meet my parents. "You ready for this?" I ask. While I'm not concerned in the least about how this will go, I am interested in how Michonne feels about it, especially given that I spent a good amount of time last night preparing her for what to expect. Though I never used the words racist, I did let her know that my mother is not entirely thrilled with the idea of Michonne and I together. Part of that displeasure is because of how close our family is with Lori's, and everyone thinking Lori and I would eventually get married. And another part of that is simply based on Michonne being black. But, as I told my baby before, none of that is our problem.

"I'm ready. Now that I know that your mother is probably going to hate me no matter what I do, then I'm actually pretty relaxed about the whole thing. And…" She trails off, her hands inching beneath my undershirt to push it up and over my head. "I'm just happy that we're doing this. It feels like a big step for us, don't you think?"

Taking a moment to appreciate the light touch of her slender fingers rubbing through the hair on my chest, I pull my undershirt the rest of the way over my head and toss it to the floor. "I don't feel like you meeting them changes anything for me. I'm only doing this for you. I want you in my life, completely. Whatever it takes for that to happen, for you to be happy and to trust in me, then I'm with it. Meeting Rance and Ellen is just a formality."

"It's not, not really. This shows me, and them, that you're serious about me. You say that whatever they think of me doesn't matter, but it could."

"It won't. When I set this dinner up, I let them know who you are, and what you mean to me. I'm not going to tolerate any drama from them. Or should I say from my mother." I roll my eyes at the thought, already exasperated at the idea that my mother might do or say something to ruin this night for Michonne.

"Ok. Then I'm ready."

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you. Your step-dad speaks very highly of you, young lady."

"Same here. It's very nice of you to have me over for dinner." Michonne smiles widely at my father, her straight white teeth lighting up her face. Sitting next to me at the dining room table, my girl is the most beautiful woman in the world. Radiant, confident, I couldn't be more proud to introduce her to my parents. To let them meet the woman who will one day be my wife, the mother of my children. The words have yet to cross my lips to communicate this to her, but my heart knows it to be true. And I think she knows that when I told her that I love her, that it's basically me delivering my heart to her, gift wrap and all. She has to know that my heart is constantly full of nothing but love and adoration for her. She has to know that thoughts of her consume my mind. She has to know that my body is so connected to hers that at this point I can't imagine it would respond to anyone else. No, Michonne is it for me, and I hope that getting these introductions out of the way shows her that there is nothing but sincerity behind every word and action directed towards her.

"Well he demanded we do it, so he we didn't really have a choice." My mother drolly responds, not even bothering to make eye contact with Michonne when she speaks. Her words fall flat, and draw my father's censoring glare, as well as my own.

Like the polished woman she is, Michonne doesn't even let my mother's rude comments bother her. And in true Ellen Stafford-Grimes style she has pretty much reacted to Michonne exactly as I described to Michonne that she would. Not making eye contact, small, slightly dismissive comments. As long as she doesn't make any overtly rude or racist comments I will consider this dinner a success.

"I'm thankful that he did. So, what are you kids up to after dinner?" Sitting at the head of the table, my father, Rance Grimes, the man most people call my twin, offers up some lighter fare to help keep the discussion polite and even keeled. As the realization that I was in love with Michonne blossomed in my heart, I sought my father's guidance on how to move forward. There is so much to consider, that I didn't trust myself to figure this out on my own, and who better to consult than the man who taught me everything about being a man, and quiet as it's kept, a hopeless romantic himself.

"Probably going out for a spell. Michonne's birthday is tomorrow, so a little pre-birthday celebration is in order." I answer, placing my hand on Michonne's warm thigh underneath the table, and crawl them sneakily up the leg of her romper's shorts to the fat lips of her pussy, barely covered by her lace panties. Michonne responds with a small flinch, obviously not expecting my naughty touch at my parents' dinner table. Squirming at the erotic feel of my hand, my girl returns to me the prettiest grin, nestled amongst a dusky blush across her velvety skin. When she looks at me like that, so full of her own unspoken love for me, I can't help but want to tell her again, as many times as I can, until my voice is gone and I literally can not physically say it anymore, how much I love her. Some might say it's too soon, to which I would respond it's not soon enough. If I could convince her to marry me this minute, I would. My father said he married my mother after dating for two weeks. I suppose sometimes you just know. My heart knows. Who am I to disagree with own heart?

"Not too late and not too much partying, Rick, you have work tomorrow."

"He's an adult, Ellen, I think he can sufficiently manage his own time." My father offers, then turns the conversation back to Michonne as he takes a bite of his food. "Do you work, Michonne?" Tilting his head, Michonne in his sights, my father's question is asked with actual interest, and a kind smile.

"I don't work. I'm a full time student right now. I'll be entering my second full year at Spelman next month, but I should actually be graduating at the end of the school year because I took college courses in high school, and last summer. I already have an associate's degree in American history."

"Impressive. Smart and beautiful. You've got a winner there, son." He winks over at me, his own pride at my choice evident on his face.

"Then what do you do for money? I hope you're not expecting Rick to give you his. He works very hard as a deputy, and he can't live some frivolous life some people are known for. You understand that don't you?"

"I do understand, and no, I don't need anything from Rick. When my father passed away I was left with a fairly generous trust fund, so I don't really have to work again. Ever." Politely, Michonne smiles at my mother, but I know she's pleased with herself, the way she handled her ridiculous question. Digging in to the tuna noodle casserole that my mother prepared for dinner with her right hand, she anxiously grasps at my hand that is still placed high on her thigh, softly caressing her lips. With the strength in her hold, I can tell that she is still quite annoyed by my mother's insinuation, but also slightly turned on by my touch.

"How nice. Was he an athlete of some sort? A basketball player perhaps?" Nodding her head as though her comments make complete sense, she's looking directly at Michonne now, my father and I completely forgotten in this conversation, or should I say interrogation. There is a negative connotation to her questions, and I can see the slight shadow of anger animating my girl's features.

Thinking that perhaps I should step in, my father, seemingly on the same wavelength as I am, smoothly re-inserts himself by answering for Michonne. "Uh, actually, Ellen, I believe Michonne's father was a professor right? Physics I think your mother told me. Hard subject, physics. I was a pretty awful student myself." Chuckling at his own self-deprecating humor, my mother shoots him a quick withering glance, put off by him answering on Michonne's behalf.

Instead of falling back, and letting the conversation remain cordial, my mother continues with her line of questioning. "Oh. What college did he teach at?"

"Morehouse, ma'am. His alma mater."

"Ah. A black college. Makes sense." Scoffing, my mother takes a hold of her wine glass. Perched haughtily in her chair, a smug smile is across her lips as she takes a sip and pretends at innocence.

Bringing up her father is a bit of a sore subject for Michonne. She loved him fiercely, and misses him even more, so my mother discussing him in any sort of disparaging way is a definite way to aggravate her. With bitter tightness in her words, and a frown on her pretty face, Michonne decides to answer her. "My father was a brilliant man. He taught at Princeton, where he obtained his PhD. I was also born there, in Princeton, New Jersey, before my parents returned to Atlanta so my mother could take a job here, as a sports medicine doctor, the best in Georgia actually. My father decided to teach at his undergrad alma mater as a way of giving back to our community. He was a good man, and I would ask that you not be rude regarding his legacy."

"Mom, please be cool, ok? Michonne comes from a family of academics. She's got a brilliant mind, and will be heading to law school soon." Inching closer to her, I place an affectionate kiss to Michonne's cheek, hoping to ease some of her tension caused by my mother's abrasive questions.

"Thank you, Rick. You're pretty smart yourself." Michonne sweetly smiles and swivels her head to return the kiss, laying a soft press of her lips on my cheek. For a brief moment, our eyes meet, and I'm sucked in by the passionate affection for me in her coffee brown eyes. With my hand still on her mound, my thumb soothingly stroking at her lush flesh, and the cloying compassion of our kisses between us, we are in our own world. Just me and my baby.

"Ahem. So, Michonne, you will be heading back to the city soon, then? And then off to law school?" My mother's words, seemingly now with a dash of an upbeat tenor, break through the swaddling barrier around us.

Releasing her gaze from mine, her eyes momentarily flutter to catch my mother's, then nervously down to her lap. "Yes, next month I will be heading back to the city, to finish school. Then law school."

"Pity. It's a shame your summer fling will be over so soon."

"Michonne is my girlfriend, Mom, this isn't a fling." I admonish my mother, and the apparent negative spite in her words. Glaring at her, I hope that she can see the anger in my eyes, and will temper her words from now on. Michonne is my future, and I have no problem with choosing her, choosing a new life over some controlling existence my mother favors for me.

"I didn't mean anything by that, son. Just that long distance is not ideal. Michonne will go back to her life, and you can get back to yours."

"Rick is a part of my life now. I… I love him." Stuttering a bit, Michonne boldly utters the words I did not expect to hear. Not now. But she does, and it sends an electric jolt to my heart.

"I love you, too, pretty girl." I return, an uncontrollable grin pulling my lips up, and a pink blush to rush over the expanse of my heated skin. If I could, I would usher her away right now. Take her home and show her how much I love her, how much her confession of that shared love anchors my heart to hers.

"I know."

"We'll make it work." I promise to her.

"We will." She nods, returning the vow to me.

"I'm confused, Rick, last I remember you loved Lori."

"No, Mom, it's not the same." I grind out, surprised by her introducing Lori into such a special moment between Michonne and I. "I loved Lori, but not in the same way at all. She's been a friend for a long time, I couldn't help but have love for her. But I was never in love with her."

"Michonne, I think you will have to excuse my son for his fickle nature. You know how men are when they see something shiny and new. Their attention span is so short."

"I-" Michonne attempts to answer, her stuttered response not getting far before my father intervenes. But it's too late. She has withdrawn from me, subtly easing her body away, slapping at my clutching hand underneath the table.

"Come on, Ellen, let's cut the shit, ok? You know that the relationship between Rick and Lori was cooked up by you and her mother Mary as soon as those kids were born. They never had a chance to figure love out for themselves. Now that Rick has, leave him alone. I won't say it again. Stop meddling, and let my son be happy. It's enough already." I've never heard my father speak to my mother in this way, so abrupt and terse in his communication. "Are we understood?" He asks, staring at her over his glasses, his hawkish blue eyes focused on her.

"Watch how you speak to me, Rance. I won't put up with you disrespecting me!"

"I won't put up with you trying to control my son's life any longer. I have given you too much rope over the years. So much so that my oldest son Jeff never even comes home to visit any more. That's your fault, Ellen." He points at her, levying the blame for Jeff's constant absence on her, which is wholly deserved. She's always been unceasingly hard on both of us, always manipulating us with her false fragility and self-serving guidance. Jeff is too stubborn, too much like her to tolerate it, and left here for the military as soon as he graduated from college. He has only returned once, and that was when our grandfather died. On the other hand, I'm probably too much like my father, too laid back and uncaring of how she has strong armed the men in this family. Pushed Lori and I together, coerced my father into doing some rather selfish things over the years, hurting those closest to him. But now, when her hate filled words and machinations might jeopardize this fledgling relationship with Michonne, I think my father and I have simply had enough.

"How dare you blame Jeffrey's selfish behavior on me?" With false innocence I watch the argument unfold, as my mother does what she always does, rustles up some fake tears in the clear blue eyes she and I share. Beautiful beyond reason, Ellen Stafford-Grimes is used to getting her way, using her wiles and charm to bend and sway the will of others. At only 48 years old, her long dark hair is only now showing hints of age with a few silvery strands spun throughout her lengthy French braid. Wrinkles are haunting the corners of her eyes though, and have been for years, prematurely aging and displacing her once youthful visage. But, she is still breathtaking, and that is probably what has always kept my father on her hook. Her slight petite frame so much smaller than his own hulking one, she has always played the role of the damsel in distress with one face, while employing sneaky venomous tactics of manipulation with the other. "This is all so absurd! I've done nothing wrong. I have only protected this family from those who know no better than to prey on our kindness, take what is ours, or sully this family's name. My name. Rick, this girl is not the one for you. Maybe for someone else, but not you. Not this family."

Never one to raise his voice, maintaining his cool, my father speaks, a quiet steely menace to his voice, before I even have a chance to. "Excuse your mother and I, Rick. I'm sorry you had to see all of this, Michonne. You are my best friend's daughter, and apparently the woman my son loves. You don't deserve such toxic treatment. Rick, you guys should probably go. Take your girl and have a good evening. Happy birthday, Michonne." On a weak smile, my father pushes his glasses further up his nose, and tosses his napkin to his plate with a sense of sad finality.

"I'm sorry you feel like I'm not good enough for your son, Mrs. Grimes. But, he loves me. Anything else is irrelevant." Raising from the table, Michonne looks down at my mother, pity and disgust for her warring in her eyes.

Taking a hold of Michonne's hand, I lead her from the dining room, from the wreckage of this failed family dinner, leaving my parents behind to attempt to salvage what's left between them.

"I'm sorry, Michonne. I really am. This isn't how I wanted things to go. All of that wasn't even about you." Sitting in my truck, her face is turned away from me, her gaze directed somewhere in the haunting darkness outside of the truck. Reaching out to her, needing to see her face, my fingers lightly caress the rounded swell of her cherubic cheeks.

"No, I suppose it's not. At least not entirely." Hesitantly she allows the pressure from my fingers to turn her face towards me. What I witness in her face nearly kills me. Shiny and wet, her eyes are glossy with unshed tears, now devoid of the love I saw there earlier in the night.

"Baby, Michonne, listen to me. When I said I did love Lori, please tell me you understand that it's not the same love I have for you. That you have for me. She's just, been there." I plead, needing to convey to her the difference in my heart, not wanting her to get mired in the word, but more in the feeling.

"Ok."

"Ok?"

"That's what I said." Flatly, she chokes out a response, a quick succession of blinks sweep away the threat of tears. Fake and without sincere inspiration, she folds her hands in her lap. Now prim and proper, the relaxed, fun loving woman from before dinner is now replaced with this staid, grim faced Michonne. This transformation is killing me, and I can't help but feel completely responsible for it. Why did I ever think I could trust my mother not to be exactly who she is, and try to ruin this for me? Why did I believe that she would allow me to be happy without her being the conductor of that happiness?

On a heavy sigh, I lower my eyes to her frigid ones, and promise to myself that I am going to try and salvage what is left of this night. Remembering the pre-birthday activity I had planned for us, I throw my truck into drive and guide it to the other side of the large white barn that sits centrally on my parents' property. Backing my truck up so that the bed is facing the side of the barn, I shove the gear into park, and turn my body fully towards her. Taking a hold of her hands that rest in her lap, I enfold them inside of the cocoon of my own hands, needing to feel the warmth of her touch to hopefully begin melting the frost that has developed between us.

"Do you remember that night you watched that Clint Eastwood movie with me, the cowboy one, and you told me your favorite movie is Coming to America?"

"Yeah."

"And you told me it was also your father's favorite movie, and that the last birthday you had before he died a few months later, you watched it with him and your mother. That you haven't watched it since."

"Yeah."

"I know you have this big shindig planned for tomorrow, but I wanted to try and give you back this happy memory, of you and your dad watching your favorite movie." My words tumbling out in a nervous jumble, her current displeasure making me eager and unsure of myself, unwilling to release my needy hold of her hands. "So, we're going to watch it. Here. Come on."

Jumping out of the truck, I rush over to her side, and open her door before she gets the chance. Though it has become custom for me to open all doors for her, she appears to be regressing and pulling away from me. I don't want that. My mother divulging my friendly love for Lori, and my admission that it does exist, has put such a chasm between my Michonne and I, that I'm questioning every move I make now. Opening her door, I make an effort to grab for her hand to help her down as usual, but she hustles out on her own, not giving me the chance. Standing before me, smoothing out the short legs of her romper, a slight frown still mars the beauty of her angelic face, and it's crushing me to see her like this. Unhappy and uncertain of my love and devotion to her. And I can't help myself, I reach for her, to guide her to the back of the truck. Instead she pulls away from me, crossing her arms across her chest, as though she requires protection… from me.

"Please?" I offer, my voice breaking over the word, a pleading tone evident. Directing my hand towards the bed of the truck, she walks ahead of me, stomping away. Approaching the bed, I move to the side of her, and drop the gate to the truck. Inside I have pillows, blankets, the projector, and a cooler full of her favorite drinks and snacks. "

"Rick… what did you do? Oh my god…"

"I figured it would be like we're at the drive in. Our own personal drive in. Here, get in." She doesn't move, just runs her fingers over her face, wiping hurriedly at her eyes as though she doesn't want me to see the liquid emotion flowing from them. But, I do, and as long as there is still emotion for me, feeling, I am encouraged that she's still with me. That I can repair any damage between us. So overwhelmed by everything, Michonne doesn't even protest when I wrap my hands around her waist and lift her to place her gently in the bed of the truck.

Hoisting myself up to join her, I ease my way back onto the nest of pillows beside her. Fumbling with the projector for a moment, I release a sigh of fervent relief as I get it to run. Blasting across the screen, words and images introducing the beginning of the movie, are accompanied by the blare of sound from the speakers in the truck.

Swiveling her ahead around, taking stock of my preparations, her eyes finally land on me. Quiet settling between us, I wait for her to speak, to do something.

Lifting from her seat, she climbs over to me and sits sideways on my lap. With her head leaned against my shoulder, one hand in my hair, the other resting flatly against my chest, her breathing is heavy and erratic. Needing to relieve the disquiet and torment wafting from her in waves, I wrap my arms tightly around her waist, squeezing her body to me. "This is really a nice thing for you to do for me, Rick. I don't know how you do it, but you seem to remember every word I say, every move I make, just… you pay attention to me in a way that no one ever has. And it… it makes me feel like this is real, like I can trust you. But, what happened in your parents' house, makes me question that. I don't want to be afraid of you, of what you could do to me, but I am. I am frightened of how strongly I feel for you."

"Love, how strongly you love me." A quiet panic is erupting in my chest at her refusal to say the words again.

"I've never been in love, Rick. I don't know, I said it in the moment earlier because this feeling came over me, in that moment I couldn't put another word to it, and I... I think it's love, but shit, when you tell me you love Lori I certainly question everything. I just can't reconcile all of this, between my heart telling me to greedily snatch up everything you offer, and my head telling me to run the other way. And you know what? Your mother is right; I am leaving next month. What then, Rick? Out of sight out of mind. You gonna run back to Lori?"

"Gotdamn it, Michonne! I've never felt about Lori how I feel about you. That's honest. I swear it to you. I loved her like you love a long time friend, but not like this, baby. Not at all like I love you. Like my life is incomplete without you in it." Asserting the strength of my feelings for her, I kiss her, no longer able to restrain myself from connecting with her, from sipping from the plump cushion of her full lips. Tightly I'm pulling her as close as possible, crushing her curves to me, with no room for doubt to fester and wedge between us. Voices from the movie waft around us, but the only sound that matters is the deep thump of my heart, fighting against the cage of my chest to relieve it of the pain of her skepticism. Breath rushing from my lips in a quick succession of pants, drifting heavily over hers, I implore her on a strangled cry. "Trust me, please."

"I'm trying…" She offers, trying to rise from my lap, but my strong hold keeps her in place.

"Wait. I want to give this to you." Reaching into my pocket I pull out a small black jewelry box, and immediately she tenses in my arms.

"Rick…"

"No, not yet." I chuckle at her nervous hesitance, concern in her voice at the implication the jewelry box presents. "This isn't a proposal. But I want you to have this." Handing the box over to her, she slowly opens it, and a tiny quiet gasp falls from her lips. Inside is a delicate, shiny, yellow gold necklace, with a small cursive M charm attached. "I was searching for something for you, a gift, the same day you told me when your birthday was. You're questioning my love now, and that hurts me more than you can know. But I promise you, pretty girl, my heart is sure of you. So sure that I knew it was love from a mile away, the first time we touched hands." Lifting the slight chain from the box, I drape it around her neck, locking into place the secure lobster clasp. "Promise me that when you look at this necklace, you will think of me. That you will remember that I love you. When you're away at school, anywhere, that you will never again doubt my feelings for you, your place in my heart." Her initial silence murders me, leaves my heart devastated that she is still so dubious of my fealty to her.

Instead of words, she gifts me with a soft nibble of my lips. Offering sweet, wet kisses and licks, that disarm me and calm my weakened heart. Rubbing her fingers slowly across my cheeks, I'm strengthened by her touch, confident that she once again believes in the veracity of my words. With the lovesick fool in me sated, I utter the only words I can gather. "Thank you."

Chapter 9 – Michonne

"This is my fault." I admit to Sasha as we stand in the large illuminated mirror of her brother's master bedroom, both getting ready for our combined birthday party. Studying my own face in the mirror as I cover the dark bags under my eyes with concealer, admitting this truth makes me sick to my stomach.

"How is it your fault that his mother is a bitch?" Sasha asks, throwing an incredulous look to my reflection in the mirror.

"Because I let my emotions get the best of me. Fucking chemistry, and sappy, fake sentiment…ugh. I bought into something I don't even believe in."

"You certainly believed in it when you said it though."

"It's him. He knows how to get me all twisted, and wrapped up in those eyes of his. And those kisses, and the way he touches me. It's like…he plays me like an instrument or something. And what do I do? Start professing some bullshit love to him, in front of his toxic ass mother. I should have known better. That bitch smelled blood in the water, and got me. She got me."

"She got you. But, that doesn't mean Rick isn't sincere. He doesn't seem like the kind of guy who would lie about something like that. I think he's been honest with you. I respect his gangster." She nods, finishing her application of the heavy dark liner around her almond eyes.

"Whatever. I know better now. He admitted he loved that bitch Lori. What the hell am I going to do with that, Sasha? Huh? They have love, and history now! How could he ever love someone like her and then love someone like me?" I dismissively wave my hand in the air, pissed at the thought of being so caught up in my emotions. At the way I responded to Rick's mother. He warned me, and it didn't even matter because I let her words ruin what should have been a great night for Rick and I. His pre-birthday surprise and gift were so sweet, and thoughtful, but all I could think about was his mother saying he loved Lori, him admitting it, and her declaring that I'm not the one for him.

"You don't know better, because there is nothing to know better about. You won't admit it, but you love Mike. You stuck with him for years, been friends forever, of course you have love for him, and that's probably what Rick was talking about for that trick Lori. Be reasonable, I mean shit, you obviously love Rick. You're wearing the necklace he bought you, which is so cute and amazing, I'm totally jealous. You're getting all dressed up and sexy for him, and yes, cuz, you may have that beautiful dark skin, but I can see the hickey on your neck, the bags under your eyes, and the dip in your spine from that birthday chop down Rick served your ass last night. Not to mention he must have had you wailing like a damn banshee cause your voice is hoarse."

"Sasha!" I squeal, knowing that she is completely right, and I have the rug burn on my back to prove it. Rick had an insatiable appetite last night, and was so full of passion and hunger, resulting in us making love three times. In the bed of the truck, where he made love to me so tenderly, offering so many apologies and words of love I had tears in my eyes. On the living room floor in his apartment in a rushed flurry of raw fucking, with Rick riding me hard, and me egging him on with screams of the purest carnal delight. And this morning in the bed, with him waking me up with his erection pressed hotly into the cheeks of my ass, his warm body cloaking my back, in a sensual and satisfying rocking of our tired bodies. I assume all of that was in response to his mother planting her negative seeds of doubt at dinner, and him and his father summarily putting her in her place. I will have to thank her for setting an erotic fire under his ass that had me coming all night, floating on the ecstasy of how he commanded my body, and the devotional words of love whispered in my ear.

"What? Girl you showed up over here looking like Rick laid that pipe and wore your ass out last night. There's nothing wrong with having sex with your boyfriend, and enjoying it sheesh. And, there's nothing wrong with admitting your feelings for Mike, for Rick, and for the disgraceful way his mama tried some real bitchy shit last night. In my opinion the best way to stick it to his mama is to be happy with her cute ass son. By the way, did you tell Aunt Mona?" Sasha turns to me, eyes wide with interest.

"No! Oh god no! Could you imagine what my mother would have done? She would have marched over there, and cussed her ass out. No, that would have just made it worse. Rick stood up for me though, and his dad who is absolutely a nice guy kinda got on her. He asked Rick and I to leave, and he was pretty pissed at how she acted. I think they have just ignored that kind of stuff from her and others until now it's more than they can handle. And, seriously I don't think any of that bullshit she said last night had anything to do with me personally, and everything to do with her just wanting Rick with Lori."

"You're probably right." Sasha nods her head, smoothing her recently manicured eyebrows with a little brush. "It's not like you don't understand that though, right? Think about how much Mike's mama Jacqui has pushed and pushed for you guys to be together."

"I know. And that is what worries me. She orchestrated our relationship from our old Jack and Jill days, cotillion, prom, right up until I broke up with him. If it wasn't for Rick coming along, I'd still be on that path, and I probably wouldn't have given it a second thought." I sadly admit, the thought of never finding Rick creating a hollow feeling in my chest. "So just think, Rick would have been the same way. If I hadn't shown up, he would be with her now."

"The point is, Michy, that you did show up. And from what I have seen and heard, that man doesn't give a damn about anything but you. I can't find fault with that." Sasha shrugs, and walks back towards the closet to retrieve the cover up dress she has to go over her swimsuit.

Finishing my makeup, I take a long survey of myself, my new swimsuit, checking to see how ready I am for this party. My new swimsuit is an African inspired bikini, with kente patterns in colors of orange and red, and multiple cutouts through out the skimpy top, and v-cut bottoms. Against the burnished bronze of my skin, and with my hair braided in an intricate pattern of cornrowed braids flowing over my shoulders and down my back, the full effect is quite astonishing. I'm hoping that much like the little bikini that Rick bought me before, this one will spark a similar response from him.

Admiring in the mirror the way the bottoms cut high up my thigh and groin, and across the full crest of my bottom, my phone begins vibrating across the vanity. On a quick glance I notice the picture of Rick I took one night while he was asleep, flash across the screen. He doesn't know this, or maybe he does, but I love to watch him sleep. To be able to gorge myself on the unguarded handsomeness of him. To study how his unnecessarily long eyelashes, a light hazel-blonde color, extend across the base and the corners of his eyes, fluttering while he presumably dreams. Depending on how long of a day he's had, how much work he's put in on the job, or on me, how tired he is when we both finally drift off to sleep, he sometimes snores. Not loud and obnoxious like some might do, like my dad used to do, so loud you could hear it down the hall. No, it's always a deep inhale through the slight nostrils of his pointed nose, and then a very calm, soft, exertion of his warm breath escaping the lush beauty of his pretty lips. Lips so soft and pink, they surely don't belong on his masculine face with its strongly defined jaw and cheeks, now an enticing golden tan from his days spent working outside on patrol duty, or on the farm, underneath the scruff of his beard always trying to break through the skin and re-emerge.

In those quiet, late hours, when I'm pressed so tightly to his firm, naked skin that the only way to tell where he ends and I begin is by the contrast of our skin colors, I recognize this man for who he is. The love of my life. Especially last night, underneath the dark veil of his mother's potentially damaging words, words that have been allowed to control and dominate for too long, rested the unvarnished truth. My heart belongs to this man, as much, if not more than his belongs to me. Even with some uncertainty milling through the lobes of my brain, heavily coated with a fear of losing him, the chambers of my heart are aglow with the legitimacy of this love between Rick and I. And as he was deep within my body last night, stroking further inside than I could barely stand, his hushed vows of devotion to me, and my avid acceptance and reciprocation, signal the end of any vacillation on my part. Our bond is more profound and complicated than something as superficial as skin color, familial ties, or even sexual attraction. It's a recognition of the pairing of our souls.

But, my immaturity with the depth of this kind of an intense affinity makes it difficult for me to express or reconcile such complicated emotions, and so on the surface I still struggle with the sting of his mother's words, how they could herald a casualty my heart could never recover from. As such there is a modicum of a slight panic at the thought of our pending physical separation when I head back to school, and how it might affect our blossoming relationship. My soul though, my heart and my soul know better. So when I pick up my phone and answer his call, the rush of pleasure at hearing the welcoming bass of his voice, rekindles the warmth of last night, and this morning.

"Hello."

"Michonne, hey, pretty girl, how is everything going?"

A sense of sweet excitement at hearing his term of endearment for me, and a jolt of a blush splashes over my rounded chicks. "It's good. Sasha and I just got dressed, and Ty's party planner just texted that people are starting to arrive. Where are you?"

"Uh, that's why I'm calling. This new partner I have, Leon Bassett, got into an altercation with Merle Dixon down at his brother Daryl's bar when we responded to a disorderly conduct call. I just need finish up some paperwork, and I will be on my way. I might be an hour later than planned. I'm sorry." Rick apologizes, sincerity evident in the eager timbre of his voice.

"It's ok. The party will be going until 2 am. So there will be lots of partying left for us to do when you get here."

"Good. I like the sound of that."

"I have on my new swimsuit, and it's killer. I mean I look amazing in it."

"You look amazing in everything. In nothing. Send me a picture. You and those bikinis of yours are definitely killer. I wanna see what I'm in for."

"Ok. I'll send it in a sec."

"Alright good. Listen, I gotta go. Shane already got off, so he will probably pop up before I do. I know he's anxious to get to see your cousin."

"Oh yeah?"

"Oh yeah. He's got it pretty bad. Tell her not to take it easy on him." He chuckles. Somewhat distractedly he continues towards ending the brief call. "Ok, baby, I gotta go. I love you, see you in a few."

"See you in a few."

"Hey! You don't love me back?" He teases, his voice raised a bit, making immediate note that I didn't say it back to him. It's not that I don't love him. I just don't know how to always believe in the words as much as Rick does. And, honestly, to share them so freely is new to me. But knowing that he thrives on my reciprocal agreement that this is love, I give my baby what he needs.

"You know I love you, Rick. I hollered it so much last night Sasha said my voice is hoarse."

Rick barks out a loud laugh, with what I'm sure is a smile equal in exuberance. "I like to hear it. Don't forget to send the picture." He utters, then disconnects the call.

Still holding my phone, I'm grinning, thinking of our little conversation.

"Who was that? Riiiiccckkk?" Sasha asks in a mockingly sweet voice.

"Hush! Take my picture from the front and the back for me. Rick wants me to send it to him." I request, shoving my phone towards Sasha.

"You guys are so sickeningly cute. This shit is already getting on my nerves. Alright, fast ass, give your country boy a good booty pic." She directs, as I turn and lean over the vanity a little, arching my back to pop my ass out just enough. "Alright, now turn around and give me a little sexy sass. Come on, Michy, give me a sultry smize."

"What is that?" I frown, tossing my hands in the air in frustration, unsure of what Sasha is talking about.

"You know. Tyra says to smile with your eyes, smize. Make it sultry with a little pouty lip. I'm sure he likes those juicy lips of yours."

"You obviously have too much experience taking these kinds of pics, Sasha. I'm finding out too much about you, cuz." I utter, trying to fulfill all of her directions.

Snapping the pics, she hands me my phone back. "Sometimes you gotta give the people what they want. Men are visual. They like a little T&A sometimes, so a good pic now and then just keeps 'em on the hook."

Sending the pics to Rick, I raise my head from my phone to give Sasha a mischievous smirk. "Rick said you already have Shane on your hook. And he's on the way here right now. Seems like you might be able to scratch that little summertime bucket list itch after all."

"Maybe. He's cocky, and cute. I like that. But I've gotta play that just right. I can't have him falling in love. I think you and your mother have already exhausted the city mouse meets country mouse possibilities for our family."

"Whatever. You might be the one to fall in love, Sasha, and what are you going to do then?"

"Stop it. Just because this love thing worked out for you, does not mean you need to be trying to make a love connection for me." Lifting and re-adjusting her bosoms in her skimpy top, she offers me a condescending look. "There's too many boys and so little time." Walking out of the bathroom, she throws back. "Let's get this party started!"

Following Sasha from the room, and down the winding stairs to the foyer, my phone begins vibrating.

Rick: My god. Who took those pics for you?

Michonne: Why?

Rick: Please tell me it was Sasha

Michonne: It was. You like what you see?

Rick: Absolutely. Especially the booty pic…very nice.

Michonne: How nice?

Rick: I'll show you when I get there

"Is your party fun? Like are there a lot of boys there?"

"Yeah, there are a lot of boys and girls here."

"Then how come me and Maggie couldn't come? I've been to a boy and girl party before." Beth asks on a plaintive whine. Ever since my mother broke the news to her and Maggie that they would not be able to attend my birthday party, they have been upset and pouting. Given that, I was very surprised to get this call from Beth while I was touching up my make up in the bathroom in the pool house.

"Well… this is a big boys and girls party. It's a big difference, Beth. But, I promise that this week we will hang out, all day just me, you, and Maggie. Deal?"

"I guess it's a deal." She reluctantly relents, voice still low and filled with sadness.

"Hey, but guess what? There's lots of birthday cake here, and I'm going to bring some home so we can eat it while we watch your favorite movie."

"You don't know my favorite movie, Michy." She answers, her voice still evidencing a childlike pout. I'm sure that if I could see her now, she would poking her bottom lip out.

"Yes I do. It's Moana, but you don't like everyone to know that because it's a Disney movie and you think you're too old for it. But, here's a secret. It's my favorite movie too! Don't tell anyone."

"Does Rick know?"

"Nope. No one but you." I whisper, upping the intrigue around my fake secret.

"Ok, I won't say anything as long as you come through on the cake. Sister's promise?"

"Sister's promise."

"Alright. Well have fun, Michy. Happy Birthday."

"Thanks, Beth. I'll see you guys tomorrow."

Hanging up the phone I check myself in the mirror one last time, and leave the room. Walking out towards the living room, I see Mike entering through the front door.

"Hey, sweetheart. Wow! That's… that's a hell of a swimsuit. Jesus!"

"Thank you. You don't look so bad yourself, Mike." I commend, and I'm not lying. Since puberty hit Mike when he was 12 and I was 10, filling out his body with firm hard muscles, covering it with a manly dusting of dark coarse hair in all the right places, and lengthening his frame, he has been what I considered to be the epitome of attractive. Standing before me, shirtless in a pair of black swim trunks, well over six feet tall, smooth dark skin, with thick eyebrows over a pair of piercing chocolate eyes, Michael Charles Taylor is exactly what they are talking about when they say tall, dark, and handsome. And smart. So smart that it has always been a bit of a competition between us in terms of who has the most educational accolades, who can win the spelling bee, who is the better mathlete. It's a part of his charm, and a large part of what kept us so close for so long.

That and the fact that his parents, and apparently mine, thought that we would be the perfect black Barbie and Ken. We've always done everything together, and outside of Sasha, he really has been my best friend. That is what makes our breakup so hard for me, and probably for him as well. While the chemistry with Rick quickly overshadowed any romantic feeling I may have ever had for Mike, it didn't erase the pain of losing years of close friendship.

"Thanks. Uh, I have been looking for you since I got here. Just wanted to see if it was ok that I'm here… you know with the breakup and everything."

"No, it's cool. You know I can't have a birthday party with you in attendance." Thinking for a moment, pausing, my finger at my lips I realize something. "Actually, I've never had a birthday party that you didn't attend."

"Yeah I guess you're right, MiMi." He smiles that wide toothy grin that used to send me running into his arms, seeking his comfort and kisses.

"Oh no! Please don't call me me that. You know I hate that." I groan, not wanting him to resurrect my childhood nickname his little brother had for me. Five years younger than me, his little brother Marcus used to have a crush on me from very early on. He always had trouble saying my full name, so he shortened it to MiMi. I hated it. Mike always thought it was cute, and tortures me with it every once in a while. It's an interesting reminder of how far back our history together is when we consider that Marcus is now 14, with a girlfriend of his own.

"Alright, I'll cut it out…for now. So, listen, can we talk for a minute?" He moves his arm to gesture towards the couch.

A hint of hesitance prevents me from immediately taking a seat, not wanting things between us to get confusing, but his bright smile reminds me that I know Mike, and there is nothing to be concerned about. Taking a seat on the couch, it's actually nice to get off my feet for a little bit, as I'm wearing a really cute pair of 4 inch heeled sandals, that may look great and elongate my legs, but they are killing my feet. Getting comfortable, I turn to Mike, eager to find out what he wants to talk about, and get back to the party before Rick shows up.

Blowing out a deep breath, as though he was holding it for a long time, Mike takes an extended moment to speak. Coming off as a bit nervous, he fidgets with a small square shaped box, wrapped in the familiar blue of Tiffany & Co., that he has on his lap, and doesn't make immediate eye contact with me. Wanting to calm him down, so he can move on with whatever he wants to talk about, I reach my hand out to him, and give him a friendly pat on the arm. "What did you want to talk about, Mike?"

"Yeah, sorry." He clears his throat, and gives me a small smile, raising his almond shaped eyes to me. "It's been a while since we have talked, and I want to apologize. For everything."

"You don't have to apologize to me for anything, Mike. It's been a difficult summer between us. If anything I'm sorry for how I ended our relationship. As my mama said, I wasn't on my grown woman then. I owed you better than that. Sorry."

"No, don't apologize to me, sweetheart." Reaching for my hand, Mike grasps it lightly in his own, holding it so softly as though it might easily break, or is the most precious and delicate of things. "You have been my girl for so long, I just really didn't know how to handle you telling me that you didn't want that any longer. I grabbed you, said some stuff that was hurtful, and just uncalled for. Since then I have had a chance to talk to my dad about it, and you know Pops, he's gonna give it to you straight no chaser."

"Oh yeah, Theodore 'T-Dog' Taylor ain't gonna sugar shit ya, that's for sure!" I reply, using a phrase his father is well known for.

"Right! And he told me that I was a fool to let you get away, that I need to step my game up. But most importantly he also reminded me that you and I have a history of friendship that is more important than this little break up. This isn't necessarily the end of us, but it is a pause, an intermission. A chance for me to re-evaluate how I lost you, and get my shit together. For our next chapter."

"Wait, Mike, no-"

"Please, sweetheart, let me finish. I have been thinking and thinking about what this Rick guy has that I don't have, what he can give you that I can't. And the answer is nothing. He's got nothing on me. I helped you learn to ride a bike. I taught you how to drive, and lied for you when you wrecked my car so you wouldn't get in trouble. I covered for you and Sasha when you went to that Drake concert in Birmingham. I'm the man who made you a woman, and took your virginity. Me. I may not be shiny and new, or, or different and exciting, but I love you. I always have. I always will. We have a plan for our future, and when the new car smell of this Rick guy wears off, I will be there waiting for my Michy to come back to me." Mike's deep voice breaks over his last sentence, and I can feel the tension in his grasp around my hands increasing. "He's too old for you, and he's just not right for you. We live in the south, sweetheart, nothing good can come from a relationship with a good ol' boy like him. You deserve better than that. Don't forget I can give you that. Me. Choose me."

Forgetting all about our breakup, and my new relationship with Rick for a moment, all I want to do is comfort Mike, to ease the apparent stress in his features. Leaning over to him, hugging him against my body, I encircle him in my arms. His intoxicating smell is familiar, it's Polo Blue. I bought a bottle for him just a few short months ago. He knows I love the crisp smell of it on his chocolate skin. Briefly I inhale him, memories of time spent in his arms playing on the screen of my closed eyelids. Right now, like this, with only the positive recollection of our time holding us together, I want to make the world right for him again. To take away his pain, and make him happy. But, the words to comfort him don't immediately come. I'm struggling with how to explain to him that which is unexplainable. What this nebulous thing is about Rick that sets me on fire, that makes me smile like a fool, and seek his touch at every turn. Outside of the peaceful coziness my body pressed against his is offering, I've got nothing else I can give. I can't force my heart to give him what he's asking for.

Reaching for the gift, still placed on his lap, Mike gathers himself, and moves forward, steeling himself to continue. "I want you to have this. I bought it months ago, before all this shit between us happened." Holding the box out to me, he offers a small weak smile. But I don't take it. Knowing that it's something from Tiffany's has me spooked. Acknowledging my hesitance, he rubs his hand softly over my thigh. Immediately I shift my leg away from his touch, uncomfortable with him caressing me so intimately. "You don't have to be shy with me, Michy. I already know this body." He chuckles, and it instantly gives me a nauseating feeling. Pretending not to notice my withdrawal from him, Mike offers the box to me again.

Accepting the box from him I slowly remove the thick blue wrapping paper, and open the enclosed box to find the Paloma's Graffiti Love Cuff bracelet that I had mentioned wanting nearly a year ago. In pure sterling silver, the cuff is formed by the graphic script of the word 'love'. Last year while Mike and I were picking up a birthday gift for his mother at Phipp's Plaza, I convinced him to stop in Tiffany for a brief moment. While he may have thought it was a ploy to get him to look at engagement rings, and would account for his initial adamant resistance to even stepping a foot inside the store, I was not interested in the shiny rings at all. No, my eye was immediately drawn to the bracelet that so boldly proclaimed a sentiment that until now felt so romantically foreign to me. How odd to receive such a thing from Mike now, when I have found love with someone else, and he has never once uttered the word to me…until now.

"This is a beautiful gift, Mike. I can't believe you remembered it. I mean you barely left the front of the store that day. You were so worried I was trying to trap you into an early marriage, remember?" I say, shaking my head in disbelief.

"I just…" He fumbles, unsure of how to phrase his words to properly veer me away from the sweet bitterness of the spat we had once we left the store. Mike was convinced I was trying to rush things towards marriage, and I was appalled that he thought that, considering that I had never even mentioned marriage to him before. Ever. "I didn't want to rush into something that we both know was premature, Michonne. Listen, forget all of that, try the bracelet on."

"Mich-"

"Sasha, hey. What's up?" Looking up to find my cousin bursting anxiously through the front door, I'm thankful for her sudden arrival, and its ability to break up the nostalgia that Mike was trying so hard to keep going.

"Uh, I just came to let you know that Rick is here. Did I interrupt something?" Sasha asks, her eyes nervously bouncing between Mike and I.

"Yes!" Mike swiftly answers, shooting an angry glare at her, then focusing his stare behind her, at Rick's entrance into the pool house.

"Rick! You made it." I exclaim, on a relieved and breathy sigh. Taking him in, he's as breathtakingly handsome as he was when I left him this morning, naked in bed, begging me to stick around. Wearing a pair of navy blue swim trunks, that ride low on his lean hips, his shirtless physique immediately sends my imagination into a realm of naughty thoughts best explored when he and I are alone.

"I did." He answers stoically, not giving me the gift of direct eye contact. Instead his blues are laser focused on Mike. Alone together in the pool house, we are sitting closely on the couch. I'm clad in a very revealing bikini, and with Mike in a pair of swim trunks, his hand once again high on my thigh, I can only imagine the way this might look to him.

Rising from the couch, I quickly rush over to him, tossing my arms around his waist. Looking up at Rick I'm trying to make eye contact, but he has yet to break the anger filled glare he and Mike are stubbornly holding. Even with the benefit of the height from my heels, I need to raise on my tip toes to place a tiny kiss to his chin, a minor attempt to finally capture his attention.

Finally lowering his head to me, he looks down at me as though he just realized I was so close to him. Wrapping one arm around my shoulders, and the other tightly around my waist, he places a kiss to my forehead. Unrelenting, Rick's hold remains strained and firm around my body.

"Sasha!" Hollers Shane, also now bursting through the door of the pool house. Stopping as soon as he surveys the room, he turns to Rick and nods his head, as though he is confirming that he has his back for anything that might go awry.

"It's a full house now, isn't it? I'll go. Michy, happy birthday, sweetheart." Mike stiffly says, walking cockily between Rick and I on one side of the door, and Sasha and Shane on the other. Stopping before he fully exits the house, he turns back to me, leaning a bit towards Rick and I to ensure that he makes eye contact with me, he adds, a smirk on his lips. "Remember what I said. I'll see you when school starts next month." Then he leaves.

"Shane, let's give Rick and Michonne some privacy. I'll let you add some sunscreen to my back. Come on!" Sasha reaches for him, snatching at his hand that rests on his hip as he stares after Mike's retreating form.

"Yeah, ok. Rick, you come see me if you need anything, bro."

At Sasha and Shane's departure, the click of the closing door seems to unlock Rick's firmly clenched jaw to allow him to speak. "Did I interrupt something?" He rasps, still holding me close, but no longer making eye contact. Instead his eyes are focused somewhere behind me, or above my head.

"No. Mike stopped in to give me a birthday present is all. No big deal."

"Why were you guys in here alone? He could have given you his gift out there where everyone else is. Without touching you."

"Um, I was in here on the phone with Beth. He must have followed me."

"Is that right?"

"I guess, Rick."

On a sniff, a slight snarl raising his lips, he tilts his head to the side, and mumbles, "I'm gonna kill him."

Releasing me, abruptly dropping his arms from the tight embrace, his nostrils flaring, he turns on his heels and marches towards the door, forcefully throwing it open. With some idea of where he's going, I follow quickly behind, trying to match his long strides to go find Mike. "Rick! Wait!" I yell after him, trying to get his attention, but not wanting to draw the interest of any of the party goers.

Intent on finding Mike, Rick stops angrily marching for a moment to look around the crowd. Taking advantage, I come up behind him and grab a hold of his arm, hoping to bring him back to the pool house so we can talk privately. Instead of drawing his attention my way, to direct him back where we came from, a friend of mine, Aaron, steps in front of us. "Hey! Michy, happy birthday! You look amazing." He hollers, offering me his birthday greeting and compliment over the loud thump of the bass from the speakers. "Hi, I'm Aaron. You must be Rick?" He offers his hand to Rick, who coolly accepts, and returns it with a short shake of his hand, his eyes still scanning over the crowd looking for Mike. "Nice to meet you! Hey I hope you don't mind but I brought a colleague from the gallery, her name is Jadis. Is it cool?" Gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb, he points towards a tall, thin woman, with what I could only describe as an unfortunate blunt, bob haircut. Though her haircut is interesting with an intermix of two, possibly more colors, her drab black clothing and oddly dour smirk are off-putting.

Approaching Rick, standing so close to him, the buttons of her black shirt are almost touching his bare chest, she hungrily looks him up and down, then turns to me. "He's yours?" She asks.

Taken aback by the blunt directness of her question, I can only blink at first, shock stealing any words I could immediately form. In the ensuing silence, while I attempt to make sense of her bizarre behavior, she asks another question, but this time of Rick directly. "I lay with you. You interested?" Directing towards him a slight tilt of her chin, and what I presume is intended to be a seductive smile, she has tried to take me out of this equation, and I'm having none of that.

With a confused and concerned look on his face, his brow deeply furrowed and his lips turned down in a frown, Rick wordlessly begins to back away from her.

"Aaron, who is this bitch?" I ask my friend, staring from her to Aaron. Hands on my hips, I'm gearing myself up to cuss her out, and kick her ass if necessary.

"Oh shit! Wait, Michy, I'm sorry. She's from LA, here to showcase an exhibit from her gallery there. Jadis, that was not cool, this is one of my closest friends. You know what, we'll go. I'll catch up with you later. Ok? I'm sorry!" Quickly grabbing on to her arm with one hand, and throwing up the other in apology, Aaron immediately hustles her away from me, recognizing the pissed look in my eyes.

Burning up from the audacity of this woman to step to my boyfriend, in front of me, I am frozen in anger, anchored to my spot in the middle of the dance floor.

"Michonne. Hey, Michonne." Reaching out to me, Rick places two fingers on my arm to gain my attention, and break me out of the death stare I'm levying towards the retreating form of Jadis. Turning towards him, I witness the slow rising smirk on his lips. "Come here." Taking my hand in his, he leads me back to the pool house.

Ushering me inside, Rick closes the door behind him. At an impasse, in a standoff of sorts, we are left with confusion and negative energy between us. Not wanting my birthday to be tainted by outside forces, things we can't control, I step close to him, needing him. "I didn't like that

woman being so close to you, wanting you. I should have kicked her ass."

"You have nothing to worry about, pretty girl. I belong to you. I always will." He offers, lowering his lips to the side of my face to deliver a series of delicate kisses.

"I wanted to smash her face in." Closing my eyes, not wanting to remember the sight of her standing so close to him, I clench and release the tight ball of my fists in an attempt to discharge my anger.

"I don't blame you. That's how I feel about that guy being anywhere near you." Kissing lower, to graze his lips across the responsive skin of my neck, I'm saddled with an emerging sense of weightless floating, held up only by the strong, firm press of his Rick's hands around my waist.

With my head back, offering myself to him, I ask. "Are we good, Rick?" I question, a soft demure lilt to my voice. "It's my birthday, you can't be mad at me on my birthday."

"I'm not mad at you." He promises on a quiet declaration. His ire is raised though as he seems to suddenly remember in full the scene of Mike and I that he walked in on earlier. "I am pissed at the way that guy followed you in here, giving you a gift, and had his hands on you. Like he had the right to touch you."

"You have nothing to worry about, handsome. I belong to you. I always will." I respond, using his words to hopefully assuage his increasing disquiet.

"What did he give you?" He asks against my clavicle, lips toying with the thin straps crisscrossing over my chest.

"Nothing. Just a bracelet. It's nothing."

"Let me see it."

On a heavy sigh, I'm not entirely comfortable showing the 'love' bracelet to Rick. I don't want him to think there is a significance to it that there really isn't. If anything, I think Mike bought it to try and create some false correlation of love between us, one that has never been there, not in the way the bracelet might suggest.

Not liking my slight unwillingness to let him see the bracelet, Rick sets me free and walks over to the couch and retrieves the discarded gift on his own.

"Tiffany's? Nice. Expensive." He scoffs, disgust in his voice.

"I guess."

"Why would he give you such an expensive gift, Michonne? You're not together anymore, but this bracelet says love. Do you love him?" Rick re-approaches me, crouching a bit, leaning his face closer to mine. Staring into my eyes, his are now swirling with an intermix of grey, and a dark, stormy blue.

Shaking my head, I'm adamant in my denial, but also a little pissed at the question. "No clue why he gave me that bracelet, except that he remembered I liked it. And no, Rick, I don't love him. If anything I love him the way you love Lori. You can relate to that right?" I say, a hint of sarcasm trailing the end of my response.

"I see. Ok. Isn't this some shit?" Pacing back and forth in front of me, his one hand crushing the the jewelry box, and a death grip on the offending item with the other. "But, you accepted a gift from him. You were in here alone with him doing only god knows what. What should I think about that, Michonne? Hm?"

Panicking at the insinuation in his words, I confess on a nervous stumble, but still with a hint of defiance. "That you can trust me. That the only thing happening in here was him trying to apologize for yelling at me and manhandling me when I broke up with him."

"What did you say? He what?!" He frowns, his features now animated in abrupt anger.

"Shit." I drop my head, realizing I had divulged something that I had not intentionally been trying to keep from Rick, but didn't think it wise to share with him either.

"Did you say he manhandled you? Where? Where the fuck did he touch you, Michonne!?" Rick hollers, the timbre of the bass of his voice seemingly rocking the house around us. Throwing the box and the bracelet across the room, hitting the front door, Rick is furiously dragging his hands through his hair as he begins angrily pacing.

"Don't yell at me!"

"I'm not yelling at you."

"Yes you are, and I don't like it."

Advancing on me, his steps hurriedly carry his trembling form to me. Rick is now standing directly in front of me, his chest bulking and heaving with the exertion to restrain himself from looking for Mike right now. Grasping a soft hold of both sides of my face, he tilts it up towards him. Searching my face, as though he might determine the truth in my eyes, on the cusp of my withholding lips, he slowly lowers his forehead to mine. Breathing heavy, puffs of air rush over my lips from his. With his eyes closed, Rick is trying to find tranquility, to tame the raging acrimony pulsing through his veins. I can see it in the strain on his scarlet flushed face, the possessive hold he has on my own.

"No one is allowed to ever put their hands on you, to hurt you. Not him, not me, no one. Do you understand me?"

"Yes."

"I want to kill him."

"You can't kill him, Rick. This isn't the apocalypse or something. You can't just kill people you don't like." I tease him, running my fingers through his hair, soothing his anger.

"Why didn't you tell me he hurt you? Why am I just now finding this out?" He utters, his breathing still stuttering in a deep broken rhythm.

"I just didn't want you to get angry. I… I could have handled that break up better."

"His reaction is not your fault. Fuck him if he isn't man enough to handle his shit like a man." He answers, raising his voice slightly in annoyance that I would seek to shoulder any of the blame for Mike's virulent reaction. Softening his tone, love dancing in his eyes, he continues. "And you… you have to trust me to always take care of you. You're my girl, Michonne. I will always take care of you, and protect you. You have to let me do that." Rubbing his hands in a slow dragging motion up and down my arms, I recognize the warring emotions on his face. Anger, frustration, love, lust. "I want to go find him and kill him for putting his hands on you, for ever causing you one moment of distress. For thinking that he can come in here with this bullshit gift and play on your emotions."

"Rick, it's ok… I'm trying. I swear I am. I do want to trust you fully; I promise I do."

"Do you believe that I would never hurt you? That I only want to love and take care of you? To be with you?" He asks, anguish at the anticipation of my answer is evident in his glossy, wet eyes.

"Yes. I do." I nod, adamant in my belief and in the truth of my answer.

Wrapping one of his hands tightly, possessively around the back of my neck, the other on my ass, he begins a slow massage across my nape, and a rough grasp of my ass cheek. Groaning, he bites down on his lush bottom lip, and he angles his lanky muscled body into mine, his weighty cock pressing stiffly into my abdomen. "I want to fuck you right now. To cum inside that pretty little pussy. Leave my scent with you, sticky on your thighs."

"Oh god…" I moan at the decadently nasty picture his naughty words depict.

"You would like that, wouldn't you, pretty girl? Is that why you're dressed up for me in this sexy swimsuit and heels? Hm? Tell me."

"Yes." I confess on a weak groan, dripping with wanton need and hunger, so much so I hardly recognize my own voice. "Please, Rick."

"Turn around and bend over. Place your hands on the couch."

"Like this?" I ask, swiveling my body around and bending at the waist, my hands resting flat on the arm of the couch. With my ass in the air, similar to my pose from the picture I sent him earlier, I can feel the wet soak of my arousal in seat of bikini bottoms.

"I've been thinking of you like this since you sent me that picture. Thinking of fucking you like this, with your ass in the air."

Rick silently lowers to his knees behind me, dragging my bikini bottoms to my ankles. Nudging my feet apart, to widen my stance, the anticipation of what Rick is going to do to me is nearly killing me. Without announcement I can suddenly feel him pressing his face, nose, lips, everything into the crease between my ass cheeks. His tongue is hot and wet, and he's extending it to give me long licks from my pussy to my ass, then thrusting his tongue stiffly at my hole. On a low hum, Rick begins grabbing and massaging my cheeks with one hand, rubbing at my clit with the other. The sensation of his hands and mouth on me is sending a dazzling display of bursts of light dancing behind my eyelids, and zings of dense pleasure rumbling in my core. Flicking his tongue, and adding pressure to my clit, I begin shaking having never experienced such a passionate assault as this before. I'm not sure how to handle the all encompassing thrill, as my body is weakening, threatening to give out on me. Outside of a series of low, guttural moans, I can not form a coherent word. Inexplicably I find myself smothering my cries in the padding on the arm of the couch, and I'm wondering if I might die from the naughty pleasure of him sucking, licking, and biting from my pussy to my ass.

"Rick, oh god!"

"You taste so good." He moans, his appetite voracious as he latches his plump lips over my clit and thrusts his long fingers inside of me, twisting and reaching. "But, I want to fuck you."

"Please…"

Standing up, and pushing his shorts down to release his dick, he reaches to place his hand on my hip, but instead I quickly turn and drop to a wide legged crouch in front of him. I've never given a BJ before, and I'm not entirely sure how to go about it, but between Rick and everything that has happened today, my feelings and emotions are so erratic, crazy, aroused. And possessive. The thought of that crazy bitch wanting a taste of what I have is driving me to remind him that he belongs to me. And, secretly, I want to taste him too. I want to know what it feels like for my mouth to be filled, straining to accommodate his thick, long, dick.

"What are you doing? You don't have to do that. It's your birthday, remember?"

"I know. You belong to me too, Rick. And… and I want to taste you. Show me how."

"You sure?"

"Mm hm." I answer, nodding my head, as I lightly place my hands on his thighs, steadying myself on the balls of my feet, still supported by the lift of my heels. Salivating at the thought of him invading my mouth, I eagerly open, an enticing invite to him. On a low growl, Rick takes a hold of his cock at the base, and slowly eases it past the plump fullness of my damp lips. "Uh…" I utter at the surprising tension I feel at the corners of my lips, struggling to widen and fully receive him.

"Gotdamn it! You look so beautiful with my cock in your mouth." His eyes laser focused on me, are now drooped low, as he eases himself in and out of my mouth. With one hand cradling my chin, he's thrusting in a bit and then withdrawing. The friction of him laid thickly coddled on my tongue, added to the light graze of my teeth over his shaft, has him uncontrollably moaning and growling out his pleasure over his own lips.

On instinct, wanting to drive him insane with pleasure, I push his hand away and grab a hold of his dick at the base, delighting in the feel of the hot, bulk of him nestled among his wiry dark pubic hairs. Excitedly, I drag my hand between the base and my mouth, creating conflicting friction between the two, that appears to be driving him to the precipice of a pleasure/pain mix. Suddenly, he pulls himself from my mouth, a thick stream of saliva connecting his tip to my lips. Cursing at the sight, Rick crouches down and pulls me up to him, eagerly thrusting his tongue into my messy wet mouth.

"Are you trying to kill me?" He mumbles over my lips, greedily nipping and sucking. "Turn around." Following the command of his orders again, satisfied with the success of my first time tasting him, I bend over, readying myself for the lusty onslaught I'm frantic to receive. Bending over my prone body, Rick is laying tiny soft kisses from my ass, and up my spine, finally peppering the side of my face and lips with his affection. "I love you, pretty girl. Do you love me?"

"Yes. I love you."

As the affectionate words leave my mouth, he plunges his dick deep inside of me with a thrust so strong it pushes me to teeter on the tips of my toes. Bracing myself on the arm of the couch, my spine seductively dipped, only a syncopated grunt is squeezed from my throat. "Uh, uh, uh, uh…" Rolling his hips in a side to side motion, punctuated with a series of hard plunges, the ecstasy rumbling through me is indescribable. With a light sheen of sweat prickling my skin, Rick's tight hold on my hips begins to slip up and over my back, then down to the cushions of my ass. With a light grasp and smack of each cheek, a thrilling spike erupts from my pussy and out to my limbs, tipping me closer to my orgasm.

"You feel amazing… Shit! I love to watch you take all of me like this."

"Rick… more please!"

"Hm? You think you can handle more, hm? Come here." Taking a hold of my right thigh, Rick hoists it higher, and props it on the couch, opening me even further to his deep exploration. With a quick succession of the wet slapping of his groin against my ass, and his balls on my hairless lips, my body is wound tight as a spring and near bursting. Sensing my pending orgasm, Rick reaches around me, and with the pads of his fingers dragging lightly over my sensitive clit, I stiffen with pleasure, crying out on an elongated scream.

Drenching his dick with my arousal, and the successive grip of my pussy clenching snugly over him, Rick quickly follows me to claim his own orgasm. With my head dropped over the arm of the couch, my arms are weakly holding me up. Adding pressure to my back, Rick lays his head on my shoulder, clutching me firmly to his sweaty, muscled chest.

"Happy birthday, pretty girl."

Chapter 10 – Rick

Still relaxed in a lean over my girl and the arm of the couch, I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to blink away the sweat that has dripped from my forehead, and is now wetly spiking my eyelashes. Noticing a collection of perspiration also gathered in the crook of Michonne's neck where the gold necklace I gave her gleams against her velvety skin, I turn my face to lick away the salty evidence of her exertion.

On a sultry moan, eyes still closed, she mutters sleepily, "I just need a moment to recover, Rick. Let's lay down for a sec, ok?"

Chuckling at her suggestion, but completely agreeing, I soundly kiss her on her cheek, and continue to clutch her warm, soft body greedily to mine. Reaching down, I drag my swim trunks up and over my now flaccid, but still sticky and wet dick, tucking it away. Rising, I bring her tiny body with me. "Which way to the bedroom?" She points me towards the hall, and I swing her legs over my other arm and carry her away from the living room, stopping at the first bedroom I come to. Delicately I place her drowsy form on the bed, and swivel my head about the room, looking for a bathroom.

Locating the bathroom across the hall, I walk over, step inside and turn on the shower, allowing it to warm up. Locating towels, wash cloths and soap in the linen closet in the hallway, I pull what I need and head back to the bedroom. There, I find my baby on her side in a fetal position snoring softly, her swimsuit now completely removed from her sexy form, her sandals carelessly discarded across the room. Standing at the bottom of the bed, I lightly grasp her foot, massaging the ball, and placing a kiss to her delicate ankle. In awe of this beautiful woman, and in recognition of the hold she has over me, I feast my eyes lovingly across the slopes and curves of her petite body, making an effort to satisfy my addict like need to consume her in every way. Physically, emotionally. With a slight stir in my groin, I try to distract my amorous gaze away from her as I need to tend to her, instead of attempting to fuck her again. But, the scandalous memory of the feel of her sucking and swallowing my dick is burnt heavy into my brain, and competing with the sight of her fat bottom bouncing and slapping against my thrusting groin. Closing my eyes for a moment, I bite down on my bottom lip, once again trying to restrain my thoughts.

Instead, checking the bathroom across the hall, noticing the steam from the shower announcing that it's warmed up, I crawl my fingers gingerly up her naked body, hoping to wake her from her soft slumber. "Michonne, come on, baby, let's take a quick shower, and get cleaned up so you can enjoy the rest of your party."

"Hm?"

"Come on."

Groggily, she turns my way, eyes still closed, a sated smile to her lips. Easily I lift her from the bed. She wraps her arms around my neck, and gives me a little smirk. "You wore me out."

"You wore me out too. I just hide it better." I laugh, carrying her into the bathroom and placing her on her feet. Removing my swim trunks, kicking them away from my feet, I get into the shower, testing out the heated water. Seeing that the temperature is hot, like she prefers it, I pull her into the shower with me. Knowing that she normally hates to get her hair wet because of some rule about black women not getting their hair wet, I stand in front of the shower spray, blocking her hair from the water.

Lathering a wash cloth with soap, I enjoy the heat of the water relaxing my tense muscles. Today was a long day, and it's not even over. From breaking up a fight between Daryl and Merle at the bar, pulling Merle off my partner Leon, and rushing through a ton of paperwork so I can leave work. To a mad dash to get here to celebrate my girl's birthday, only to find this fucking guy so close to her, and hear that she has kept from me that he manhandled her. It's a lot, and I'm just bone weary and tired. But there is still a dangerous level of adrenaline and anger coursing through my veins at that last bit. The loving that Michonne just laid on me, surprising me with the gift of her mouth, and with the sopping wetness of her pussy, have quieted a measure of the storm though, bringing it down from a hurricane to a tropical storm. Her loving has encouraged a more frivolous mood, and now I'm ready to celebrate with her again. But, still… There is that underlying itch to race out of here and find the motherfucker and end him.

There's so many levels to this I don't even know where to begin. On one hand I'm furious that Michonne kept this a secret from me, and that she allowed herself to be alone with a man who clearly still wants her. My brain understands that Michonne gets me, at least I think she does. When she says she didn't tell me because she didn't want me to get angry, she's right. I'm not angry, I'm livid. I'm beyond angry. I have zero tolerance for men who get aggressive with women, and in my job I've seen plenty of it. But, that's not something I can tolerate for my girl. From anyone. So, yes, I want to kill him. I want to put that motherfucker in a place where he can't even think about her again. I may be a hopeless romantic, but I'm not a fool. I know I can't kill him, but I will have to make sure that the next time he thinks of her, think to approach her, that he gives it a second thought and goes the other fucking way. Or, just stops. Stops fucking thinking of her at all, because there is no scenario where he moves on those impulses, and it ends well for him.

Sensing my jaw clench, and my body tense at the thought of how I'm going to handle this guy, I can also feel the scrutinizing heat of my baby's eyes on me. Staring up at me and running her hands across my chest, Michonne is easing out of her post-sex, drowsy, stupor and is looking up at me with the cutest crooked grin. "Hey, what are you thinking about?" She asks, reaching up to my face and smoothing out the lines of my furrowed brow. Not waiting for an answer she continues, "Rick, I don't want to think about any of the drama today, ok? Not anymore. I just want to have fun! It's my birthday, and I'm having a party, and the man I love is here with me, naked and wet in the shower. Can life get better than this?"

Smiling at her saying that I'm the man she loves, recognizing the glow of it radiating over her body, I have to agree that right now life is pretty damn good. Shoving less than pleasing thoughts to the back of my mind, to be addressed later, I lean down and capture her lips. Pushing my tongue into her wet mouth, my desire to devour her is rising, growing with ferocity by the moment. Grabbing her ass, I hoist her up to my hips, and lean her back against the tiles of the shower wall.

"Rick, we need to get back to the party. I have guests out there waiting on me." She pleads, nearly breathless, taking a pause in between our frenzied kissing to suck in a few gulps of air.

"I don't want to share you with them just yet." I tilt my head, gesturing towards the door, then continue running kisses down the side of her face to her neck. The slide of her wet, warm pussy against my steely erection sends my eyes rolling in my head. Thoughts of just slipping inside of her depths, to put us both out of our erotic misery, cloud my mind. And now, with her hands rubbing through my short wet locks, the sensation is threatening to send me into overdrive, thirsty enough to deliver a swift denial of her plan to rejoin the party.

"Come on. Let's get cleaned up and go party. We have all the time in the world for more sex. I promise." She declares against my cheek, eyelashes heavy with droplets of water cascading from the shower nozzle, drizzling like rain down her beautiful face.

"Fine." Carefully I lower her back to her feet, pouting a little at being denied a second round of sex.

"Here, let me wash you up." Reaching her hand out with the newly retrieved, soapy washcloth, Michonne begins swirling the cloth across my chest, leaving behind a pathway of suds covering the hair that is finely sprinkled there. Her soft, diligent touch is not helping to ease the sexual tension building in my body. In fact, the attentive way she is washing and caring for me is making me want her even more. Giving me visions of her as a mother, the mother of my children, giving them baths, taking care of them as well. Honestly, nothing would please me more than to see Michonne swollen with my child, full of the life that we created on an abundance of love for each other. But, it's not time for that dream to come true, though it's on my mind constantly. How could it not be?

If I had my way I would have married her yesterday, and had her pregnant with my babies already. Nothing would please me more. But I have to set those selfish desires aside, because my girl has dreams of her own, expectations for a happy, well-lived life, and at this time marriage and babies are not a part of that. I know this. I watch her diligently take her birth control pills every morning we are together. But every time I cum inside of her, it doesn't stop my mind from wandering amid my daydreams of our mocha tinged children, four or five to be exact, a large Grimes family, a dog. Shit, I would even let her have a cat, despite the fact that I hate cats. But she adores them, and I would deny her nothing. And in every iteration of this fantasy, at the center of the heavenly chaos is her, my anchor, my beautiful wife, my Michonne. Someday in the future this will all come true I tell myself, as she continues her task of washing me, dragging the soapy cloth over my shoulders as she leans up to pop a kiss to my lips.

Unable to control my thoughts from falling from my lips, I confess to her, "You'll be a great mother some day, pretty girl."

"You think so?" She scrunches her nose at the thought, but a secret smile tugs at the corners of her lips. "Or are you just saying that because you like practicing making me a mother?"

"Maybe a little of both. But oh yeah, you will be. Someday, in the future. When you're ready." Lowering my hand to her flat abdomen, I rub my palm along her creamy soft skin, picturing in my head how it might stretch protectively as it houses my baby. Pleased at the honesty in my answer and my touch, she is now grinning as she happily continues to wash my body.

Michonne is the first woman, who has encouraged me to think about my future outside of being a deputy. Who has given me a reason to pause and consider past the next day, to think of where all of this aimless living is going. There have been times when I was with Lori that I felt like a spectator in my own life, a voyeur passively watching someone else map it out for me while I nonchalantly agreed to participate. Not now. No. My Michonne challenges me to figure this out for myself, and to decide if I'm going to simply be an imposter, pretending to be happy, or if I'm going to actively reach out and take my happiness, to create the life I want for myself. And because of her, because she led my heart here, it's so simple. I'm happy as long as I'm with her.

With an invigorating sense of rejuvenation, and a vow in my heart to again do whatever it takes to protect and ensure this happiness, I continue to watch her as she moves the cloth over my skin, excited to celebrate the gift of her birth 19 years ago. Heading dangerously lower, slowly lingering the soapy suds and cloth over my semi-erect cock, Michonne seductively lifts her eyes to mine, and raises her eyebrows in question. Nodding for her to continue, her mild scrubbing of my shaft and balls is inadvertently giving added strength to my arousal.

"No, Rick, we don't have time." She reasserts on a chuckle, shaking her head and taking note of the firm stiffness cradled delicately in her hands.

"I'm not doing it on purpose, Michonne. It happens whenever you touch me, tease me. Look at me like that."

"I'm just looking at you. You're such a horndog. Turn around and let me get your back." Releasing my cock, I feel an immediate sense of loss at her hands no longer on me. "You know, you have a very cute little butt, Mr. Grimes." Michonne exclaims, giving my ass an unexpected squeeze with both hands.

"Oh yeah?" I utter, surprised by her vigorous crush of my cheeks.

"Mmhm. Very nice. Cute little dimples above your booty, and here on the sides too. Aren't you just the most adorable thing?" Poking at the locations she just mentioned, her fingers continue to creep across my skin, leaving awakened goose bumps in their wake.

"Adorable? Puppies and babies are adorable. I'm a man, big difference." I toss over my shoulder on a playful growl.

"Whatever. You're a lot of things to me, Rick. Adorable, handsome, sexy. They're all good." Rubbing me on the ass again, she places a kiss to the center of my back, and lets me know that I'm done. Immediately I drop my chin to my chest, and welcome the fall of the shower's spray over my head, and down my body. Watching the suds drizzle away from my form, and down the drain, I'm thankful for this quiet moment alone with my girl before we head back out into the fray of her festive party.

When I arrived, I was instantly in awe that I was at the house of Tyreese Williams of the Atlanta Braves, but also at the grandiosity of the house. I've only ever seen anything like it on television, and at the time the thought crossed my mind that I could easily associate such a grand and splendid house with Michonne. It just seems like this kind of money and class is something she's accustomed to, which for a moment gives me pause. Up until now I have only associated her with the small town farming community of King County. I have never seen her in this type of environment. Never met any of her friends and family outside of her mother and Sasha, and this realization provides me a respite to consider that there is a whole part of Michonne that I don't really know.

Pulling up in my blue F-150 pickup truck, I was met by a valet, and groups of scantily clad partygoers roaming the grounds. Exiting, I grabbed my duffel bag with my swim trunks, sunscreen, towel, and the flip flops Michonne coerced me into purchasing, and headed towards the house. Immediately the splendor of it nearly took my breath away, as it was the complete embodiment of everything that any episode of Cribs has ever led you to believe you would find in a professional athlete's home. Marble floors? Check. Winding staircases? Check. Add to that the scantily clad women everywhere, loud music streaming from the back patio of the house, a fully attended and stocked bar, catered food, waiters. It was something that I had never seen before, and never thought I would experience in real life.

It's surreal, and it's a bit of a wake up call as well because this is what my lady deserves. At the time I can't give this level of luxury to her, probably never can, but I would use every one of my breaths on this earth to give her whatever I have. My love. My devotion. While I don't want to scare her off with the intensity of these thoughts, my internal promise to her, it's no less a very real goal of mine. Discovering that she has her own money, that she never really needs to work again because of her trust, makes my desire to give her the best parts of me even stronger. It's the only thing I can give her that she can't just get for herself.

Brining me out of my reverie, reaching around to my front, Michonne hands me back the washcloth. "My turn."

Swiveling my body around, I take stock of the beauty of the woman before me. After having found pleasure in her arms, in the depths of her so many times before, it would make sense to no longer be so amazed by her body at this point. But, no. Every time I see her is like the first time, and I'm in a hypnotic trance all over again.

"You gonna just stare at me, or are you gonna wash me up?" She asks, wiping water from her eyes and over her head.

"Yeah. I was just taking a moment to appreciate your beauty, pretty girl." Knocked out of my wandering gaze, with a series of lazy circles and swipes, I take my time washing over Michonne's body. Carefully caressing her shoulders, and her clavicle, down over the bounce of her melon like bosoms, and across the swell of her hips. "Turn around, let me get your back." Obediently following my orders, Michonne faces the back of the shower. With her back now to me, my eyes immediately fall to her ass, and the way the white suds drizzle down the angles of her back and shoulder blades, to the rounded teardrop of her fat bottom. "You have the most beautiful ass I've ever seen. Breathtaking." My hands seem to have a mind of their own, and they find themselves palming and caressing over the wet and slippery, voluptuous curves of her.

"I'm surprised that you like my ass so much, Rick."

Frowning I'm confused by her statement. "Why? Who couldn't appreciate this kind of perfection?" I ask, curving my groin and my chest to press flush against her back. My dick is rock hard now, parting the cleft of her bottom, creating a welcoming warmth that is spiking my arousal again.

"Well, I've seen your ex. She wasn't exactly… curvy. So your predilection for a fat booty is a little odd."

"I don't think so. Just because she didn't have one, doesn't mean I don't like them. I'm sure there is something about me that you like physically that you may not have ever had, or something you like about other men that I don't. Right?"

"Um…"

"You can say, Michonne. I won't be mad." I chuckle, though internally I'm wondering if I should not have gone down this path with her. Generally speaking, I'm not a self-conscious man. I'm fairly confident with my looks, and I've never had any trouble getting women. So, it would be a shock to my system if she reveals that she's not as physically attracted to me as I am to her. Though I doubt that will be the case, there might be something I lack. It's possible. I've also seen her ex and he and I have nothing in common physically. On second thought, maybe I do see her point about my affection for her booty after all. In anticipation of her answer, my massaging of her hips has ceased, as I'm a little anxious now to hear what she has to say.

"Well, you are thinner than I usually go for. But, I like that you're lean, fit. Obviously lighter. That's a first." She teases over her shoulder on a light laugh. "Other than that, I like it all, Rick. My favorite is your eyes though. They are so expressive based on the shade of blue. Darker and you're getting pissed, lighter and you're horny or happy, almost clear and I think you're sad, melancholy."

"I guess that's simple enough, huh?"

"Yeah. I like that. You're very uncomplicated. What you see is what you get. And you're good. You're just a really good guy, Rick, and I think I love that the most." Leaning her wet body into my chest, arching her back, she reaches up and behind her to flit her fingers through my hair. On a satisfied hum she continues, "Oh, and I also like the slight curl to your hair. I bet if it was longer you'd have nice curls."

"I've never had it longer than this. So, I don't really know. Would you like for me to grow it longer?"

"If you want. What about you, Rick? What do you think?"

"I think that I like your hair like this, braided down your back. It's very pretty, and apparently you don't mind getting your hair wet like this I see."

"Nope. That's why I got it done this way."

"It looks good on you. And you seem more free this way. I don't know why but you do. I like that too, how free and open you are. It's very attractive that you don't seem worried about what others think of you. You're unbothered."

"I don't concern myself with what others think because my mother always told me it's none of my business." She shrugs. "What else you got?"

Guiding my lips and hands vertically down her body, I reverently trail them over the peaks and valleys. "I love these shoulders, this little inward dip in your back, these lovely hips and firm thighs, your long legs, and these delicate little feet." I comment, stopping at each of the mentioned features to place a soft kiss of recognition.

Standing back up, I continue my recitation of my favorite things. "Of course these lips. I love to kiss them, to lick them, nibble on 'em. They're beautiful, and full. Delicious to taste." Grazing my thumb along them, I gently press it to the seam to pry them open. The heated opening of her mouth reminds me of her lips and tongue sucking around my dick earlier, and I can't prevent my thoughts from straying for a moment, trapping me under her sensuous spell yet again. "Mmmm. I like how you use your mouth, pretty girl. You're very good at it."

"I've never done it before today."

"Good. Now I have a part of you that no one else has ever had, or will ever have. Maybe one day we will explore some other new things, parts of you." My eyes drop to her ass again, nearly coming undone at the thought of what I'm thinly suggesting.

"Maybe one day you could teach me some other things."

"Oh I will. I want to taste and explore every part of you so that you will always be reminded of me, my touch."

"Too late. I already do."

With that, I no longer have the willpower or the restraint not to make love to my woman. Adding pressure with my hand to her back, I encourage her to bend a little, then nudge her feet a part a little more, making it easy for me to slide my dick into her. Once fully seated within her, I place my hands on top of hers that rest on the back wall of the shower, threading our fingers together. With her pinned between the wall and my chest, I slowly proceed to make love to Michonne again, sliding in and out of her snug canal. Remembering that we have already been together a number of times over the last two days, I set a torturously slow pace, to please her but not to wear her out. The deliberate crawl is creating a decadent friction that sucks and pulls at the sensitive length of my cock, and stimulates the walls of her tight pussy, that fits so flawlessly to the unique girth and length of me.

With only grunts, moans, and needy pleas to be heard, echoing hollowly off the walls of the shower, I bend my knees, allowing me to dig up and into her even further. Banging repeatedly against the spongy collection of nerves found deep within a curvature of Michonne's wicked little pussy, I bow my back to fit myself tightly to her form. Sensing that she is as tightly wound and ready to blow as I am, I latch my lips and teeth to her neck, and add pressure and friction to her clit. The introduction of my added touches, sends her into a dramatically expressive keen of pleasure, an almost painful sounding wail, as she begins shaking and drenching me. Close behind I release my own explosive, sublimely shameless growl into her neck, bathing her insides with my seed, pulling my thoughts into a fresh daydream of filling her with my babies.

Leaving the isolated solitude of the pool house behind, Michonne and I head out onto the sun drenched patio. With my hand snugly in hers, I'm following her through the crowd. With each step we are met with birthday wishes, hugs, cheek kisses, and the occasional odd look thrown my way. I'm not offended in the least, but I am curious as to whether or not the looks are more in response to my race, or the fact that Michonne and I are holding hands, and I'm not that other guy. Seemingly unaware of the stares, she provides no answers to the unspoken questions in their eyes, as well as no introduction of who I am either.

"I'm starving! Let's get something to eat." Michonne yells over her shoulder, trying to make sure I can hear her over the blare of the loud Hip Hop music. She doesn't wait for my agreement because she knows that I can eat anytime, anything, anywhere. Once in the kitchen, we are met with a small crowd of partygoers gathered around the buffet of food, seated at the table, and standing at the large granite island.

We are met with more of the same birthday wishes, hugs and kisses from before, as well as the discerning stares. Though she still does not acknowledge them, she does seem to genuinely appreciate the affection she's getting for her birthday, responding with a flurry of excited screeches and screams, and delighted smiles and smirks. I've never seen her like this, mixing and mingling with her friends, clearly in her element. So I'm falling back a little. As the dutiful boyfriend I'm just enjoying watching her be so carefree and content.

As we have made our way through most of the people in the kitchen, I turn away to begin surveying the food buffet, and another of her friends approaches. "Michonne, happy birthday, girl! You look so cute!" A short, thin black woman says, surveying Michonne from head to toe. With long dreadlocks cascading down her back, her skin a lighter shade of brown than Michonne's, and large eyes a hue closer to a cappuccino than Michonne's dark roast ones, she is sizing her up. It might be meant to come off as congenial, but there is a definite hint of a competitive glare in her perusal.

"Thank you! You look good as usual, Jas."

"Thanks! Hey I just saw Mike in the front room. He's looking good as always. You're so lucky, girl, that chocolate drop is so fine!"

Seemingly at an initial loss for words, Michonne sends her eyes quickly dashing my way as I stand a little to the side of her, still looking over the food. But, I catch her nervous glance, as well as the comment from the other girl that precipitated it.

"Well, thanks for coming, Jas. It's always good to see you."

"Yep. I guess I will catch up with you and Sasha next month when school starts. I saw her earlier too when I first got here. She's got some tall white guy following her around like he's a lost puppy."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. But you know your cousin likes to taste the rainbow, so I guess that's pretty normal for her."

"Guess so."

A brief silence ensues, and I can suddenly sense the other girl's eyes on me. "Speaking of the rainbow, who is this, Michonne?"

"I'm sorry, my manners suck. This is Rick. Rick, this is Jasmine. We go to school together at Spelman." Michonne introduces.

"Hi, nice to meet you." I offer my hand to Jasmine. Giving her a little nod of my head in greeting, I'm pleased to continue to meet Michonne's friends. Though I again notice that Michonne has not explicitly explained who I am to her. I'm not really pissed about it, not yet. But it's… interesting.

"Nice to meet you too. Aren't you cute. Where do you know Michonne from?" She asks, her lips turned up in what I can only describe as a pouty smile, while her eyes travel the length of me in an interested gaze. The forward manner in which she remarks that I'm cute takes me by surprise, especially that she would do it, and flirt with me so openly in front of Michonne. Blinking her eyes at me in what she must believe is a coquettish manner. Pushing out her chest. Licking at her lips. With a smattering of freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose and cheeks, I decide that she's relatively cute, and give her a polite smile. In my mind her flirting is innocent enough since she has no clue who I am to Michonne, I can clearly see there is a slight adversarial competition at play between them that I would never feed into, and neither Michonne nor I are paying this girl's antics any serious attention. Though any man within eyeshot would easily recognize her blatant interest, it's a non-issue to me because I only have eyes for one woman.

Stepping in front of me, effectively putting her body between mine and the woman's, grabbing my arm and wrapping it around her tiny waist, Michonne answers for me in what I am now beginning to recognize as her being possessive. Of me. "Rick is my boyfriend, Jas." With a wide, bright smile on her face, one might think she is being polite, friendly. But I recognize the little bite to her words, the slight whip and tilt of her head, and the strain of the muscles around her mouth trying to hold the fake grin.

"Oh word? What happened to Mike?" Jasmine tilts her head in return, as she asks the question, her eyes bouncing between Michonne's and my own. No longer an active participant in the conversation, I'm listening with interest to the revealing dialogue between the two. Watching it unfold, as I'm very eager to hear what Michonne has to say about her ex's departure from her life.

"We are no longer together."

"That's gonna make lots of girls happy to hear."

"Good for them."

"Hm. Well you look happy where you're at now too, so I guess that worked out."

"It did." Michonne tersely responds, a dry tinge of disinterest evident in her few words.

"Alright, girl, well happy birthday. Nice to you meet you, Rick." Jasmine utters with a little smirk on her lips, then turns away to head out of the kitchen.

Watching her leave for a moment, Michonne then whirls around to me, a clear look of disgust on her face. "I can't believe that bitch. Ugh. Did you see the way she was looking at you? Like you were a piece of cheese and she was a starving rat!"

"I didn't notice. She seemed nice enough." It's a tiny lie, but I don't want to feed anymore unnecessary anger on her birthday.

"Whatever. And you, Mr. Sexy Smile, you were just grinning and cheesing, eating all that attention up. What's that about? You think she's pretty or something?" Crossing her arms over her pretty breasts, a delicious little moue to her sexy lips, and a scrutinizing glare in her eyes.

"What? I was just being polite to your friend. Was I supposed to scowl at her instead?" I laugh, amused at her jealous reaction, which I have to admit is adorable. Even earlier when that weird lady nauseatingly asked me to lay with her, Michonne's immediately jealous response gave me a slight thrill, that I'm not ashamed to say I enjoyed. But, I don't ever want her to think that another woman could turn my head, or that she has a need to even question my loyalty to her. "Pretty girl, you know you're my one and only. Nobody compares to you."

"Sure about that?"

"Positive. Who could even compete with all of this?" I ask, gesturing to her from head to toe.

"Beyoncé?"

"Well…" I tease, earning me a playful smack on the arm from Michonne. Laughing, I thread my fingers with hers, and take hold of both of her hands, bringing them around to rest on the curve of her ass at the small of her back. "Ok. Not even Beyoncé."

"That's better.

"Listen, I'm going to run to the restroom really quick. I'll be right back to grab some food. Ok?"

"Ok. You can find a bathroom straight through the front room and to your right, by the entry foyer." She directs, moving her attention to the buffet as she begins stacking food high on a plate.

Heading out of the kitchen towards the front room, my eyes are focused ahead of me, looking for the real reason I needed to excuse myself from Michonne's presence. Hearing that girl mention that she just saw him in the front room a few moments ago, reignited my need to settle a few things with him. Spotting him in the foyer speaking to none other than Tyreese Williams himself, I question my motives for a second. I don't want to disrespect his home, so instead of approaching Mike first, I respectfully head for Tyreese.

"Hi, I'm Rick. Michonne's boyfriend." I reach my hand out to him to shake. At first he seems surprised by my appearance and introduction, as he gives my hand and face a brief glance before accepting. Eyeing me, as though he is trying to assess the truth of the revelation that I'm Michonne's boyfriend, he initially only provides a halting smile as he looks between Mike and I. I'm assuming he was not aware that Mike was no longer Michonne's boyfriend, and had effectively been replaced. It must be obvious that something has happened though, based solely on the daggers Mike is shooting my way, because he eventually accepts my hand and delivers a hearty shake in return.

"Nice to meet you, man. I'm Michy's cousin Tyreese."

"Yes, I know who are. Big fan by the way. You're racking up the home runs and RBIs so far. Gonna surpass last year's stats I think. Maybe a World Series appearance for the Braves this year?"

"You know baseball?" Surprised, his eyes widen, and now he's giving me his full attention. At somewhere around six feet tall, and with a burly muscular frame, it would be easy to be intimidated by him, especially given the initial glare of skepticism he gave me. But, with the wide toothy smile he's offering me now, I'm more at ease. Conversely, my newfound comfortability with Michonne's cousin, seems to be the cause of Mike's discomfort. Good.

"Oh yeah. Baseball is my favorite sport. I was a pitcher in high school. Watch or attend a game every chance I get."

"Well alright. I'll have to make sure I get you some of the good tickets then. I make them available for the family, but Michonne and Sasha have never been."

"Really? I've gotten her to watch a few of your games. Maybe she never had anyone who was willing to take their time and teach her before."

"Perhaps you're right. Well look, y'all be easy. I need to go check in with the caterers to make sure they keep the food flowing, and the underage kids away from the booze. And, Rick, I'll get you those tickets." He points my way, before leaving the room, taking any good humor with him.

Mike and I are left alone in the foyer now, as we both watch Tyreese's form retreat out onto the patio. Wanting to get this over with, I reach into my pocket and retrieve the bracelet that he gave to Michonne earlier.

"You can have this back."

Looking down at my outstretched hand, dangling the offending item off my index finger, Mike chuckles, then plasters his face with a smug smirk. "Why are you giving this back to me instead of Michonne? She know what you're up to?"

"She doesn't want or need anything from you. If my girl wants jewelry, I'll take care of that." Shoving the bracelet at him, he doesn't take it, and it drops with a loud clap of the fine metal hitting the floor. Chest heaving, anxious to end this shit and get back to my girl, I'm rubbing my index finger and thumb together, aiming to tamp down my growing agitation.

"I will take that as a no, that she doesn't. It's cool. Though those secrets, they do have a way of coming back to bite you in the ass."

"We don't have any secrets between us. Matter of fact, she told me about you grabbing her arm, putting your hands on her, getting rough with her. Don't ever let that happen again. Matter of fact, don't ever get anywhere near her again."

"She was my girl for years, I've had my hands all over her. Kissed her a few weeks ago."

Seething with anger, but unsure of the veracity of his revelation, my vision is clouded over red. Like a bull, I'm ready to charge and rip this motherfucker apart. The thought of him with his hands on her the same way mine were earlier, his lips on hers, sends my blood boiling. But I remember my deputy training, and do a slow count to 5, reigning in my initial reaction to gut his ass. Clenching and releasing my fists, I blow out and exhale a long breath. "Stay away from her. Next time I hear that you touched her, I will break your fucking jaw. I promise."

Stepping up closer, a few inches taller, he looks down his hawkish nose at me with nothing but hatred and disgust in his dark eyes. "I'm not worried about all of this macho shit you're trying to throw down right now, officer. You can't do shit but try to intimidate me so you can try to hold on to a girl that you know is way outta your league. But congrats to your country ass for now. Because I know Michonne Kelly, inside and out. I'm the one who popped that cherry and taught her everything she knows. And when she's back in Atlanta, and has forgotten about this summer adventure with you, I'll teach her some more things while you're on some dusty country road writing speeding tickets."

With those words, every ounce of restraint is now gone, and with a flinching snarl, I've had enough of the talking. Head butting him without preamble or warning, I aim directly for the center of his face, and watch with satisfaction as his blood leaks freely from his broken nose. A sickening crunch and stunned groan rip through the air. Wanting this to be the end of it, I back away from Mike. "I don't give a fuck about all that gotdamn talking. I said to stay away from her. Don't touch her, don't talk to her, don't think of her. Michonne is mine. That's it." I gruffly spit, my head aching from the blow I just delivered to his face.

"Fuck you!" Mike hollers and wildly charges. Leaving me no choice but to escort him out front so as not to cause any damage in the house, I'm hoping there are only a few party goers gathered outside. Attempting to grab a hold of him around his neck with my left arm, he tries to weave the other way, dancing out of my grasp. Squaring up on me, he's preparing to fight, getting set in his stance and making a weak attempt at focusing on me through the pain caused by the head-butt. Wincing, he fruitlessly wipes at the blood covering his face. While he's gathering himself to strike, I launch my fist at his jaw. Catching him quick with my right to the left side of his face, his head whips to the side, and a dash of blood splatters from his busted lip, adding to the faucet like drizzle from his nose. Unable to stop myself, anger and adrenaline marrying to now easily flow through my veins, I viciously punch with my left and swiftly land an uppercut to his right jaw, slinging his listless head back the other way. Though we are alone in the foyer, I don't want to ruin my girl's party, so while he is dazed, I move quickly to capture his right arm and twist it behind his back.

"Ahhh, motherfucker, don't you break my damn arm! I'll sue your ass!" Mike hollers, stumbling and struggling against the tight way I've wrenched his arm, deeming it useless.

"Shut up!"

Probably responding to the noisy ruckus, Sasha comes running down the steps, retying the strings of her bikini around her neck. Following close behind, Shane shuffles down the steps as well, tugging up his swim trunks as he goes.

"What the hell is going on, Rick?" Sasha asks, desperate to make sense of what she's witnessing.

"Taking out the trash. Shane, help me with the door."

"You got it, brother." He rushes over, and swings the front door open, as Sasha stands to the other side of the door, in awe and disbelief, with her trembling fingers over her mouth. "Hey, it's alright. I got this, it's ok. Rick's not gonna do anything worse than what he's already done. Just gonna escort this guy away from the party. Right, Rick?" Shane promises her, checking with me for confirmation to help ease her disconcert over the raucous scene playing out in her brother's house.

"Yep. Let's go, motherfucker. Walk!" Shoving him, still holding Mike's arm in a tight hold behind his back, I march him to the valet. With the cover of dusk, and thankfully only a small handful of probably drunk people out front, we don't draw much more attention than a small disagreement would. "Which car is yours?" I ask him. Waiting a beat, no answer comes, and he stubbornly tries to maintain his silence until I twist his arm even more. "Tell the valet which car to bring you. Or I can just march your dumb ass down to the street and leave you there."

Stepping up to try and aid with a smooth resolution, Shane offers the valet $20. "Do you remember this guy, and what car he was driving?"

"Y-yes. A blue Maxima, dark tint, black rims. Real nice car. I can go get it." The young Hispanic man answers, snatching the money from Shane's grasp, and running to the side of the house where the cars are parked.

Huffing and wheezing, I can hear a slight whistle emitting from the inhale of air Mike is exerting himself to capture. "I think you broke my nose. I'm gonna sue your hillbilly ass for this shit."

"I don't think your nose is broken. I know it's broken. Go ahead and try to sue, I don't care. I do care that you keep your distance from Michonne. I've made you a promise that I intend to keep if you don't."

"Here's his car." Shane points to the young valet, speeding around to the front of the house, screeching to a halt in front of us.

Pushing Mike over to the driver's side, I usher him into the now vacated driver's seat. Before he can close the door, I stand in the way, hand to the roof and lean in close. "Go home. Remember what I said. Don't make me have to repeat myself or keep my promise." Stepping away, Mike reaches to slam the door and hits the gas at the same time. Standing next to Shane, we watch him speed away, fishtailing around the circular drive, and down the path that will lead him to the gate and out to the street.

"You couldn't just enjoy the damn party, Rick? I was about to finally get somewhere with Sasha. I was nose deep in those pretty titties of hers, and what do we hear? That fucking guy hollering and you in the foyer kicking his ass. You owe me one, bro." Shane grumbles, rubbing his hands agitatedly over his head, evidencing just how pissed off he is.

My gaze still focused on Mike's speedy retreat, I'm still aggravated with a brush of discontent. Why did that fucker say he just kissed Michonne a few weeks ago? When was a few weeks ago? Before or after she became mine? With too many questions swimming in my head, I pull my attention from the driveway, determined to push away any suspicion around this supposed kiss Mike and Michonne shared. I turn to my best friend. Smirking, skeptical at Shane's revelation of finally getting somewhere in his pursuit of Sasha, I mockingly respond to his rant. "I doubt you would have gotten much further anyway. I'm going to find Michonne and try to enjoy the rest of my girl's birthday. Why don't you go finish what you claim you started?"

Chapter 11 - Michonne

"Ooooh! Daddy says we can't have no boys in our rooms, Michy. I'm gonna tell!" Beth warns, standing in my bedroom door, watching as Rick lifts the plastic bin containing towels and toiletries that I'm moving to my new off campus apartment.

"It's ok, Beth. He's helping me move."

"Hm. Ok. Leave the door open though. No kissy face!" She yells as she departs, presumably still heading downstairs to let everyone know Rick is in my room, making me feel like a child all over again.

Chuckling at Beth's antics, I stroll over to Rick and stand in front of him, wrapping my arms around his neck. Leaning over the bin he's holding in both of his hands, I rise to my tip toes and place a kiss to his soft pink lips. "Since we're going to get in trouble for kissy face anyway, we may as well go ahead and get some actual kisses in."

"I'm always up for a little kissy face. Come here." Dropping the bin to the side, Rick grabs me, pulling my body up off my toes and hugging me close to him, his hands firmly squeezing my ass. Starting off slow, with a few tentative nibbles and pecks, the kiss quickly heats up, with him thrusting his tongue past my parted lips and into my mouth. Tasting the spearmint from his gum on his tongue, I'm groaning at the thorough way he's exploring my mouth with such a domineering kiss. "I'm going to miss you, pretty girl." He whispers across my lips on a soft exhale of his minty breath, lowering his sad cornflower blue eyes to mine.

"Me too. We'll make this work, baby. We'll only be 45 minutes apart. We can do this."

"Yeah, we can do this. We will." He promises, still holding my body close, feet dangling above the floor.

"Ahem. Beth said you had a boy in your room, and that there would be kissy face going on. Guess she was right." My mother teases, standing in the doorway to my room. Rick, caught off guard hurriedly raises his hands to the small of my back instead of the firm clutch he previously had on my ass. Of course my mother noticed anyway, though she pretended not to. "You all should probably get on the road soon so you don't hit that Atlanta rush hour traffic heading into the city." Stepping in to survey our progress with getting the things I need in bins, and moved out, she takes a seat on the stool at my vanity table. "And, it would be nice if you could get your best friend out of my kitchen, Rick. That boy has eaten here every Sunday dinner this summer, and is now in my refrigerator eating all of the leftovers from dinner last night. I would think it's a little early in the morning for fried chicken, but apparently not. Doesn't he eat at home?"

Loosening his hold on my waist and releasing me to slide down his body, and back to my feet, Rick laughs for a moment, probably thinking of how enamored with my mother's cooking Shane has become. "He really likes your cooking, Mrs. Greene. Neither of us have ever eaten so good. I can't say I blame him."

"Well he's going to have to start chipping in on the groceries, or leave a tip or something. It's like having another child around here. I've never had a son, and Hershel doesn't eat that much, so I had no idea one man could put away so much food. It's so bad I just go ahead and cook enough for him because I know he's gonna show up to eat. I don't even know where he's putting it all." She scoffs, shaking her head in amazement. Turning her focus back to Rick and I she offers a kind, nearly sympathetic smile. "So, you guys ready for this move?" She asks, changing the subject with her soft mocha eyes flitting from my similar ones, to Rick's clear blues.

"Yeah, Mom. We're good. As you can see everything is packed."

"Yes, ma'am. We should be fine. Just about everything is loaded in my truck. No worries."

"Oh I'm not worried about the stuff. I was talking about the two of you. I don't know if you guys are prepared to come up for air yet. You've been under each other like a litter of puppies all summer."

"Mom!" I exclaim, a little embarrassed that she has noticed how much time Rick and I have been spending together, and mentioned it out loud. Looking over to Rick, who's sheepishly smiling and turning a bright red, I can't help but to start a slow grin and chuckle of my own, knowing that we have been spending a lot of time together. So much time that when I started getting my things together for the move, I had to go to his apartment to look for at least half of my things. Reluctantly, I collected most of my belongings from there, but left behind a few items like a toothbrush, some bras, and panties. Just in case.

"What? Am I lying? You've been laid up at Rick's more than you've been here, right?" Swiveling her head back and forth, her right hand upturned to express her confusion.

Rubbing the back of his neck, an awkward blush on his face, Rick leans down to pick the discarded bin back up. "Well, I'm going to take this last bin out to the truck, and collect my cousin. We can leave when you're ready, Michonne." Excusing himself, he drops a quick peck to my cheek, and hurries away, maneuvering effortlessly away from my mother's potentially mortifying line of questioning.

"Mom, you totally embarrassed him. He doesn't know what to do with you, and all that freeness you got going on. His parents aren't really like that, especially that awful mother of his."

"Yes, I'm aware that Ellen is a bitch. But, Rance? Rance is definitely a little more down to earth. And, you and Rick aren't fooling anyone. We all know what you two have been up to all summer. I just hope you've been taking your birth control pills or there will be a little Ricky or Michy running around real soon. And, you know, Hersh and I would love for you to to one day have babies, but I don't know how I would handle having to share a grandbaby with that heifer Ellen." Smoothing her hand over her head and through her long hair, she doesn't seem entirely displeased by the thought of a grandbaby, but definitely disgusted by the mention of Rick's mother. Mona loves kids, babies, you name it. I like them too, but I have so much that I want to do in my life first, before I become a mother, a wife, all of that. I do love them though, and I know that when the time is right, Rick will make a wonderful father.

In fact, Rick and I have talked about it before, and he has made it no secret that one day he wants a big family, lots of kids, a dog, the whole thing. And the only thing in that family picture I would change is the dog to a cat. Other than that I could see myself married to Rick, a house full of kids that look like him, with my coloring. As an only child, the idea of always having someone to play with, to not feel alone so much, is entirely appealing, and something that I want for my future children. Carrying and birthing all those potential kids is usually where I have a hard time conceptualizing this future for us, but outside of that, I'm all in. Watching him hang out with Maggie, Beth, and I, taking note of the patient way he taught Beth how to catch frogs in the creek. Giving Maggie advice on boys. He's great with them, and it all feels like a special glimpse of what he is going to be like some day as a father to our own kids.

As an added bonus, the thought of coming home to Rick every night after a long day of fighting for justice, and him locking up bad guys, to be with a family that we created…well it seems like a magnificent dream that I already got a little taste of. Staying at his apartment most nights, using the key that he gave me to come and go as I please, I have to admit I loved it. Most mornings when he worked overnight or double shifts, he would wake me with the rising sun streaming through his curtains, illuminating his nude form pressed tightly to my back. Or sometimes I would wake up extra early and make him breakfast, meeting him at the door in nothing but a smile. Then there were nights where we would just sit on the couch and watch television, Netflix binging on shows like Sons of Anarchy, where I would lust after Jax. Which usually landed me on my back or my knees, panting and moaning, while Rick reminded me that Jax is not real, but that he most certainly is.

Probably my favorite thing about this summer was all the times that Rick and I would just lay together and talk, anything and everything. His childhood, mine. Favorite colors and foods. Mine apple green and anything chocolate. His blue and pork chops, my mother's pork chops specifically. Quite often these talks would deviate into our future. What we hoped for, and how we imagined ensuring that we get just that. As usual, these talks also often resulted in long rounds of breathtaking, passionate sex. Sometimes kinky and rough, sometimes slow, sensual, lovemaking. Always satisfying.

Being with Rick has awakened so many previously locked parts of me, sexually and emotionally. So much so that I am a little upset at the real world now intruding on this blissful existence we've created together. We've decided that our motto for now is to just get through this year then figure the rest out later. It may sound naïve, and unlike me in its unstructured and unplanned hopefulness, but Rick's love has fostered a new level of optimistic thinking in me. As Sasha noted, I'm so drunk in love that she hardly recognizes her sarcastic, strategizing cousin anymore. She may have meant it as a dig, but I took it as a compliment because, being with Rick has made me feel like a new girl. No, a new woman.

"I take my birth control religiously every morning at the same time, Mom. I think we'll be fine. Everything is going to work out just right."

"I hope so, honey. I like him for you. He's a good guy. And I can tell he loves you. That's hard to come by."

"I know. And I love him, Mom. I really do. I've made some mistakes with him, but I'm trying to get this right. I want us to make it." Earnestness colors my voice as I confess to my mother that my actions in this fledgling relationship have not always been to the right. And honestly, neither have his, which is why I think we have given each other some room to learn from those mistakes. The day after my birthday party, he and I had a good conversation, well a text one because he was working, but it was a good way for both of us to get some stuff out there.

Texts from that night…

Rick: You up? I know it's late. Patrol is going slow as hell.

Michonne: I'm up. Reading a book by Octavia Butler, it's one of my faves. 

Rick: Never heard of her

Michonne: Gonna have to culture you up if you're gonna stick with me

Rick: I am definitely sticking with you. At least that's my plan…

Michonne: Good plan

Rick: What about you? Gonna stick with me too? I wasn't sure since you didn't seem to want to intro me as your BF to your friends at your party

Michonne: …

Rick: I just thought it was odd. Basically I tell everyone that you're my girl because you are, now and forever as far as I'm concerned

Michonne: I didn't mean to do that…I guess I'm used to everyone already knowing who I'm with…it's been the same guy for so long. I'm sorry.

Rick: …

Michonne: Please be patient with me. I'm trying to get this right. For you. For us

Rick: I know

Michonne: I know you are too… which is why I wasn't pissed about you fighting with Mike at the party

Rick: Knew about that huh?

Michonne: Sasha told me. You should have told me. She found my bracelet on the floor at Tyreese's house. Guess that was you too?

Rick: It's not your bracelet… I did what I felt was right… I don't want him giving you things and just showing up… if it's over it's over… be done with it

Michonne: I understand, and it is. We both are trying to get this right… It's new. But I do love you. I'm in this with you for the long haul if you will have me… no matter where I am, even back at school…my heart belongs to you

Rick: I wouldn't have it any other way… you know I belong to you too

Michonne: Check out this song. It used to be one of my dad's fave songs to play for my mother. {Sends link to You Tube video 'I Love you – For Sentimental Reasons' by Sam Cooke}

Rick: It's perfect, pretty girl, thank you. I love you…get some rest. Meet me for breakfast after my shift?

Michonne: How about I be your breakfast?

Rick: Even better…send me a pic to hold me over until then?

Michonne: {Sends photo of breasts}

Rick: Shit… I want you at my apartment waiting on me just like that when I get home in the morning… will you?

Michonne: What do I get if I do?

Rick: Everything 

My texts to Rick held the truth, my truth. I didn't realize that I wasn't introducing him as my boyfriend. It was definitely not a purposeful oversight on my part, and I would never have done anything to hurt him. There hasn't been a party that I have attended in years that everyone didn't know who my boyfriend was, whether he was there or not. It's a weak excuse but, I guess I just kinda forgot, at least until Jasmine showed up. She's not really a friend. We have gone to the same schools, and run in the same circles for years, hence the little hint of competitiveness between us. If I have something, she has to also get the same thing or better. If I went to France for the summer, she went to Spain. If I have Mike, she has some other guy who she thinks is comparable, or even tries to hookup with Mike himself. He mentioned to me that she tried to kiss him during a study group in high school once, and I nearly burst a blood vessel. The only reason I didn't rip her to shreds when I finally saw her was because Sasha pulled me off her so I didn't get suspended. In hindsight, I should have completely expected that once she saw me with Rick, she would try to get her skanky claws into him. Jasmine has always wanted what I have, but she will not get Rick. I would have kicked her ass all over my party if given the chance. Which again is why I didn't really say much to Rick about his fight with Mike at my party.

In a perfect world, Mike would move on. He wouldn't have followed me into the pool house, given me the bracelet, or touched my thigh. But in the real world he did, and I know Rick well enough to know that even though he is an affable, easy going guy most of the time, he is dead serious about me, with a jealous streak a mile long. I'm young, but I'm learning, and I know my man. I knew when he walked in on us that this was not going to end quietly. Was I disappointed that it ended in Mike getting his nose broken? Yes. But was I a little turned out to hear that Rick kicked his ass, and told him not to touch me again? Hell yes. It's thrilling to know he's all about me, and I know it's coming from a positive place. So why be mad at him when I would have done the same thing? Was I not ready to scratch Jasmine's eyes out just for saying Rick was cute? And ultimately Mike must have gotten the message, at least for now, because I haven't heard a word from him since.

Sasha gave me a long speech about feminism and caveman antics, but the unspoken truth was that I love that Rick is so explicit about his possessiveness, and his feelings for me. It never makes me feel smothered, or like I can't be free to be myself. Not at all. Instead it gives me a little thrill that he's such a fierce protector of what's his that he would put himself in bodily harm to do so. Maybe it is a little outdated, and cave manish, but I don't care. When Sasha told me about the fight, and I saw Rick's knuckles, the bruise on his forehead from head butting Mike, I wore his ass that night. Even made a successful attempt at my second BJ, with a happy ending down my throat.

There is such raw honesty in our imperfections, our willingness to just be open, and maybe just a little bit crazy for each other, that the thought of us not making this thing work pains me down to my soul, on my most basic level of existence. And I know that the same is true for Rick, so whatever it takes to keep this thing going, I'm all in, and I needed him to know. That, and… Sasha also told me that she heard Mike yelling and that he told Rick about our kiss when I broke up with him. Rick hasn't brought that up so I have to assume he's willing to let that ride. At least I hope he is, because I don't know how to fully explain that to him in a way that won't hurt both of us, and that by not telling him before, that it won't cause some irreparable damage to our relationship.

Shaking my head a little, my focus is back in my bedroom, back on my mother. "Well, I'm glad you guys are focused on making this work. This is the way it should have been for you with Mike. It's what you deserve. Organic, imperfect, messy, passionate." She wistfully sighs in a dramatic, Scarlet O'Hara manner, then continues. "Romantic. This is what your father and I always wanted for you. Not for you to feel beholden to some archaic idea of how relationships should go, but the messy reality of how they actually work. You got this, little girl." She winks at me, a proud smile on her lips.

"Thanks, Mom."

Rising from her stool, she leans over and hugs me to her, leading me out of my bedroom. "Let's go before Shane eat us out of house and home!"

"I been calling her, texting her, almost everyday. And don't you know half the time she won't answer her phone, and when she responds to texts it's like one word. One word! What's up with that?" Animatedly ranting and raving about Sasha's apparent lack of overt, or reciprocal interest in him, Shane has been wallowing in his feelings for her since our party. "I mean, I don't like to toot my own horn, but the sex was good as hell! Why is she trying to play me?!"

Seated in the middle on the bench seat of Rick's truck, between Rick who was driving, and Shane in the passenger seat, I can only laugh at him. I shouldn't laugh, but well, it's funny. Sasha has the usually confident Shane so sprung, twisted inside out, that he doesn't know which way is up. I feel sorry for him, and it's making me want to tell him that he really should chalk up his losses while he can, and let his pursuit of her go. Sasha is not a bad person; she just doesn't do commitment. If Shane would actually pay attention to the signs she's putting out there, and the way she's treating him, he would see that she's not really trying to be bothered. She's not like me, with the exception that both of us were allergic to the idea of love, at least until I met Rick. No, Sasha is the epitome of a free spirit. Her parents are divorced, and she was raised by her father, and a family of hulking big brothers. As such she has developed a cavalier, more male based approach to dating. She considers herself a feminist who enjoys the merits and freedom of dating like a man. Men are afforded the opportunity to see more than one person at a time, to eschew the societal based need for marriage and children at a young age. Shane simply doesn't seem to want to understand this about her. To see that he may have met his match in Sasha. No, he got a little taste of her raw physicality, her spunk, her beauty, her quick wit and intelligence, and now he's sprung. I suppose if all he has ever had are bland, King County, Lori and Andrea clones, I don't blame him.

On the other hand, I hate to tell him this, but Sasha has already moved on. When I let her take my Jeep and drive it into the city yesterday, she told me that she did enjoy her time with Shane and that he was one of the best lovers she has ever had. She even mentioned that she had briefly considered doing it again, but that he is already so clingy with all the calls and texts that she's probably not interested in a repeat performance because she's already having a hard time getting rid of him. Poor Shane. Rick told me to stay out of it, to let Shane figure this out on his own, and that truth be told, he's not getting anything he doesn't deserve based on his own past treatment of women.

Not wanting him to continue down this spiral of abject despondency, needlessly questioning his own game, and knowing that Sasha might deserve it a little herself, I decide to toss out a little life saver to Shane. "You know, she did tell me that she had a good time with you. I'll bet that with us moving, and school about to start, she is just really busy. You'll get to see her in a little while anyway. She should be at the apartment waiting on the new furniture to be delivered." I respond, giving him a little nod of encouragement. Immediately, I feel a squeeze of pressure from Rick's hand that is wedged between my thighs, high and at the hem of my tiny jean shorts. Looking over to him to see his reaction, his handsome face holds an amused smirk as he shakes his head a nearly imperceptible amount that Shane does not see it. Angling my body over towards Rick's, I scoot closer to him, and lay my head on his shoulder.

"She said that?"

"Yep."

"You know what? I figured as much. I mean, not to give y'all too much info, but I pulled out all my freak shit for her. Cause I wanted to impress her. And she was throwing down some stuff too! Man, I just… There's something… I like her. That's all I'm gonna say."

"Why do you like her though, Shane? Not trying to be funny, but you like all women period. I can't think of a woman over the age of 18 and under the age of 40 in King County you haven't liked at some point or another. What's got you so twisted this time?" Rick muses, questioning the validity of Shane's apparent thirst for Sasha. Rick has told me about some of Shane's exploits with women, but I don't judge because I know Sasha, and I know she has her own style of dating that some would also frown upon. Especially for a woman. But there does seem to be some kind of earnest connection between them. Maybe more so for Shane than Sasha, but make no mistake about it, she did say she enjoyed being with him.

"She just don't take no shit, ya know? And I kinda like the chase, that she's not so easy. That she's not trying to play some suzy homemaker bullshit and get me down the aisle yesterday. She speaks plainly about what she wants, no games. Rick, you know what I'm talking about. She's just having fun and being cool, and she's smart and funny. Beautiful…" He trails off that last bit as his gaze is now directed out of the window, then down to his phone as though he was hoping she would call right then. "Yeah. You know what, cuz? You're probably right about her just being real busy. She is probably just distracted right?"

"Yep. A lot is going on for both of us right now. And it's only going to get busier, so take it easy on her. If you ever look at her IG you would see that she is super busy." I agree on a small yawn, letting my eyes drift closed, feeling the drowsy affects of the monotonous sound and vibration of a long car ride. Snuggling into Rick's side, basking in the fresh talc scent of his aftershave, I allow myself to relax and enjoy the drive leaving King County, and into the city. Thinking over my advice to Shane, I can't help but consider in the haze of my lazy, sleepy thoughts, that my words are a warning for Rick and I as well. Things are only going to get busier, and I hope that for us, that's not a predictor of hard times to come.

"You could at least answer my calls, return a text when I send it instead of a day later with a damn LOL!"

"Shane, I could do all of that. I'm not going to though. I don't have a boyfriend or a husband, so I don't owe you or anyone other than my daddy an immediate return text or phone call."

"Why are you acting like you didn't enjoy being with me? Huh? You liked it enough when I had you hollering and climbing the walls! Begging me for more."

"What can I say, Shane? The sex was amazing. But, it was… sex. And having it once, twice, how ever many times we did it, does not mean that we are in a relationship!"

Lying on my back in my brand new queen size bed, with Rick in between my legs, his head on my abdomen, we are quietly listening to Shane and Sasha yell at each other. Back and forth. Their raised voices are easily punching through the walls of our shared condo, damaging the peacefully hushed calm in my bedroom. With the lights off, a few candles going, and soft music in the background, we are attempting to enjoy our last opportunity to enjoy a night together for awhile. Rubbing my fingers through Rick's fine, curly hair, always longer on the top and tapered at the back and sides, the consistent in and out pattern of his relaxed breathing offers a soothing balm to the riotous disquiet of their constant arguing.

When we arrived earlier this morning, getting in just after rush hour traffic, per my mother's guidance, Sasha had a friend here helping her get moved in. God help us all, as soon as Shane was introduced to Sasha's friend, Spencer, it was like throwing gasoline on the flames of Shane's anger. The drama only escalated from there as Sasha did not send Spencer packing with Shane's arrival. Instead, he stayed nearly the whole day, only leaving after a dinner of takeout Chinese that he paid for, for everyone. And he stuck pretty close to Sasha's side, bringing in her things from his truck, making it evident that they he had been with her probably since yesterday when she gathered her things from her father's house.

Though Spencer seems nice enough to me, as a lobbyist, and the rich child of an Ohio congresswoman, it was all too much for Shane, who has taken his presence as a declaration of war. From snarky comments, to physically jostling to help move around furniture, it has been a tragic comedy from the start, all of which seems to be slightly amusing to Sasha. Even when I pulled her to the side and asked her what she was going to do about it, she responded on a raucous laugh that there is nothing for her to do except let them keep moving her things for her. Of course she also made sure to remind me that not too long ago my current boyfriend kicked my ex-boyfriend's ass at my birthday party, so until Shane and Spencer come to blows I shouldn't worry about it. As usual snarky ass Sasha is right, so I decided to stay out of it.

Now that Spencer is gone, and it's well after 11 pm, Shane and Sasha are in her room having what I'm dubbing, a pre-fuck quarrel, to get their adrenaline flowing. I can't imagine how else their arguing could end, seeing as Rick and Shane are staying the night, and leaving in the morning. I sincerely doubt that Sasha is going to make Shane sleep on the couch.

"l really wish they would just fuck and get it over with already. She probably wants to; I know he wants to. It's crazy, and you need your rest since you have to work tomorrow afternoon."

"I'll be fine. If she likes him what's she seeing that Spencer guy for?" Rick asks, passively rubbing the flat palm of his warm hand up and down my thigh.

"Sasha is her father's daughter, and her brothers' sister. She was the only female in a male dominated home and she has taken on a lot of their ways in terms of dating I guess. But, she's also very much just in tuned with her own femininity and freedom to be whoever she wants to be. She doesn't give a damn what others think of her, and she does what makes her happy. Sometimes I wish I was more like her."

"Why? You're perfect just like you are."

"No I'm not. Thank you for thinking I am though. I mean, I don't care what people think of me either, but I wish I was as free as she is. She's always been that way. Since my dad died, and I went through therapy, I have played it safe for the most part, taken everything so serious when maybe I should not have. I don't always take chances because I don't know that I can survive the loss."

Raising up to make eye contact with me, Rick's brows are furrowed, concern in his eyes. "What would you change then? Are you unhappy with how your life is going?"

"No, not really. I just wonder if me deviating from others' expectations sooner, would have led me to you earlier. I want this to work out so bad, Rick. I didn't know how bad until this week, until today when I'm laying here with you, and who knows when we might be able to be like this again? I have to admit to you that I'm scared that even if we try hard, this still might not work. I'll be devastated."

"That's the chance we take to love someone isn't it? That's why it's so hard to let someone in. Give them that kind of power over you. The kind you have over me."

"Over each other."

"The truth is we could lose each other. This might not work out. But, we have to try. You're worth it. This love between us is worth it. And, pretty girl, I think we will make it. That regardless of how far apart we are, we will always find our way back to each other. Our love is strong enough to do that."

"But, how do you know? It's only been a few months. People who have been together for years sometimes can't hold it together."

"No clue. I just do. I know it." A tiny laugh escapes him, as he shakes his head back and forth. "I'll come every weekend that I'm off."

"And I'll come home every weekend that I can." I promise.

"And I'm working on getting promoted to corporal, that's going to require I keep working hard. I'll keep volunteering for extra shifts so I can keep saving. Stay busy."

"Right. And of course you will make corporal. You're the best thing going in King County." I smile at him, beaming at the thought of my man being so ambitious and hard working. "You know, it makes me feel better that you will be occupied, staying out of and away from trouble. I'm taking the max load of classes so that I can graduate in the spring, so it's going to be hard for me. For us." Fidgeting with my fingers for a moment, biting at my nails, the gravity of our on and off separation over the next couple of months is really hitting me. Especially if I dwell on who could potentially be the source of any trouble.

"We've got this, pretty girl. We just have to make sure we communicate and see each other as often as we can, and be honest with each other. Right?" Quirking his eyebrow over his left eye, I get the sense that Rick is going to delve further into the kiss with Mike, but his silence as he waits for me to answer tells me otherwise. Maybe he has completely forgotten about it, or realizes that it's not a big deal? More than likely he's waiting on me to confess it to him, but I'm certain that right now is not the right time.

"Right, baby."

Shifting so that his back is now against the headboard, he offers me his outstretched hand. "Come here." Moving over, I climb across his lap, straddling him with my knees pressed to the mattress on either side of him. Hugging my body close with one arm wrapped around my waist, and the other hooked around my shoulders, his hand is lightly massaging the back of my neck. His comforting movements are calming my agitated spirit.

Things seem to have quieted down in Sasha's room now, with only the hushed whispers of their voices, now tamped down to a minor hum, lightly invading our space. My iPhone shuffles to the next song, "Till it Happens to You", and the smooth, jazzy voice of Corrine Bailey Rae, backed by an acoustic guitar, drapes the room in a romantic trance.

It used to feel like heaven 
Used to feel like may 
I used to hear those violins playing our strings like a symphony 
Now they've gone away 
Nobody wants to face the truth 
But you wont believe what love can do 
Till it happens to you 
Till it happens to you

Using his hand on my neck, Rick lifts my head to his, lovingly staring down into my eyes, his own now almost clear as glass. Emboldened by his confidence in our love, the passion and love for this man stirring in my chest, along with his firm possessive clutch on my body, I'm driven to lean into him and claim his pink lips. Sucking, licking, biting. In between kisses, when we release each other to succumb to our need for air, Rick's erotic moans, delivered in the same gruff bass of his previously spoken affirmations, send a spike of arousal to my pussy. Immediately, I pull away, reminded that I'm on my period, and all of this foreplay is tortuously going to lead to a dramatic let down.

"Rick, baby. Wait." I groan, in an agonized voice, pissed that my period decided to show up this afternoon. Figuring I had at least another day before it's unwelcome arrival, I neglected to make love to Rick this morning. Instead, we will both be left with a glaring sexual void on our last night together for the summer. "I'm on my period, babe. I can't."

With his weighty erection pressed between us, pointed towards his belly button on his abdomen, my words break through his erotic trance, and he stops kissing me. "That's not a problem for me." He quickly dismisses, resuming his all consuming kisses, dotting them down my neck to my breasts. Sucking them into his mouth, his tongue rolls over my nipples, stiffening and arousing them until it's almost painful.

"Rick!" I call out to him again, gripping tightly to his hair to get his attention, needing to stop him before I get so far gone that I can't. Instead he groans at the intense sensation, that only seems to spur on his carnal appetite.

"Hm?" He distractedly responds, adding pressure to my spine, greedily shoving my breasts further into his warm, wet mouth. With his other hand, he has a tight hold to his cock, pumping the flesh at a steady, measured pace.

"I… No. I don't think I'm ready for that just yet. I can't." I stutter, shaking me head, disbelieving in his unburdened response to me being on my period. "Rick, it would be… messy."

"Huh?" On a deep sigh, he appears to be finally registering my reluctance, and releases me from his hold and his mouth, as well as himself. "Oh? Ok. Ok. Sorry." Rubbing a hand down his reddened face, he leans back, resting on the headboard again. "I got carried away. We can finish this another time."

Reclined back on his thighs, taking noticing of the continual deep heave of his chest as he tries to get a hold of himself, along with the swollen stiffness that his cock is maintaining, I decide that we can finish this now.

The song shuffles again through my Spotify mellow mix, landing on Maroon 5's "Secret", joined at the same time by the syncopated banging of a headboard on the wall in Sasha's room next to mine, and the random curse word loudly growled from masculine lips.

Watch the sunrise
Say your goodbyes
Off we go
Some conversation
No contemplation
Hit the road

Car overheats
Jump out of my seat
On the side of the highway, baby
Our road is long
Your hold is strong
Please don't ever let it go, oh no

"They aren't the only ones who can have some fun." Easing back, and nudging Rick's legs open, I'm prostrate in front of him, resting on my own legs tucked beneath me. Reading the intent in my eyes, he again takes hold of the shaft of his cock, massaging the head with his thumb. Witnessing the way he handles himself is inciting a spark of arousal in me, and I can feel my mouth watering in anticipation.

"You want a taste, pretty girl?"

"Yes."

"Here." He points his cock towards me and lifts his legs, bending them at the knee. "Taste."

Biting at my bottom lip, I raise my eyes to his, as I bend and open my mouth to swallow as much of him as I can. Hearing the wild moans of my cousin Sasha raising high above the music, I'm reminded of the few tips she gave me regarding giving head. Relax my jaw. Keep my lips wet and wrapped around my teeth, and allow my spit to drench his cock for lubrication. Use my hand and mouth at the same time, twisting my fist to provide tantalizing friction. Swirl my tongue around the head. It's a lot to try and keep track of, and with this only being my third attempt ever I know I won't remember it all, but the fact that I get such an unanticipated thrill from doing it, makes me eager to keep trying and to get better.

Taking in as much of his length as I can, feeling him nudge the back of my throat, I try to relax my jaws and tongue, to allow me to accept even more of him. Instantly I'm met with the soft tickle of his fine, dark pubic hairs against my nose, the masculine musk of him driving me a little wild. Squirming, and pressing my thighs together, a tiny tingle zips through my clit, delivering a welcomed jolt of pleasure. Tentatively my hand wraps around the thick base of him. Already sensing the wetness of my saliva drizzling down the shaft, I begin a slow curl and pull of my fist, meeting my lips to my hand on the way down.

Making eye contact with Rick, latching my mocha brown eyes to his ocean blues, his focused attention to my movements, and the obvious affect they are having on him, are encouraging me to speed up my pace.

"That's it, baby. Your mouth feels so good on my dick." Reaching out towards me, he grabs a handful of my hair that is threatening to conceal my face from him, and pulls it into his fist. Now that my whole face, my fast sucking lips, and my laving tongue are exposed to his gaze, he's panting through his partially opened lips. "That's it, take more of me in your throat. Just a little more. Fuck! That's it, pretty girl." The more vocal he is in his appreciation, the more I want to control him with my mouth, welcoming the messiness of me gagging on his length. Up and down, my mouth continues a punishing pace, as my own excitement blossoms with the tight sting of the way he's rigidly gripping my hair.

Hearing the soft hisses escape between his teeth, and watching his tongue swipe over the plump swell of his bottom lip, I tighten my mouth's grip, determined to send him over the edge. "Michonne, baby, I'm about to cum." Pulling at my hair he's attempting to lift my head from his lap, but I hold my mouth in place, increasing the suction of my jaws. "Shiiit! No, don't..." It's too late though, as his spurting seed dribbles onto the back of my tongue, and his hips begin a nearly imperceptible push forward into my mouth.

"Mmmmm..." Swallowing, now satisfied with the throbbing shiver pulsing through my core, I release my hold on his cock, and lay my head on his stomach to watch his face for a sign that he's sated and relaxed.

"You're getting too good at that. I might not ever let you out of my sight." Rubbing his fingers hypnotically over my swollen lips, a small smirk twists his mouth, but his focus on me remains intense. "I'm serious. I think I've got this dangerous addiction to you."

"You think?"

"I know."

"Dangerous?"

"Absolutely."

As the music shuffles once again to Sade's "No Ordinary Love", I'm inclined to agree with how perfectly that song describes the exquisitely unique and profound attachment we have to each other.

Chapter 12 – Rick

Exhaling an exasperated breath, I check my phone again to see if there is a return message from her, responding to my good morning text. Seeing none, I re-focus my attention on my captain as he fills us all in on a recent string of robberies. Michonne and I stayed up late last night talking on Face Time, but it didn't really quench my need for her, physical and emotional. She is supposed to be home this weekend for the Labor Day three-day holiday, and I can't wait to see her. We have only been together twice since she left for school last month, and I'm starving for some time with her. Not just sexual time either. My soul needs to feast on her, to languish in her positive energy and replenish itself. I'm so used to being around her everyday, that I have gotten accustomed to her soothing and affectionate presence. With her not being here it's glaring how much I miss the big and the small things that so quickly endeared her to me. Her wide, white toothed-smile, the result of a staggering frequency of brushing and dental care. Her twinkling laughter, ranging from soft chuckles, flirty giggles, to rousing guffaws. The sensation of her warm, soft body against mine as we sleep snuggled tightly together. Her slender fingers lazily grazing my scalp as we watch television. Her passionate, wet kisses, often so consuming they can only end in a round of sweaty, satisfying sex. The way she grips my shoulders when she's pinned beneath me, ready to explode. I'm off balance now without all of it.

"Rick, come on, dork! You're with me now that we're not stuck with those lame newbies anymore. The bad boys are back, baby!" Popping me on the back, Shane walks past me towards the door of the squad meeting room.

"Yeah, alright. Anything is better than being stuck with Leon Bassett any longer. Even being partnered back up with you!" I tease him back, attempting to shake myself out of the doldrums as I think about missing my girl.

"Let's get outta here, grab some grub. I need coffee. I was up all night with Andrea."

"You back to that old well, huh?"

"Man, Sasha has my ass so tied up in knots, I don't if I'm coming or going half the time. One minute she's riding me like it's the damn Kentucky Derby. The next it's radio silence from her, and she telling me she's on a date with that fucking Spencer guy."

"That's rough." I shake my head, following him out of the sheriff's station and into the parking lot. Blinded by the glare of the early morning sun, I toss down my aviators from the top of my head, and amble over to the trunk to place my work duffle inside. "Michonne has her shit too, man. She's near perfect, but she sings off key, drinks milk and eats ice cream even though it tears up her stomach and we both suffer, she's a blanket hog, a bossy know it all, and sometimes she's too stubborn for her own good. Everybody has their shit. How much of that shit can you deal with and still need to be with her?"

Joining me at the trunk, adding his own gear, Shane stops for a moment, looking around us as if checking to make sure no one can hear our conversation. "I just, uh… We have spent some time together, you know that. She ain't perfect either, but she's awesome. The sex is the best I've ever had. Kinky, nasty, mind blowing sex. Like, she put something fierce and crazy on me, but, she don't wanna settle for a guy like me. Sasha is this free hippie woman, and she won't lock that shit down for me, not for my shit show. And, Rick, you know me, man, I'm a fuck up. But her? She's wife material. She's settle down, my dick belongs to only her material. Sasha is… That shit has me scared, ya know?"

"I understand, but… what's the alternative? Not being with her?" I ask, shutting the trunk and sliding into the driver's side of the patrol car. Joining me in the car on the passenger's side, Shane is initially quiet, I guess he's giving my question some thought. Not wanting him to bust a blood vessel thinking over something that should be easy to answer, I continue, breaking into his thoughts. "Listen, man. I've known you my whole life. If you say she's wife material, that she would make you settle down from all that chasing, and fucking, it really shouldn't be a question that's so hard to answer. With Michonne, I'll be damned if I let her get away. It's not an option. There is no alternative."

"I'm not you though, Rick. I'm not some do good, golden boy. I know I will fuck this up with her. I know it. So, it's just easier to go ahead and fuck it up now. She knows it, too, because I told her I would wife her little ass yesterday if she let me. You know what she told me? She told me not to waste my time because it would never work. That's why she's still seeing that guy Spencer I bet." Throwing up his hands in frustration, he slumps down in his seat, and adds his own sunglasses to his eyes.

"And you're ok with just letting her go off with him? Letting him have her?" Incredulous at the thought of me ever letting another man even touch Michonne, agitated as fuck at the thought that another man ever did, I can't fathom Shane's easy acceptance.

Shrugging his shoulders, he doesn't provide a verbal response, but I can tell that despite his nonchalant reaction, he's struggling with the idea.

"Fuck that. Since when do you give up easily? Shit isn't always the way we want it, man. I don't want Michonne in Atlanta without me. If I could have locked her up and made her stay here I would have. I'm dying without her and it's only been a month. But, I know I have to be willing to put in the time and the effort to make this work, because she's my life. That's how bad I want her, need her. I'll do anything. Maybe you don't like Sasha as much as you think." Putting the car in drive I pull off and head towards the diner in town.

"That's the problem, bro, I do like her enough for that. I would try. But, she's not gonna tolerate me fucking that shit up, she'll leave me high and dry. I know it. I'm just not ready for that."

"Shane, I'm not perfect. Michonne accepts whatever it is I bring to our relationship, good and bad. But, that's because she loves me. I'm sure if you asked her she would tell you that I fuck up plenty. That bullshit with her ex, the jealousy, how messy I am. I just don't think going back to messing around with Andrea and whoever else you can dig up to avoid this thing with Sasha is a good idea. But, you'll have to figure this shit out for yourself."

"Yeah. Or not. Like you said, this shit don't have to be hard. Andrea is easy. I like easy. She takes what I give her."

"Well fuck it then. If easy is what you want. If you don't think you deserve better than that. Go for it. But, I don't wanna hear shit else about Sasha then."

"Whatever."

"And from what Michonne and I had to endure last month? You all arguing and fucking? I doubt it's going to be so easy to walk away from her any way."

"Shit, it's too late any damn way. She's already walked away from me." Crossing his arms, and turning his head to look out of the window, he's shutting down and ending the conversation. Sensing the conflict raging within him, a potent mixture of self-doubt and unfulfilled need, I leave well enough alone, and allow my best friend to sort through the confusion on his own, hoping he will take a little of my advice.

Silent, our early morning patrol has now taken on a somber tone, with the contemplative undercurrent that has both of us stuck in our own heads. I'm focused on driving while also getting lost in my thoughts, wondering why I haven't heard from Michonne yet this morning. It has become our daily routine to check in every morning, just to get the day started off right, and to Face Time every night. Last night while we were talking, she mentioned that she has a hair appointment this morning, but I figured she could still return my text at the hair salon. I didn't get to ask her too much about the time or the schedule for the rest of her day because my girl, the little freak that she's turning into, decided that a little strip tease and self-pleasure was on the menu for last night. Voyeuristically I sat on my bed with my Macbook on my lap, and my dick in my hand, as she sat on her bed, 45 miles away, writhing and moaning with her fingers plummeted deep in the lusciously wet folds of her pussy.

Last Night…

"Michonne, what's that you have on? Is… is that one of my work shirts? Did you really steal one of my uniform shirts?" I asked, squinting my eyes as I focus on the screen, trying to identify if the tan shirt she's wearing in the dimmed light of her bedroom is one of my uniform shirts.

"I didn't 'steal' it. I borrowed it. When I see you again I will give it back and 'borrow' another one with your smell on it to replace it." Looking her over on the small screen of my computer, I'm not displeased by the sight of her diminutive frame draped in my shirt. Sitting cross legged, in her red lace panties, with only one button of the shirt closed at the center of her chest, her hair up in a messy bun, and her dark framed glasses on, she is the picture of perfection. The queen of my naughtiest dreams. "I like wearing your shirt, with your smell on me. Makes me miss you a little less." Dropping her chin to her chest, she raises her eyes to me, the cutest little pout to her sexy lips. "Forgive me?"

"Nothing to forgive. If I was smart as you I would have nabbed some of your things too." I offer on a slight chuckle. In fact, it's arousing as hell, and a small hint of pride hits my chest at her admission that she wanted the shirt because it has my scent on it. 

"So, did you get something to eat for dinner, Rick? Real food?" She effortlessly changes the subject, cooling my heated thoughts. 

"I had a hamburger." 

"That's not real food, Rick. You have to eat well so you can live forever. You better not even think about leaving me with 5 kids and a mangy dog, so you can check out on a heart attack from a greasy hamburger. If you want, you can always go to my parents' house to eat. Shane does." Michonne protests, her lips twisted in a displeased frown. 

Remembering that her father passed away from a heart attack, I check myself and stash away the snarky comment I was going to make about the questionable health level of the soul food her mother often prepares, and instead offer a nod of agreement. 

"Or maybe just not eat a hamburger everyday. Ok? I know I'm not there to force you to eat a little better, so you have to do it on your own, old man." 

"Who are you calling an old man? I'm young."

"Nope. I'm young, you're old." Sticking her tongue out and pointing at herself and then at me, she's teasing me, lightning the mood between us. "It's ok though. You're still cute to me." 

"I better be. What time will you be here tomorrow?" I question, anxious to see my girl. To get my hands and lips, and other things on her. In her. Going from feast to famine is definitely starting to get to me.

"Evening probably. I have a hair appointment in the morning." Halting our conversation, she stops to gaze at her screen as I yawn and stretch, then proceed to remove the computer from my lap, placing it to the side, while I stand and remove my t-shirt. "Oh, so you're gonna give me a little strip show, old man?"

Tossing the shirt to the floor, and dropping my pants to my ankles, leaving me in only my boxers, I reposition myself on the bed and pick my laptop back up "Would you like that?" Arching my right eyebrow in question, I'm genuinely interested in this new little possible kink she's developed. 

"I think I would." Haltingly she confesses her interest in this new predilection. It's not that we haven't stripped for each other before, but it's usually in a rush to get our clothes off so we can fuck. Not for the sole pleasure of watching, anticipating the actual feel and taste of the other person.

"I know I would like to see what you've got going on under that shirt. Show me, pretty girl."

"You first." Tilting her chin towards me, she sits up straighter, her attention laser focused on me through the camera on her computer. 

Adjusting the screen of the laptop that's now resting in between my legs, just below my knees, I pull my boxers down my thighs, releasing my quickly hardening cock. Fisting it, I begin a slow, methodic up and down, focusing on maintaining the easy cadence of my own breathing as I hear a small gasp escape her full lips. Biting down on the plumpness of her bottom lip, they remain slightly apart, pouty with need. Not wanting to get excited too quickly, I run my tongue over my own lips, and cease my movements. On a deep inhale through my nose, and a slow rush of air from my mouth, bulking my chest with the effort, I tilt my chin to her in return. "Your turn."

Reaching towards her face, she begins to remove her glasses. "Leave them on." I command, noticing that there is something refreshingly enticing about the sexy librarian look she has when she wears them. 

Delicately, her thin elegant fingers, the nails painted a bright red, manipulate the one clasped button through the hole closure of her shirt. Gently, she uses that same hand to open the it, exposing the decadent chocolate of her skin, against the drab tan of my uniform shirt. The lighting in her room is dim, so it's hard for me to see much outside of the sepia cast of a lamp's glow, outlining her body against the bright green of her bed's comforter. 

"I need to see more of you. Take it off." Unable to control the urgent compulsion in my voice, I bite out the command, barely recognizing the animal like growl in my tone. "Now."

In adherence to my request, she uses both of her hands to calmly take hold of the shirt, and slide it's dwarfing presence from her feminine shoulders. Removing her arms from the sleeves, she returns to her upright position on the middle of the bed. Heavy, full breasts bobbing with the heft of their rounded weight, she nervously rubs at the seam of her lips with her fingers. 

"Good girl. Now open your legs, let me see my pussy."

Groaning at my request, she leans back towards the headboard, resting on the pile of pillows behind her. Unfolding her long legs from their pretzeled cross, she opens them wide, bending her legs at the knee. "Like this?" She inquires, a quiet uncertainty tainting her sweet voice. 

"Yes. Move your panties to the side." Eager with expectation, my own voice deepens as it rasps over my lips to deliver my request. Pushing the red lace cloth to the side, her pussy lips are puffy and glossy with the evidence of her excitement. Continuing to tend to my own thick, heavy, flesh a tingle of rousing titillation is winding tight in my groin, as I bring to mind memories of her womanly petals, plush and weeping over my fingers, around my cock. "Touch yourself inside. Make yourself feel good."

"Rick, I wish you were here." She whines, fascinatedly watching me handle myself as her fingers became animated, massaging, and delving into the sweet stickiness of her. "I need you so bad…" She breathes out on a frustrated sigh.

"Me too, pretty girl. Tomorrow. I'll see you tomorrow, and I'm going to fuck you so good." 

"Mmmm… You promise, Rick?"

"Is that what you want, Michonne? For me to fuck you? Hm?" 

"Yes… please." 

"Fast or slow, baby? Tell me." I beg, watching the urgent thrust of her fingers, wishing it was my cock buried within her, drilling her to completion.

"Hard… fast…"

"Fuck, look at how pretty and wet those fat, pussy lips are. They always feel so good taking all of my cock. Fuck yourself faster."

Her head thrown back, gifting herself with the creeping warmth of a burgeoning orgasm, a low wail of pleasure eases off her lips. The flawless vibration of her wanton cries seeps through the speakers of my computer, bringing forth an eruption that flows thick and sticky over my tugging fist, and up onto my stomach. "Shit!"

The crackling static of the voice of Jerry at dispatch filters through the radio, bringing me back from my memories of last night. "All units, high speed pursuit in progress, heading south on Highway 18 away from Main Street in King County. A late model, brown coupe, two males, Caucasian, armed. Requesting backup."

Turning to Shane, we both nod at each other, understanding immediately what comes next. Flipping on the car's sirens, I add pressure to the break, then cut the wheel left to complete a U-turn that will send us the other way, accelerating towards Highway 18. Speeding up the highway, anxious butterflies flutter around my chest, encouraging the adrenaline to course through my veins and give me the courage and fearlessness to call upon all of my education and training to resolve whatever shit storm we are sure to encounter. Shane grabs his brown Sheriff's hat, and gloves, pulling them both tightly down to fit.

Right away we are welcomed to the dusty strip of Highway that leads from town, where dispatch noted that the pursuit was departing, with another squad car. Pulling up next to it, we create a barricade to the side of the road. Exiting the other car, and working with another young deputy, is my old trainee partner Leon Bassett. Crouching low, they are now placing a spike strip across the road, to blowout the tires of the fleeing suspect's vehicle.

"Gotdman it! Not Leon." I grumble under my breath, rounding my car to the trunk so Shane and I can retrieve our gear. I remember how careless and stupid the young man was during the 6 months he spent as my partner while training. I'm not looking forward to having to manage him while also attempting to peacefully resolve this encounter. Despite all of my efforts to properly train him, and help him focus, stupidity seems to have won out.

Pulling out my Colt Python, the one my father gave me when I became a deputy, I wipe the sweat off my face, and my hand over my hair. It's an attempt to calm myself and eradicate any semblance of fear that might cause me to react in a way that puts my life or the lives of my fellow deputies in jeopardy. We are all going home alive today, I promise myself, as I think of my Michonne waiting for me at the end of this day.

As we all steel ourselves, kneeling behind the barricade of our two squad cars, guns ready, Leon begins to goofily laugh. "Hey y'all we might end up on You Tube or something. On Facebook!"

"Why would we want that? You just focus on being ready for what's coming down the road, Leon. Make sure you have the safety off and one in the chamber." I admonish, rolling my eyes at the immaturity evident in his comment. Sheepishly glancing my way, he releases the safety on his gun, and checks the chamber, probably finding it empty as he proceeds to then cock it.

"Oh shit, Rick. Look at this!" Shane hollers over the revving engine of a late model car, zooming up the highway, kicking up dust and rocks on to the squad cars in pursuit behind it. Disturbing the eerie quiet of the back country highway, the sirens and lights of the squad cars are blaringly introducing the arrival of some serious drama. The loud metallic clack of shotgun, and firearms being cocked rips through the air.

The suspect's car approaches and dramatically jumps, and launches in the air towards the ditch once it hits the spike strip, blowing out its tires. Tumbling and rolling over its side a series of times, the two squad cars behind it come to a screeching halt, breaking to avoid hitting the strip. Instead they fishtail and whip around to create another barrier at the berm of the road. Rushing the new barrier, the four of us mount up behind it, with Shane and I flanking the ends.

As the ranking deputy, I take the lead, and advance towards the stilled wreckage, gun held high. As one of the car's doors swing open, and one of the suspects stumbles out with his hand raised in the air, the voice of another deputy hits the air. "Gun! Gun! Gun!"

"Freeze! Put the gun down!" I yell, my voice choking and rasping on the dust filled air, attempting to fill my lungs. As gunshots are expelled from the suspect's wildly waiving gun, I widen my stance and rip a few rounds his way, aiming for his hand to halt his potentially lethal shots from catching one of the deputies. With the rapid zing of bullets being fired from all sides, a blast from Shane's shotgun is what eventually silences the shots from the suspect, sending his body pitching backwards. Unfortunately, as he falls, his gun rips off one final shot, that hits me directly in my left shoulder.

The force and momentum of the gun's blast levels me, tossing me unceremoniously to my back. Initially I feel nothing. Adrenaline has me so high, that it shields my body from recognizing the damage that has been done to my shoulder. But my brain and nerves finally connect, agreeing that my body has been hit, and register the searing pain racing through my mangled flesh.

"Rick! Rick! Leon, you call for an ambulance. You hear me? You tell them an officer is down!"

"Michonne…" I grunt, calling out the only name that crosses my mind right now.

"I'll call her ok? Rick, it's gonna be alright, buddy. It's just your shoulder. You're gonna be fine."

Writhing, trembling from the excruciating burn of the bullet's tear into sinew, meat, bone, the heat of my own blood oozing from the wound has splashed across the side of my face, and is trickling across my shirt. Bent over my body, placing pressure to my wound, I can barely make out Shane's face, the edges of which seem to be obscured by an encroaching darkness. Before that darkness finally devours everything in my sight, a few slow blinks fight off its grip. But it's no use, and regardless of the immobilizing anguish my body is experiencing, I feel a sense of cozy warmth, and I'm comforted by the black expanse covering my vision, because through its wide scope the only thing I can now see is the most beautiful, reassuring thing in the world to me. My beloved. Michonne.

"They're not family, Rance. They have no place here." A nasally, feminine and southern voice rises on a complaint. Immediately my foggy brain identifies it as my mother's. When I was younger I used to find comfort in her soothing words, her careful guidance. But now, it seems to always hold a hint of intolerant displeasure, censure.

"Shane said Rick asked for her before he passed out. Ellen, you and I both know he would want her here. Hershel is my best friend, and Mona is his wife. They belong here as much as anyone else. Just calm down." My father directs, a sting of displeasure with her clear in his firm tone. I would know the loud boom of his leisurely, Georgia twang anywhere. Always so to the point and direct, but brimming with a buoyancy reflected in his personality that I have always tried to emulate.

"Don't you tell me to calm down. Our son was just shot, and is laying near death, and you think it's ok for this girl he had a summer thing with to be here, but not his longtime girlfriend?"

"I'm pretty sure he and Lori are through, and I'm even more certain that he and Michonne are still together." My father's voice reasons.

"Excuse me. I'm Michonne's mother, Mona. We have met before." Michonne's mother, always so pleasant and kind, introduces her forthright and direct way of communicating to the conversation. "I think you might want to step away from your own misguided feelings, and think about your son. He and Michonne are very much in a loving relationship. She should be here if he asked for her. And, I spoke to the surgeon that removed the bullet from Rick's shoulder. He will be fine. He's definitely not near death." She adds with a minor hint of sarcasm that even I can detect still deep under the influence of whatever pain medicine they have given me.

"Aren't you a physical therapist or a gym teacher? Are you qualified to know?" My mother responds, offering her own brand of sarcasm.

But Mrs. Greene easily throws it back, landing her politely delivered, but professionally clipped and succinct words right at my mother's feet. "I wouldn't expect an uneducated woman like yourself to comprehend the difference, Ellen. But, I am the best sports medicine physician in the state of Georgia, perhaps in all of the south. I have more degrees, and certifications than you can probably count without using your fingers. I think I'm qualified to understand the lethality of a minor flesh wound."

"He was shot!"

"And he's recovering. He's not in a coma. He's not near death. He's resting while the anesthesia from the surgery to remove the bullet wears off. Again, I don't expect you to understand such complicated terms as 'he will be fine'. But, he will."

"Mom… Mrs. Grimes, I'm not going anywhere. Even if he didn't ask for me, I wouldn't leave his side. When he wakes up I intend to be here." Ah. There's my pretty girl. With the rich and sweet melody of her voice resonating in my ears, my heart beats faster, a rapid staccato bruising against my chest, insistent that I wake up and feast on the sight of her.

"And I intend to make sure you have that chance, honey. Hershel?"

"That's right, Mona. Listen, Rance, Ellen, why don't we step out and give Michonne a chance to be with Rick. Let's all go cool off. I think there is a lot of emotion right now, but the doctors said he is stable, he's out of danger. Alright?"

"Yes. We'll be back, Michy. Take all the time you need with your boyfriend, honey." If my eyelids were not so heavy, cloaking my sight, I'm sure there would be a satisfied smirk on Mrs. Greene's lips. One so very much like the one her daughter sports every time she thinks she has proven a point.

After a moment, the click of the door announces someone's departure. Instantly, I feel the heated, feminine press of my girl on my right side. With a deft and considerate touch, Michonne strokes the pads of her fingers across the stubble on my cheeks, down the slope of my nose, over the seam of my lips. Whispery soft, she drops a kiss on my temple. Lingering, her plush lips continue to peck a series of barely there damp kisses to my face. In a hushed tone, so low that I can barely make it out through the cloud dulling my senses, she utters on a weak sigh against my cheek, almost in the cadence of a chanted prayer. "I love you, Rick, please wake up. Please, please, please…" A fat droplet, a tear, rushes from her eyes and onto my face, and it stirs the strength deep in me to galvanize my faculties, and fight against the medicine that would keep me subdued and unable to assuage her fears. "Don't leave me…"

Hearing the devastated finality in her grief-stricken and heavyhearted words, I muster enough energy to lift my right hand and place it on her thigh. Taking a moment to savor the feel of her under my palm, delighting in her stricken gasp of surprise at my movement, I utter from my dry lips, "I'm here."

"Oh my God! Rick!" Hurriedly, she laces my face and lips in kisses, taking care not to jostle my wounded body too much.

"Hi, pretty girl. You're here." Easing my eyes open, I lock them with the chocolaty brown of hers, wet and slick with tears. Dropping lower, I see the remnants of dampness streaking her round, cherubic cheeks. And it hurts me more than any gunshot wound ever could. Her pain is mine, and I feel it tenfold. Knowing that she was in anguish, sad and in tears over me, I grip her thigh tighter, wanting to relieve her of any distress. Raising my eyes higher I notice something else new about her.

"Where else would I be?" She questions, her voice meekly breaking over the few words.

"I guess with me…always."

"Of course! I can't believe you got shot, Rick. I was on the way here, on 285 when I got a call from Shane. He was hollering and yelling in the phone, but he wouldn't tell me you got shot. Just that I needed to get here to the hospital because you were hurt at work. And I couldn't stop crying. I was speeding here, and trying to just… to just get to you." Waving her hands as she animatedly relays the story of how she found out I was hurt, her eyes frantically dance, often dashing away from my eyes as if it pains her further to look directly at me.

"Hey. Look at me. I'm fine. And you shouldn't speed. You have to be careful."

"Are you serious right now? Of course I was speeding! I was scared to death."

"I think I'm ok. No need to be scared, baby." Clearing my throat, I try to swallow but the dryness is scratchy like sandpiper, and the agitation sends me into a small coughing fit.

"Here, wait. Let me get you some water." Jumping off the bed she rushes over to the rolling table near the foot, and pours water from the pitcher into a small plastic cup. "The doctor said you would be groggy, and your throat might be dry. Here, drink this water." She offers a cup with a straw, placing the it to my lips. "I… I need you to always be careful, Rick." Nodding my head, I agree, but, she scoffs at my easy dismissal and continues. "I was so afraid of you, of something like this, anything taking you away. But you got me to jump into this with you with both feet, and to kind of forget my fears. About… about losing someone I… love. And, I know we haven't really been able to be like we were since I went back to school. I'm trying, you're trying, and it's not enough, is it? We both need more… time. Certainty." Attempting to back away from me, I grab a hold of her arm that's holding the cup near my lips.

Sensing some hesitancy, a skittishness in the weighty admission behind her words, I try to raise my head from the pillow, to lift my body to a straight up position. But momentarily forgetting the wound to my left shoulder, a blazing shock of blinding pain hits me. Closing my eyes tight to ward off the pain, I sink back to the pillows. Grunting to withdraw from it, I turn my head to rest my eyes on the newly striking, and always pleasing visage of her beautiful face. "You are enough. Whatever we can make of this time apart is enough. Ok? Nothing is going to take me from you."

"Rick…" She mumbles, blowing out a strained breath, her eyes downcast towards the floor.

"Hey, listen." Taking a moment to swallow more of the water down, so I can get this out, what I need to say, I close my eyes and offer. "Don't be afraid. Don't withdraw from me. I'm still here with you."

"I'm trying not to be scared."

"I know. Come back over here." I beg, pulling lightly at her arm to return her to my side on the bed. Climbing in the bed, teetering on the edge, I tap her thigh to urge her to bring her leg over mine, to steady her. She complies, and a semblance of normalcy washes over me as I sense some of the tension release from her. "Now tell me about this haircut. It looks good on you. I love it."

Immediately, her hand gets thrown up to her head, rubbing the thick, cottony hair that remains. Bringing her uncertain eyes to mine, she roams my face looking for some indication of whether there is truth in my words. "Do you really like it? I met a girl in one of my classes who has a really short cut like this, and I just, I went to my hairdresser and had her cut it all off. I like the freedom of it."

"Without so much hair, I can really see you. All of you." And God help me, it's breathtaking. Every adored feature of her face pops out at me, creating a more elegant and classy picture than before. Not that she didn't look good with the long hair. She would be beautiful with no hair. But this new, short haircut, trimmed low to her head, and fluffed about into little curly twists, frames her like a regal and heavenly halo. The attractive reflection staring at me with wide, dark eyes, blinking and dropping her long eyelashes to sweep the crest of her cheek, is stirring an undying fire inside of me. "You know, pretty girl, I had plans for us this weekend."

Sensing the drop of my voice, the raspy bass of it, Michonne is familiar enough with my appetite to know exactly what those plans were.

"Oh yeah, old man? Like the Face Time plans you had for me last night?" Lifting an eyebrow in question, twisting her glossy lips, I can no longer resist not having a taste of her. Even if it's only a tiny one. Grabbing her, a little more roughly than I imagined I had the strength for, I grasp her leg, dragging her closer to me to capture her juicy lips with my own.

"Rick…"

"Uh, excuse me. I was knocking, but I guess you didn't hear me. Deputy Grimes, I'm your doctor, Tobin Grant. I performed your surgery, removed the bullet." Slowly, he fully enters the room, and approaches the side of the bed, tossing a glance towards Michonne's lithe figure with her long dark legs, clad in a very tight pair of blue jeans, draping over mine. Appreciatively sweeping her figure, he doesn't say anything for a moment, only grins widely at her. Not liking the explicit way he's staring at her, I clear my throat to pull his attention back to me. "Oh, yes. Are you Mrs. Grimes?" He asks, focusing his attention on her lovely face.

"N-"

"Yes, she is. What happened with my surgery? When can I go home?" I rudely interrupt, wanting him to get to the point of his intrusion, and leave. Dr. Grant is a tall, older man, with maybe ten to twenty pounds on me. And despite that, and even though I'm injured, laid up in a hospital bed with tubes and wires attached to me, I will end him if he keeps openly flirting with my Michonne in front of me.

"Oh! Ok. It went well. The bullet didn't hit any main arteries. It did tear through some muscle and soft tissue, so there will be about a six to eight-week recovery period to allow that to heal. Maybe some physical therapy afterwards to ensure that any muscle tightness or atrophy is addressed, as you won't have a full range of motion of that shoulder for the majority of that time. In fact, you can probably be released in a day or so, but you will have to wear a sling to try and keep that shoulder set. Any questions on any of that?"

"No. I just wanted to know that everything was ok, and when I can go home. Right, pretty girl?"

"Yes. But what about his recovery? Can he drive, take care of himself? What's off limits?"

"We can talk more about that when he's discharged, but he will definitely need to be off work for at least the six weeks of his recovery. But, you could probably help him out there, right, Mrs. Grimes?"

"Alright, thank you, Dr. Grant. Was there anything else?" I answer, growing more agitated by his presence the longer he stays.

"No. I think that covers it all. I'll be in tomorrow morning to check in on you. And, it looks like you have a nice group of officers and family outside waiting to see you. You can have a few at a time, but you need to rest, so they can't stay too long. Have a good night folks. Mrs. Grimes, take care. Let me know if you need anything."

"Goodbye!" I offer on a grumble, waiting impatiently for him to depart and close the door behind him. "He was an asshole."

"An asshole that saved your life." Michonne mumbles under her breath.

"I wasn't near death, Michonne." I roll my eyes, still pissed at the way he was ogling and flirting with her. "Anyway, you ok being here?"

"What do you mean?"

"I know you hate hospitals, since your dad. Right?"

"Yeah… It's difficult to be here. Everything reminds me of that time. When he died." Sadly, her voice trails off, inching down the black hole where all of the melancholy and dread around her father's death reside. "I don't really want to talk about it. Let's change the subject."

"Ok. But we can. Talk about it. If you want. If that's something you need."

Not even addressing my last comment, she effectively moves on, and does as she suggested by leading the conversation in a different direction. Raising her voice, adding a clearly fictitious modicum of cheer, she continues. "Going to have to figure out what we're going to do about your recovery. It will be difficult for me to get here more often, but I might be able to push some of my classes to next summer."

"Nope. I got this." I dismiss, shutting down any thoughts around her moving or postponing her classes for me. "Anyway, I heard my mother and yours in here going at it earlier. Sounded…lively."

"Probably going to get even more lively when your mother hears that you called me Mrs. Grimes." She teases, relaxing again and snuggling closer to me, burying her face in my neck.

"You will be. She can get used to it now, or later. Either way, pretty girl, you will be."

"Only if you promise to not put yourself in danger so much anymore. Can you do that?"

"No. It's my job, Michonne. But, I can promise that it's always my intention to return to you. Is that enough?"

"I hope so, Rick."

"Yeah. Me too." I add, succumbing to the pull of the exertion of the day, and allowing my eyes to close as I enjoy the presence of my girl with me again. At least for now.

Chapter 13 – Michonne

"Studying hard?"

"Hm?"

"I just… You had your head down like you were really studying hard. But, on second glance it looks like you were actually… sleep?"

"Sorry, hey. I'm just so tired, and I'm on antibiotics for a sinus infection. I'm a mess." Removing my glasses, I lift my head from the pages of my textbook that I apparently decided to take a nap in, and rub at my weary eyes.

Taking a seat in front of me at the table, Mike sets his cup of coffee and backpack down. "Ouch. Those always seem to get you around this time of year don't they? Allergies acting up too?"

"Yeah. And I need to study for a test on Monday. So, that mixed with antibiotics, and Bendaryl, along with it just being a really long and shitty day are threatening to do me in. What are you doing here so late?" I ask on a yawn, sitting up to stretch my fatigued body and stiff muscles.

"Same. You know I'm a night owl. And I wanted to get some stuff done before the Kappa Kostume ball tomorrow night. Remember?"

"Oh yeah. You guys always throw the best parties." I nod with a slight grin to my lips, remembering how true that statement is. Last year I went with Mike to his frat's annual Halloween party, the Kappa Kostume ball, and we dressed up as M&Ms. Corny, but appropriate, and of course we didn't just do the regular rounded costume candies one would expect. His mother Jacqui, who is a pretty dope seamstress, whipped up a cool red suit with the 'M' for Mike, suit coat, top hat, cane and all. And a green, princess like, wedding style dress for me. Basically we looked like we were getting married, as M&Ms. It was cute, and we partied so hardcore that night, and into the next morning, that we crashed at his apartment and didn't even attempt coming up for air the following Sunday. It's one among a million other fond memories I have of my long running friendship with Mike.

"So, why are you here studying, and not at your apartment?" He asks, taking a sip of his coffee, focusing his wondering stare on me.

"Ah, Sasha had company. It was kinda loud, so I decided to come here so I could concentrate."

"Good ol Sasha. That girl never changes. Heard she was seeing a senator now?"

"Senator's son. He's a lobbyist I think? Not sure, but he's an ok guy so far. Not sure how long he will last, but, she's with him for now, and they are leaving in the morning to head to DC to visit with his parents. This one might be serious." I answer.

"Hm. Well, check you out, Mich, with this new haircut. Very dramatic, right? Something happen to make you do this to yourself?" Scrunching up his face a bit, the distaste for my new haircut is quite obvious in the bite of his tone, and the words he chose to use.

"Dramatic? I think it's a good look on me. I've gotten a lot of compliments."

"Of course you did. You're a beautiful woman, Mich. Wonder what your new friend thinks of this look. You know they like long, straight hair." He smirks, eyes latched on to mine over the rim of his coffee cup.

"I don't really think it's a good idea to talk about him with you."

"Why? Because of your birthday? I'm done with that. You know I'm not about that kinda drama."

"Good. Anyway, he likes it. So, I guess you're wrong there. He doesn't care how I wear my hear actually." Smugness in my voice, I repeat a statement has made about my hair.

"Well, I prefer the long, straight hair, but this makes you look like a doll baby, so I guess it has its charm. You know you've got these cute round cheeks, and the big eyes. Heart lips." Mike trails off the last bit, his warm mocha eyes narrowing in on each feature. Realizing how his statements must have come off, and possibly sensing my discomfort, he tilts his head to the side and smiles. "Sorry. Bad habit."

"No worries. Thank you, though. I think?" Squirming in my seat a bit, slightly thrown off by his affectionate assessment of my looks, I reach for my own coffee and take a long swig hoping that the burst of caffeine will give me a needed jolt to wake me up a little more.

"What made you cut it? The Michonne I know has always had long hair. I remember when you were a little girl, and you wanted bangs and your mom told you no, so you cut some on your own! Tragic, Mich." Chuckling, a wide smile breaks out on his handsome face, as Mike recalls the memory from the year I turned 12 and he was 14. I remember that year well. It was the first time I actually had an inkling that Mike paid any attention to me in a way that didn't involve riding bikes, and playing video games. I mean really paid attention, like a boy does a girl he's interested in. The way that I was interested in him. It was the same year my boobs started coming in, and I wanted to look more mature for him, to get him to really notice me and put me and my raging crush on him out of our misery.

Unfortunately for me, at the time there was a girl named Tracy that he had been dating. And she had bangs. She was also his age, and in junior high with him. When I met her at his house once while my parents visited his, and she was over visiting Mike, I remembered feeling envious that he liked her, but also noticed that she was so different from me. Tracy was very light skinned, got to wear hoop earrings, and had long, flowy hair, that her parents allowed her to wear down around her shoulders. And in contrast there was me. This skinny, dark skinned tomboy, whose mother still wouldn't even let her press her thick, kinky hair, that was still worn in natural puffs or braids. But my boobs were starting to come in as little pointed triangles that pressed the limits of my camisole undershirts, and Abercrombie t-shirts, to the point that my father told my mom it was definitely time for her to handle that and get me something to hide those things. On the other hand, I was excited though because they represented something I had, that Mike's current girlfriend Tracy did not.

Tracy did have those bangs that she kept brushing across her face though, tossing them dramatically from her brows and eyes as though she were a supermodel. My immature, juvenile mind somehow came to the conclusion that trying to chop my own naturally, coily hair, into a set of wispy, eye skimming bangs, would give me equal romantic footing with Mike. When I pled my case to my parents my father stalled me out and told me my hair was my glory and that I was not allowed to cut it, and my mother pretty much stuck with my father's judgment. Of course my 12-year-old logic dismissed that, and needless to say it did not turn out well.

"Oh my god, yeah that was such a bad idea. I cut them wet like white folks do, and they were so damned short and uneven, and poufy! I cried before my mother saw them, when she saw them, and for like a few days after because my hair was so jacked up!" I laugh, joining Mike in his continuous amusement over my very first hair cut.

"It was awful, but you were still cute. Still are. I guess this cut suits you a little more than that one though, huh?"

With my laughter dying down, a small smirk remains on my lips. "Yeah I think so." Taking a breather from the revelry that this stroll down memory lane has kicked up, I turn the direction of the conversation to Mike, genuinely curious how he has been since everything that happened at my birthday party. "So, what have you been up to?" Part of me knows I shouldn't be continuing with this late night catch up session, seeing as it's nearly midnight, and I need to get up and drive to King County tomorrow to see Rick, and go with him to a physical therapy appointment. But another part of me is enjoying the easy way that Mike and I have always been able to just be ourselves with each other. The way we come from similar worlds with shared experiences. And honestly, less drama than the racist mothers, terrible ex-girlfriends, and gunshot wounds that I have been dealing with lately. It's difficult for me to admit it, but I could use the moment to decompress with a friend. Other than Sasha, Mike is my oldest friend, and though I would never admit it to Rick, I do miss him.

"Studying, interning, applying for grad schools, taking the GRE. Got accepted to Georgia Tech. Still holding out for MIT though. I'm a little worn out already actually. Maybe a little anxious too."

"I know the feeling, but you know you have nothing to worry about. You've been planning to attend there for grad school forever, and MIT will be happy to accept you. You'll hear from them soon."

"It was our plan. You at Harvard Law, me at MIT. How's your half working out?"

"I'm really pushing it with the class load so I can finish in the fall, and getting back home as much as possible. I can't even consider an internship right now. LSATs are next month, and I'm just waiting to hear from Georgetown, Stanford, and of course Harvard. I guess I'm worn out too, Mike. Maybe anxious too." Running my hand over my shorter hair, I lean back in my chair, exhausted at just the thought of everything I have going on.

"You don't need to be. You'll get in all of them. Hey, but why are you going home so often? Your mom ok?" Tilting his chin my way, Mike leans forward on the table, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Um, Rick was shot at work last month. I've been trying to help him through his recovery when I can."

"Damn. That's fucked up. Though I won't lie and say I'm broke up about it or anything like that. You know I hate that guy, but it sucks that you have to give up so much of your time for something like that."

"I'm happy that I can do it, be there for him. But, you know what? I shouldn't have told you that. It's awkward, and it's not fair to discuss him with you. I know you guys pretty much hate each other so…"

"Whatever. What's he gonna do when you really leave next year?" He dismisses with an agitated wave of his hand, dismissing any discussion of Rick's health, and reminding me that I have yet to discuss my law school plans with him. Aggravating me even further, even though I know their history, his response does kind of rub me the wrong way. Who acts that way when you tell someone that another person, a human being was shot? Lost in the odd feeling his response conjures in me for a moment, my gaze drops to my hands and away from his face. I suppose he realizes that my focus on this conversation has waned and he reaches out for me, gently brushing the tips of his fingers across my cheek. "Hey listen, why don't you come to the Kappa Kostume ball tomorrow night? Come have a good time, unwind. Relax."

"I don't think I will. It's probably not a good idea." Pulling back from his touch, I shake my head, still put off by him and his contemptuous words regarding Rick.

"If you say so. No pressure, but I know you, and you look like you could use a breather. Blow off some steam and just hang out. And you don't have to worry, I won't bother you or anything." Reaching out to me again, this time he lands his hand on my own that's resting on the table. Clasping it tightly with both of his, he lowers his voice to a low pleading whisper. "I want what's best for you. No strings attached, no drama. I promise."

Hesitating, I don't answer him immediately. Instead I just allow my eyes to survey the near empty coffee house, with its eclectic mix of cozy, mismatch couches, chairs, and tables. On a deep sigh, I have to admit that it would be nice to unwind a little bit. Rick getting shot really turned my usually structured world, into an upside down, chaotic mess. And it's completely not his fault, as he has encouraged me to stay at school more, and not try to always be in King County with him. But, deep inside, I know I can't do that.

My angst and anxiety about his shooting, the thought of losing him, motivates me to be with him as much as possible. Sometimes it feels like as long as he's in my sight, my arms, in my space, then I can relax in the certainty that he's not gone. That he hasn't somehow abandoned me to live out this life without him. Honestly my heart can't bear the thought. Many nights have passed when I'm back in Atlanta, and I wake from nightmares of him dying, or in a coma, stuck in a world in between me and death. Or simply deciding that if I can't be there for him, then he can't be there for me. I know that based on his mother's mention of Lori trying to be at the hospital when he was shot, that she is just waiting in the wings to swoop in and take him back from me. I can't let her. I have to take care of him, to let him know that I am here for him, and that I can do it all. Even if my attempts to do just that, are now threatening to break me.

At first I was doing really well balancing everything. Since I only have classes on Monday through Thursday, I would be in Atlanta on those days, then head to King County on Thursday nights, and be with Rick. On Monday mornings I would drive back to school, joining the early commuters into the city, just in time for my 8 am class. With Rick home and off work, it was nice to have him all to myself every weekend, to do nothing but watch television, go to the movies, hang out. It was like the summer never ended, and things had never changed. But, they did change. Because I wasn't studying, researching or writing papers on the weekends to keep up with my heavy schoolwork, I began missing deadlines. A few times I found myself unprepared for a test, and not performing as well as I should have. None of this is how I usually operate when it comes to school. Hell, even when it comes to life. I guess I'm used to being able to compartmentalize my feelings so that they don't take over and manipulate my ability to manage my life. This is a lesson I learned in therapy after my father died. How to now become too driven by emotion. Maybe my feelings for Rick are causing me to regress? To fall into an old pattern that almost destroyed me?

Of course I have never mentioned any of this to Rick, because I didn't want him to feel any kind of way about me choosing him over pretty much everything, even myself. Being the perceptive person that he is, he would often ask me about school, noting how he remembered that his last year of undergrad was the hardest. Effortlessly, I would dodge his attempts to query about my schedule and handling of everything, and instead would direct his attention to more amorous pursuits, usually involving just kisses because of his shoulder.

Even that has changed for us. Despite the fact that we are still spending a good deal of time together, our sexual activity has pretty much come to a screeching halt, dwindling down to hugs and kisses. It's pretty tame to be honest. At first it was just about getting him home from the hospital, and setup comfortably where he can take care of himself, and I could help. Then it just felt wrong to want to have sex when he was recovering from a gunshot wound that still caused him a good deal of pain. Now that he is nearly recovered, and should be heading back to work within the next two weeks, his kisses have gotten more passionate, aggressive. And my libido is in overdrive, with me masturbating what I can only assume is an ungodly amount. Definitely more than before I met him. After being turned out by Rick this summer, being satisfied on such a frequent occurrence, I now feel I'm being cruelly punished given our drought. A six-week long drought to be exact. A drought that has me ready to crawl out of my skin I need him so bad.

Thinking that Mike might be right, that he does know me better than most, I'm actually considering attending the party. "Maybe. I'm sure I could throw a costume together."

"There you go! You know you love a party."

"You're right about that. I'll see what I can do. Thanks for the invite." Just then my phone lights up, and I see a text from Rick.

Rick: I'm tired. About to head to bed. You feeling better? Meds working?

Momentarily I glance down to read his message, and feel a slight twinge of guilt that I'm sitting here with Mike. As such I quickly text him back to let him know I'm also heading to bed, and I'm feeling a little better.

"Is there a problem?" Mike asks, pointing towards my phone, and probably taking note of the way I quickly responded to the message.

"No problem. I'm gonna get home though, it's kind of late."

"Alright. Let me walk you out to your car then. This place may still be open, but there are a lot of creeps out around this area, especially as late as it is."

"Thanks. Just let me pack this stuff up, then I'm ready." Closing my laptop, and gathering my books, I stuff everything down into my backpack, and rise from the table, ready to leave.

Grabbing my bag from my hands, and picking up his own things, Mike follows me to the front door of the coffee house, as we both toss a quick goodbye to our favorite barista Marti.

"See you guys later. It's so nice to see you both in here together again. It's been so long, I was about to get worried, but here you are. You guys are so cute together!" She gushes, then heads back to cleaning tables, and preparing to close the shop for the night.

Mike and I both seem taken aback by her words, and neither of us can find the right thing to say in response, so we say nothing at all. Only offer an uncertain smile, and leave out of the door as she locks it behind us.

"Sorry. I seem to be saying that every time I see you. Should just get it tatted on my forehead, huh?"

"No. It is weird for us not to be together. I mean, if I'm being honest. We have been friends for a long time."

"Yep. How about we stop saying sorry, and just figure out how to be friends again, so that we don't have to be sorry." Stopping at my car, Mike stands in front of me, his eyes downcast towards his shoes, as he shuffles them uncertainly. "This separation is killing me. You're one of the only people who really knows me, Mich. Who else could I watch Star Wars marathons with? It is taking me time to figure out the correct way to navigate this, and it's hard for me. On your birthday I thought the bracelet would help bridge this gap between us. That you would open your eyes and see me again. See us. Mikey and Michy."

"Mike, I do still see you. You are definitely one of the people in this world I am, was, closest to. But, I fell in love, and it is confusing that it wasn't with you." I confess, tears distorting my view of his handsome face.

"It's that fucking guy. I tried, but I can't fight and win over whatever hold it is he has on you. You say you fell in love with him, and what can I do with that, Mich? How do I combat that?" Standing over me, Mike has dropped our bags on the ground now, and begins a slow, frustrated pace back and forth.

Reaching out towards him, wanting to put an end to his suffering, needing to soothe him, like I always have, I offer the only piece of comfort that my heart will allow. "I can't explain what it is is about him and me, and I don't have to. I don't owe you that. But, we are still friends, Mike. We always will be. Mikey and Michy." I point to him and then back to myself.

Coming to a halt at my repeat of the tag team name that we have always been known as, he stares at me, eyes taking the full measure of my face. Looking for the truth there. "Then I will take friendship, if I can have it. If you will still give it. I'm falling apart without you because I do love you still. Even though I know you don't love me like that." Anguish, unlike any emotion I have ever seen Mike struggle with is evident in his features. The deep furrow of his naturally arched brows. The frown of his perfect lips.

"But, I do love you as my friend. Always my friend, Mikey." Hugging him, I'm once again ensconced in the memories and history that we so easily share. The years and years of good times and friendship all flooding back to me as I rest in his arms. The vibration of my phone in my back pocket signals that I have another text, probably from Rick, but I don't immediately answer, feeling as though I owe this moment to Mike and to myself. To hopefully finally resolve the turmoil between us, and put it to rest in the hopes of continued friendship.

Rick: Where are you?

"Storm! You came as Storm. How perfect is that? Your boy came as Black Panther. There is no way you can get me to believe that you guys didn't plan that out together. I guess Mikey and Michy are back together?"

"No, Terry, we are not back together. And, double no, we did not plan the costumes. I literally just found this at a comic book shop this morning."

"Well wait till Mike sees you, he's gonna flip. Hey listen, just because you and Mike aren't together anymore doesn't mean you can't still hang out with the bruhs you know. You and I are friends, too. Remember last summer in Savannah? You and I whooped everybody at spades. Best partner I've ever had."

"Sure, Terry, I know. I've just been super busy. You know this is my last year of undergrad too."

"Cool, yeah I know. I heard you got a new boyfriend as well. A white cop, Michonne? That's… crazy, right?" Terry questions, his face screwed up in clear distaste.

"It's not." Flatly, I respond, not wishing to elaborate.

"Alright, you don't have to get pissy with me, I'm just asking the question. Come on and dance with me, girl, and stop looking at me so mean." Grabbing my hand, Terry leads me out to the dance floor. As usual Mike and his frat have done an amazing job, not only drawing a huge crowd of costumed party goers, but also with the decorations around the club, as well as the great DJ who is mixing in some classics like Michael Jackson's Thriller, with some more contemporary stuff like Kanye West's Monster, all in trying to keep with the Halloween theme.

Dancing with Mike's best friend Terry for a couple of songs, I'm sweaty and a little tired, but I'm enjoying myself immensely. It's been awhile since I've gone to a club, and I hate to admit it but I miss it. The crowds, hanging out with friends, the loud thump of the heavy bass in the music driving my body to sway and grind to the beat. What I don't miss is the way that these 5 inch heeled boots are beginning to hurt my feet, signaling that it's definitely time for a break.

"Terry, I'm gonna go hit the bar and chill for a minute."

"You want me to get you a drink? They won't serve you without ID."

"Um, nah, I have a sinus infection, taking meds. You know I don't really drink like that anyway. I'm just going to see if I can find a seat at the bar and get a water."

"Why? Cause your boyfriend is a cop? Mike didn't mind you drinking as long as it was in moderation. Girl, come on and get you a drink and loosen up." Terry is a little grabby, taking a hold of my hand and kind of dragging me behind him towards the bar.

I'm not a saint, I have definitely had alcohol before while I was hanging with friends, partying, whatever. My own mother allows me to drink wine as long as I'm home with her and not driving. I've even had a beer with Rick before, even though I'm not particularly fond of the taste. But one of the rules I have always had for myself is that I have to be with someone I trust, especially if I'm out. Usually that person is Sasha, and before it used to be Mike. I would normally have something really sweet and light, like maybe an amaretto sour, nothing really hard because I'm obviously under the legal age, but also because I don't like the taste of the hard stuff too much. But I don't see Mike right now, and while Terry is a friend, he's not someone that I trust enough to really have a drink with.

"Hey, let me get my girl here a… What's that drink you like so much, Michonne?"

"No thanks, Terry. I'm not drinking." I shake my head, again declining his offer of a drink. Directing my attention to the bartender I order for myself. "I'll have a bottled water please."

"Damn, girl. Alright." The bartender returns with a glass of Hennessey for Terry, and he leans on the bar next to me as he quietly takes a sip. Staring into the crowd, I'm growing agitated by his thwarted efforts to get me to drink with him, and can feel his scrutinizing gaze traveling up and down my frame, donning a tight black one-piece suit, adorned with gold trim, and a cape. I've topped it off with a white wig, Storm's tiara headpiece, and of course my favorite thigh high black boots. From the side I'm startled a little to see Mike approaching where we are situated at the bar.

"Well, here's my wife Storm, huh? We couldn't have done better if we had actually planned these costumes could we?" He chuckles, happiness so clear in his eyes. "Glad you could make it." Mike grins down at me and pulls me into a strong hug. Sporting a very authentic looking Black Panther costume, sans the mask, he smells great, still wearing that Polo Blue, and looking even better.

"Guess you found me." I nervously back away from him, not wanting to send the wrong message, or get caught up in anything with Mike. I've been here before and I don't want a replay of my birthday party, even if Rick isn't here.

"Been here long?"

"She's been dancing with me for about a half hour. I tried to get her a drink, but she won't drink with me. Guess I don't have the magic touch that you do." Terry tosses out. Grabbing his drink from the bar, he walks away in a bit of a huff.

"Good girl, Mich. You know you shouldn't drink with anyone you don't trust. And, well, I see you have remembered enough of the stories I've told you about Terry to know he isn't to be trusted… at least not like that. Not with you."

"I remembered."

"Good. Do you want a drink though? I know you like those amaretto sours. I'll get you one if you want." He tilts his head to nod towards the bar.

"Uh. You know what? Ok, just one." Now that the unsettling scenario with Terry is resolved by Mike's presence replacing his, I'm back in a partying mood. And the great thing about Mike is that even if we aren't together, I think I know him well enough to know that I can trust him not to try and take advantage of me.

"Cool. Bartender, lemme get an amaretto sour, and a vodka and cranberry."

Waiting for a moment, the loud music settles between us, swaying our bodies a little to the beat. Picking up the drinks, Mike hollers over the music for me to follow him, which I instantly do. Sticking closely to him, not wanting to get lost in the crowd, I'm being pushed and jostled around and as a result I'm a little unsteady on my feet in my high heeled boots. Eventually I do fall though, getting roughly pushed to the ground by a big guy rushing through the crowd. I catch myself before I land flat on my ass. Yelling out for Mike to wait, he somehow hears my voice over the large gathering of dancing partygoers and returns for me. Hurrying over to me, balancing our drinks in one hand, and pulling me up to him with the other, he wraps his strong arm around my waist to steady me.

"What happened?" He looks down into my face, clear concern in the swirling chocolate of his eyes, and the downturned frown of his lips.

"That big guy over there pretty much knocked me over."

"Who? In the Hulk costume?" Scanning the crowd, Mike finds the guy standing a few feet away, and doesn't wait for a confirmation before he's handing me our drinks, and charging over to him.

"Hey, motherfucker, apologize to my girl for pushing her. She could have been hurt. You need to be more fucking careful!" Standing toe to toe with the guy dressed up like the Hulk, it would be almost funny to see Black Panther and Hulk in a confrontation if I didn't sense that things were actually quite serious. The guy has at least fifty pounds on Mike, but he doesn't seem to care. With his chest bulked out, and his shoulders pulled back, he looks rather menacing, and I know that this can easily get ugly if I don't step in.

"Aye, man, I didn't even notice her, Mike. Calm down. I'm sorry, Michonne." The big guy responds, giving me a big grin.

"No big deal. These heels make me a little clumsy anyway. Mike, let's go out to the patio and cool off for a moment. Ok?"

"Yeah, man. Listen to your fine ass girl. You might wanna go with her before I do." Looking me up and down with an appreciative glare, he's smirking and chuckling at his own words, as though he's said something clever. Which he didn't.

"Come on, Mike. Please. Let's go." Grabbing a hold of his arm, Mike's focus on the guy's face breaks, and he looks down towards me. Perhaps he can see the anxious look on my face, or feel the tension in my stiff hold on him, but for whatever reason he decides to listen to me, and begins walking away.

Once he has led me out onto the patio, and we take a seat at one of the tables I feel at ease enough to finally release the tight breath I have been holding since Mike pulled me up from the floor.

Sitting for a moment we don't speak. Mike barely touches his drink, while I kick back mine, and devour it in one gulp, needing to take the edge off the drama of the evening. Finally looking at me from his seat next to mine, he swivels his head my way. "You ok, Mich?"

"Yeah I'm cool. It's a crowded party, Mike. Folks are drinking. It wasn't a big deal that I fell down."

"He could have at least apologized. I don't want motherfuckers being rude to my girl."

"Mike, I'm not your girl anymore though. I can handle myself." Giving him a small smile I'm trying to delicately remind him of where our relationship actually stands.

"You will always belong to me, Mich. I can't just turn that shit off. Especially not with everyone around us reminding me that you are - were mine. That's something I don't want to apologize for anymore."

"I can't make you, but as long as you and I know the truth, I guess it doesn't matter does it?"

"And what truth is that?"

"Let's talk about something else." I offer, not wanting to hurt him any further with the reality of our situation, but also growing frustrated at the way he seems to keep struggling with the truth even as I try to help him accept it while still maintaining a semblance of our old friendship. Things quiet down again between us, as it appears as though there are no words left to say. Slumping in my chair, I decide it's time to call it a night. My feet are killing me, and I'm beginning to feel a little dizzy from the mix of my sinus infection, antibiotics, and liquor. Checking around me, I drearily realize that I dropped my clutch bag that has my phone, money, and my keys in it, somewhere between the bar and the patio. "Damn it!"

"What's wrong?"

"I lost my bag with my stuff in it." Dropping my face in my palm, I groan at the ridiculous way this night is turning out. What I hoped would be a fun way to unwind from the stressfully tense coil of my life, has instead turned into more drama than I bargained for. "Can you help me find it really quick? I'm ready to head home."

"Yeah. Come on."

"Thanks for taking me home, Mike. I can't believe I lost all my stuff."

"I'm sure someone will turn it in. Probably without the phone and money, but you will at least get your keys back so you can get your car." He muses, pulling up to a space in front of my condo.

Immediately, I notice two things that immediately freeze me in my seat. Rick's blue truck is parked in one of the spots designated for Sasha's and my use, and the man himself is perched on the step in front of my door. Squinting into the bright blare of Mike's headlights, I can see the moment that he realizes it's me in the car that has just pulled up, because of the wide smile that covers his handsome face. When that smile melts into a furious frown, I know he has also identified Mike as the driver.

"You want me to walk you to the door?" Mike throws his gaze from a now standing Rick, to me, seated nervously in the passenger seat.

"No. Thanks for the ride, Mike." With uncertainty, feeling the strength of Rick's stare into the car as he slowly approaches, slightly favoring his left arm, holding it close to his body, I reach for the door. Before I can pull the lever, he opens it, offering me his hand. "Hi, Rick." I lean up and kiss him on the cheek. He turns his head to kiss me back, an unreadable look on his face.

Patting me on the bottom, still holding my hand, he ushers me towards my condo, but he doesn't move to join me just yet. Briefly I glance back to him, our eyes connecting as he watches me walk to the door, and he gifts me with a quick wink, somewhat stilting any concerns I have for what comes next. Patiently waiting at the door for him, I witness him angle his body into the open passenger door of Mike's car. The light breeze in the air carries the strong tenor of his voice to me, though its directed at Mike. "Thank you for bringing her to me." No other words are offered. Rick closes the door and ambles over to where I stand.

"Have you been waiting long?" Nervously I'm fidgeting with the fake plant on the doorstep that houses the front door key in the bottom of the pot.

"About an hour." Cool and even he answers me. No inflection either high or low to indicate his mood.

"I didn't know you were coming, or I would have told you where the key was so you could let yourself in." I glance at him over my shoulder, finding him close enough to feel the warmth of his body on my back.

"No problem. I did call, and text. No answer, no response. It's ok though, I don't mind waiting for you." Finally, his voice offers a tiny hint to how he's feeling, his phrase coming out with a minor undertone of resolved sadness, despite the hint of a smile that's flitting across his lips.

As I open the door, and hide the key back under the plant, Rick places his hand firmly to the small of my back, and follows closely behind and into the dark house. "Nice costume."

Clearing my throat, waiting on the other shoe to drop, for his temper to show itself, for him to question me about being out with Mike, I turn to him. "Thanks. How's your shoulder feeling? I can't believe you drove all the way here."

"It's fine. I had physical therapy this morning. They're gonna clear me for light work duty next week. Probably something at a desk, but I need to get back to it. I need to feel like myself again."

"I forgot about your appointment. I was supposed to come and go with you." Cringing I remember that I blew him off today in favor of a party, and the guilt begins to rush in. "I'm sorry. I meant to call you and let you know I was going to this Halloween thing tonight, but I forgot. And I lost my purse with my phone and keys in it at the club. That's why Mike brought me home." I blurt out, my conscience forcing me to confess my selfishness, as my heart beats a mile a minute, nervously anticipating the worst.

"It's fine. Let's go in the bedroom and get you out of this costume." Clasping my hand, he kicks off his boots, then quietly leads me to my bedroom.

Without any protest, or any further explanations I follow him, still wondering over his seemingly subdued reaction to something that should be all rights send him into a fit of anger. I know I would not be so calm if the shoe were on the other foot. As soon as I enter the room behind him, he closes the door with his hand, leaving it pressed to it just above my head. In the darkness of my bedroom, his beautiful eyes glow a transparent, almost silvery grey as he fastens them on my own. In those eyes I detect so much love there, but again, a small tinge of something sad swims among it, and puts a slight damper on the arousal pumping blood through the chambers of my heart. Needing to understand what's going on with him, I raise my hand to caress through the prickly hairs of his newly grown out beard. Dark, chestnut brown, it thickly surrounds his soft pink lips, attracting my attention immediately. I know he likes it, when I caress his face like this. In thanks, he closes his eyes and turns his face into my hand, lightly pecking and tracing the lines of my palm with his lips.

Lowering my hands from his face to his chest, I can feel the heat of his skin just under his plaid button up shirt, and sense the steady thumping pulse of his heart beat. Unbuttoning his shirt, my fingers work quickly to unveil his firm chest to me. Rolling my hands upwards and underneath the cloth, I stop at his left shoulder, devastated at the memory and the slightly raised feeling of the wound and stitches underneath the pads of my fingers. Remembering him laying in that hospital bed nearly brings me to tears, weakening my resolve, dampening my need for sex, and heightening my anxiety. Sensing the shaking hesitance of my touch, Rick places his hand over mine, pressing it more firmly to the healed wound.

"You don't have to be afraid to touch me, Michonne. I'm not broken."

Sobering at the veracity of his words, and the intense heat in his glare, my body begins to warm again, as though his confident assurance that he is no longer wounded has ignited my slumbering libido. "I've missed being with you like this, Rick." I admit, desire pooling in my gut and pushing the confession out.

"Me too, pretty girl. You feeling better? You been taking your meds?" Dipping down a little, his face is now buried in the crook of my neck. His wet tongue begins to lap at the responsive skin there, his teeth nipping and biting.

Catching the vibrations of a low growl against me, I toss my head back and simply utter a weak yes. Grabbing on to the fine wisps of his curly hair, my other hand is wrapped around his back, squeezing and crushing him to my breasts.

"Good. I need to make love to you. It's been too long." Whimpering at the honest need in the break of his words, and the image they evoke in my mind, I'm wantonly pressing my body against his, lifting my hips, needing him to feel the eager heat between my open legs. Met with the steel of his cock, my legs grow weak with the hunger to be filled by it's heavy girth. "Take this off." He grunts. Feeling him hurriedly tug at the white tressed wig I'm still wearing, and at my costume, I begin to wiggle to try and get out of it. Inching my arms and shoulders free from the material, I nudge Rick back from me a little so that I can unzip my boots, remove them, and then shove the costume, as well as my thong panties, the rest of the way off my body. To which he only responds with a grunted "Hm. I like those boots on you. Next time leave them on. Just the boots."

"Now you." I drop to my knees and unbuckle his belt and jeans. Tugging them, along with his boxers down his legs, his dick springs free from the confines of his clothes, heavy and erect, angling upwards towards his stomach. Mouth watering, I want to taste him, it's been so long since I've felt the long heft and veiny weight of him against my lips, on my tongue. Reading the desire in my eyes, Rick lifts me from my knees.

"I won't last long if you do that. I need you now. Save that for later." Laughing at the surprised look on my face, at Rick turning down head, which he has never done, he takes advantage of my lips being slightly apart and thrusts his tongue inside. Latching his lips over mine, sucking and licking with an almost feral hunger, only moans can be heard between us in the quiet of the room. Our greedy hands roam and familiarize themselves with the other's body, mapping and recalling the tingling sensation of our erogenous zones. Releasing the clasp at the back of my bra with one hand, Rick tugs it loose, then backs up to the bed.

Kicking his jeans and underwear that are pooled around his ankles, off, leaving them in a puddle somewhere near my Storm costume, he sits on the edge of the bed, completely nude. The sight of him nearly gives me an orgasm. The firm sinew of his lean muscle traversing the length of his torso, now flushing red from apparent arousal. His legs, opened wide to reveal his needy desire to me, are covered in hair, tightly bunched at the calves with muscle. And of course that face, that handsome, rugged, newly bearded face, fixed with features too beautiful for a man. Long eyelashes, luscious pink lips, eyes so icy and blue I'm certain they can see through me, straight into my heart where so much love and fear intermingle that it's sometimes hard for me to understand my own feelings. Driving me a little crazy.

Leaning towards me, he offers me his hand. Strong and warm, he wraps his slender fingers around my lax, limply resting one. "Come here, pretty girl. I want you to ride me. I need to feel all of you."

"Are you sure?" I wonder aloud, stepping to him. Standing before him, I'm looking down at the love of my life, almost in tears at how much I've missed this intimate connection. These times when we are completely naked of anything but our love and need for each other. Where despair and loss don't color every thought, every move, every decision to come or go, rest or breathe.

"Yeah. I don't trust my shoulder to hold me up just yet. I'm too heavy, might crush you." Rubbing his face into my abdomen, Ricks laces my stomach with a series of wet kisses, pecks of his lips, topped off with barely audible whispers. There is some unknown disquiet in his anxious movements, in the desperate clutch of his fingers around my thighs and ass. "You make me feel so needy, pretty girl. Like I can't breathe without you. I'm sorry." Dropping his head back, he focuses those misty blues on me. But I don't see happiness swirling there anymore, lust and melancholy dominate him now. And it unnerves me, causes me to falter, and take a tentative hold of his face in a frenzied drive to erase whatever plague is causing such conflict to torment him.

"What's wrong, baby?"

"Nothing." He shakes his head, the word breaking and cracking his deep voice. Instead of allowing me to continue to coddle him, he cradles me in his arms and pulls me down on to his length, impaling me to bursting fullness. It has been weeks, almost two months since we have been together like this, and the stretch is a delicious pain/pleasure mix. Since our first time together I have gotten much better at riding him. Knowing that he likes it slow to begin, to open me up just right, so I pop my ass, ascending up, until nothing but his tip remains inside, nestled by the damp plumpness of my labia and pussy lips. Downward, I smoothly slip to the base, met by a dark thatch of pubic hairs, consuming him fully. I continue this way, until it's not enough, and we're greedily grasping at each other. Increasing the rising speed to my bounce, a surge of the tight friction of my walls sliding against the length of his shaft drives Rick into a fit of curses muttered over my kiss swollen lips.

"Fuck! Baby, you are… shit! What are you doing to me, Michonne? Hm? Dammit, you're gonna make me cum too quick… Just…"

Needing to really make him crazy, to feed both of our unmet hunger, a hard, deep drop of my pelvis against him, leads to a gyrating movement of my hips in a figure eight motion, grinding the sensitive tip of his dick over my deeply rooted g-spot. Though it takes me a moment to remember this routine, and catch my rhythm, I'm effectively owning Rick and controlling our pleasure. Teasing and titillating him to the point of near insanity.

Eyes closed, Rick is biting down on his bottom lip, dragging it between his teeth, and squeezing and directing my ass in a quick succession of up and down pumps. Wetness is drizzling down my thighs, and coating his groin, as I lean back with my hands on his thighs grinding slowly. Closely watching how my pussy swallows then releases his swollen cock, Rick is staring, hypnotized by the way my body is moving over him. Reclaiming some control, he places his arms around my waist, so he's holding me up as I lean back further, my back bowed. In a show of strength, despite the uncertainty he feels about his shoulder, he's holding my body up in between his widespread legs, repeatedly dragging me up and down his dick, as he thrusts in a flurry of hard hip jerks. "You take this dick so good, pretty girl."

The pleasure Rick is gifting me is forceful and passionate. Surging up my spine from my heated pussy, it pulses and electrifies my limbs, shocking them with the intensity of the contented thrill he's delivering. He pounds away at me like this for long stretches, sweat pressing his fine curls, now longer than normal, to his forehead. Then runs his hand through the sweat gathered between my breasts, gliding his rough palm over and across my rigidly peaked nipples. Grunts and pants escape his parted lips, and his tongue licks out to swipe across his top lip and the sweat gathered there.

"Uh, uh, uh, uh… Oh fuck, Rick!" On an exhausted sigh, my head listless tilted back, I begin to plead, beg him for the release that is just within my reach. But he continues to indulgently torture me, now pulling my torso back in, pressing me tightly against his chest, and messily kissing my mouth. As if he might die if he doesn't taste me, consume me, Rick has our bodies crammed together with his palm firm to my spine. Our flesh is smacking and gliding against each other, while our tongues tangle and roll. It's this taut press of my clit against the soft, wet hairs covering his groin that finally send me into a near delirious spin, announcing the eagerly anticipated orgasm that robs me of control of my own body, steals away coherent words. Only a keening wail is left in me, rising and falling in the sex tinged air around us. Spent, owned by the tantalizing thrill that Rick has wrenched out of me, my head descends, resting my forehead against his.

Decreasing his hip movements to a steady grind upwards, keeping me firmly impaled, Rick drifts his index finger over my closed eyelids, across my wide nose, skimming the apple of my cheek, then down my lips to rest on my chin. Licking and pecking at my lips, he quietly begs on a whisper. "Michonne. Open your eyes."

"Hmmm?" I groan, almost finding my weary, over-exerted voice.

"Do you know how much I love you? That I need you so much more than you need me, Michonne? You're… stronger than I am."

"No, I'm not." I drowsily shake my head, denying his confession, but finally opening my eyes to see the sadness still there.

"Yeah, you are. And someday, after you've been free… had a chance… I'm gonna marry you. Make you mine for good."

"Rick?"

"Someday. I promise."

"Rick?"

Dropping his eyelids, depriving me of the embattled waves in his ocean blue eyes, he takes a hold of my ass, and pressing me down onto him harder, tighter, he begins a wind of his hips punctuated by a series of hard final thrusts. Gifting me with another powerful orgasm, my form is lax and loose in his arms again, my head resting on his unwounded shoulder. Following my lead, Rick explodes inside of me in a thunderous burst of cum that bathes and drips from my depths.

Now sitting in Rick's truck in the parking lot of the club I was at last night, we are plummeted in silence by the simple introduction of one tentatively posed question, quietly uttered from my lips. "Should we talk about last night, now?"

After sex, we both literally passed out in a sweat drenched heap. Sated, we found our normal sleeping position, snuggled together, with my head nestled underneath his chin, into his chest, and our legs intertwined. Rick's hand held me close, squeezing my ass in a massaging motion, until he finally drifted off to sleep. For the first time in a long while, my sleep was restful, my spirit seemingly at ease with what felt like things getting back to a sort of normalcy that I had once become accustomed to, and now sorely missed. Even with the threat of a blowup from last night hanging over us as we slept, I was calm, and at peace in my sweetheart's arms.

With the rise of the sun, and a ring of the doorbell, so much angst has repopulated our domain that I need to just rip off the band aid and clear the air. Opening the front door, I found only my clutch bag on the doorstep, with all of the contents in tact, and a note from Mike saying that one of his frat brothers found it last night and gave it to him. Ecstatic at the return of my belongings, I was immediately sobered when I went through my phone to find from yesterday, more than 10 missed calls and over 20 frantic texts from Rick, wondering at my whereabouts and if I was ok.

Now here we are.

"What do you want to talk about?" Rick answers, looking straight ahead out of the windshield of his truck, tapping his fingers softly on the steering wheel.

"I guess about me not coming to your appointment, going to a party with Mike." I shrug, not knowing what else to say.

"I think that says it all right? You needed a break from me. You took it. I'm glad you did."

"It wasn't a break from you. I just needed a release, to… to… I don't know."

"Right. You've been giving up a lot for me. I never wanted that, but I selfishly accepted it didn't I?"

"What?"

Finally turning towards me, gifting me with the sight of his bleary blue eyes, tired and red rimmed, he apparently didn't get enough rest last night. It shows in the dank dampness of his eyes, in the stark pallor of his normally golden tanned skin. Rubbing his hand across his forehead, as though attempting to release the vise like grip of a headache, the same sad smile from last night returns. "I'm greedy with you. If I could have you with me all day every day, dammit, Michonne, I would. It's crazy and it's unfair to you. And I see that now. I'm not mad about yesterday because I get it. You deserve all of the fun, and partying and hanging with friends, that any other college student experiences. It's my fault that you are sacrificing all of that…for me. I don't want that anymore. No more." He swipes his hand through the air, signaling the finality of his words.

"I don't understand what you're saying, Rick. Are you breaking up with me?" I stutter, the premise, the very idea threatening to send me into apoplectic shock. Before he can even answer, the tears fall in waves from my eyes, drenching my cheeks before I can stop or catch them with my fingers.

"What? No! I can't live without you, you know that! Come here!" Quickly grabbing me, sliding my stilted frame across the bench seat to him, he's kissing at my face and franticly trying to stem the flow of tears. "I just don't want you to prioritize me anymore. What kind of man am I if I put my needs before yours? I know you have classes, schoolwork, LSATs, and you're trying to get into law school. I know all of that, and I still let you run yourself to death to be with me more than you could afford. And that's on me. But I won't do it anymore. I want you to be free of my demands, my greed. Take care of yourself for a little while. Recover from this sinus infection." He offers on a tiny, weak laugh. "I want to marry you so bad, pretty girl, and just keep you with me always. But, your star is brighter than that isn't it? Than the small, country life I can give you right now."

"I don't want to be without you. I won't. You say you're not breaking up with me, but it sure sounds like it." I utter, straining to say the words as my heart is tearing apart, shredded in my chest.

"You won't. If you need me, I'll come to you. But, give yourself a chance to be free first. To do whatever you need to do, and maybe while you're on break for Christmas, we can figure it out from there. Ok?" He offers, echoing his sentiment from last night, about me being free. At that it all comes back to me. The haunting sadness in his eyes when he muttered those words to me.

And it angers me, the presumptuousness of it all. Now I'm feeling defiant, justified in my distaste for what he's proposing. "No."

"Michonne-"

"You listen now, Rick. Everything I have done is because I wanted to. I heard you last night, that you think you need me more than I need you. That's bullshit. Losing you will end me. I can't lose you. I'm not losing anyone else. Right now, this is how we live. We make this work, and we find some kind of life until we can make it perfect. Until we figure out how we make this work. Don't do this, Rick. Don't take the blame for something that isn't a problem. It's…just how it is now."

"Ok, shhh…You're not losing me, pretty girl. Stop, ok? I'm sorry. I just. Yesterday it hit me, that you had a life before me. Friends, parties, school, dreams for your life, whatever. That includes your friendship with your ex. And it's not fair for me to completely dominate that space now, to get angry every time you're drawn back to it. You should be able to spread your wings and grow, without me weighing you down. What kind of life is this right now for you?"

"It's the life I want, with you in it. I love you. There is nothing I want more."

"I love you more. You know I'm not going anywhere. What about law school? Hm? You want that."

"I do. I can have it all, Rick. But not without you."

"How?"

"I don't know yet, but I will, Rick. We can have it all. But, we've gotta do this together, not apart. Only if we do this."

"How about this? Indulge me for a few weeks, ok? Christmas break will be in here six weeks. Do your thing, get through this semester. Get your law school apps, test, and acceptances out of the way. And then we will figure out what to do from there. In the meantime, I will get back to work, and that way I will be ready when you are to make our next move when we need to. Ok?" Leaning over to look me in the eyes, there is earnest love and hope there again. Not at all the sadness and disquiet from before. Realizing that I haven't lost him, that he's trying to give me something he feels as though he has taken from me, I reluctantly nod my head to assent to his suggestion. "Good girl. We can do this. We just need to set things right, reorder things together."

Chapter 14 – Rick

"Son, hand me that wrench over in the red toolbox please."

"What size? The ¾ crescent?"

"Yep, that's the one. So, how has everything been going at work?" My father asks, his voice slightly muffled as he leans over and into the 1967 Ford Mustang we have been rehabbing together for nearly five years.

"Not bad. I'm finally back on patrol duty, started last week with Shane third shift for now, just because it's slow. We'll get rotated back to days in another six weeks."

"Sounds good."

"Yep." I mutter, my mind already moving away from the small talk regarding my job. Sitting on a stool on the side of the car opposite my father, I pause to take a quick drink of my beer. Feeling a tad nervous at the question I want to ask him, I blow out an anxious sigh, and fiddle with the label on the cold wet beer bottle for a moment.

"I hear you over there fiddling, and sighing. So, what's going on? Still upset about your girl?" Raising his head up from the engine, his blue eyes make contact with mine over the frame of his glasses. "I know you miss her, son. That you love her."

"I do. Desperately."

"What you gonna do about it?"

"What am I gonna do about it?" I answer his question with the same one, directing it rhetorically not just towards him, but back to myself as well. Giving it some thought I actually already know what I want to do, but I'm struggling with if it's the right thing to do for both Michonne and I. I don't want to make a life changing decision out of fear or greed. Fear that if I don't make such a dramatic overture to her, I will lose her. Greed because of how intense my deep craving is for her. These are concerns, I have been wrestling with over the last six weeks of silence between us, and the only answer I keep landing on is marriage.

"I want to ask her to marry me on Christmas Day. Was wondering if I can have Grandma's ring, to give to Michonne." Gathering my nerve, I ask my father for the one thing that means more to him than this farm. "You and Grandpa Carl promised me before he died, that the ring would be mine when I was ready. I've never been more ready. Michonne is going to be my wife."

"Guess I knew this was coming. It's all over you." He muses, rubbing his dirty, oily hands off on a rag. Shuffling over to the refrigerator he keeps in the garage, he grabs another cold beer for me, and one for himself. Handing it over to me, I notice that his gait is more sluggish than normal. Scratching at his long beard, now more salt than pepper, he continues. "At Hershel's wedding I saw the way you looked at that girl. Saw the love just smothering the two of you. All over your faces, hands on each other, at my own dinner table. And I knew. Even took your grandma's ring into town to get it all cleaned and ready for you after that dinner, because I knew." Chuckling, he lowers his deep voice to a conspiratorial whisper as though someone else might be listening. "It's the one thing I have been able to keep from your mother. Hell she would have given it to Lori to try and get you two married off years ago if she could have. She's more devious than you can imagine, son. I'm so sorry that I let it go on for so long, but not anymore." He nods, a faraway, angry look in his clear blue eyes. A look that speaking about my mother has furiously ignited.

"Pop!"

"I'm serious. Problem with your mother, Rick, is that she thinks she's smarter than everyone else in the room because she came from money, went to private schools, and whatnot. Because my mind isn't quite right anymore. I may be a farmer now, but I gave the US Marines fifteen long hard years. I learned a lot from the military, my tours in Kuwait and Afghanistan, some good, some bad, some more helpful as a civilian than I ever expected. Around here, I do a lot of listening and watching, and a lot less talking and doing. But that's not because I don't understand what's going on, what your mother is up to. I let her run things around her for too long. Just to keep the peace. Let her run Jeff off. But not anymore. My mind has been fractured for a long time, Rick, emotions and thinking messed up. The Marines gave me that too. And that's the only reason I wasn't able to put up more of a fight with her, over her greed, over her treatment of you boys." A dour frown pulls his lips down, sags his aging features. He drags his large hand over his gray buzz cut, then down over his face, wiping away years of frustration and angst. In its place a tiny, sly smile supplants his stressful grimace. "But, I've got a few surprises up my sleeves too, boy. I'll give you the ring tonight, and you propose to your girl, Rick. Make her yours, don't let her get away, and don't look back. Fuck what anyone else thinks about it. If you love that girl, in your heart you know she's the one for you, then just do it."

"I intend to."

"Grimes men have been letting others dictate their happiness for too long. If your Grandpa Carl had followed his heart we wouldn't be here, or maybe we would, just a little darker. Either way, he allowed society and what others think keep him from what he wanted, who he wanted. His other family." Taking a moment to finish the last of his beer, his thirsty swallows cause his Adam's apple to vigorously bob in his throat. "I'll never forgive myself for listening to your mother and cutting my brother out of what is rightfully his. Not insisting that Morgan get his share of his grandfather's things."

"I know, Pop. But we can fix that one day…if Morgan ever comes back to Georgia."

"Yeah. You're a better man that I am, Rick. I hope that you remember that. That you continue to always try to do the right thing. For a while there I thought you would be like me, fall into the same trap with Lori I fell into with your mother."

"What do you mean, Pop?"

"I never really told you and Jeff everything, I guess after playing at war for so long, when I came home from the military I just wanted peace, son, I was tired and I didn't want to fight anymore, with anyone. My medicine sometimes keeps me in a…cloud of sorts, where it's hard to deal with what's real. And Grandpa had just died, and there was all of that to sort out, with his will. With my…my brother William's mother, their family. Your mother always seemed to know what to do, how to handle things so I didn't have to, to shield me. That wasn't right. It wasn't fair to my brother, my best friend. To his son, Morgan. To you and Jeff. I've made so many mistakes in my life…"

"I don't understand. You told Jeff and I about Grandpa Carl's other family, that you and Morgan's dad are half brothers, that Morgan is our cousin. What else is there to know?"

"Rick, when I met your mother, she was this beautiful rich girl. Quiet, tiny thing, with all of that long dark hair. Almost fairy like in how delicate and pretty she was. Still is. And well, I'm this big guy, rough around the edges, poor, country as hell. She's a Stafford and I'm a Grimes, we never should have even crossed paths, but I met her through Hershel's then girlfriend, and I fell for her. Hard. Loved her desperately, like how you love your Michonne. That's before I really understood what all that rhetoric she would talk really meant. So we got married, and she cleaned me up I guess you could say. I always just wanted to farm this land, just like your Grandpa did. But, she comes from money, she's a southern debutante, your mother, and she wanted more than that, so after we married I went to the Marines, got deployed numerous times while you guys were here with your mother."

"Not to interrupt you or be rude, Pop, but I know this already. Mom's family disowned her for marrying 'poor white trash', you went to the military. I don't understand what else there is to know." Puzzled at his rehash of known history, my eyes roam over my father's face, witnessing the strain in his features as he attempts to recall sometimes painful and distant memories that have shaped our present.

"Let me finish. I need you to understand, to know why you shouldn't be like me, why you should fight for and take what you want for yourself, for your life, not what others, your mother have planned for you. You don't have to be like the Staffords, you're not. You're a Grimes. You know your mother's family is…deeply rooted in a bunch of traditionalist bullshit thinking, they just are. When I married her I never thought about it, didn't really care because her ways, her thinking didn't affect me or mine. But, being in the military, with other people who don't look anything like you. Who are willing to save your life, protect you with their own lives, it made me see things a little differently, to start to care about some of the things your mother would say, do. And well, she didn't know about Grandpa Carl's other family, about William and his mother during those days. When Grandpa died, and the will came out, leaving half of everything to William's mother, William, and Morgan, she convinced me that it was the right thing to keep everything for you and Jeff, for us. To not split the farm up, to not give Morgan the lake house. But, I regret all of that, I honestly do because it has put a wall between my brother William and I ever since. Now, what else has she done? She's brought Lori here, staying in the house with us. For what? To put a wedge between you and your lady. You don't let her, and I won't either. Don't let her plans work, Rick. Be your own man, and I'm gonna be mine."

"I am my own man, Pop. Nothing is going to keep Michonne and I apart, not anymore. Not even Mom."

"I know it. And don't you forget it. You go get your girl, make her your wife, and don't look back. Do what you have to do to make the life you want, and if you want it with her, then make it happen. Don't be a coward like me."

"You're not a coward. You…you've had some mental stuff to deal with. I understand that. So does Jeff. Even though Mom has a way of trying to control us, we knew it, and we tried to fight it. It's hard to fight your own mother, your own blood. But, I know why I have to do it, and I understand why you didn't for so long. Do you regret it, marrying Mom? Do you think you would have been happier if you married someone else?"

"Yes and no. Ellen gave me my boys, and I am most proud of that. But she also gave me my deepest shame, the way she took advantage of how fractured, broken my mind was when I got back from Afghanistan. Manipulated me. Caused me to hurt my own kin. Alienated me from my own brother. Drove my oldest son away. And, now she's trying to rule over you. That makes me upset, sad that I haven't been strong enough all these years to prevent this. But, you are, and I'm gonna help you however I can. This bullshit with Lori being pregnant, staying here. You tell me that baby isn't yours and I believe you. So, go get your girl. Don't hesitate, son, do it!"

"I am. Just needed to give her some space, give myself some time to think, prepare. Cool off. She gets me going, Pop. In a good and a bad way, ya know? It's good because it's such a strong feeling, so overwhelming I can't control it, I don't need to. It was so sudden, and natural. Loving her feels as normal as breathing to me, and I wanna be with her all the time. The sight of her, the smell of her, dear god, Pop. She's more than under my skin, she's in my blood. It's bad because when I get to feeling that way I can't let her go. But I have to, because I can't have her hating me later on for missing out on something she might want more than me."

Anger, lust, disgust, passion. It's all warring inside of me, thrashing about in the chambers of my heart and the lobes of my brain, all trying to win this ongoing fight. I've been struggling with it all ever since that weekend I decided it was best for us to take a little break from each other. As soon as she didn't show up that Saturday for my appointment I knew. She needed a reprieve from my affection, from trying to be and do everything for me. From making a valiant effort to take care of me, and take care of herself. Living that double life was threatening to tear her in two, and I couldn't watch it happen any longer. Even though the cloistered cocoon we had built for ourselves warmed my heart, gave me the energy and strength to recover from my wounds, and allowed me to gingerly appease my addiction for her, the damage to her would be too great.

My girl, my Michonne is the most special woman, person I have ever met, and even though it pains me to admit this, she deserves more than laying up in a shitty apartment in a barn with me, playing nurse. No, she is used to the best in life. Top of the line everything for her, and even though she can provide all of that for herself already, the man in me wants to give her some of that stuff too. And I can't right now. I have a meager savings, something I have been putting away to buy a house. Something small and modest here in town. But that wouldn't be sufficient for her. How could a country life compare to Harvard or Georgetown? How could being a deputy's wife, with a house full of kids, compare to being a big city lawyer or politician? Short answer is that it can't. But my heart can't go on without her, and so I'm willing to compromise and give up everything for her, if she will put me out of my misery and give me her love. Forever.

Silence settles in the garage. I go back to fiddling with the label on my beer bottle, and my dad is lost somewhere in his own ruminations, probably still tangling with his own memories and deeds. We are interrupted with the creak of the heavy side door opening, allowing a stream of light to illuminate the dust and dirt of the garage. Looking up, I find my mother standing in the doorway.

"I knew I would find you both out here, messing around with this piece of junk car. Rance, did you take your medicine today?"

"Yep."

"And you've been drinking as well?"

"Yep."

"Is that a good idea?"

"Yep."

Rolling her eyes at my father's terse and abrupt responses, she turns from him and focuses those softening blues my way. "Lori and I are going to the tree lighting in town in a bit. Would you like to join us, Richard? Might be nice for you two to spend some time together. She tells me that you have all but ignored her since she's been here. She's our guest, and that's not exactly hospitable behavior." She reprimands, still standing stiff and erect in the doorway, not daring to cross the threshold into the dank and unseemliness of the old rustic garage.

"She's your guest, not mine. I won't be joining you." I shake my head with finality, squinting at her through the bright light seeping through the opened doorway.

"That's a shame. You two used to enjoy doing those kinds of things together. She's in a delicate position, Richard. She has made a mistake with this other guy, getting pregnant. But that's not something we can't help her out with, now is it? You can still make a family out of that."

Rising from my stool I've heard enough, and apparently so has my father as he gruffly slams shut the hood of the car, and turns to her, finger pointed her way. "Get out, Ellen. Leave. You keep pushing Rick towards this fake life, you're gonna lose him. You hear me? You know he doesn't love Lori, you know that's not his baby, and you know he doesn't want her. Leave it alone!" His agitation has grown to an insurmountable level, and he's shaking now. The vein in the middle of his forehead has become more pronounced, face turning red. Looking at my father right now, the man who everyone has always said I am the spitting image of, I see my own future if I don't actively do something to avoid it. To not accept and travel the path others create for me.

"Pop, it's ok. I'm gonna go. Thanks for the talk and the other thing." I smile, walking over to clap him soothingly on the back, hoping to settle his spirit some. In the blurry recesses of my mind I do recall how out of sorts and subdued my father was when he returned from Afghanistan. I was just a kid, but I remember my mother telling Jeff and I to keep quiet because my father was in a mood. Outbursts, angry and rant filled, were not common, but did occur on more than one occasion. My mother always took care of him, protected him from whatever demons haunted him, but at what cost? Given what he has just explained to me, it sounds like it was a price higher than what his sane mind wanted to pay, but his fractured mind could not fight.

"No problem, son." His stare, still steely and settled on my mother, is only now broken with a few blinks and a few briefly uttered final words to her as he turns his back on her. "Leave, Ellen."

"Hello."

"Hey, pretty girl. How are you?"

"Hi, Rick. I'm good. How are you?"

"Missing you."

"Me too."

"You sound tired. Everything ok?" I ask, sensing a weary tinge to her soft voice.

"Yeah. I just got back into town so we can go to this tree lighting thing as a family, but I should have just stayed in Atlanta, because we're heading back in the morning to spend Christmas Eve with my mom's family. Just a lot going on is all."

"My mom is going to the tree lighting also."

"I'll be sure to steer clear of her then." Michonne drolly responds, clearly not a fan of my mother's, and for good reason.

Chuckling at her response I continue. "Smart girl. I was hoping I could see you tonight, but I guess not. Tomorrow maybe?"

"Um, when we get back tomorrow night that should be fine."

"Ok. I can't wait to see you. It's…been very hard for me not uh, being able to be with you. It will be good to see you tomorrow."

"Me too, Rick. I miss you…desperately. Does that sound too needy?" she questions on a slight laugh. Her words cause a flutter of butterflies in my belly. At the realization that this desire to be with her, the painful loss of her in my daily life is not a one-sided phenomenon.

"Nah. Me too, baby. It's uh, almost a pain I can feel in my bones, not having you in my arms for so long. Not seeing that pretty face, hearing your voice."

"What else?" A tiny, nearly imperceptible breath, a pant, escapes her lips. It's whispery lilt perking my ears, tuning them even more to the anguish behind her words.

"Your smile. That fat bottom. Kissing your pillowy lips. Rubbing your velvety skin. Making love to you… Your heat is always so tight and wet"

"You're such a pervert. I knew you would get there sooner or later!"

"I'm your pervert though. Don't you miss me touching you, pretty girl? How good I make you feel?"

"Yes. The feel of you inside me is my favorite thing in the world, Rick. I… I need it."

"Damn, Michonne. I'm gonna give it to you."

"I really, really miss you, Rick. This has been so hard for me. I'm still hanging on to a cold, something lingering from that sinus infection. I haven't been sleeping well without you near me, without knowing what you're doing, how you're feeling."

"I miss that too, pretty girl. I do."

"No you don't! You say I sleep like a koala bear."

"My little koala bear. And I love it. If you're still sick why haven't you gone back to the doctor?"

"With finals I didn't have time. I will while I'm on break. Stress, this cold, not sleeping, it's all building up, and it's making our time apart worse. This is done right? You're not going to keep punishing me are you?"

"Is that what you thought this was?"

"Yes." She replies on a sniff, and I can hear the pouty weakness in her, probably creating a puckered twist of her sexy lips.

"No. That's not what this time apart was at all, Michonne. We need to talk when I see you tomorrow. I'll come get you when you tell me you're ready. Ok?"

"Ok. I'll text you. But it might be late, my mother's family likes to party."

"Oh yeah? I never would have guessed that." I laugh, remembering the large birthday party Michonne and Sasha threw over the summer.

"Rick!"

"There it is! I love it when you say my name like that. I'll make dinner for us anyway, ok. Get some sleep, pretty girl. I'll see you tomorrow. Love you."

"Love you, too. And…I have a Christmas gift for you too."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yep. Good night, Rick." Grinning, my heart is near bursting at the new feeling of buoyant enthusiasm in our voices, in our renewed declarations of love. This is exactly what we need to bring back the whimsical sense of togetherness we once had. I'm optimistic that we are on the right path once again, together.

Still holding the phone to my ear, waiting to hear the finality of a click, signaling that she has hung up, neither of us actually do. "Hang up, silly." I laugh, hearing the cadence of her breathing still caressing the speaker through my phone.

"You hang up first!" Michonne girlishly giggles, with what I know is her most dazzling of smiles. The one that lifts her cherubic cheeks high, causing an angled tilt to her coffee eyes.

"I can't." I confess, on a bright smile of my own.

"Bye, Rick." Displaying more strength than I can muster, Michonne finally hangs up the phone, and I'm encouraged by her obviously rekindled desire for me. By the needy void my absence seems to have left in her, the same as hers has left in me. The butterflies have settled down now, but my heart beat is picking up at the thought of seeing my girl tomorrow. And hopefully her accepting my proposal of marriage. Hopefully.

"Lori? What are you doing here?" I question, alarmed to find her standing alone on my doorstep, the setting sun streaking the sky a bright orange behind her.

"Merry Christmas Eve to you too, Rick." She responds, sarcasm alight in her voice.

"Sorry. I just don't know what you're doing here."

"I came to talk; we haven't done that since I've been staying here. Well in a longer time than that actually, and I was hoping we could."

"I'm pretty busy trying to get my place cleaned up for company this evening, so I really don't have time for that."

"Company? Oh, for her?" She snaps, unhappiness covering her features, pulling down her thin lips in a displeased frown.

"If by her, you mean my girlfriend Michonne, then yes. Everything I do is for her."

"Hm. Well, I don't want to stay long, I really do just want to have a quick chat. Clear the air so to speak." Softening her brown eyes, eyes that I once found appealing in compliment to her long, brunette hair, she offers me a quick smile.

Not wanting to come off as a complete asshole, I step aside and invite her in, taking note of the small bump of her stomach, protruding from her waifish, thin frame, cloaked by a thick wool sweater and leggings. Giving her a quick head to toe perusal, I notice that even though she is pregnant, not much has changed on Lori physically. The main difference now is that none of it creates even the tiniest spike of arousal for her. I know who she is now, I can see the truth of her, and my heart has moved on. Accepting this, acknowledging that despite whatever drama she may really be here to cause, she can't change my mind about her, and my feelings for Michonne are truly immovable. On a reluctant sigh I agree to allow her in. "Only for a moment, Lori. I've kinda let the place turn into a mess. Got a lot of cleaning to do."

"You always were messy, Rick. Guess your new friend doesn't know that about you, huh? Remember how much your mom used to yell at you about keeping your bedroom clean? It was a daily struggle!"

Caught off guard by the truth in that brief recollection I do chuckle, recalling that my mother would nearly stroke out every time she looked in my bedroom and saw how messy it was. Cleaning it always just felt like an unnecessary waste of time since I was just going to make it messy again. Giving it some thought, I can also remember a few times that Lori cleaned it for me. I don't know why the thought of that unnerves me now, the idea of her cleaning up after me, taking care of me, but it does. "Uh yeah, I can be a little bit of a slob sometimes. Trying to do better. Michonne likes things to be orderly, neat." Introducing Michonne's name into the conversation again, I need to remind Lori that Michonne is my focus now, especially as she stands so confidently at the entrance of my personal space.

Walking inside of my apartment, Lori heads straight towards my bedroom, which at first doesn't strike me as odd because it felt so familiarly consistent, and in line with how things used to be with her and I, even when I lived in the main house with my parents. She would come in, and travel directly to where I was, which was usually in my bedroom. Never gave it a second thought. But, once I see her standing there, next to the bed, on the side that Michonne always sleeps on, with a book of hers on the night stand, I'm instantly hit with an image that is glaringly wrong. Drastically incongruent and at odds with my current desires. Lori does not fit into this picture anymore, and has no business being in my bedroom, where only my Michonne should be. Furrowing my brow, not enjoying the disquiet this scenario is already presenting, I decide not to worry about it for now and to quickly try and dispatch Lori and whatever it is she wants to talk about. Reaching for the thick plaid comforter on the floor, I continue making the bed with fresh linens, which I was interrupted from doing earlier when she knocked on my door.

"So, what do you have to say, Lori?" I ask, shaking out the comforter over the king sized bed, and inadvertently dropping my eyes to her heavy mid-section.

Noticing the flit of my eyes to the bump of her lightly rounded belly, she offers acknowledgment. "This baby is a shock right? I always thought it would be me and you, getting married, buying a house, having a baby together. Didn't you?" She asks with a tilt of her head, dragging her fingers through the length of her long, slightly curled hair. Taking a seat in a chair in the corner of the room, she begins to rub slowly at her stomach, causing my eyes to maintain their focus there.

Taking a moment to gather my thoughts before I answer, my gaze continues to be drawn to the swollen rise of her stomach, housing a baby that could have easily been mine. Last month, at Thanksgiving, when Lori showed up four months pregnant, a small panic did erupt in me at the sight of her pregnant form. Quickly doing the math in my head, I easily calculated that it had been nearly eight months since I'd been with her, and she would have to be much larger and further along in her pregnancy for this baby to be mine. With that, relief washed my fears away, drowning and killing them in the truth of basic baby making math.

Welcomed by my mother with a seat at the table, Lori recanted to us over Thanksgiving dinner how she recently returned home from her grandmother's in Macon, pregnant, and that her deeply religious parents would therefore not allow her to stay with them. With only a high school diploma, no job, and no real work experience, she didn't know where else to go and what else to do, so she ended up here. Obviously my mother was happy to invite her to stay, and given my own general malaise and melancholy without having Michonne in my life at the time, I wasn't engaged enough in the conversation or the goings on at my parents' house to care about her presence. On the other hand, my father was quite vocal about how duplicitous and convenient it all seemed, but in the end she still ended up staying with my parents. Up until now, I've done a good job of staying away from her, mostly going to work and back to my apartment, hanging out with Shane, and waiting out the days until Christmas break would come, and bring my pretty girl back to me.

"Nothing to say, Rick? Come on, say something. We talked about having kids all the time. I can give that to you. Now."

"I'm sorry, what are you talking about?"

"This is the fulfillment of everything we have ever wanted, Rick. We've been groomed for this our whole lives. It's meant to be."

"Not anymore. Nope." Shaking my head, I adamantly deny her confident assertion.

"Why? It's not a coincidence that my being here makes you so uncomfortable that you don't speak to me. It's because you know I'm right. There's still something between us. This is what we do. We break up, we get back together." Rising from her seat, she casually walks over to me, her gaze latched on mine, a small knowing smile ghosting her lips like it has so many times before. "You're all jittery because you know, in your heart that it's not over between us. That in the end, you and I are the only match that makes sense. That black girl can't compete with what you know to be true." Reaching her hand towards me, she places her thin fingers over my heart, rubbing at the cotton of my old worn t-shirt.

"Lori, no." Refusing her words with the downturned grimace of my lips, there is a tinge of emotional memory swelling inside of me, her touch conjuring my recall of all the times she and I have stood like this in front of each other. Of all the times we did talk about babies and a future, marriage. Of the back and forth. Of the rocky and tumultuous, winding path of a long life together. For an instant I feel traitorous, like I did break my bond with her when I allowed my heart to devote itself to another, and never looked back to witness how it destroyed her. "I'm sorry, but no."

"Yes. Rick, I love you and I miss you. Nothing can change that this baby isn't yours, she isn't biologically. But, I wish she was."

"It's a girl?" Lowering my eyes to her stomach again, there is a brief ache for a once desired dream for a little girl of my own, one that looked like Lori. Had the same flowy, chestnut locks. The same angular face. It was a brief, fleeting ambition, one born of a want for a family of my own, not necessarily out of an abundance of love or affection for Lori. And really, all of that changed with the stark realization of who Lori really is, and how badly I wanted away from her. And this was even before I met Michonne.

"Yes. She can be our girl, Rick. Your mother thinks we can still save us; we just have to try. I want to try, to give us another chance."

"What about her father?"

"He's some creep named Negan that I met in Macon. Older guy. I got pregnant, told him, and now I can't find him. Don't let my baby be without a father, Rick. How long have you wanted a baby, a daughter? This is our chance to fix things between us, and have the life we have talked about since we were kids. It's right there, Rick, we just have to grab it. Don't you miss me? Didn't you ever love me, even a little?" Wrapping her thin arms around my shoulders, I have to admit that Lori knows me well, my wants, the dreams I had. Her words are bringing to life a desire I still have, but the vision that it conjures has changed, and I can't deny that.

Yes, I want a family full of sons and daughters. But, the family picture that would fit so nicely in a frame no longer features children with a mixture of mine and Lori's hair or features. No. Those children are now a dusky hue, a breathtaking range from tan to brown, with wild chocolate and ebony curls, and full heart shaped lips that would mirror their mother's, Michonne. That image is forever burned in my brain, my heart, and nothing Lori says and tries to remind me of can change it. Nothing, and it's time I cut her pleading short, release her from any delusion that there might still be a chance for us.

"I do love you, Lori. You have been my friend for a very long time. I taught you how to ride a bike. And, I love this baby, she's innocent in all of this. She's going to be beautiful, just like her mother." A wide smile begins on her thin lips, reaching up to the light that shines, bright and hopeful in her eyes. Her hold on me tightens with a certainty that she is going to finally get what she came for. It's regretful and bittersweet for me that I have to put that light in her eyes out, but I owe her the finality of my words. Grabbing a hold of her arms, I gently remove them from my shoulders. "But…"

"Rick?"

Looking up at the sound of my name falling from my beloved's lips, I'm instantly stricken by the shocked sadness I find on her face, and in the dismayed droop of her shoulders, weighed down by a heavy wool coat. Dropping Lori's arms as if they burn my hands, I walk briskly to meet Michonne in the doorway of my bedroom. Hugging her thin, but femininely curved body to me, the brisk coolness of the late December day, still finely covers her clothes. I'm near crushing her with the excitement I feel at laying my eyes on her again, seeking to warm and thaw her visage with my own body heat. "Michonne, baby. You're early. Why didn't you call me to come get you?"

Peeking around me, Michonne's heartbroken gaze lands on Lori's protruding mid-section. With a tired sigh, she smacks her lips, sucking them into her mouth as if she is searching for the nerve to reign in her emotions and answer my question. "I…uh. I drove separately from my family so I could get to you sooner. I need to talk to you. Guess you're already busy talking though." Stiff in my arms, barely returning the fervor of my hug, she lowers her eyes to the nervous twist and fidget of her gloved hands, unwilling to give me the gift of their wide, chocolate warmth.

"Excuse you but, we were having a private conversation." Lori spits in a snide, clipped voice, as she's still anchored to the spot next to my bed where I left her.

"Lori! Don't talk to her like that!"

"No, I see that you're busy. I can let you all finish up. Just call me later, Rick." Michonne twists, and tries to withdraw her body from my clutch, but I won't release the strong hold I have on her.

Bending my knees so that I can crouch down to make eye contact with her, leaning my face towards hers, I scour hers for a sign that she's still with me, that she will give me a chance to explain what's going on here. Because I know how this looks. A half made bed. My pregnant ex and I in an unexplainable near embrace. And god help me, but I don't know how long she was standing in the doorway and how much of our conversation she heard, but I know I never got to completely deliver my final thoughts to Lori that would clarify for her once and for all that I don't want her or her baby in my life. Seeing none of the happiness in her eyes that I expected for our long awaited reunion, I instead witness the return of a flat disinterest that I have only once been on the receiving end from her. I don't like it. Needing to reassure her, sensing the way she continues to attempt to wrangle herself from me, a slight panic creates a tense shake in my voice. "Hey, pretty girl, you didn't interrupt anything. Lori was leaving."

"We are not done discussing the baby, Rick. You were just telling me that you love me, that you love this baby. Remember?" Lori tosses our way, unnecessarily emboldened with self-satisfied smugness from her false misapprehension of my unfinished words to her. Massaging her stomach, she approaches the doorway where Michonne and I are standing, frozen in a one-sided embrace. "Now you heard it from his lips, exactly what his mother told you last night. A baby is on the way, and we're both very happy about it."

"Rick, please let me go." Michonne begs, Lori's poisonous words causing her to thrash about in my arms, and it's killing me, like the now familiar heated wrenching of a bullet wound, but this time to my heart.

"Wait! No! This is all a misunderstanding, and I don't know what my mother told you, and why she would purposely mislead you, but that's not my baby. Lori, tell her."

"It's not Rick's baby. But, we are going to raise her together. You heard him just tell me he loves me and the baby." She shrugs, and begins to walk around us as we block her exit from my bedroom. "Come see me when you're done here, Rick." Bouncing her long hair over her thin shoulders, she beats a casual, unhurried path to my front door.

The click of the door's lock announces Lori's final departure, and with it boiling anger is threatening to tumble over inside of me. Michonne has gone completely still and quiet, her hands limply hanging at her sides. The only sound that remains between us is the repeated in and out of her calm breaths echoing in the room. On the contrary, my own breathing is wild and erratic, and I can't get it under control while I'm trying to figure out how to fix this shit. Grasping, clenching, afraid to give even an inch, my hands hold firm to her arms, keeping her fixed in front of me.

Suddenly Michonne finds her voice, and looks up at me with so much sadness and pain that fat tears drop from her watery eyes, spilling over and down the round apple of her beautiful, dusky cheeks. Dropping her head to hide herself, her emotions from me, her voice is so soft and saturated with anguish, it breaks and crumbles over her words. "I didn't mean to interrupt, but I wanted to talk to you about what your mother told me last night when I saw her and Lori at the tree lighting. I used my key to let myself in. I shouldn't have done that, encroaching on your privacy. But, I didn't want to believe your mother when she said Lori was staying with you guys. That she's like a daughter, and now there's going to be a baby here. I wanted to hear you tell me that it's just your mother trying to keep us apart, Lori being a bitch. But, I got what I deserved didn't I?"

"What are you talking about?"

"She's right. I heard you tell her you love her, that you love the baby, that she will be beautiful like Lori. I deserved that right? For everything with Mike? This must be the real reason you needed a break, to deal with Lori and your baby? It's ok, Rick, I get it."

"No, you don't get it. How could you think I would choose her over you? That I could be happy with anyone other than you?" She doesn't answer. She doesn't move. Michonne just keeps those brown pools of distressed tears on my own, and I can't help it but want to cry myself. In anger because she doesn't trust me. Frustration because she doesn't seem to understand my heart. Sadness because I fear I am losing her. "Lori told you, that's not my baby. My mother allowed her to stay in the main house with them when her parents put her out. They found out she was pregnant by some old guy in Macon, and she had nowhere else to go. She came here to try and talk me into claiming the baby and raising it with her, but what you walked in on was me telling her that while I do love her, and the baby, I don't love her like I love you, and that's it. No one has my heart but you, you know this. I told you, what I have left for Lori is platonic, nothing more. I'm sorry my mother tried to confuse you with her lies, but you have to trust me, Michonne. You know me."

Nodding her head slowly she answers weakly, "I do know you. I do. And I know that you are so good, Rick. So good, and wholesome, and gallant that you always want to do the right thing for everyone. You thought letting me go was the right thing for me. It wasn't."

With fervent desperation I forge ahead, needing to assert my innocence, my devotion to only her. "I trusted you when I saw you with Mike because I know you. Didn't even question your love for me. I know you love me, and I knew it was hard for you to let go completely of everything with him, of that part of your world. That's why I wanted to give you time to figure it all out. Because yes, it was the right thing for you."

"I didn't need to figure anything out, Rick. The right thing for me is you. Not a break, a separation from you. From the one thing, the one person that makes so much sense, that gives me life. That's you. A break? That's what you needed. I was running myself to death to be here for you, to show you how much I love you. But, no, it wasn't good enough for you. You pushed me away because you needed a break, and now I see why. And you know what, it's cool."

"I can't fucking believe this shit! I could barely breath the last six weeks without you, Michonne. That six weeks did more damage to me, hurt me more than that bullet. Do you hear me? Do you see I'm a mess? No, you don't. Because you're so scared of us, of me, that you're adamant, willing to believe the worst in me."

"Why didn't you just tell me that she was staying here then? Why did I have to find out from your fucking, hateful mother of all people?" Michonne yells, using an expletive that rarely crosses her lady like lips.

"We were already shaky. I haven't seen you since Halloween. Barely spoken to you. How was I going to just call you up and tell you some shit like that, Michonne? And it wasn't my choice to let her stay at my parents' house. I didn't have a say in that, and I haven't even spoken to her until today."

"Figures."

"Figures? You know what, I didn't tell you for the same damned reason you wouldn't fess up to me about kissing your ex. Remember that? He told me all about it at your birthday party. I gave you numerous chances to tell me, to come clean. But, no, you held on to that little secret didn't you? And I never once blew up about it. Know why? Because I'm not some scared little girl. I'm a man, and I love you. There is nothing you could do that I can't forgive you for. And I'm a fool for that… I'm the fool here, because I love you so much more than you love me. If you don't love and trust me, what the fuck are we doing?"

"Well, Rick, there it is. You're right. Let me take my scared, little girl, ass on then, because I don't know what the fuck we're doing." Throwing my key at me, hitting me in the chest with it, Michonne turns on her heel and marches towards the front door.

"No you don't! Don't you fucking leave out of that door, Michonne." I holler, my voice raised as a frustrated sweat beads across my forehead, and anger pools in my belly.

Startling her with the gritty timbre of my voice, heightened to a level of acrimony and anger she's never experienced from me. Certainly not ever directed at her. Stopping, she slowly swivels her head my way, making eye contact over her shoulder. "You're not my daddy, Rick. My daddy is dead. I'm leaving before we say some more shit we can't come back from. Ok?"

"No." I stand behind her, wanting to grab her, physically keep her here with me, but it needs to be her choice. She needs to choose to stay and fight for me. If she doesn't… I don't know what I will do if she doesn't. "Please." I beg, closing my eyes and dropping my forehead to the back of her head. Rubbing my face across the downy soft curls found there, I steel my emotions against the verbal punches thrown between us. Unable to fathom my world without her, my arms decide of their own volition to take a light hold of her, wrapping themselves across her chest with my right hand resting on the curve of her neck. My hold isn't tight. Instead it's tenuous, light. The same way one might handle a tiny, bird, whose bones and frame are beautifully and intricately wrought, but so easy to damage.

"What else is there to say, Rick? Here I am telling you that I would sacrifice my whole life to be with you. Every dream, plan, hope, everything to be with you. But it wasn't enough. So I'm done. I tried to be in love, and just like I thought… it's bullshit." With that she pulls my arms from her body, and walks out the door, away from me. The blow of her words has damaged my once stellar instincts about her, and I don't know what to do next. Should I follow my wounded heart and go after her, beg and plead for her to stay and let's work this out? Confess that I was giving her time to really choose me. To afford me the time to get over my own insecurities about my place in her world, and show her I'm something worth choosing? That I want to give her the world, starting with me, forever? Or should I listen to the swirling thoughts in my brain, fighting and gnashing their teeth, ready to rip into her for daring to question my fidelity and love, my motives for giving her some breathing room. To not trust me. It's too hard to decide what to do, so I do nothing.

It's like I've been hit with a bullet all over again. Except this time, I've been marred and left for dead. And that's what I want to do at the prospect of her not being in my life. So I just stand here in the doorway, the cold December breeze rustling what's left of fall's leaves, and filtering itself into my apartment. And I wait. Wait for some epiphany that will drop into my consciousness and lead me to the right thing, the path that will ease this annihilating pain, this desire to give up and die.

It doesn't come, though. No longer able to withstand the catatonic state that has me frozen in my front doorway, I eventually find myself on the couch in my living room. Flat on my back, I wait for something to happen, some soothing thought to come. For her to return to me. To gift me with her sweet and crisp fragrance, Be Delicious, mixed with the heady scent of her pussy. With the heated taste of her mouth, laced with the naughty remaining flavor of my cock still coating her full lips. To witness the decadent, sweaty flush of her dark skin after I've made love to her, fucked her, pleased her to the point where her voice rises in hoarse, whimpering wails.

Dear god, what am I going to do?

Nothing happens though. She doesn't return, no sudden ah ha moment deciphers this conundrum, solves this puzzle. Eventually my teary gaze is drawn to the absolute darkness that covers the sky outside of my window in a blanket of twinkling stars, more majestic than any sign of heaven I have seen in quite some time… well outside of the majesty, the heavenly beauty and grace of my Michonne. And now I'm tumbling again. Crumbling is more like it. Falling apart amidst the pain delivered by her words. By her abandoning me. Too weak and upset to carry my listless form to my bedroom, the only thing I can do is remain on the couch, swaddled by my own feelings and thoughts.

At some point I fell asleep. Rising from the couch, yawning, stretching my cramped muscles, I almost forget what happened last night. But, emerging from the fog of my depressed mind, yesterday's events come crashing back onto the shores of my consciousness, a tsunami that threatens to destroy any semblance of coherence I can muster. Dropping my hands into my jeans pocket I run my fingertips over the small square box that holds the ring I was going to propose with, and a thought does come. Call her, it whispers from the dark recesses of my exhausted heart. Find her, fight for her, it yells, growing in fervor and tenacity. And that's all I need. The will, the hope to actually do something. To go get my girl.

Hustling my body into motion, I head into my bedroom, intent on taking a shower, and driving over to her house. As I cross the threshold of my bedroom a small rectangular box, gift wrapped in glossy red paper, with a big green bow, nearly bigger than the box, catches my eye on the floor, discarded by the doorway. Unsure of where it came from, I bend down, and pick it up. Rolling it over in my hands, I locate a small label under the large bow. To: Rick. From: Your Pretty Girl.

Anxious, I animate my sweaty hands, eagerly ripping and tearing at the paper. Tossing the fancy wrapping to the floor, I swipe my tongue across my dry lips, nervous with the anticipation of what I might find inside of this box, this gift from Michonne. At first my mind can't make sense of the three long plastic sticks wrapped in thin tissue like paper, each with a clear display window. One holds a plus sign. One has a tiny window with just two small hash marks, lines. And the third has a digital display, that confirms in clear, dark, block letters a single word that nearly stops my erratically thumping heart. PREGNANT.

Chapter 15 – Michonne

Voicemail 1:

"Michonne, this is Rick. I have called… I don't know how many times I've called now. But, please, listen to me. You know I've never loved a woman but you. Not like this. You are my girl. Don't do anything foolish, baby, please. Call me back!"

Voicemail 2:

"I'm getting worried that I can't find you. You weren't at your parents' house. And your mother was surprised to see me. I guess you didn't tell her what happened. That shit with Lori, that was just me letting her down easy. I don't want to hurt her…I don't want anyone to get hurt. Especially not you…not my Michonne. I just want you, pretty girl. Please. Call me back, I love you."

Voicemail 3:

"You don't have to talk to me right now, Michonne. Baby, just text me back. Let me know you're ok, that you're not hurt somewhere…I'm on my way to Atlanta. I have to see you, and explain. We…this can't be over. I'm sorry for everything I did or said to hurt you, you know I would never. I just need you to stop being afraid of my love for you. To let me be enough for you, Michonne. Please."

He keeps calling. Between these voicemails, and the fifty or so text messages that I have gotten since very early this morning, I would say that Rick is genuinely sorry. Despite the apparent honesty in his apology, I can't so easily dismiss what I've been feeling for weeks, what I recently heard, what I just saw. I don't know what to do. Wanting to lose myself in something unrelated to what I'm going through right now, I turn up the volume on the stereo in my Jeep.

"I need, I need

I need, I need

I need, I need

I need, I need

I need, I need…"

Need. It's a curious thing. We need to eat, and to breathe to survive. But, love? Do I need love to survive, I wonder? Watching the illuminated traffic light around the corner from my condo, change from red to green, then yellow, and back to red, for what must be the tenth time, I ponder the word. The essence of its meaning. Need. I thought I did need love, Rick's love. That it was an unlimited fountain that would keep my heart and my soul fed, eternally nourished. I thought Rick's love was exactly what I needed. Instead, the ugly reality of that lie is what sent me running in a haze of disappointment and anger, from Rick's apartment last night. A need to escape the culminating confrontation of everything I feared from the moment I fell in love with him. The possibility that the man I need, would one day decide that I wasn't enough, I wasn't what he needed any longer.

Safety and security is what I need, not love, and in that moment this teetering, tenuous thing with Rick was no longer giving me that. And everything that Mike said to me about Rick came crashing into my thoughts. For nearly two months, an awkward yet familiar feeling of aimless loss has been pumping me full of the cold and despicable darkness of doubt, insecurity. Instead of keeping me warm, it festered and ate away at my confidence, making me question everything about myself that I once steadfastly thought I knew. That's why I left Rick standing in his doorway, witnessing my hasty retreat.

I keep wavering though, wondering if I shouldn't have left. If I should have fought harder, pulled myself to the surface to breathe, instead of acquiescing to the weight of my emotions, and falling deeper into the abyss. Drowning. I should have grabbed that bitch Lori and made her eat every on every one of the venomous lies she spit my way. A replay of yesterday keeps cycling through my mind like a highlight reel of my second worst day ever. All of this reduces me to nothing but foolish regret, like a heavy stone around my neck, an albatross. Doesn't matter now though, because I did this. I fell in love and sabotaged myself.

Standing at the threshold of Rick's bedroom, a place where I had turned over my life, my body, my heart to him so many times, I was now just a spectator. A theater patron to a scene in any mainstream romance movie, where the pretty, thin white girl, and the handsome, white guy decide to stop playing around and make a life together. A life where a woman that looks like me simply doesn't fit. So I reacted, and in a vacuum, I unilaterally made a choice for us all. While my heart was splintering into tiny shards of delicate glass, sharp enough to leave me fatally wounded, I saw the truth of how perfectly Rick and Lori fit together. Him standing there confessing his love to her and her baby. A baby, housed inside of Lori's perfectly rounded stomach, that would resemble him more than our baby probably would. Pressed close to him, a literal and physical connection of their three lives represented in their proximity, Lori's aesthetically matched link to Rick sealed it. Realization covered me in a blanket of enlightenment, I could see it all so clearly now. Hear the taunting echo of Mike's parting words the night we broke up, foreshadowing a sentiment that Rick would eventually fulfill by making a fool of me. That nothing good could come from being with a good ol boy like him. These memories made it easy for me to just step away, to let him have this…perfect life. Effortlessly, I could end this battle in my heart by retreating to my corner in this boxing ring, like any smart and defeated boxer would. Seeing the reality of what Rick truly wanted, needed, I threw in the towel and sabotaged myself.

Now here I am, alone, frightened, dejected. That's the only way I can describe this feeling. This soul shockingly, empty sensation seeping from my broken heart, to stagger out to my lead heavy limbs. As if it was necessary to gift me with an impetus to recollect the damaged state of things between my love and I, something else to remind me of what happened last night at Rick's apartment, to pile on top of the festering hurt, Sza's 'Love Galore' continues to cryptically pump through the speakers of my Jeep.

"Love, love, love, love
Long as we got
Love, love, love
Long as we got…"

Normally this song is my jam. Worthy of a volume crank at all times, this album has been on constant rotation since the beginning of summer. But, after a multi-week, semi-separation from Rick, and now this, I just want her to shut up. Stop speaking the words that my love sick heart wants to nauseatingly vomit all over the steering wheel. Stop confessing the aching devastation of Rick's words to Lori, his harsh words of admonishment to me, and my own impetuous words spoken during my immature departure. And really, I'm drained and tired of crying, and thinking. I just want to say fuck it and check myself, because Sza is right. Rick and I did have love. And more.

Over the last couple of weeks that has become abundantly clear. Though we spoke on the phone a few times, we did not see each other at all during that time, and for the most part it was like he didn't exist in my life. But god, he did, he does, and it nearly killed me not to be with him. Rick says he was trying to give me a chance to live and be free, to handle my business, but he is my business. What freedom is there in a life without happiness, and the person who makes me happy? It all felt like a punishment, and I told him that when I spoke to him the other day. He denies that it was, but I think he secretly meant it to be, even if only subconsciously. Our separation was the consequence, the price that had to be paid for me stupidly thinking that a Halloween party with Mike was more important than a lifetime with the man I love. It wasn't, and for almost two agonizing months, Rick punitively kept himself from me, kept me away from him. Only a couple of texts and phone calls passed between us, and with each day, another crumbling piece of my heart broke off, withering into dust. Wasn't he suffering like I was? Didn't he miss me at all? Despite what I thought I knew of him, his behavior over that time, and the evidence witnessed with my own eyes and ears, would lead me to believe differently.

And there I go. Doing that thing that I hate, that my therapist warned me against, vacillating, and being hard on myself, fighting an unwinnable argument against my own self interests. The real question here is do I still want to be with Rick or not? Honestly that's all that matters. My head is worried that he's making a fool out of me, that the love and future he promised me is not what he's actually able or willing to deliver. And even though, I think my heart knows that he is the kind of man that would move heaven and earth to try and follow through, I'm so emotionally fragile I'm not certain I can risk it.

God knows I wanted to try though, and as I finally accelerate my Jeep away from this intersection that I have been idling at for way too long, I recall that just yesterday I was prepared to re-gift Rick with my life. I was ready to put all of those damaging, defeatist thoughts that eat away at me when I least expect it, along with this whole separation debacle, to a satisfying end. Not just because we were going to be back in the same room together, where I could physically lay my eyes on his clear blue ones, place my hands on his lean firm body, kiss his soft pink lips, find balance in the carnal release of energy that I know we both wanted. To not only allow him to refill the empty chasm his absence left within me, but also because I was going to let him know that I'm carrying his baby. It's a reality that I almost can't believe myself. And at first I didn't.

Glancing over to the passenger seat, at the way my phone lights up again to notify me of another text, probably again from Rick, I get a flutter in my belly, reminding mr of the life altering gift we created together. Last week when I couldn't seem to fully shake my sinus infection, and I kept struggling with being tired and achy, I became a whiny complaining mess to anyone who would listen. Mostly my mother and Sasha though, since I did not want to alarm Rick, or to reach out to him since I was pissy about the whole semi-separation thing anyway. So, I mentioned how awful I was feeling to Sasha while she and I were aimlessly strolling through Target last Friday. Tossing random, unnecessary items into the cart, and recounting her whirlwind Thanksgiving trip to Ibiza with Spencer, she casually asked me if I was on my period, or better yet if I was pregnant, and if that could be why I felt so awful. Then she laughed that off, because of course I would never do something as careless, or spontaneous as getting pregnant. Not meticulously organized, and structured Michonne. But when I stayed quiet, and conducted a quick calendar check in my head, I had to stop in my tracks. Not halting her slow push of the cart to notice the look of careful rumination and thought on my face, she suggested over her shoulder, continuing with her raucous laughter, that I should check my uterus for a little invader with Rick's face on it anyway, just to be safe. I didn't join her in that laugh, I just kept following behind in her tracks, distracting myself with clearance make up located on the end caps, and a new pair of black yoga pants, that the tiny bump of my normally flat abdomen might require.

She was right though. I didn't want to discuss it any further then, and I didn't grab a test until the next day when I was alone at Publix, and I could grab three different types of tests to either confirm or negate the existence of a little Grimes. That night, alone in the bathroom, after quickly drinking down two glasses of water, and drenching all three tests with my pee, I got the answer I was wholly unprepared for. Pregnant. With Rick's baby. My baby. He's going to be a dad. And I'm going to be…a mother?

This is an occurrence that is completely unlike me. Totally in conflict with every plan I've ever had for my life. Every inch of my structured and logical personality. A baby? I'm not married, I'm still in school, I'm not even in my damn 20s yet! Financially I can take care of a child, easily. I can pretty much afford whatever I want, or need. But emotionally? Right now I'm a wreck and well, like Sza says in the song, I should have known better. All of that satisfying and carefree sexing without a condom, relying only on my own meticulous pill taking schedule, did me in. And given how far apart Rick and I are right now, I have no idea how this is going to work. If it even can work. What do I tell my mother, Hershel?

Hearing my phone playing the ringtone, a snippet of 'Bad and Boujee', to signal my mother is calling, I lower the volume on Travis Scott spitting two verses that immediately cause me to groan because of how disgustingly appropriate they are.

"Let me cum inside, ya
Let me plant the seed inside, ya..."

"Hello?"

"Michy! Girl, where the hell are you? Are you ok?" My mother asks, relief and exasperation mixing in the tone of her raised voice.

"Yeah, Mom, I'm fine. I'm just going to stay in the city for awhile, I don't feel well, and I didn't want anyone else to catch what I have." I respond, telling a little white lie, coupled with a bigger truth to ease the frantic tone of worry in my mother's voice.

"Well what time did you leave, at the crack of dawn? Rick was here looking for you."

"It was pretty early, about an hour ago. I couldn't sleep."

"Why the hell did you get up so early to leave and not say anything to anyone? That's not right, little girl, I was worried about you!" Admonishing me, making me feel every bit the immature 19 year old I sometimes am, I wince at her loud tone.

"I'm fine, Mom."

"The hell you are! He was over here ringing the bell all early, eyes red and watery. That boy was looking a little wild and desperate. What's going on with you two?"

"Uh. He and I had a small argument, no big deal." I admit, hoping that the cracking in my voice, hoarse and raspy from crying, doesn't betray me and give away the truth of how terribly awful things are between Rick and I now.

"This have anything to do with whatever that bitch Ellen said to you at the tree lighting? I know you didn't want to tell me what she said that had you all stone faced, but all I know is that she better not be messing with my baby girl. You hear me, Michy? Do I need to go over there and have a chat with her?"

"No."

"Good. You let me know if I do. I'm itching to mix it up with her old ass again. I can't stand her self-righteous behind. Anyway, I told him you were probably at your apartment, so he's on the way there. I suggest you guys fix whatever it is that's going on. Ok? At least try to talk it out, whatever it is. He was really frantic to see you."

"I'll talk to Rick when he gets here. I promise. Matter of fact, I'm pulling up to my condo now."

"Good girl. You guys fix this."

"Ok." I sadly answer, not sure that we can, but knowing that there is so much more going on here than just a small argument. Parking my car, I self-consciously begin to rub at my stomach, thinking of the piece of Rick nestled safely within.

"Hey, sweetheart, your mama loves you. I'm always here for you, for whatever. Let me know if you need me, and when you will be coming back. You didn't even open any of your presents." Her voice softens, as she probably recognizes the solemnity in my own. We've always been connected like that.

"Yep. I love you too. Bye, Mom." I utter, as I hear the squeal of rubber, screeching across the asphalt of the parking lot. Hitting end on my phone, I drop it into my purse on the passenger's seat, and turn off my car. Dropping my head to the steering wheel, I suck in a deep, steadying breath, trying to grasp a tentative hold of my shaky emotions before the driver of that fast moving blue pickup locates me in my parking spot in front of my condo.

"Michonne! Please, baby, open the door!" Rapping his knuckles against the driver's side window, I can hear the raging desperation in Rick's voice, the same as what my mother must have witnessed, and that had her so alarmed. Elevating my head, I turn towards him. Latching my own weary eyes on to his, I see the evidence of agitation all over him. In dark jeans, protected from the cold December morning by a brown suede coat, with a wool shearling collar, his hair is disheveled, his face is red, and his eyes are a piercing, stormy blue.

Still frozen, my joints are locked in what seems like permanent suspension, taking away any control I have to move. I can only gaze out of the window, my eyes hovering over the most handsome man I've ever known. Watching a mix of anxiety and affection, conflict and combat each other to win dominion over him, I'm drawn to the quiet disturbance in his eyes, the heated flurry of breaths blowing from his lips, meeting with the frosty morning air to make smoke. And it releases me from my stupor, while at the same time a twister of emotion breaks free from my own eyes, causing a salty downpour of tears to race down my face. The levee I have put up, disintegrates behind this cathartic outpouring, no longer holding back all of the acrimony and melancholy that my newly invigorated hormones seem intent on setting free. And with that, my tiny, needy voice finally finds the strength to rise up, and escape my trembling, pursed lips. "Rick."

The sound of his name on my lips seems to have unlocked something wild in him, and he's now pulling at the locked door handle, banging and blasting his fists against the panels of the steadfast door. Thrown into action at the sight of his quickly reddening knuckles, and teary face, I fumble with my shaky fingers to unlock the door, which Rick instantly throws open. A blustery blast of cold air shocks my face, as Rick gingerly reaches into the Jeep for me, wrapping one strong arm under the crook of my knees, and the other around my back. Seemingly no longer concerned with the strength of his once wounded shoulder, he gently removes me from the truck. Holding me firmly to his body, I continue to cry, and delight in the thrilling yet traitorous sensation of his rosy lips kissing away the rain of fat tears streaking my face.

"You shouldn't be here. Go back to King County, Rick." I utter under the wet smother of his lips on mine.

For a brief moment he stops kissing me, and I can tell that he's shocked by my response. "What the hell are you talking about? No! I came here for you, and I'm not leaving without you."

"I'm not going anywhere. You should go home and spend the rest of the holidays with your family." I suggest, trying to wriggle out of the tight hold of his arms.

"Michonne, are you crazy? Do you think I came all this way for you to tell me to turn around and go home, without you?" He incredulously asks, walking my limp body towards the front door of my condo.

Once inside, deftly locking the door behind him, Rick walks me directly to the couch, gently placing me on the edge of a cushion. Wordlessly, he begins unbuttoning my wool coat, and removing it from my stiffly set body. He tosses it to a chair that sits in the corner of the room. Next he crouches before me, and reaches for my boots. Focusing intently on the job at hand, he unties each boot, then tugs them, along with my thick socks, off my feet. Resting one knee on the ground, the other still bent, resting his elbow upon it, he looks up at me, scratching contemplatively at his slight beard. "I'm sorry I called you a scared little girl. That I yelled at you."

Feeling the heat of my anger rising within me all over again, I set my face into a scowl, hoping that he sees I'm dissatisfied with his apology. "Fine. You can go now. I have things to do today."

"Like what? Coming back home with me? That's the only thing on your agenda for today. I'm gonna make sure you get it done."

"I don't think so, Rick. I am home."

"What are you doing, Michonne? Do you want me to beg you? Hm? I know you're angry about what you heard, what you saw, but I'm here to explain so we can move past this. We have bigger things to discuss than some stupid misunderstanding."

"Speaking of stupid, shouldn't you be getting back to Lori? Planning out your perfect little lives together as a family with your baby? Just go, Rick. Get out." Pointing towards the door, I'm fighting to hang on to my righteous indignation, because I'm not ready to feel the relief from its pressure heaving down on my chest. Not yet. This pain is useful to me. It will serve as a lesson, a strong reminder to never again give a man this much power over me. Ever. Launching from the couch, I am immediately met with the wall of Rick's leanly muscled chest, and his intense blue glare.

"Stop this." In a voice more commanding than any I've ever heard him use, specifically directed at me, the deep bass of it stops me in my tracks. But the memory of the weeks of isolation he imposed on me, and the sight of him with Lori, reinvigorates and provokes my outrage. "I'm not going anywhere without you. That's it."

"No, Rick, that's not it. This is my house, and you don't make any rules here. You don't get to tell me what to do anymore. I'm done with doing this thing with you. Ok? You had your fun, got to scratch that black girl itch. Now go back to your basic ass white girl, and live your country boy life. Leave this scared little girl alone!" I spit, trying to still the shake of my voice. Placing my trembling hands on his chest, I give him a little shove, but he remains unmoved. "What part of, you don't get to play with my emotions anymore, don't you get?" Pursing my lips, I see that Rick's face does not betray him and give away any emotion. That my physical efforts to move him are ineffective. I muster harsher words, wanting him to feel the pain I've been stung with, and finally get him to move from my space. "My heart doesn't belong to you anymore. Matter of fact, I don't think it ever did. Mike was right about you."

Narrowing his eyes on me into thin, squinty slits, only a brief 'hm' escapes him. What I can only assume is anger, appears to be swirling amongst the mix of blue and gray in his eyes, and I'm expecting the desired explosion next. Something I have said has finally hit its mark with him. But then, he catches me off guard, much like when he found me with Mike before, and he smiles. A large smug grin is more like it. And then he descends upon me. His lips, his hands. Cloistering me with his presence, he's all over me, smothering my senses with nothing but the smell of his talc laced cologne, his clean soap and shampoo, the mint of his toothpaste, the crushing bruise of his lips, and the blunt hardness of his cock pressing into my abdomen. Oh god.

That once familiar sensation of falling, tumbling, weightlessness overtakes me, and I can't stop it. I don't want to. Need. There is that word, that sentiment again. My heart and my soul need him. My body needs him. At first it's heresy to even admit it, but the core of me knows it to be true. Rick is in my blood, and while that admission should make me ashamed, it doesn't. Not right now while a heady willingness to be dominated and consumed by him owns me, and I don't care. Greedily I grasp him to me, smashing my body against his, squirming in his hold to gain more contact. Abruptly, he ends the kiss and pulls away. Huffing and panting, running his tongue over his lips, he steps back a bit, then runs his large palm over my breasts, and up to my throat. Tugging slightly at the neckline of my sweater he focuses his eyes there. The smirk is back, this time with a softer edge to it though, accompanied by a newly introduced tinge of lust in his eyes. "You're still wearing the necklace I gave you. You heart is still mine. Just like mine has always been and will always be yours."

Taking a seat back on the couch, I retreat from the veracity of his claim, but don't confirm his assertion. I can't. Not yet. Clutching at the delicate 'M' that rests at the hollow in my throat, I recall the familiar love and acrimony between us the night he gave it to me, and I lower my eyes from his. Attempting to collect myself, I soothingly rub one hand over my queasy stomach, thinking of our baby within. Remembering the wrinkles and complications in all of this, I try to think clearly about what to do or say next, steel my emotions from the blazing crackle of passion between us, but he doesn't let me.

"Stand up." Dropping his eyes from the gold around my neck, to the protective massage of my hand over my abdomen, he regains my attention with the gruff timbre of his commanding voice.

Not sure what else to do, other than to follow his directions for fear that I will draw attention to his scrutiny of my belly, and no longer wanting to fight with him, I slowly stand, doing as he asked. As I stand before him, Rick releases a tired sigh, tilting his head at me as though he is trying to figure something out. Swiping at his red eyes, rubbing both hands down his face, he drops his head, chin to his chest for a moment. The sight of him, processing a broad range of emotions that scurry over his face in the squint of his beautiful eyes, and the tense set of his shoulders, nearly causes me to tumble into another fit of tears. We did this to each other. Both thinking we were saving the other, gifting them something they never asked for. Praying that irreparable damage hasn't been done, my trembling fingers lower to his cheeks, grazing the tips through the stubble of his emerging beard.

At the sensation of my hands on him, Rick closes his eyes, finally releasing the air he has been trapping in his lungs to keep himself, his emotions, steady. Taking a hold of the soft, woolen lapels of his coat's collar, I pull him up and closer to my body, intent on releasing him from the cold bondage of hurt he's harboring in his tired bones, that we both contributed to. I unzip and remove the thick, heavy coat. No longer interested in battle, only reconciliation, reigniting our withered connection, we both immediately reach for each other again. Words are unnecessary. Relief and forgiveness are evident in the desperately frantic hold of my arms around his neck, in the vise like wrap of his strong arms around my waist. Lowering his face to mine, Rick continues his efforts to kiss away any remaining signs of my distress, placing a barrage of delicate pecks on any hints of tears or strain. And I let him. I need him to. To soothe me and console me. To heal the wounds I've inflicted on myself. Wanting to take care of him as well, I massage my fingers lightly through the short curls, tapered low to his head.

"I'm sorry," he utters over my lips, low and raspy. The hairs of his mustache tickle my skin, and I nuzzle into them, missing their prickle.

"Me too." I nod, offering him the sincerest of apologies. "I saw you with her. I heard-"

"Shh, I know."

"I thought-" Admitting the things that cornered me, tortured me, drove me to hurt the person closest to me.

"I know." Rubbing his face against mine, he's now licking and biting at the sensitive skin of my neck, my throat, toying with the gold 'M' with his tongue.

Moaning at the warmth rushing over my quickly relaxing body, I tilt my head to the side, giving him more access to me. "…maybe she would be better for you?"

"Never. I need you, pretty girl. Don't torture me."

"I need you, Rick. Please don't leave me again." I weakly plead. Desire is pushing, motivating me now, and I'm greedy to get my hands on more of him. With my hands now underneath his t-shirt, his heated skin, taut and covered with a masculine sprinkling of hair, welcomes me home. My palms' exploration of his muscled pecs, the slight ripples of his abs, is a reminder of the pleasure and comfort I have always found in his body, with Rick.

Shuddering slightly, a weak shiver zings through his muscles, jumping underneath the pads of my fingers. Raising his head to make eye contact with me, his brows furrowed and angled, he confesses while shaking his head. "Never. But, I thought you needed a break from me."

"Never. I need you, Rick. We need you."

With the subtle mention of our baby, what I assume is a newly discovered revelation for him, Rick delivers the most beautiful smile I have ever seen grace his face. Dropping to his knees, he lifts my sweater, and focuses his gaze on my still flat stomach. "I know. We need you too, Mama. Me and our baby." His large hands span the expanse of my tiny waist, as he rubs his thumbs back and forth over the shelter that houses his baby, our son or daughter. There is quiet worship and reverence in his touch, the manner in which his rough, calloused hands roam over my skin.

"How did you know?"

"You dropped my Christmas present at my house. I found it." Reaching into his back pocket he removes the box with the three pregnancy tests, I gleefully wrapped for him the other day.

"Ah. I wanted it to be this big surprise. See the look on your face. Guess I ruined that." I let my head fall listlessly back, and take in a deep breath, wondering at the mess I've made of things. Steeling my raging emotions, I try not to allow a fresh round of tears to escape onto my face. At the feel of Rick's hands rolling from my stomach, and back to the cushion of my ass, to grasp and knead at my flesh, my tears drop anyway in a burst of relief.

"I was surprised. You're having my baby, Michonne. I've never been happier in my life."

"Really?"

"Pretty girl, this, you… it's everything I've ever wanted. Nothing else matters but this, us, our little family."

"I love you, Rick. I do. I won't hurt you again, I promise. I won't be scared anymore. We have to stop hurting each other." Bending at the waist, I place a series of kisses on the top of his head. Hearing him groan in appreciation, I stand erect again, and begin to unbutton my jeans.

"Yes…yeah I agree. Wait…what are you doing?"

Without a response I unzip my jeans and begin pushing them and my panties down over the slight swell of my hips. Stepping back, and out of his arms, I drop them to the floor, and kick them away. Next, I pull my sweater over my head, letting it fall wherever. Slipping the straps of my bra down my shoulders, with Rick's eyes laser focused on my movements, I lick at my lips, delighting in the stunned look on his face. As my tender breasts bounce free of the confines of my bra, I begin kneading and thrumming at my firm, distended nipples.

"Michonne? Baby…"

"Rick, did you miss me?"

Nodding, he reaches for me, but I easily back away, dodging his eager advances.

"Yes, pretty girl, more than anything. Come here, let me show you."

"I want to. To feel you inside of me."

"Fuck…" He groans, quickly pulling his own shirt off and leaving it on the floor.

"Exactly." I agree. Now completely nude, I retreat back to the soft cushion of the couch. Laying back, I bend my legs at the knee, pulling them up and allowing them to fall to the side, leaving my core open and vulnerable to him. "Rick, come here, daddy." I moan, closing my eyes and using two fingers from my right hand to explore the fleshy folds of my womanhood.

Calling him daddy seems to light a fire in him, and that bright sparkling grin is once again lifting his lips, reaching to the depths of his glistening blue eyes. "Say it again, pretty girl."

"Come here, daddy. Come give your pretty girl what she needs." Quirking my eyebrow at him, I remove my plunging fingers, now damp with my arousal, and insert them in my mouth. Since finding out I was pregnant a few weeks ago, my libido has been raging. As a result, I unfortunately learned quite a bit about how to explore my own body and find pleasure this way. But nothing compares to my Rick, and with the swift removal of his boots and jeans, he's pulling me up and laying me on my back, across the large ottoman in front of the couch, grinding his stiff cock against me.

"I missed you, baby." Mumbling the words into my breasts, Rick sucks my nipple into his hungry mouth, rolling his tongue over and against my turgid nipple. With the palm of his warm hand he covers my other breast, vigorously rubbing and kneading at the sensitive flesh. Crying out at the slightly painful ache coursing through the nerves there, Rick leans his torso up and looks down at my wincing face. With pregnancy, my nipples have become so sensitive that sometimes even the stream of shower water hurts them. "Are you ok? Am I being too rough?" He asks, a quiet panic of concern leading him to snatch his hand back.

"No. They're just very sensitive now. I…I guess because of the baby."

"My baby wouldn't do that her mama." He playfully shakes his head, focusing his eyes on my stomach.

"Well, he is. So, just a little easier with them."

"He? She!" Rick exclaims, bending over to lower his face to nuzzle my stomach, tickling me across the belly button with his beard. "Hey little baby, this is your daddy, tell your mama that you're gonna be a sweet, pretty girl, just like her."

"Hate to disappoint you, but it's gonna be a boy."

"We'll see about that." Rolling his eyes at my assertion, he kisses lightly against the hardly visible bump of my lower stomach, and begins to move further down. Reaching the apex of my thighs his wet tongue licks out from between his pink lips and parts the freshly shaven lips of my pussy, making contact with my most delicate parts. "Mmmm, you smell and taste so good. Shit… I don't know how I survived so long without you. I'll try to be gentle."

"Don't." I beg, biting down on my bottom lip, hungry for him to take me. To ravage me. To make me forget all of the time we've been apart, and all of the negative things we've said to each other.

"I don't wanna hurt the baby." Skeptical, he pauses for a moment, his breath coming out in warm heavy puffs, caressing my skin.

"You won't. Fuck me, Rick, hard."

In silence, Rick presses his whole face into my pussy, and begins to devour me as though he's a man that has been deprived of nourishment. Latching his whole mouth over me, the heat from his wet mouth is causing my body to relax, to loosen my muscles. I feel airy and free in my arousal, as Rick teases my tight bud with slow languid laps of his long tongue. Humming against me, the vibration, accompanied by his lips sucking my clit into his mouth, sends a powerful spike of pure lust firing through my body, stiffening my limbs and causing a long whimper to fall from my lips. My hand is now nestled in the short, feathery curls at the back of his head and I'm pushing his face into my pussy, wantonly desiring for him to keep using his mouth to further send my body flying higher.

Grunting at the wicked thrust of my hips up to his face, Rick's muscled arms have a firm grip around my thighs as he jerks me closer to him and proceeds to weave his head up and down, rolling his tongue in a figure eight motion. Messily slurping and sucking, the sound of my wet juices being lapped into his greedy mouth, reverberates around the room, mingling with the echoes of my needy pleas. Instantly, the newly decadent sensation he's delivering shoves my already tightly coiled nerve endings into a wild shock, and right over the edge, tumbling directly into an orgasm. Thrashing, unable to control my body from writhing and raising from the ottoman, I'm indulgently wading in a pool of ecstasy.

Releasing me, Rick sits up on his knees. Staring down at me, he swipes his large palm down his face, marveling at the dampness of his whole face, including the slick viscosity lacing his beard. Watching me pant, grasping for the deep, heavy gulps of air that will help me find my way back to lucidity, Rick patiently licks at his bee stung lips. Apparently figuring that I've had more than enough time to gather my wits about me, he lays on top of me, balancing his weight to one side on his elbow. With his other hand, he firmly fists his cock, and teases my already responsive pussy, dragging the head over the moist petals.

Eyes full of love and lust, intently set on my own, Rick slowly plunges into my depths, finding a modicum of resistance at the choking tightness of my canal. Eyelids drooping at the indulgent strangle I have over his dick, his spiky straight lashes dust the tops of his cheeks, as he twists and screws his hips, trying to relax my snugness. "Fuck, fuck, fuck…" He sighs as he pushes, finally buried and immersed to the hilt.

For a moment he doesn't move. In the stillness of this brief snapshot in time, my love for him swells, peaking so high, shining so brightly, that it threatens to burst into flames, igniting and consuming us both in its luminosity. Before I can stop them, I blink to try and hold them back, but tears, full and boisterous break free from my eyes. A wailing gasp drops from my lips, and Rick opens his eyes, alarmed at my apparent distress. "What's wrong, Michonne?"

"I didn't think I would ever have you back… be like this with you again…" I hiccup, blowing out a long breath to try and get the words out despite my tears. Holding tightly to him, I'm nearly frantic because the vise of my arms can't seem to crush him close enough to me. "I love you so much, Rick. I do."

"I know. I love you too. Don't cry. I'm already not sure how long I'm going to last here. You're so fucking tight and hot, shit. Shh… don't cry." Sweeping his hand along the bottom of my thigh, he drags it up and over his shoulder. Kissing the inside of my leg, he starts a slow wind of his hips, then uses his other hand to lift my ass and pelvis to eagerly meet his, with a bump of my clit against the base of his cock. "That's it, Michonne. Let me love you, baby, don't cry." Hovering over me with a bend to his spine, and a deep waving motion in and out, the sound of him pistoning inside of me, slapping leisurely against my swollen lips, sends a keening wail up from my diaphragm and into the air.

I can feel my own wetness drenching him, leaking down the backs of my thighs. "Oh, pretty girl, this pussy is gonna kill me." Speeding up, diving deeper, Rick's lips descend on my own, kissing and slipping his tongue between my lips to explore my mouth. Lush and ferocious, my own passion for my man ascends, and I take control of the kiss, dominating Rick's lips, tugging and sliding his bottom lip between my teeth. "Fuck me harder, daddy! Please…"

"What about the baby?" he whispers in my ear, the side of his face now tightly pressed to mine.

"Harder, daddy, please! I need you to fuck me so good, Rick!"

Groaning he bites at my cheeks and neck, then proceeds to savagely fulfill my request. Driving into me harder and deeper than before, he takes my other leg that was resting lightly at his waist, and lifts it onto his shoulder as well. With my pussy now lifted higher, he's drilling me with the unbridled strength and power that I need him to dominate me with. My desire for him to plunder, to snatch his own pleasure, while simultaneously satisfying every one of my carnal compulsions, motivates him.

"Ahh, ahh, Riiiicckkk… oh god, I'm gonna…" His virulent thrusts have pushed my body further up the ottoman, and head is now dangling over the edge. With my head suspended upside down, a heightened sensation of gravity defying gratification feels like the most exquisite of things. So lavish and luxurious, decadent, that it pitches my torso up from the ottoman, crashing into Rick's chest.

"That what you needed, pretty girl? Hm? You wanted your man to fuck you like that?" He gruffly questions, sweat pouring down his face, dripping onto the wild bounce of my firm round breasts.

"Yes, yes, yes…"

"Look at you. You're so beautiful, glowing, cumming on my dick… You feel good, baby?"

Nodding, a succession of stiff and hard pumps of his lean hips against my own, powerfully banging the ottoman across the floor, Rick gifts me with another of the most wicked, yet pure climaxes of my life. White hot, the erotic barrage of spasms from my pussy, strangles his cock, and Rick's body petrifies and stiffens on top of me, as a thunderous moan erupts from his beautiful lips.

For a long moment Rick lays lax and boneless on top of me, his weight pressing me into the cushion of the ottoman, and my legs into my chest. His hands are tightly cradling my ass in his palms, and his breathing is erratic, wafting over my collarbone. Content with the amorous clutch of our bodies, sweaty, and intertwined, I drag my fingers across his scalp to soothe him. Moments slip past and Rick finally musters the strength to slide off of me, and to my side. Bereft at the loss of our entanglement, I turn to my side, ready to snuggle him, but before I can, he sluggishly reaches for me, and hauls me over his shoulder. Carrying me to my bedroom, he drops me to my feet. Lying down across the bed, he pulls me on top of him, to drape me over his chest. Reaching for the blankets, and still without a word, he wraps us up, creating a cozy cocoon around us.

Arms around me, resting on my ass, Rick raises his head and kisses the top of head. "I was too rough." He sadly confesses, with a hint of apology in his statement.

"You were perfect."

At the urgent call of my straining bladder, I lift my head from what should be Rick's chest, but instead is just one of the many pillows decorating my bed. Browsing the room with my eyes, searching for any sign of him, anything that would indicate that this morning was not a dream, a swift panic threatens to seize my chest. Trying to calm myself, empty my bladder and think, I drowsily lumber to the en suite bathroom attached to my bedroom. Feeling the well used, and tender soreness of my vagina, the tense achy stretch of my thigh muscles, and I know for sure it was not a dream. But where is Rick? As I pee, a long stream, relief rushes through me as I hear the deep timbre of his voice thanking someone and closing the front door.

Wiping and flushing, my newly developed mutant level of smell sniffs out the scent of food. Grabbing a blanket carelessly discarded on the floor, I swaddle myself to cover my nudity and head to the kitchen, taking a seat on a stool at the island.

"Finally woke up, huh?" Rick laughs, running his eyes over me, and my questionable attire. "You might want to put on some clothes, Sasha is here with Spencer. I ordered food for us all. Got you curry chicken from that Indian spot around the corner you love so much."

"Thanks. What time is it?"

"Eight."

"At night"

"Yeah. You were pretty tired so I let you sleep. But, yeah, gonna need you to at least throw on a robe or something. I'm sure you're still naked under that blanket. Can't have you sitting here in front of another guy in just a blanket."

"Rick, we're all naked under our clothes anyway." I tease, lifting my left hand to stretch. As I do, a sparkling twinkle from my hand catches my eye. "What the?" Bringing my hand in close, I curiously wonder over the antique gold band, with a simple princess cut diamond situated in a high, four pronged setting. "Rick?" Unable to tear my eyes away from the delicate brilliance of the ring, I begin to breath fast, erratic, unsure of what else to say.

"Will you? Will you do me the honor of being my wife? Letting me devote my life to your happiness, to creating and loving a family with you and our baby?"

"I don't know what to say, Rick. It's a beautiful ring, and I love you more than I can even vocalize. This is…"

"Say yes, Michonne. I love you, you love me. Say yes." Jumping from the stool, I grab a hold of Rick's face and kiss him, long and hard. "Is that a yes? Or should I take you back to the bedroom to try and convince you some more?"

"It's a yes! Oh my god! Wait until I tell my mother, the girls, Sasha!" I scream, too close to Rick's ear, causing him to wince and flinch.

"Tell Sasha what?" She asks, entering the kitchen with Spencer following close behind.

"Rick and I are getting married!" I squeal, shoving my hand out towards her for inspection.

Grabbing my hand, she joins my squeals of delight. "Oh my god! Congratulations, this is amazing for you two. I knew it would happen, you're meant for each other. Guess we'll be two old married women together, huh?"

"Wait, what do you mean?"

"Should I tell her, honey?"

"Please, go ahead." Spencer smiles down lovingly at Sasha, his hand resting tightly at her hip.

"Spencer and I got married on Christmas."

Chapter 16 – Rick

"Married?"

"I know, can you believe that?" Michonne asks, incredulity in her voice.

"I can't. Shane is going to be pissed."

"You think so? The last time I talked to him he was running around with that Andrea chick again. I don't think he's going to care at all." Michonne asserts, licking her fingers clean of the sticky glaze left over from the half dozen Krispy Kreme donuts she just devoured.

"Yeah he's gonna be mad. He likes Sasha. She's just, more woman than he's used to. Andrea is easy. A distraction. Shane likes easy. And, ya know, he doesn't really know how to navigate with complicated women like Sasha. Not emotionally. He just doesn't know how." I offer, glancing at her from the corner of my eye, both turned on and amazed at her ministrations. The meticulous finger licking is getting my dick hard because I know what my girl can do with that mouth. And well, I'm also amazed because she polished off all of those donuts on her own without stopping to take a breath.

"Hm. You're probably right, you know him better than I do. I didn't think that whole thing was serious between him and Sasha."

"He likes her. Probably could have been real serious eventually, but Shane has some of the same damage the rest of have. Parent issues, emotional issues, self-worth issues. He's definitely not going to be happy that Sasha moved on permanently. No one wants to lose their girl to another guy."

"I don't know that she would have considered herself to be his girl though, Rick. She liked Shane too, but I guess not enough. She married Spencer, just out of the blue. Flew to Las Vegas and got married on Christmas on a whim. Didn't tell me, didn't tell her parents, brothers, nobody. Worst part about it is that she doesn't even love him."

"How do you know that?"

"One, she just met him. Two, she told me. Said she likes him enough. Apparently he is in love with her, and wants to take care of her, let her work on her art. She said she's not going back to school, she's going to focus on her art full time. And that his parents love her. They even bought them a house in Alexandria, Virginia so they can settle near DC for his job. I told her it must be nice." She adds that last bit with a large dose of sarcasm, and though it stings a bit, I can't deny that she has every reason to respond that way.

Feeling ashamed and contrite that Michonne won't have the luxury of the kinds of in-laws that Sasha has apparently been blessed with, I offer her an apology. "I'm sorry about that by the way. If it helps, you know my dad adores you. Ellen though…"

"Oh you're calling your mother Ellen now?" quirking her eyebrow she looks over to me briefly, and I can feel her eyes quickly roaming over my profile in question.

"I'm just fed up with her, and she's not behaving motherly with all of her bullshit schemes right now. So, no. I'm not calling her 'mom'. I'm done with her. You deserve so much better than this. You and our baby do." Reaching out towards her, I protectively place my hand on her still flat stomach, thrilled at the thought that my daughter is in there. Growing, getting stronger, bigger. That the person I love most in the world is carrying and nurturing a part of me inside of her.

"So, when do you wanna tell your parents about everything?" Placing the empty donut box on the back seat, she turns her body sideways, and focuses her wide, coffee colored, eyes on me.

"Whenever you want. We can drive directly there instead of your parents' house, and tell them first. Doesn't matter to me. My pops already knows. He gave me the ring. It was my grandmother's, his mom."

"What about your mom? She's gonna lose it when she finds out isn't she? Ugh! Is it wrong that I hate her? She's going to be my mother in law, and the thought of her makes me so angry. She's never going to accept me or our baby, Rick. You know that, right?" Posing the question to me, Michonne's voice holds a softer tenor than normal, indicating she is unhappy and uncomfortable with the direction of this conversation. It tears me up inside that the thought of my mother brings about so much angst in her.

"She won't be a problem for us, Michonne. I know that, I know her. She's intolerant and she likes to manipulate, but I won't give her a chance anymore. So, don't worry about her. You and our baby will have me, and my dad, your family. There will always be lots of love for you both. Isn't that what matters? Not her approval."

"I don't need or want her approval, but I worry about you because you don't seem to really see her for what she is. How unhinged she is. Even if she won't be around, it doesn't change the way I feel about her, because it doesn't change the way things are. Your mother is a racist. She tried to put Lori, another racist, between us. And I don't even fully blame Lori. I get it. I've been loved by you. It's the single most amazing feeling I've ever had. You look at me like I hung the moon. Like your day doesn't begin or end without me. If Lori ever felt even an ounce of that, I understand why she would want it back."

"It's never been the same with Lori. I told you that."

"You did. And I want to believe that, I'm getting there. But Lori isn't blameless, and neither are you. She allowed herself to be used by your devious ass mother. She knew exactly what she was doing. And you not telling me about her being there…it was a lie by omission. It's how her and your mother got between us. I can see that now."

"I never lied to you." I vigorously protest, particularly shaken by her insinuating that I lied to her.

"I'm not accusing you, Rick. I'm trying to put out there all of the uncomfortable, ugly stuff now, so we can start this new year together, the three of us, fresh. We need to be honest and open if we are going to make it. This week at the lake house has been magic. But, we have some stuff we need to discuss and sort through. Some big stuff. Starting with your mother and ending with Mike and Lori."

On a deep intake of breath, I know she's right, but I don't particularly want to talk about any of those things. It would be so much easier to have stayed together at the lake house, cooking, eating, watching television, listening to music, having sex. Planning our lives, and simply being together without all of the noise and distraction of the real world yelling at us, and pulling us in a million different directions. My girl knows me, and she knows that I would be fine just ignoring and avoiding my mother like she doesn't exists. It would be the path of least resistance to get what I want, and not have to fully confront the difficult, yet ugly truth, that is my mother. The woman who, even though I'm ashamed of her, I still love. She nurtured me and gave me life, and for that reason, this is epiphany of who she really he, and the extremes she will go, is intensely painful.

I have to admire the rather logical sense of calm that Michonne seems to be employing today though, and I want to encourage it given that her hormones seem to be throwing her emotions and her body off kilter a little lately. This past week, I have witnessed some puzzling behavior from a normally happy, and easy going Michonne. One minute she was crying at a video clip on Facebook, of kittens that were scared by a cucumber. Then she was equally weepy and upset when she asked me if I liked cats, and I admitted to her that I was not particularly fond of them. She spent a great deal of time sleeping and eating, often nodding off while I was talking to her. These things occurred at such an increased amount that I had to turn to the arbiter of bad medical judgment, WebMD, to try and figure out if this was normal for pregnant women, or if I should take her to the doctor. Though WebMD confirmed that yes this was all normal, and that no she doesn't have cancer or some other terminal disease that it seems to usually diagnose people with, I have been making every attempt to be mindful of what I say, and when she is being undeniably reasonable.

Considering my own feelings, and the honesty in Michonne's words, I nod my head in agreement. "Ok, you're right. Continue."

"I think your mother is dangerous. She's filled with hate. She's playing with people's lives like they are chess pieces. Like what you want, who you are, who you love, doesn't even matter. Your mother only cares that Lori is who she wants for you, and that she's white. Literally that's the only reason she doesn't like me. That's a special kind of crazy is all I'm saying. And you and your father seem content to just try and ignore her like she's an eccentric, but she's so much more than that. It's time for you guys to recognize that. To recognize her for who she really is."

"She will never be a factor in our lives. I promise you this. If she can't accept you, and our baby. I'm not going to allow her to disrespect my wife and child. You're the most wonderful thing to ever happen to me, you and our baby. My mother is not more important than that, and if I have to cut her out of my life, then so be it." I'm getting upset, feeling shame and anger at the drama my own mother has caused, and at the realization that Michonne is right. Ellen can never be a part of our lives, not if we want to be happy. Not if I want to protect my wife and child from her kind of virulent negativity.

Twirling her fingers in my hair, knowing that it relaxes me, Michonne leans into my side and kisses along my jaw. I can instantly feel the calming effects of her touch, her kiss, as I struggle through my emotions. "You will always have me, Rick, my support. And I know she can't replace your mother in your life, but my mama loves her some Rick Grimes. We'll be ok. I don't want her to hurt and manipulate you any longer. And, I'm not blameless in all of this either. I have been thinking about it, over and over, how I let my history with Mike prevent me from fully trusting in you, letting myself get made a fool of by your mother and Lori. I was so stupid."

"Hey! Don't talk about my girl like that." With my hand still on her stomach, I drift down to her thigh, covered in black tights. In an assuring manner, I rub my palm over her.

"Rick. You have been very patient with me, even when I questioned your motives, your love. I was so naïve about Mike because… because I was afraid to really have a clean break, to not have the certainty of him in my life. He's always been a constant and reassuring presence in my life. When my dad died, he helped me through the roughest times I've ever had. But I was foolish for ever thinking that any of that compared to this magical thing between me and you. I'm sorry. I'm going to do better, be better."

"There's plenty of blame to go around, Michonne. I didn't want to hurt Lori, and ended up hurting you. Which is something I would never, ever do on purpose. It kills me to know that I've ever made you unhappy, or sad. I'm gonna show you though. That I deserve you, that I'll protect you, your feelings. From Lori, my mother, from anyone who would hurt you. Even me. Do you trust me to do that?"

"Yeah. We have to be strong for each other, Rick. I'll protect you too, even from me."

"I'm ready to be the husband and father you need me to be. I promise." Michonne is staring at me as though she has never seen me before, her eyes boring into me, and wandering over my frame. I'm not sure at first what this look means, it's an unreadable stare, her eyes flitting from my own and out to the road. Then, as if she has come to some conclusion about my vow to her, a beautiful smile animates her full lips and she leans over and kisses me again, this time tilting her face in front of mine to reach my lips.

"Earlier you called me your wife."

"Soon as I put that ring on your finger you became my wife."

"You referred to yourself as my husband."

"Am I? Do you accept me as your husband, Michonne Sabine Kelly?"

"Yes, Richard Andrew Grimes. I do." Her vow to me, her promise has my heart racing, ramming against my ribcage. Reaching for her left hand, I kiss her finger where the ring I gave her rests. A little giggle escapes her lips. "Rick, let's make a quick stop, ok? I wanna take you somewhere before we leave Atlanta."

"Where?"

"You'll see." Trusting her, I follow her directions to head somewhere in southwest Atlanta.

Five days ago, as I lay in the bed with Michonne, ecstatic that not only were we back together, on the same page, but that she as also having my child, I couldn't find a more fitting way to seal this deal with her than by simply placing my grandmother's ring on her finger. Easing her from my chest so that I could rush to the living room and retrieve my coat with the ring in the pocket, the rush of joy I felt was immeasurable. Hurrying back to the room, wanting to get it on her finger before she woke, I couldn't help but marvel at how perfect this all seemed. Though not easy by any stretch of the imagination, the ups and downs, every minute, every second with her has been worth it. All of it led me to the moment where I took a hold of the delicate soft hand of my girl, and witnessed the way the gold dropped in a perfect glide down her slender finger.

Fitting as though it was made just for her, the realization hit me that in some cosmic way, it was. I don't believe in luck, or coincidence. Michonne coming into my life at the time she did, at the place she did, was an inevitability that was simply meant to be. I'm convinced that in any universe, under any circumstance, Michonne and I would find our way to each other. We belong to each other, and the fact that my soul recognized hers as its pre-ordained compliment the very first time I saw her proves it. How could this link of two people, so very different from each other, be anything but fate? We met at a wedding that I almost missed because of work. Her mother married my father's best friend. She came down that aisle, floating like an angel on the beaming rays of the sun. And my grandmother's ring is like a custom fit to her finger. This is fate.

The concept of fate once again floats through my mind as my beloved and I stand with our hands intertwined, facing each other, our heads bowed as her priest, Father Gabriel, prays over us. In a simple pair of khakis, and a white button up shirt, I have to fight not to cry at how perfect this moment is. When Michonne directed me to drive towards southwest Atlanta, I had no idea that she was leading me to her family's church. My family has never been religious, so at first I was hesitant to enter, and had never even heard of going to church on New Year's Eve. But following her lead, and her idea that we should come and get prayed for at what is known as New Year's Eve Night Watch service, Michonne and I now stand in the private office of Father Gabriel. With hundreds of his parishioners in the main sanctuary, all awaiting the beginning of the new year, we are anxious for him to provide a few words to preside over our impromptu vow exchange. With only the two of us, Father Gabriel, and his assistant in attendance in the large, lavishly decorated office, decked out in rich wood paneling, with curtains and upholstery in deep rich colors of burgundy, and green. The peace and calm I feel, swaddles me in certainty. A clear and unyielding truism that joining my life with this woman, right now, is the most undoubtedly right thing I have ever done.

With a bible held under our tightly intertwined hands, and his other hand clutched firmly atop them, Father Gabriel begins to speak. "I have known Michonne since she was a baby. We are close to the same age, grew up in this church together. It is bittersweet that you have asked me to pray over your union, that is not legal as you do not have a license, but is everything that is good in this world in the eyes of the Lord. Your love and commitment to each other, despite some of the challenges you have discussed with me from your past, and those that you will surely face in the future, is breathtaking in its beauty and earnestness. I am grateful for the opportunity to offer you my blessing and my words of encouragement over your journey together. I pray that whatever you believe in, that your union will forever remain awash in the spiritual protection of the universal power of all creation. That your souls will remain intertwined with the strength of your love. That you will be plentiful, and bless this earth with the fruit of your dedication to each other. Forget the rules that others may prescribe for you. Create a path all your own, that will ensure your love's survival. Protect, honor, and care for each other every day of your lives. Do you promise this to each other, Michonne and Rick?" Father Gabriel asks in a smooth, proud baritone, looking from each of us, as we stare lovingly at each other.

"We do." In unison our voices join together in a promise that is both earnest and sacred.

"With the honor granted to me by our Lord, I pronounce you husband and wife. May God bless and keep you always. You may kiss your bride!" Father Gabriel proclaims, and I do exactly that. Leaning in, I happily close my eyes and press my lips against Michonne's, delighting in the soft luxury of her plump lips, and the eager fervor with which she's kissing me back. Salty wet tears, that could belong to either of us, cascade down and over our joined lips.

Pulling apart, and with sweaty hands, I reach for my wife's face, and gently swipe across her round cheeks, and her smiling lips to sweep away her tears with my thumbs. Realizing that I never want to forget her like this, this day, or this euphoric feeling, I dig into my pocket for my phone. Turning to one of the witnesses on the stage, a lady whose name I cannot recall, I ask her to take a photo with my phone.

Hugging my wife to my body, her soft curves pressed tightly to the lean cut of my own form, my lips tilt upwards in a smile that illuminates the light in my eyes. Superseding my own grin, the brilliance of Michonne's smile adds a purely sweet innocence to the series of quick snaps taken by the priest's assistant. My wife's enchanted grin and glowing visage deems these pictures unnecessary though, because this day, this perfect image, is already permanently burned into my brain.

"Mom! Hershel! We're here!" Michonne calls out. Walking through the front door of the Greene's house, lit up with festive green, red, white, and blue lights, I'm immediately blinded by the bright burst of a camera's flash.

"Damn! What was that?" I ask, shaking my head and rubbing at my bleary eyes with my thumb and forefinger.

"Gotcha! Happy New Year!" Maggie exclaims, throwing her thin arms around Michonne and I.

"Happy New Year to you, too! What's with the paparazzi act?" Michonne asks, also massaging her own eyes to dash away the flash's twinkle, probably still dancing behind her closed lids.

"Mom and Dad got me this cool professional camera for Christmas. So, I'm the official camerawoman for the party. You would know this if you had been home at Christmas." Maggie snarks, a hint of hurt in her voice at the mention of Michonne not being around for the holiday. At that, a brief flush of embarrassment flows through me as I internally acknowledge that I'm partly to blame for that. First, with our misunderstanding at my apartment, and then with the way I whisked her away to the lake house for some time alone. Not wanting Maggie, or anyone else to be upset with Michonne for her holiday absence, I apologize on her behalf.

"Don't blame your sister. That's my fault. I'm sorry."

"Uh huh. And where have you been? And what's that on your finger, Michonne? Oh my God! MOM!" Tugging her camera back to her eye from its hanging position around her neck, Maggie begins furiously snapping pictures of Michonne's left hand, and the now conspicuous ring settled there.

"Oh Lord!" Michonne drops her head, chin to chest, rolling her eyes at Maggie's antics.

"What's the problem?" Hustling into the foyer, Michonne's mother has a look of alarm on her face. Dressed to party in a tightly fitted red dress, red heels, and a full face of makeup, and her bountiful hair curled full and bouncy around her face, her beautiful mother is quickly joined by Hershel, following closely behind. With a matching look of worry, and though dressed up as well in a nice black suit, he doesn't compare to the festive splendor of Michonne's mother.

"Look at her hand!" Maggie exclaims in a loud voice, making sure her mother hears her over the loud music pumping from somewhere in the house.

"Oh my God! Is that what I think it is?" Entranced by the sparkler on her daughter's finger, Mrs. Greene's eyes are laser focused on the ring, only momentarily raising to Michonne's face as she waits for an answer.

"Mom, Hershel, Rick asked me to marry him, and I said yes." Proudly, her right hand still tightly clasped in mine, Michonne confirms what Maggie, and the ring have already announced.

"My baby, you're going to be a wife? I can't believe this is happening so soon!" Mrs. Greene says, her hands covering her lips and swiftly dashing away the tears that threaten to ruin her darkly outlined eyes.

"Congratulations, Rick! I couldn't have picked a finer man for my daughter. You're lucky to have each other. Uh, do your parents know yet?" Hershel asks, shaking my hand, following it with a warm fatherly embrace.

"Not yet, sir. We plan to tell them after we tell you."

"Hm. Well your dad is here, so you can tell him now. Rance! Look who's here." Hershel raises his hand to gesture my dad over. Craning my neck in the direction he's yelling, I instantly catch a glimpse of my dad, Morgan's dad, and Dale drinking and laughing, heading out the back door to the deck, cigars and glasses of scotch in hand. I smile at the thought of my dad out, having a good time. He turns at the sound of his name being yelled over the music, and his squinting blue eyes, and mischievous grin confirm that my mother is probably nowhere to be found, at least not here, and that is definitely contributing to his obviously jubilant mood.

Hugging tightly to Michonne, rocking her back and forth, Mrs. Greene is softly sobbing. Realizing that his wife is still clearly emotional from our announcement, Hershel easily tugs her away from her daughter, giving Michonne a little breathing room as well. To also stem her own tears, and prevent them from messing her own makeup, I'm rushing to help wipe them from her face, and help her out of her black wool coat.

"Mona, honey, stop crying and let's get the kids further inside so we can toast to the occasion. Lots of friends and family here to celebrate the New Year, and now I guess the good news. Ok?"

"Ok. I'm just so…happy. Rick, you're going to be my son! I've never had a son." Continuing with the crying, full on tears now, at first I'm not sure if Michonne's mother is happy or upset given the way she maintains the free flow of emotions. When she unexpectedly pulls me into a tight hug, holding me close, and placing a big kiss to my cheek, I settle on happy. "You're going to be a good husband. I just know it! And my Andre would have loved you, and how tough you love his baby girl. You're a good boy!" She offers, wiping her red lipstick from my bearded cheek.

Ushering Michonne and I further into the house, we see that Hershel was right, and that the house is filled with partygoers. It seems that all of King County, and apparently half of Atlanta are here, some even spilling out onto the back lawn and deck. The Dixons, Daryl and Carol, are here tending bar, which even when they aren't working seems to be the thing they somehow always gravitate to. Even Merle has made an appearance, trying to get a very short and curvy black woman to dance with him. Michonne's uncle, Sasha's father is here, as are a few of her brothers, though sadly my favorite of them, Tyreese, is nowhere to be found. I even see Shane sitting on a couch in the front room with Andrea perched on his lap. Given the variety of attendees, I'm certain that if Sasha does show up, as her and Spencer promised to do, things are going to get even more interesting with their arrival, on top of our own list of surprising news.

Maggie follows us towards the kitchen, snapping photos, sending her camera's flash to temporarily blind us again, and adding to the general heightened dizzying elation of the moment, coupled with the music, and the overall revelry of the numerous people gathered. Moving through the crowd, removing my own brown suede coat, we have drawn Beth's attention from the center of the living room where she is showcasing her dance moves. She looks up at us while polishing off the last of her routine. Though still pitiful, and wild, with the stomping and spinning that she is known for, and the addition of a loudly bellowed song, everyone claps, gifting her with the praise she desires. Running towards us, she nearly topples Michonne in an awkward hug, where she thrusts herself at her torso, wrapping her arms around her waist.

Worried about the baby that's probably still too tiny to even register the tumbling effect of Beth's ecstatic hug, I gently attempt to ply her away from Michonne anyway, under the guise of stealing a hug from Beth for myself. "Hey little munchkin, where's my hug?" I ask, plucking her off of Michonne, and into my arms.

"Happy New Year! Did you guys bring me a present? You missed Christmas ya know." Wiggling and hugging me back, Beth eases from my arms, dropping back to her feet. Smoothing the ruffles of her dress, and crossing her little thin arms across her chest, she scrunches her face in question.

"Uh. Ya know, I do have presents for you guys, they are in my room. I'm sorry we missed Christmas, but we can still do gift exchange tonight. It'll be a fun way to ring in the new year, right, Beth?" Michonne offers, immediately softening the petulant pout of Beth's lips with her promise of gifts.

"Ok. But you missed it! I got my ears pierced, and Mama and Daddy got me real diamond earrings for Christmas." Turning her head from side to side, she showcases her new earrings, and Michonne and I dutifully gift her with a few oohs and ahhs, impressed by the fancy jewelry.

"Michonne has her own diamond bling now, Beth. Check her out!" Maggie lifts Michonne's hand again, raising it so that everyone now gathered in the kitchen can see.

"Rick, son, I guess congrats are officially in order now?" My dad queries, sidling up next to me, sporting a wide proud smile, that stretches and reaches the age weathered lines at the corner of his eyes. In a thick green, cable knit sweater, his hair curling around his ears as its growing out, and his beard thick with grey, my dad looks more pleased and content than I have ever seen him.

"Yep." I nod confidently, as Hershel and Mona gather our family around us, consisting of my father, Dale, Morgan's dad, Maggie, Beth, Mona, her brother, and a newly arriving Shane. Pouring flutes of champagne and passing them around, then offering Beth and Maggie two flutes of sparkling grape juice, Hershel attempts to quiet everyone for a toast.

Angling his body to the side, my dad pulls me close with his arm over my shoulder, and whispers. "I have a little news of my own. I left your mother. Staying over at Dale's for now."

"Really?" I ask, disbelieving the confession spilling from my father's lips. "I'm proud of you, Pop. This is big!"

"And long overdue. I watched you run away from there last week, going after your girl, and I realized that it's time for me to run away too."

Still stunned into a stupor from my father's news, my attention is drawn to the clinking sound of Hershel lightly tapping his wedding ring against his champagne flute. Standing tall, with one arm around the waist of his glamorous wife, Hershel begins to speak. "This has been one of the happiest years of my life. I got married again, to the most beautiful and amazing woman in the world. I found my way back to love, to life. And now…" he dramatically pauses for effect, and raises his glass towards Michonne and I, noting that Michonne does not have a glass in her hand. "Michy, baby, where is your glass? This toast is for you and Rick."

"Um…well… Rick?" Beautiful brown eyes, wide and wondering, like those of a doe, glimmering with tears and and love, are set on my own as Michonne poses the question to me. "Should we lay it all out for everyone now?"

"Hershel, we don't wanna steal your thunder or nothing, but... Michonne?"

"We're getting married, I'm pregnant, and I got accepted to Harvard law. We're gonna move to Boston next year after the baby gets here!" She announces, rushing through the list of life changing news all in one breath. "Whew! Did you guys get all of that?" She asks, scanning the shocked faces of everyone gathered. "Oh, and Happy New Year!" Michonne juts her left hand in the air, then turns it, and wiggles her fingers to show off her engagement ring.

"Wait a damn minute! Michy, you're pregnant? I'm going to be a grandma? Hershel did you hear that? Is that what she said? I'm too young to be a grandma, right?" Mona asks, swiveling her head in confusion from Michonne's face to her stomach, then over to Hershel, who is equally stupefied by the announcement.

"I think she did just say I'm gonna be a granddaddy and you're gonna be a grandmamma, Mona! Me and you are gonna share a grandkid, Rance! We couldn't have come out better if we had planned this ourselves! What do you say, old man?" Hershel questions, hugging his shocked wife even tighter to his side with one arm, and reaching out to snatch my father's cigar from his lips with his other. "Beth, go in my office and grab that box of cigars out of my top desk drawer. It's a real party now." He nods, planting a big kiss on his wife's trembling lips, as tears threaten to streak her face again.

Taking note of the proximity of the quickly approaching midnight hour, Maggie interrupts the rounds of congratulations offered our way, and yells out. "Hey y'all, it's about to be midnight!"

As if understanding that the cigars her father asked her to retrieve would be the perfect addition to a New Year's countdown, Beth returns and begins passing out cigars to everyone but Michonne. "Pregnant women can't smoke. So you just have to watch." She points out to Michonne, shrugging her shoulders in apology that Michonne is being left out of the smoking part of the celebration.

"That's alright, I still get the midnight kiss. Right, Rick?"

"Oh absolutely! Come here, let's practice a little." Intoxicated by the quick gulp of champagne, and the excitement surrounding us, I capture Michonne's lips in a soft, wet kiss. I'm just getting started, warming up and ready to taste her mouth, when Shane boorishly interrupts.

"Well ain't this a bitch? Got yourselves knocked up, and shacked up. And you're gonna become a couple of Boston Yankees, huh? Couldn't happen to a better set of people. Congrats!" Squeezing us both in a constricting hug, it's clear that Shane is drunk, given the smell of beer and liquor that is wafting from his breath. His mood is still celebratory though, which I'm grateful for. Or should I say, at least it was until a new voice, feminine and sophisticated joins the raucous hum of those already sequestered in the kitchen.

From the corner of my eye, I spot her coming through the entry way to the kitchen, followed closely behind by a new family member that no one but Michonne and I have met. Catching Michonne's worried gaze, I nod at her, gesturing my head towards the back door, and easing us from Shane's bear hug. Stepping away, with my arm protectively around her waist, I cautiously back her up to the patio door, away from the pending powder keg explosion that I'm sure Sasha's arrival is going to cause.

"Happy New Year, family! What have I missed?" Sasha says in that sassy and slightly snarky way of hers, announcing her arrival, and that of her husband. Passing out hugs and cheek kisses to her father and Mona, she gestures behind her with a sweep of her hand over her shoulder. "I want to introduce everyone to my husband. Everybody, this is Spencer. We got married on Christmas. In Vegas."

"What!?" her father and aunt exclaim, both clearly taken aback by such uncharacteristic news from Sasha, and probably still reeling from Michonne's earlier reveal.

"The fuck you say?" Shane yells, his eyes laser focused on her face, as his own quickly colors beet red.

"This has been one wild couple of days, hasn't it?" Michonne drowsily offers, swaying to the music, lazily swaddled in my arms as we have taken our little piece of the New Year's revelry out towards the side of the house where my truck is parked. Allowing her head to drift forward and rest on my chest. I kiss the cottony soft, curly hair on the crown of her head. Its short twists glistening under the moon's bluish light, and smelling of coconut and lavender.

"It has. Are you tired? Ready for bed? Want me to take you upstairs?" I ask, the words leaving my lips on soft breaths whispered over her head. Once the clock struck midnight, and the new year rolled over, heralded by some drunken and jubilant kisses, hugs, and well wishes, Michonne's parents cloistered us away in the study for a brief talk. Going back over Michonne's weighty announcement, and discussing the drama from Christmas with my mother and Lori, they offered their home to me, noting that when school is out, Michonne and I can stay here together as long as we want.

I never thought I'd hear Hershel agree to something like that given his once staunch rules about even allowing boys upstairs, but he is so different now, and he even mentioned that his wife has opened his mind and his heart to a new way of approaching life. Relenting to some of her more progressive views, he concluded that the offer is extended because they want to help us succeed. And well, since this new and improved Hershel is offering a way for Michonne and I to be together while we prepare for the baby, and then a big move up to Boston, I found myself once again nearly moved to tears as I thanked him for helping me take care of my family, and that I will forever be grateful to him.

Running my hands up and down her back, they fall back to her ass with my palms cupping the jiggly softness that always feels like their natural home. Noticing that she never answered if she was ready for bed or not, I peer down into her face. "Michonne? Did you hear me?"

"Hm? Yeah, I'm tired. It's been a long day, husband." Cheekily, she calls me by the name that only she and I, and two other people in the world know me as. "I like calling you that." Sleepily she giggles, and the sweet, dulcet tones of her laughter stiffen my cock in my khaki pants.

"Oh yeah, pretty girl, you like that? You happy I'm your husband, my little wife?" Pulling her up to her tip toes, crushing her form tighter to me, I'm hoping she can feel the burgeoning erection, stiff and heavy between my legs. I lower my face to hers, sampling the addictive sugar of her lips. Teasing a whimper and a groan from her, licking away the remainder of her red lipstick from her juicy lips, my hands roam underneath the mid-thigh length, gold sweater dress she's wearing. Shoving my hands inside of her thick black tights, I find her panty-less, and groan at the sensation of her unobstructed and heated skin against my greedy palms.

"Rick…"

"Hm? I've been good all day."

"How do you figure you've been good all day? We just had sex this morning."

"It's a new year and a new day. That was yesterday, last year. And, as soon as Hershel said we could move in with him, together, I could have dragged you upstairs to defile you then. But, no, I controlled myself. Even as I watched you dance with other men in this little tight dress, grinning at them with your pretty red lips."

"That was my uncle Ronnie, and the other guy was Mike's dad. You're so ridiculous."

"Huh. That's even worse." I twist my lips in a dissatisfied groan at the mention of that other guy's name. "I thought I told you before I don't like the sound of that guy's name on your lips."

"Rick, I was just saying, his mom and dad were friends with my parents before he and I were even thought of."

"They're going to tell him you know. Do you care?"

"No. I'm glad they're going to tell him. That way he will know for sure there will never be another chance for me and him. It's done. I belong to you. You're my husband and I'm having your baby. Do you care if someone tells Lori?" She asks, raising her eyes to me with a measure of trepidation, seemingly nervous in anticipation of my answer.

Needing to put an end to any further discussion of her, I playfully squeeze her ass in my hands, and answer with finality. "Lori who? You and our baby are the only girls that matter to me."

Pleased with my answer, she begins to rub her lithe fingers through my beard, scratching lightly at my face with her manicured nails. The sensation is so delicious that I have to drop my lids, and steady my breathing. Pecking at my lips, Michonne counters my statement. "You mean me and your son?"

"Stop calling my daughter a boy, and give me those lips." I beg, opening my eyes, needing more of her. Bending towards her, dipping my knees even more, I lick at her lips, and suck them into my mouth, finally dragging her bottom lip slowly between my teeth.

"You know there are people everywhere, we can't do this out here." Panting at my amorous attention, Michonne squirms in my arms, lips slightly parted as she steals a few staggered breaths in between kisses.

"I need you so bad, pretty girl. You look so beautiful, and sexy in this dress. I need to fuck my wife." I declare into the crook of her neck, the light, crisp scent of her perfume urging me to suck and bite at the delicate dip at the hollow of her throat. Backing her up I open the door of the passenger side, back seat of my truck. With my hands below her ass cheeks, I lift her up and plop her down on the seat. Standing in between her legs I begin to slowly drag her tights down over her ass and thighs, stopping at the tops of her tall boots. "Take these off." Stepping back to give her some space to remove her boots, I unbuckle my belt and unbutton my khakis.

Leaving my pants open, I'm not yet ready to remove my dick. Watching her remove the boots, and toss the tights to the floor of the truck, I can feel the overly excited sensation of growing arousal rising inside of me, and I need to calm myself before I allow myself to be too rough with my wife. Despite her usual pleas that I be rougher, fuck her harder, my head won't let me forget that she is the most precious thing in my world, and that she is carrying the second most precious thing within her womb. Not wanting to tempt fate, or to hurt either of them in any way, I have to pull my urges to ravage and devour her back a bit. It's hard though. Especially when she's like she is right now. Reaching for me and unbuttoning my shirt, she's begging, and writhing against my chest and groin, her sexy body flush against my throbbing dick.

Cradling me in between the cushioned flesh of her thighs, kissing my lips, moaning into my mouth, Michonne has me trapped in a web of desire, where all I can see, hear, touch, or taste is her. She is everything, and my dick is twitching, eager to bury itself in her wet depths. Cloaked in privacy gifted to us by the shadow from the hulking house beside the truck, Michonne backs up into the back seat until she is fully inside. Thinking quickly that a little extra privacy never hurt, I snatch a blanket that I keep in the tool box mounted at the back of the bed of the truck. Hoisting myself up in to the back seat with my wife, I wrap us both up in the warmth of the blanket, and settle in between her legs.

Dipping to once again lick and taste her lips, Michonne's fingers play at the hairs of my beard, stroking across my cheeks, as she licks her tongue out and tickles and traces along the outside of my lips. Licking her palm and lowering her hand, she reaches into my pants and underwear and takes a firm hold of my dick. Fisting my length, Michonne starts a slow tug and pull, up and down, dissolving any coherent thought floating through my head. Her hand is small and can barely wrap around my thick girth, or cover my stiff length, but it's warm, and the feeling of her working me into a frenzy is nearly more pleasure than I can withstand.

"You're so hard, daddy." Smiling up at me with a mischievous grin on her full lips, she continues to lick and swipe at my own, and a creeping tingle eases from tightening balls, preparing to claim my resistance.

Biting at my chin, licking her wet tongue up and down my throat, Michonne is robbing me of coherence and I can barely utter one word. "Fuck…" I won't last long with all of the teasing, and I need to distract her. Wrapping my hand snugly around her wrist, I gently urge her to remove her hand from my dick. Replacing her hand with my own, I grasp the base and then run the blunt tip up and own her thick pussy lips. Coating my dick in her dripping arousal, I tap at her clit with the head, hearing the damp smack sting against the sensitive nub. Watching the pleasure and pain cross her face from the short little slaps of my dick, I decide to put us both out of our misery and plunge with one quick thrust into my wife.

Sinking and descending effortlessly through her moist, plump petals, the constricting squeeze of her canal lights every nerve ending in my dick on fire. Stilling at the shocking pleasure, there is a pulsing throb of her around me, and I need to steel myself against it, before I cum right now. Pulling her left leg up to rest on the headrest of the backseat, I grab her other leg, and allow it to drape across the crease of my bent elbow.

Looking down at her, at my beautiful, sexy wife, pinned so prettily beneath me, at my mercy, there is a nagging itch tingling at the base of my brain, demanding for me to dominate her. To sate us both by fucking her roughly, as she whines and begs for me to do so. Running my hand over the pearl of her mound, and up to the nearly unnoticeable roundness of her stomach, I am reminded once again of the prize that rests within, and I find myself fighting and at odds with my basest instincts.

The other day we made love, fucked in this new rougher, more tempestuous manner that her appetite has been soliciting. And after a sweaty thirty-minute session, with her head tossing face down, back and forth in the pillows, with her ass in the air, she later experienced some light pinkish spotting that launched me into another panicked search of WebMD. And once again, my fears were assuaged, though the tiniest voice in the back of my Michonne obsessed mind admonished me for being so loutish with her, even if she asked for it.

Wrapping my hand softly behind her neck, I struggle to only lightly graze and grasp, inserting my thumb between the kiss swollen lips of her pouty mouth. But, Michonne, the naughty mistress of my dreams, knows she has power over me, that she can lead and bend me to her will on nothing but a whim. She begins to slowly lift and wind her ass beneath me, breaking away my crumbling resistance to her inclination for a faster, gruffer fuck. In offering, she is somehow internally choking and easing her glove tight pussy against my sensitive flesh. That nagging tingle causes me to lose the strength that is holding me up, and I unwittingly begin to drop more of my weight on her. Seemingly with a life of their own, my hips begin to roll and pump, pushing and drilling into her with an abrupt, sharp edge to punctuate each thrust.

"Unh, Rick! Yessssssss… that's it!"

"I don't want to…hurt you…the baby…" I mutter into the fragrant skin of her neck, wincing at the tight, stinging grasp of her fingers tugging and taking hold of my hair.

"I'm your wife, Rick, I belong to you. You can't hurt me." She promises on a sultry whisper into my ear, recalling our sacred vows gifted to each other in earnest. "I'm your dirty, nasty, girl, Rick. Fuck me like it, daddy! I need it…" She whines. Somehow sensing my internal struggle for dominance over my enslaving dependence and deference to her needs, she uses all the words that she knows will send me over the edge, and continues to grind and pop her hips up against me.

To ease the lurking heckle of my overbearing addiction to her, my hips crudely crash, in a bruising manner against hers, eliciting the most glorious whimper and wail to escape her. Wildly, she's grasping and reaching for me, her nails scratching across the expanse of my back. The sting only heightens the pleasure, and I can't stop my hips from navigating my dick's rapid exploration into the deepest part of her.

A series of erotic, high pitched moans flow from her, saturating the air with the evidence of her pleasure. "Ah, ah, ah, ah… Uhhh, uh…"

"You want everyone to hear me fucking you?"

Biting down on her lip, she tries to stem the vibrant sounds of her panting and wailing, crying for more. "Oh god! Oh god! Right there…shit… that's it, Rick! Right there…"

"Is that how you like to be fucked, pretty girl?"

"Yes, Rick, yes! Mmmmm…it's so good, daddy!" She answers through her orgasm, her head carelessly tossed back, crooked against the armrest of the door. Cradling her head, to keep her from hurting herself, I ease my hasty thrusts to a more stable and smooth rhythm. Digging deep, I can feel my cum ready to burst from my dick, as my balls tighten and slap against the sensitive flesh at the crease of her ass.

Growling out a long breath, my body grows increasingly tense at the blast of pleasure surfing in waves throughout my limbs. "Fuck!" Tightening, my features freeze, eyes tightly shut, then release and grow slack with the rumbling of an elevated and satisfying thrill.

Adoringly, my gaze roams her beautiful face. Shadowed and hidden from the world by the darkness of the night, I'm witnessing the ecstasy that animates her features, and causes crude pleas to cross her lips. I'm instantly awash with the heated glow of love for my wife, the mother of my child, as I can literally see her orgasm continue to grip her, and feel her tightening on my dick. The repeated throbbing pulse, chokes and milks my cum from the head, weakening me as it sputters and leaves her insides dripping with a mix of our shared enjoyment. Pulling my hips back, and withdrawing from her, there is a slow slip of sticky white cum that leaks and settles onto the juicy lips of her mound. Rubbing it across her skin with my fingers, a tiny bit remains. Knowing that she enjoys the salty and tangy taste of my cum, I lift my fingers to her mouth in offering, and she licks and sucks away the evidence of our coupling.

Easing back to a seated position, I lift Michonne's limp body to my lap. Straddling me, with her forehead resting against mine, we are both breathless, panting and fogging the windows.

"That was good."

"Mmhm." She lethargically nods, agreeing with my assessment. "I'm definitely sleepy now."

"Baby ok?"

"Which one? Me or your son?"

"You and my daughter." I laugh, cupping the back of her head in my palm. Drooping into a slouch until my knees hit the front seat, I bring Michonne's body down on top of mine, bearing the slight weight of her tiny body.

On a deep sigh, followed by a satisfied groan, Michonne rests her head on my shoulder, and wrangles her arms low around my waist. Bringing the blanket up around our bodies again, we hear someone barging from the house, and a loud bang of the screen door clanging against the frame.

"Stop fucking following me, Shane!"

"Then stop trying to avoid me, woman!"

"I'm not trying to avoid you, I just don't have anything to say to you. Now fuck off!"

Wiping at the fogged up window, Michonne raises to peer out to see Sasha stomping away from the back of the house and out towards Hershel's office. With Shane hot on her heels, hollering and arguing with her every step of the way, Sasha continues to reprimand him for his pursuit. Michonne quirks an eyebrow at me, questioning if we should do something to intervene. Shaking my head, I hug her back tightly to my body, snuggling her into my hold.

"Let them work it out." I offer into the silence of the car, kissing her along her temple to settle her.

Outside of the car though, towards the side of Hershel's office, where we can still easily pickup their conversation, Shane finally has Sasha cornered.

"What the hell you bring that guy here for, huh? Talking about you're married. What the hell is that?"

"He's my husband, Shane. Like I said inside, we got married in Vegas last week."

"Your lips are moving, and you keep saying something, but I don't understand what the hell you're talking about. You can't just go get married to some random fucking guy. What about me?"

"What about you? You shut me out, talking about you weren't trying to be serious. That's cool. So I moved on, and now you are out here harassing me for…" Sasha pauses, looks around as though she is searching for something then snaps her fingers. "No damn reason. What, your ego hurt or something?"

"Listen here, woman, you know I liked you. You just, you're intense. We needed to slow the hell down, and figure some shit out. But, you know how I feel about you."

"Wrong. I don't. And I don't care. Let me help you with something. When I used to get shuffled to my granny's house, while my parents were too busy cheating on each other and getting divorced to raise their little girl, she used to tell me something that I have remembered all my life. She told me to find a man that loves me more than I love him, that way I could avoid a broken heart. You know what, playboy? She was right. I confided in you and told you that I was feeling you, and what did you do? You wouldn't even return a phone call, a text, nothing. So, now that I found someone who loves me, and I don't have to risk or do anything but let him do that, you want to come at me sideways. And for that, all I have left to say to you, Shane, is a big…fat…fuck you!"

Silence settles between them, and only the sounds of the night, and the hum of the party still raging from inside the house remain. Walking away from Sasha, then returning, then taking off into a quick pace back and forth, Michonne and I can see that Shane isn't done yet. Running his hands roughly over his newly shaved head, I can tell he's struggling with how to proceed. Finally stopping, he rests his anxiety ridden hands at his waist, then leans into her, angling his body towards hers. "I'm calling bullshit on this this whole damn thing, girl. I told you that I could fall in love with a woman like you. But for a fucked up guy like me…that's complicated. We were doing just great, having a good time, until you needed me to be somebody I can't be just yet. I can't give you what I ain't got, but I would try. I could try. Now, it's too late cause you decided to jump from one dick to the next and marry the first rich sap you could find." He tosses his hands in the air in frustration, and the next thing we can make out is the sound of a slap ripping through the air, and the toss of Shane's head swiftly to the side.

"Don't you ever fix your hillbilly lips to talk me to ever again. Do you hear me? I wasn't going to wait around for some desperate hillbilly to get his shit together long enough to drag me down. I'm not going to lay up with you on some farm, popping out kids, in the middle of nowhere while you play the Dukes of Fucking Hazard! I accepted the proposal for a real life, from the first man who offered me the world. I will never have to worry about him hurting me, because while I don't love him, he definitely loves me!" Trying to step around him, Shane won't allow it, blocking each of her maneuvers.

"That idiot in there might love you, but who do you love? Hm? Me! That's who. We had the best sex of both of our lives, and we could have had an amazing life together. Instead you wanna trade that to be some bored, rich, soul less housewife who's going to miss a desperate hillbilly like me. I am desperate. Desperately in love with you, but you can't fucking see that!" Shane yells at her, grabbing her hand and placing it over his heart. "What do you want me to do?" He groans, sounding very much like a man in pain.

"Nothing. There is nothing left to do. It's too late, I'm sorry." Sasha weakly apologizes and tries to dismiss him and walk away again. Holding on to her hand, he won't release her, even as she is clearly making a feeble, half-hearted attempt to be free of him. "Let me go, Shane, please. I have to get back inside."

"No."

"Please? Let's not do this."

"No. Let's do this." Gruffly snatching her back towards him, he pulls her to him, and kisses her. Kissing him back, no longer fighting the chemistry and emotion boiling between them, she raises her arms to circle his neck. Picking her up, Shane lowers her back on the side of Hershel's office, and from there the only sounds that can be heard are the clearly satisfied moans, kisses, and grinding thud of their bodies smacking against each other.

Raising her eyes to mine in disbelief, Michonne asks me in a low cautious whisper, "Are they having sex?"

"Yep."

Chapter 17 – Michonne

"Michy! Mama said to come eat! Wake up!"

"Huh?"

"Rick, where is your shirt?"

"Beth?" Cracking open one eye, I spy my little sister Beth standing over Rick and I, looking down with curiosity sparking in her wide blue eyes, from the side of my bed. Rapidly blinking, I'm trying to make sense of her presence in my room.

Bright eyed, and bushy tailed, in a pair of jean overalls, her face scrunched as she peruses Rick's naked torso, Beth begins to jostle me lightly, shaking my arm to get me to fully wake up.

"Beth? What are you doing in here?" I ask, my voice cracking and straining under the weight of a long night of partying and sexing, a growing fetus, and a desperate need for sleep.

"Mama said to come eat, it's time for breakfast." Her child like voice bubbling with that deep southern accent of hers.

"Ok, but you can't just come in my room without knocking anymore. Rick lives here now, so, you have to respect our privacy. Ok?"

"Why doesn't he have on a shirt though? Where's his PJs?" Crossing her arms across her chest, she cocks her head to the side, waiting on an answer to what she has deemed a couple of terribly important questions.

"I'm wearing his pajama shirt, Beth." I reason before I even realize that my wearing Rick's pajama top might cause Beth to have even more questions.

"Oh really?" She says, growing even more interested in this conversation around Rick's pajamas than before.

Frustrated with her still standing like a sentinel over us, I roll my eyes, disentangle myself from Rick's limbs, and sit up, ready to dispatch with her for good. "Listen, go tell Mama we're coming. We'll be down in a minute." I answer, pulling the purple flowered comforter up over both of our bodies to afford us a modicum of privacy that Beth's barging presence, roaming eyes, and intrusive questions have robbed us of.

"Hm. Ok. Hurry up before it gets cold!" She tosses over her shoulder, taking her time to lazily amble through the door.

At the sound of the click, I huff out an exasperated breath and launch myself from the bed, quickly locking the door behind her. The cool air in the room hits my bare legs, and a shiver immediately races through my body. Stretching with my hands high over my head, the pajama shirt, only secured by one button, rises high over my nude body, reminding me that I do not have on any pants or underwear.

Probably sensing my departure, given the dip in the bed, Rick tosses the comforter down towards his legs, and off of his chest. "What time is it?" With a voice raspy as sandpaper, as though he has smoked a hundred cigarettes, Rick rubs his hand across his face and down to scratch at his week's worth of beard growth.

"Uh, it's about 7:30." Looking over to the alarm clock, I take stock of my guy, and his grouchy countenance. "My mom made breakfast. You wanna eat?"

"I'm not hungry. Too tired." He grumbles, rolling over on to his stomach, and burrowing his head full of tousled, curly hair underneath a pillow.

Laughing lightly at him, and his reluctance to wake up, I stroll back over to the bed. Mounting myself onto his back, straddling him with my hands flat to the rounded mounds of his warm shoulders, I can feel the muscles under my fingers tense.

"What are you doing, woman?"

"Seeing if I can get you out of bed to feed you."

"You getting on top of me in a bed isn't going to do it." He says, removing the pillow from his head, and peaking at me over his shoulders with one eye opened. "Matter of fact, it's going to do the opposite. Especially since you don't have on any underwear. I can feel how hot your little pussy is on my back." Reaching behind him and to the side, he grabs a hold of one of my ass cheeks, and pulls me a little higher and tighter to him. "Do the thing with my hair please?"

Knowing exactly what he's talking about, I lean forward, and run the tips of my fingers and nails across his scalp, and through the fine curls of his hair. "Like that?"

"Yeah. Feels good." He moans, immediately relaxing at the massaging touch of my fingers criss crossing, and softly kneading his scalp. "I think I drank too much last night. My pops kept wanting to celebrate everything. I smoked one cigar too many with him. Too much of everything last night."

"Oh yeah, you got to do all the celebrating and drinking, while I had to drink grape juice with Beth and Maggie. Doesn't seem fair to me."

"Well, I'm sure our daughter appreciates you not trying to damage her little body with cigars and champagne, so thank you for that. Plus, you got to do some celebrating, mama."

"Yeah, I'm sure our son is quite thankful I didn't celebrate as much as his daddy did." I tease, as I drop lower on him, leaning my full torso forward, and crushing my breasts to his back. "Hey, by the way, your dad did seem really happy last night. He hugged me like twice. Called me his daughter. He's a sweetheart."

"He's real slick trying to push up on my girl." Rick jokes, jostling my leg.

"No, he was just, happy. Really happy. Joking, and laughing. I haven't met him that many times, but I've never seen him like that before. And, I never noticed how much you two look alike. I guess that's what I'm in for in 30 years huh?" I whisper into Rick's ear, leaning over to make eye contact with him.

"Listen, my pops is a real fun guy, doesn't take any shit, but he's cool. There was a time when he and my mom used to get along, and laugh a lot. I remember him being romantic, writing her letters while he was overseas, bringing flowers home every time he returned from deployment. After the last few times, and after my grandpa died, a little bit of his light dimmed or something. He's struggled with PTSD for awhile, and then all the drama with his half-brother. But, yeah last night he was back to the guy I remember from when I was real young. The same guy who taught me and Jeff how to hunt, to work on cars, about women."

"Half-brother?"

"Uh yeah. Morgan's dad is my dad's half-brother. They share the same father."

"Oh word? The Grimes men like them some chocolate huh?"

"I…what? Michonne, the stuff you say sometimes! How do I answer that? I like you. That's all I know. And I guess my grandpa liked Morgan's grandma too. It's complicated I guess."

"What's so complicated about it? People have been doing it for ages, Rick. Folks act so scandalized about the dumbest stuff sometimes."

"You're right."

"So that explains why you and Morgan are so tight, and the whole drama with him and the cops and stuff, why that affected you so bad. I get it now. Makes sense." I offer, putting together pieces of this country soap opera.

Getting lost in my own thoughts, wondering what other secrets this place holds, I'm still laying on top of Rick's back, stroking his hair. Enveloped by the quiet serenity of the moment, my attention is eventually drawn back to the man beneath me. With his sapphire eyes once again closed, hidden from me behind his eyelids, and a thick trim of hazelnut colored eyelashes, Rick's evenly paced in and out breathing has nearly lulled him back to sleep. Wondering if I should maybe allow him to tumble back into the welcome arms of the sandman, my gaze skims over the features of this man that has so effortlessly captured my heart. The freshly evident curl pattern of his newly grown out hair, now a bit longer than usual, is soft and feathery between my fingers. Bursting through the curtains, the sunlight captures the contrast of dark chestnut hair, against some lighter sandy brown strands, and even a few greys.

As I continue to feel the sensation of his silky locks sifting between my fingers, another thought dances through my mind, and before I can stop it, it falls from my lips.

"Rick, do you care that our son won't be white? That he won't look like you?"

"Say what now?"

"Our baby. It's extremely likely that he won't be white. I mean, he might be really light, but he's not going to be white like you are."

"I know that. Did you think I was not aware of that fact when I got you pregnant, Michonne?" He smirks, looking over his shoulder at me with his left eyebrow quirked in question. There is a joking lilt to his voice, but I wasn't teasing when I asked the question. For some strange reason this thought is suddenly just crossing my mind, and I'm curious if it's the same for Rick. But, his answer tells me that of course he has thought this through, about the possibility of our child not having his skin color. And in true Rick Grimes fashion he doesn't seem to give a damn. I should have known better than to even question it.

"Rick, I know this sounds strange but I was just sitting here looking at you, and thinking I hope our son looks like you. But then I thought, he won't fully, not entirely, ya know?"

"Well, she can still look like me. Though I really hope she looks more like her mama. I don't think a beard would look so pretty on our little princess." Frowning, as though the thought of a bearded baby girl is even a partial possibility, Rick knows the perfect way to lighten this moment.

Feeling a little foolish for even asking the question now, I think to change the conversation up a little bit, but still focusing on the baby. Honestly, sometimes I think about him, my son that's growing safely in my womb, and it feels unreal. Yes, I know that the tests all confirmed that there is a baby in there, but that feels like ethereal science in comparison to what I can only imagine it will be like to actually see and hold him in my arms.

"Why do you want a little girl so bad, Rick? I already told you this is a boy."

"I don't know. I just always pictured myself like Hershel I guess, a father of girls. And what man with a lady as gorgeous as mine wouldn't want a house full of little girls that look just like her bossing him around?"

"You think I'm bossy? I'm not bossy, Rick. I'm just…efficient." Rolling off of his back to the side of him, I'm slightly offended by his assessment of me. I don't think I'm bossy at all.

Taking note of my pouting, Rick turns toward me and thrusts his rough calloused hand inside of my shirt, palming and massaging my breast. Roving his hand towards my back, he's pulling me closer to his body. Snuggled into him, he's firm against me, squeezing my ass in his hand, and running his face up and down, and over the hollow of my neck. Tickling the skin with the hairs of his beard, he mumbles, "Don't get mad. I didn't realize that you had rebranded bossy as efficient. That's all. I got it now. Who wouldn't want a tribe of beautiful, efficient, brown skinned angels to take care of? And listen, you're right, you are efficient. You took great care of me after I got shot, and still did good in school. You're an amazing woman."

"Uh huh. Don't try and butter me up with compliments." I moan, with my arm lazily draped over his back, my nails draggingly scaling his warm skin, causing him to growl and groan in between breaths.

Drawing back, he takes a moment to stare adoringly into my eyes, his own nearly clear as water, with just a hint of a blazing dash of sapphire. Rick's hand is now anchored behind my neck, and he's rubbing his thumb across the crest of my cheek. "I'm not. I hope this little girl is blessed with all of the very best of her mother. Her intelligence, her kindness, her big heart. I'm excited to start this family with you, Michonne. This is everything to me. And I won't love this baby any more or less if she has curly hair or straight hair. Brown skin or white. Blue eyes or brown. She's our baby. A little bit of me, a little bit of you."

Grinning, and feeling the warm rush of a blush underneath my skin, I hug him tighter to me in appreciation of him and his words, so perfect in assuaging the tiny fear submerged in the cellar of my heart. "You always know the right things to say don't you?"

"It's a gift. Now come here and give me those lips, pretty girl."

"Nope. When you start kissing, and calling me 'pretty girl' I know exactly what you want. We don't have time for that, and I'm not sure I'm ready to do all of that in my parents' house."

"Huh? We did it twice right outside of your parents' house. And, if we are going to live here until after the baby comes, we're gonna have to do 'that' again at some point. Probably in this bed. Right?" Rick questions with a hint of alarm, his eyebrows raised to almost comical heights, nearly to his hairline.

"I guess. Yeah, I just haven't thought about it that far yet. I mean do you know how scandalized and scarred I was the first time I heard Hershel and my mother having sex down the hall? The walls are not that thick here."

"That is…disturbing."

"You never heard your parents having sex before, Rick?"

"No. I don't even want to think of it. Matter of fact, thank you for putting a damper on my mood."

"Good. Now let's get up and get dressed so we can eat and get this day started. I have a list of things that need to get done this week."

"Am I on that list?" Rick raises his eyebrows again, this time rolling back towards me with interest reignited in his ocean blues. Turning me to my back, and settling in between my legs, he kisses my lips, my cheeks, all over my face, and lifts my right leg to wrap it around his waist.

Moaning at the delicious weight of him cushioned between my thighs, I revel in the attention he's giving me, and that for once I'm not experiencing any morning sickness that would prevent me from enjoying Rick's usual early morning kisses. At approximately ten weeks along, the rampant bouts of nausea and vomiting began to kick in some time last week, right after my first appointment with my doctor.

After being swept away to the lake house by Rick right after Christmas, I called my doctor to see if I could get an appointment to confirm the pregnancy, and some guidance on what to do next. I've been seeing the same doctor since I was sixteen, and my mother suggested I get on the pill to help regulate my periods. Dr. Cloyd knows me pretty well, and was as surprised as I was to find that I was pregnant. Over the years I have meticulously kept up with taking my pills, and unlike some of my friends, have never had a pregnancy scare.

Despite her initial shock, Dr. Cloyd conducted her exam and ultrasound, easily detecting the pregnancy hormone, hcg, in my urine. Throughout the appointment Rick remained nervously seated next to me. Looking so handsome with his dark hair brushed back from his face, in a dark charcoal button up, he held my hand in one of his, while he asked questions, fidgeted with his other hand, and anxiously tapped out a staccato rhythm with his bouncing foot, the heels of his boots creating a clicking tap on the exam room floor. After making the introductions, and taking note of Rick's behavior, Dr. Cloyd calmly and patiently answered each of his questions, that I suppose given that my mother was a doctor, were already somewhat understood by me. But, of course there were some surprises.

"Yes, Mr. Grimes, the morning sickness is normal and should subside the closer Michonne gets to her second trimester. A little ginger tea might help settle her stomach. But if it continues throughout the pregnancy we might have a little concern with her being able to remain hydrated, and with ensuring the baby gets all the food it needs."

"It is normal for Michonne to sleep quite a bit. She's making a baby and that uses a lot of energy. That would also explain the increased appetite. No need to worry about that. But the wanting to eat dirt part is concerning. That could be something known as pica, and I would suggest that you not actually eat dirt, Michonne. If you just want that gritty texture, try uncooked oatmeal."

"I don't usually find WebMD to be that helpful since it often leads patients to jump from 0-60 in the most benign of cases. Have you seen the meme where the lady has a pain in her elbow and WebMD diagnoses her with elbow cancer? That's pretty much how that usually goes, and it's not always the proper conclusion. So, just remember that when you're googling for medical advice, Mr. Grimes."

"Sure, sex is fine during pregnancy. The desire for it might even pick up for the remainder of the pregnancy as energy returns. It's a good way to stay connected to each other, and enjoy this time together before the baby comes."

"No, I can't confirm if it's a girl. And no, I'm not sure why Michonne would be so convinced that it's a boy, just yet."

"That shade there, that's not a penis, Michonne, that's a foot. We won't know the sex until you are twenty weeks or so."

"The vitamins should be taken everyday, and given your age and that you are perfectly healthy this should be a routine pregnancy from what I can tell for now. So, no need to worry about much for now. Let's just make it to your late July due date. The light spotting is probably normal. Later in pregnancy it could be concerning, but not really for now. Let's keep an eye on it."

With the small, glossy ultrasound pictures, printed out and tucked away in his wallet, and a few images of them snapped on each of our phones, we left that appointment floating on cloud nine. Ever since, Rick has attempted to only handle me with the most delicate of kid-gloves. Holding on to my hand at all times, helping me in and out of the car, always asking if I'm hungry or tired. It's cute, but it's also driving me a little crazy. As we showed the ultrasound pictures to my parents and his dad last night, Rick held me wrapped in his arms, hugging me so proudly to chest, as though I was the most valuable thing in the world to him, that I can't help but to dismiss the little bit of irritation I have at his attentive brand of micro-managing me and this pregnancy, and just bask in the consuming glow of his love.

Also, recognizing that today is going to be a hard day for him as he moves some of his things from his old apartment and here to my parents' house, I relent to his amorous affections, and kiss him on the lips. "You're always on the list, sweetheart. But we have a lot to do today, and I need to feed you first. So come on before my mother sends Beth back in here to stare at your chest while you sleep."

"This is going to be a big adjustment, getting used to being here with your parents and sisters. Maybe I should crash with Dale and Shane like my dad is, at least until you move back here in May. Might be less awkward with only guys over there."

"Whatever works for you. But you know, Dale and Shane can't cook like my mama can."

"True. Those jokers are probably plotting on how to get over here and eat as we speak. Let's think about it while we eat. I'm starving now thinking of your mother's cooking."

"You up for this?"

"Yeah, it's not a big deal. Just gonna grab a few things. Uniforms, boots, some clothes, underwear, toiletries. No need to take any of the big stuff. It is weird though, that my pops and I are both not living here anymore. Strange."

"I could see that. I wonder how your mother is doing without your father here."

"Who knows. Hopefully I won't have to deal with her today. I'm still kinda hung over and tired, I'm not in the mood for her and Lori's shit today." Rick responds, frowning and probably squinting behind the dark shade of his sunglasses. His mood has gradually deteriorated the further we got from the comforting warmth of my bed, and the closer we got to this necessary part of our day. I've been trying to keep it lighthearted, with lots of jokes, and kisses, but I can tell by the soured twist of his lips, and the wrinkles forming in his brow, that he is not happy right now.

With my hand in his, Rick leads me up the steps to his apartment. Finding the door unlocked, he looks back to me and shrugs. "Maybe I left it open when I hurried out of here in a rush."

"That doesn't sound like you."

"Nah, it doesn't. Maybe my mother has been in here snooping. I don't care. Let me just get my stuff." His gaze sweeps the front room and kitchen area from the front door, then hastily walks towards the back to his bedroom.

Closely behind him, eager to help him gather the things he needs, and get back home for some much needed rest, Rick's loudly raised voice, immediately alarms me and quickens my pace into his bedroom.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Lori? Gotdamnit!"

"I was waiting on you to come back home. I finished cleaning up. You left the place a mess." Rising from her prone position, asleep in Rick's bed, Lori cheerily answers Rick's surprised question, until she spys me standing next to him. Glowering my way, with a stern pout to her thin lips, Lori definitely did not expect me to return with Rick, as it's now pretty obvious that her and Ellen's scheming did not work.

"This is ridiculous. What do I have to say to get through to you? You and I are over, Lori. There is nothing left between us. Nothing. I have tried to be kind, and I didn't want to hurt your feelings because we have been friends for a long time. But you won't let this go. You have disrespected my fiancée, and me, and for the life of me I can't figure out what else to do to get through to you."

Witnessing Lori standing at the side of Rick's bed, this scene is all too familiar. Drastic changes mark this occurrence though, and for once I can sense a real understanding of what's actually going on beginning to shadow and darken Lori's upbeat, but unrealistic outlook on her future with Rick. Dropping her somber brown eyes to our hands clutched tightly together, picking out the engagement ring on my finger, then the exasperated way that Rick is rubbing his other hand over his brow, she clears her throat and begins to further explain.

As though she has lost some of the wind in her sails, the droop of her shoulders is evidence enough that this is not how she thought this would play out. "Your mother thought it would be a good idea for me to be here. To clean up, and wait for you. Hell, this whole thing was her idea. When my mother told her that I had gotten knocked up by that no good Negan, she thought this might bring us together. You've always been so good, Rick. So interested in helping others, doing the right thing. Sometimes at your own detriment." Wistfully, she swipes her chocolate brown hair from her face, then dashes her hopeful gaze from Rick, then to me and back to Rick again, settling her eyes there. Focused on him, she continues. "That's why she thought it would work, that you would swoop in and save me from myself. She said that you were just trying something new, sowing wild oats, just like your grandfather did. But that just like him you would come back, you would do the right thing, and we could have the family we were always supposed to have. Together.

"She was wrong though, I guess. And now I'm the fool who believed her…believed in this… this lie. I did this to myself, didn't I? I mean I allowed myself to be used. To try and do this…awful thing. To break you up. I wanted you back so bad, but honestly I knew, Rick. The moment I heard you danced with her at that wedding. The moment I saw her at Dixon's bar. I knew I had lost you for good. The way you looked at her, Rick. You had never looked at me with so much adoration, fascination… I don't know what it was, but she lit up something inside of you. And I hate you both for that."

Shaking her head slowly, then tossing it back woefully she lets out a tiny cathartic scream. Looking to Rick for guidance on what is going on, his face is blank, completely void of emotion, as though it's a rerun of an episode he has seen before playing out in front of us. But as for me, for a brief moment I wonder if Lori isn't mentally unstable. If all of this is really a symptom of a larger emotional issue.

Like I told Rick before, I get why Lori is so strung out for him. So addicted to him. A true addict never wants to relinquish the high. The dizzying blitz of pleasure your drug of choice delivers. This understanding, an acknowledgement of a shared experience between us, forces me to speak. "Lori, I get it. Rick loves hard. It makes you feel as though you are the only woman in the world. The most cherished and cared for person alive. Right? And you just want to hold on to that warm, electric feeling forever. Makes you willing to do almost anything to keep that high flowing through your veins. I know…" Looking to Rick, noticing the manner in which he's squinting his eyes my way, as though I've just dropped out of the sky, and he's trying to figure out where I came from. I don't let his stare throw me off though, because in this moment I can see Lori for who she is, what her struggle is, and I know that I'm the only one who can get through to her. Rick has tried, and it didn't work. He's her drug, her addiction. She can't stop fixating on him long enough to hear and absorb his words. So I forge ahead, wanting to get my point across. "But, it's done now. He's going to be my husband. Rick is the father of my baby. We're going to be a family, and there is nothing that you or Ellen can do about it. It's over."

"Shut up! You don't understand anything! Do you think this thing with you will last? His mother is never going to let you all be happy. Never. I feel sorry for you, and your baby!"

"Watch your mouth, Lori! Don't you ever speak to my wife like that again, do you hear me? Don't ever refer to her or my child." One hand riding his hip, the other is rushing over his head, tousling his growing hair back from his face. Restlessly pacing towards her, Rick grimaces and frowns, as though the words he wants to say are like acid in his mouth. "You and Ellen are something else, and I've had enough of this messy shit with the both of you, it's enough. Aren't you tired of the back and forth? If I wanted you, Lori, I would have come back to you. It's as simple as that. Since I didn't, that should tell you something. Don't be this foolish. Save yourself and get out. Don't let Ellen get your feelings hurt any more than they already are. I'm done with this shit."

"No, Rick, wait it's ok. Give her a minute." I plead, following Lori as she tries to follow Rick's directions and push away from the bedroom and out towards the front door. "I want you to know something, Lori. I'm not worried about you or Ellen. I'm done being afraid of the boogeyman. I let you two get between me and the man I love, but I know better now. Because you're right, from the moment we met, Rick's heart has belonged to me. And I have no intention of ever letting him go. For that reason, you should never feel sorry for me or my baby. I have my husband, and my child knows who and where its father is now, and will always be. Right here with us. Not ducking and dodging my calls, trying desperately to escape your special brand of crazy. But, I do hope you find your baby's father, because she's going to need someone saner than you to raise her, so that she doesn't end up as pathetic and clueless as you are." Arms crossed over my chest, I'm breathing heavy, growing angrier with each venom dipped word.

"Rick, you are really going to throw away nearly 25 years of friendship for her? I've known you almost my whole life. We have been destined for each other since we could walk and talk. I don't know what hold she has over you…what-what she has done to you, but-"

"I'm in love with her, Lori. She's going to be my wife. She's the mother of my baby, and my life belongs to her. You have to move on."

An exasperated rush of hair falls from her lips, as though she can't believe what she's hearing. Holding the front door open, and looking me over, a self-satisfied sneer mangles Lori's lips. In that moment, I have all the confirmation that I need to confirm that she isn't all there. There really is something wrong with her. I don't know what caused it, but it's there, festering and feeding on any semblance of reality that may have ever existed in her damaged mind. But right now, I can also see the light of an epiphany transforming her smirk into a genuine look of defeat.

Turning her withered glare my way, her watery brown eyes focus on me. "Ok. All I'm going to say is this, you might think Rick belongs to you, but you don't know Ellen Stafford-Grimes. She's thinking of ways to take this place from Rick's father in the divorce, and disinherit him as we speak. Rick, you may be free of me, but this is not over with your mother yet. Not by a long shot. So, good luck on that happy ever after that will never happen." With a flounce, she turns and leaves out of the front door.

For a moment Rick and I can only stand there and look at the now closed door. As I'm wondering what the hell just happened, a bout of nausea swells within me, causing me to break out into a damp sweat. With a few minute spasms of my diaphragm, I'm sensing the bile rising in my throat. I take off running towards the bathroom. As though my actions have shaken him from his stunned stupor, Rick follows closely behind, witnessing me throwing up every bit of the large breakfast my mother served, and I voraciously devoured, this morning.

On my knees, resting my forehead on my forearms near the rim of the toilet bowl, I can hear Rick wetting a washcloth in the sink. Crouching down, he places the cool cloth on my forehead, and across the back of my neck, his hand soothingly riding the angles of my drained shoulders.

"Thank you. I knew I shouldn't have eaten so much, but I was so hungry. Your son likes to eat but does not know how to hold on to it." I grumble, closing my eyes at the chilling relief delivered by the cloth against my clammy skin.

"Our daughter just doesn't realize she's upsetting her mama's tummy. The doctor said it should pass soon. Let's hope it does. Come on let me help you up."

Lifting me up from the floor, Rick easily gathers me in his capable arms. Walking over to the couch, he plops down with me still cradled to his chest, and rests me on his lap. Not wanting him to get mired in the negative feelings that Lori's presence and words have kicked up, but also not wanting to dismiss the potential need for him to talk it out, I lean into him, snuggling close. "Do you want to talk about what happened? With Lori?"

"No. I want you to lay here and rest for a moment while I get my stuff so we can get the hell out of here."

"I'll help you. Make it go quicker."

"Nah. Relax. You were just throwing up a few minutes ago."

"Well I'm not now."

"The baby needs you strong. Just rest."

Hearing the finality in his voice, I kiss his cheek before he can move me over to the pillowy cushions of the couch. Mindful that I just threw up and that he might not want to get too close to my mouth, and the remaining rankness of my breath, I don't let the kiss linger for too long.

"I'll give you a better kiss later. But, I want you to know I love you. No matter what it's you and me forever, Rick. No more taking breaks. I'm done taking breaks. I just wanted you to know that."

"I love you too, pretty girl. Let me hurry up so we can go." Rick declares, and places a long, soft kiss directly on my lips.

"So what kind of wedding are you thinking, Michy? Big traditional one? Small? Outside, inside? I'm sure Father Gabriel would love to do the ceremony if we ask him."

"Uh. Yeah I'm sure he would." Clearing my throat, not wanting to get caught in a lie, I attempt to steer the conversation away from discussion of Father Gabriel for now, as Rick and I do not want anyone to know that we have already taken sacred vows to each other. It was something strictly for us, and we would like it to remain that way. A wedding ceremony and reception is something that we are both ok with, but that doesn't really mean much to us now. We've already made the promise that our hearts and souls are bound together for life, so the rest, including the legal part, feels like it's more a technicality for others than for us.

With a variety of bridal magazines spread out on the coffee table, and my iPad in my lap going through different dresses, and ideas on Pinterest, it occurs to me that I don't even know what kind of wedding that Rick would want, or that I would want for that matter. I've never been that little girl who gave her wedding day that much thought. In fact, the whole time I was with Mike, and our marriage seemed like a forgone thought, the actual wedding and what I wanted it to look like, never crossed my mind. Realizing that, I'm lost in thought for a moment, trying to think of what out of all of the pictures, dresses, themes, locations that we have looked over today really caught my eye. As I'm going through the slideshow in my mind, my mother breaks through my thoughts.

"I can't believe you're going to be someone's wife. Someone's mother. And so soon." With a wistful look on her beautiful face, smooth and dark, not a wrinkle in sight, my mother appears to be struggling with a mix of pride, shock, and something else that I can't quite place.

"Are you ok with this, Mom? Are you upset? Disappointed?" I ask, slightly afraid of her answer. Mona has never been the kind of mother that held her tongue. Instead she has always been drastically clear about her expectations of me in terms of my behavior, and my educational performance, though she did give some leeway when my father died. And even though some would bristle at the stern directness of her communication, she has also always been loving and supportive when I don't always meet her expectations, or exceed them. It's the intensity of this life change that makes me insecure in her approval of me, and question her response.

"No, it's neither of those things. This is your life, Michy, not mine. You are young though, and I always expected that you would finish school before marriage and babies, but look at God laughing at my plans and expectations. You have done so much more than I ever thought you would, in such a short amount of time. Always ahead of the game. You started crawling at 4 months old, and walking at 9 months old, reading at 3. Your father always thought you were hurrying to get out of the way of another baby, but that never happened for us. Anyway, I suppose I should have known you weren't going to follow a traditional path for your life." Laughing lightly, her lips strain with the tug of a tiny smile at her own memories of my youth, accelerated progression, and her and my father's unfulfilled hopes for another child.

"I do feel sad that your father is missing this. He's still with us, I feel his soul, his presence with me every day. But, it's bittersweet that he's not going to be able to give you away, or hold his grandson. But, I'm also excited for you to embark on this journey with Rick. You guys fought hard for each other, and now I just want you to be able to enjoy your lives together. A lot of change is coming, baby girl, fast. Hershel and I are very excited, and proud, and want to help make this all as easy for you guys as we can. We want you to make it. And well, we can't wait to get our hands on this baby!"

"Thanks, Mom. I miss dad everyday. I think about him, wonder if he would have liked Rick. If he would have been disappointed or angry with me. If he knows how much I love and miss him."

"He knows, baby. And I know he is happy for you. Your father was so in tuned with you. He fiercely loved his little princess. He doted on you, and was always so proud of you. Do you remember how he used to take you to his classroom, to his lectures? And how you would sit there and take notes! He knew you are something special, little girl. In his eyes, you were perfection personified, and don't you ever forget it." As she speaks about my father, his love for me, her recollection creates a sheen of fat tears to dance in her dark brown eyes. On a series of rapid blinks, they fall, cascading across her full cheeks, so much like my own. Her expression of emotion is catalyst for my own, and a similar rain of memory laced tears drop from my own eyes. Connecting and bonding with me over my father, my mother joins me on the couch. Feeling anchored together by our shared love of all things Andre Kelly, we hold each other tightly, and allow the catharsis of this emotionally fusing moment to cover us.

Swabbing her own tears with her thin, small fingers, from her own face, then dusting away mine as well, my mother smiles down at me. "Andre probably would have liked Rick once he got over the shock that you two were having sex. Over the age difference. Over a baby and marriage. But, he definitely would have respected and admired the way you both fight for each other. How you've matured. At the life and the family, you are both trying to create for yourselves. Your father loved a good romance. But he also loved a good fight. He was definitely not a quitter. Oh, and I know he would be excited about a grandson!"

"Hey! You said grandson. You think it's a boy too? I'm pretty sure it is. I don't know why I just do. Rick wants a girl though."

"Yeah, I think it's a boy. I don't know why either. Maybe it's because this family could use a little testosterone. The closest Hershel or I have to sons are all of these wayward nephews we have. Starting with that hellion, Shane, that keeps running after Sasha. Now those two are trouble. You can see the sparks just flying off of them whenever they are near each other. That Spencer boy doesn't stand a chance."

Feeling a little guilty at harboring the secret of Sasha and Shane's secret tryst last night, I nervously inquire about my mother's statements, curious about what she suspects. "Why do you say that, Mom? Did you see or hear something?" Sitting up, I release her from my fierce hug, and await her response.

"No. Well, yes I guess we all did. You saw how upset Shane was when Sasha showed up with her new 'husband'." Using her fingers to denote air quotes, she simultaneously rolls her eyes at the mention of Spencer as Sasha's husband. "That girl is scrambling, looking for a lighthouse in the storm, and Spencer was the first boat that offered her safety. She's always been that way. Her life has always been wild, unpredictable, bobbing away in choppy waters. And she seemed to thrive in that environment. But now, something has her needing a little more stability, a sure thing. Maybe it's that her father is getting married again. Maybe it's witnessing this connection you have with Rick. Maybe she is afraid of whatever she had going on with Shane. Who knows? Spencer seems like a good safe bet for her right now though. But you know your cousin, you know yourself too, Michy. Safe and predictable isn't always what we want though, is it? Sometimes you want passion. You want what you think you can't, or shouldn't have. Your uncle and I watched that Spencer follow her around like a love sick puppy last night, and she would give him just enough to keep him on her string. And some men like that. He seems content with that. But, Shane? They were both eyeing each other all night. I thought Sasha was going to scratch that girl's eyes out. The one who came with Shane? Something interesting is going on there. I say we all step back, mind our own business, and stay tuned."

"Hm. You might be right, Mom. It really shocked me when she showed up and said she got married. It's so unlike her."

"Is it? Sasha wants love, a family, a husband. Everything that her own parents never seemed to be able to give her. She just also wants to be able to fly, to be free to be herself, and still do what she wants to do. To live the life she wants on her terms. A lot of men are not going to be ok with that. She seems to have found him. But I guarantee you, he doesn't set her wild ass on fire like Shane does. That's the problem."

Giving my mother's words some thought I consider the words I overheard hollered between Sasha and Shane last night. The way their bodies seemed drawn to each other. The cries of ecstasy that erupted in the culmination of their impetuous coupling outside of Hershel's office. "I think it's gonna be trouble, but who am I to criticize. I want my cousin to be happy. I am going to miss her though. With her in Virginia and me in Boston. It's gonna be our firtst time away from each other."

"I know. I'm going to miss both of you. You've been my girls forever, but you have to grow up and find your own happiness. Plus, I'll always be here happy to help you both. Waiting to get my hands on this baby! Oh I can't wait!"

"Mom!"

"I can't. You know, Hershel and I both can't. It's like we have been blessed with so many gifts this last year. Each other. All of you girls. This baby. Rick. We want to keep paying these blessings forward."

Hearing my stomach grumble through my mother's words, I sheepishly smile at her, and stand from the couch. "I'm gonna grab a snack really quick. I guess this baby is hungry. You want me to bring you anything from the kitchen?"

"Oh yes! Some sweet tea please, honey."

"Alright. Be right back."

As soon as I enter the kitchen, I hear the doorbell ring. Hearing my mother yell that she has it, I don't move. Instead I continue cutting myself a slice of cake from last night's party. Mouth watering at the thought of devouring the sweet red velvet cake, I catch the distinctly southern twang of Rick's mother's voice coming from the foyer, addressing my mother.

"Good afternoon, Mona."

"This is a surprise, Ellen. What can I do for you?"

"I came over here to speak with you. I thought a mother to mother chat might be helpful given the most recent news of what our children have gotten themselves in to." Rick's mother offers, her voice dripping with a syrupy sweetness that is so fake that it's making me no longer want to partake of the sugary confection in front of me.

"I'm not sure what there is for us to discuss, but come on in. I can spare a moment for family." I can hear the snarky sarcasm in my mother's voice. The hint of a teasing bite in her use of the word 'family' to sting Rick's mother with the truth of our impending connection.

"Hm. Family. That's what I want to talk to you about."

"Can I take your coat?"

"I won't be staying long."

"Suit yourself. Have a seat." 

Hearing them settle into the living room, I peak around the corner to see if I catch get a view of them without being noticed as an eavesdropping, interloper. Seated prim and proper, perched on the edge of the couch in front of the table of wedding magazines, Rick's mother lightly grazes her fingers over the bright joyful smiles on the glossy covers. Scanning with her blue eyes, the images of the elegantly dressed brides, and the proud handsome grooms. She picks up one and seems to admire the photo on the cover, as a tiny smile of her own overtakes her lips. Turning the magazine cover, she shows it to my mother who is seated in a wingback chair directly to her right. In a well worn pair of wrangler blue jeans, cowboy boots, and turtleneck sweater, her coat thrown over her lap, and her long braid over her shoulder, Rick's mother looks every bit the country matriarch she tries to be. It's a stark comparison to the confident, urban chic of my mother's designer skinny jeans, and oversized, soft pink cashmere sweater.

On a sigh, his mother speaks, breaking the silence in the room. "This is how I imagined my Rick's wedding day. I suppose that was a foolish idea, given that he is apparently so very much like his grandfather before him. A romantic fool like his father. I had hoped that such a damaging predilection for whimsy would not take root in my boys, but Jeff has taken up with some Asian woman, and now my Rick has pretty much done the same. Both of them, completely disregarding a long standing legacy, a tradition. I don't understand it. I don't understand them. Perhaps I never have."

"Well, we have to allow our children to make their own way. To create their own legacies and traditions. They are their own people, who can choose the lives they want for themselves. You have to respect that, or get left out in the cold."

"And this doesn't bother you, Mona? That your daughter has chosen a path so different from the one you imagined for her. The future you wanted for her."

"I only care that my daughter is happy. I did imagine that her future husband would look different. But at the end of the day, I only care that the husband she has chosen for herself behaves like the one I always hoped she would have."

Honestly, Ellen, we don't get to choose for them, so really what does it matter? You can not pick for them. It's crazy to assume that you can. And despite how deeply entrenched you are in an ugly legacy of prejudiced and harmful views, you have somehow given my daughter the gift of a handsome, smart, kind, and respectful man. I guess for that I have to say thank you." 

Scoffing at my mother's unexpected expression of appreciation, Rick's mother continues. "I have only ever wanted to protect my boys. Protect what is rightfully theirs. And for that I have been looked upon as some vile, controlling, bitch. But, from one mother to another, I am just willing to do whatever it takes to ensure their protection, and the survival of my family, my people. That's not so wrong, is it? How do you think that Rick will feel when this baby is born, and it looks nothing like him? Do you think he will feel connected to that child?" Ellen makes a face of revulsion, drawing back in disgust, even as she makes a fruitless attempt to appeal to my mother's sense of an instinctual parental need to protect their offspring.

I can see my mother lean forward from her relaxed position on the couch, and narrow her eyes on Rick's mother sitting across from her. "Like you said, Ellen, you don't know your son at all do you? Rick is a smart, kind, and loving young man. And he loves my daughter. Michonne is going to be his wife, the mother of his children. I am certain that when he put that ring on her finger, that he had already considered that his and my daughter's children will be black. I don't know him that well, but I'm sure that the prospect of their coloring suits him just fine. He's the one who chose their mother, the woman that will give them that beautiful coloring. And while that seems to cause you great distress, I can assure you that they will be beautiful, and that he will love and protect them in a way that you obviously are incapable of. Even for your own child, who is the same color as you are. Who shares the same blue eyes as you do. How shortsighted of you to think that anything as arbitrary as color would change his love for Michonne or their children."

"This world is not going to be easy for them. To welcome them, or love them with the same starry eyed romanticism as my son. Why would I want that for Rick? Why would you want that for your daughter? How naïve of you to think that this will turn out well for them. Let me remind you, that Rick chose Lori first. And he did that for a reason. He saw something in her that he liked, that he could connect with. Who is to say that he won't see reason one day, when it gets hard? When they are met with derision and scorn. Shouldn't we try to save them from that pain and disappointment now? They are young, and impetuous, and they don't understand how the real world works." She asks, pleading with my mother, her voice choking and rising with a measure of emotion that I would not have expected from someone who seems as measured and cold as she usually does.

"No, Ellen, I think you don't understand how the real world works. You have lived sequestered in King County for too long. Your poor husband has allowed you to run things for too long. While you were mired in these archaic ideas about race, the world kept evolving, and apparently it has evolved right past you. Yes, they might be met with racist assholes like yourself, but they love each other, and they have made a choice to share their lives with each other, to make a family. That means they also choose to deal with those issues together, as a family. And yes, I will do everything I can to protect them from people like you, who would harm them and their happiness, for their own stupid reasons. 

"You need to really think hard about this, Ellen. Think about how everything you have ever done to try and control your husband and sons has backfired on you. You've lost them all, and you will never know your grandchildren if you stay on this path. And God help you if I ever get wind that you were meddling with my daughter and her family again."

"I see that there is no reasoning with you. I had hoped that we could find some common ground here. I may have meddled, maybe even overstepped, but I did it out of love for my family. For my desire to see my family's traditions continue, unfettered, undiluted. But, I fear that you're right, Mona. I've lost them, and I hate that. But, I'm willing to live with it, because I know that I tried my best to do what I thought was right. You can all vilify me if you want. I'm sure you will anyway."

"You've done that all on your own, no one had to turn you into a villain, Ellen. You made yourself a villain the minute you decided to come for my daughter. The moment you preyed on your own husband and children to further your own agenda. I pity how out of touch you are, but I think it's time for you to go. I don't want you to upset my daughter. She is pregnant with your son's baby after all."

With those words, Rick's mother wordlessly rises from her seat, and heads to the front door. "You don't really know anything about me, Mona, but I love my son. I hope he knows that. Even if I don't agree with this mess he has made of his life, I love him still."

Holding the door open for her to leave, my mother stands to the side. "If you did, you wouldn't continue to be the negative shrew that you really are, even when you are confronted with the truth of his choices. That's not how love works." My mother offers her as she exits our home, the door quietly announcing her departure from our lives. Hopefully for good.

Chapter 18 – Rick

"Which one, Rick?"

"Which one what?"

"Which dress for graduation?"

"You're wearing a robe to march for graduation, right?" Briefly looking up to her from my relaxed, prone position on the bed, in just my boxers, Michonne is standing in front of me, wearing one dress, and holding up another in her hand. Dropping my eyes from her questioning gaze, down and over her body, her hip tilted out in a seductive stance as she balances on a pair of tan colored stilettos, I am completely lost as to what she and I are talking about. Regardless of that, she does look damn good in the dress she's wearing, though I would warn against the height of the shoes. She always does look good though. In anything. Especially in nothing. This dress is nice. It's snug, tightly crossing over her swollen belly, while also lifting and displaying the plumpness of her highly perched breasts.

"Yes." Rolling her eyes in that way she has, that lets me know she is about to start pouting about me not paying attention to her, she huffs out an exasperated answer to my question.

Shrugging, I attempt to give her a response that will hopefully make her decision about what to wear easier, and less evident that I have not been paying attention to her graduation attire fashion show. "So, why does it matter which dress you wear? I wore a pair of jeans and a t-shirt when I graduated from college."

"Ok, so? You weren't a big ol pregnant woman, graduating from a black college. I have to look good. These women I'm graduating with are not just brilliant, they are also beautiful, Rick. I have to make sure my look is on point. This isn't some southern Cali, easygoing beach bum graduation."

"Hey! Some people wore khakis at my graduation. I didn't, but there was one guy who did. Wait, he also had on flip flops so… Anyway, that doesn't matter, you always look good. Wear the first one." I answer, directing my eyes back to my phone's screen, trying to make sense of my father's text messages.

"You're not even paying attention are you? What did the first one look like?"

"It was beautiful on you. You always look beautiful." Smiling and winking at her, I hope that she will believe me and give me a second to figure out what my dad is talking about so I can respond to his series of messages.

"Rick, the first dress was pink. Do you know that my mother is a Delta, and she might pass out completely if I wear a pink dress to graduation?"

"I'm sorry, what? I'm really confused. Give me a second, baby. My dad sent me a few messages and I can't tell if he's serious or if he's drunk, or what's going on."

Dropping the dress hanging from a hanger on to the chair in the corner, Michonne strolls gracefully over to the bed, tugging at the tie of her dress to allow it open and reveal her form. Nimble and ballerina like, despite the watermelon sized rise of her stomach, her lithe body, dripped in the most divine brush of glowing dark skin I've ever seen, mounts my own. Pregnancy agrees with my girl, and the white dress now open and billowing around her newly curved figure, and with a matching white lace bra and panty set caressing two of my favorite parts on her, she resembles a heavenly angel, poised daintily across my groin with her knees pressing into the mattress on either side of me. Her stomach rests heavily between us on my own stomach, a beautiful reminder of the life we created.

"Your dad is a master texter. The other day he was in a store texting pictures of baby clothes. Then he sent me a video of him in a rocking chair holding a baby doll. I guess he bought all this stuff for the baby. He's so cute. Like, I think I text or talk to him everyday almost. I think Hershel is a little jealous that your dad has snatched me up as his daughter."

"Oh yeah? Everyday, huh?"

"Just about. He called me last week to let me know that Rance is a good name for a boy, and so is Carl. I told him I would think about it. He said he thinks this is a boy also, and he's glad we are waiting until delivery to find out for sure. But he said he already knows what a Grimes boy bump look like."

"Grimes boy bump?" Scrunching my face, I'm further confused by the lingo this new iteration of my dad has been espousing, along with the carefree behavior, and new interest in technology. Texting? Calling? Shopping? Who is this guy and what has he done with my dad?

"Yep. So, what is he texting about now?" Pointing towards my phone, Michonne taps on the top of the screen with her red manicured nails.

"Something about how to approach this lady at the grocery store. But, he's texting too fast for me to understand what his question actually is. Then he sent me this picture of her from behind." Turning my phone for her to look at the series of text messages and pictures from my pop, she breaks out in a loud laugh. With her fingers over her lips, a wide grin takes over her face. Eagerly taking my phone from my hand, she begins to quickly respond to the messages. Eyes full of mirth, with a twinkle to match the majesty of her smile, her thumbs fly over the screen.

Finally satisfied with her response, she turns the phone back towards me for my inspection, then begins to explain. "Your dad has been trying to mack on this lady at the Piggly Wiggly for like two weeks now. She works in produce. He's trying to see if you think she's pretty, and what he should say to her."

"Why did he send me a pic of the back of her head though?" I question, a confused frown on my face as I read through her responses directing my dad to approach her by simply saying hi and introducing himself.

"You are so lost, Rick. He sent you a picture of her booty. See? He said what about her fatty in one of the messages."

"What? I thought he was calling her a fatty. Like asking if she was fat." Dragging my hands back through my hair in frustration, I have to admit that I don't fully understand this transformation my father is going through, nor how to handle it. "This is too much for me. I can't deal with Rance trying to date and chase women. He talks to you about this stuff?"

"All the time. He's a sweetheart, and very charming. I see where you get it from." Rubbing her hands over my chest, her fingers are grazing softly through my chest hair, then up to my beard, soothing my apparent irritation. "He asks me about women, how I'm feeling, how the baby is doing, how you are doing. Remember I told you he came to the city last month and we had lunch?"

"Yeah. I'm glad you guys are getting along. He always wanted a daughter. Used to play with Maggie and Beth a lot. He's their godfather ya know. He's gonna be a really good grandfather." I muse, tossing my phone to the bed now that the texts have ceased, and it seems my dad has gotten the advice he needs to pursue the lady at the grocery store. Now my eyes are back on my lady, and my gaze is hungrily taking in the whole exquisite package that is Michonne.

At seven months pregnant, she is the picture of perfection. Not just in a pregnant, matronly way either. No. Unexpectedly, at least to me, I find myself even more aroused by her than before. By the way her body has steadily transformed over the duration of her pregnancy, blooming and flowering to protect and nourish the life inside of her. The life that our love and passion for each other created. The rotundness of her stomach, rounded as though she has swallowed a basketball, is simply the most amazing thing I have ever seen. Watching how it has stretched to accommodate the growth of my child, is like bearing witness to an actual miracle. In a course of peaks and valleys, her body is now made up of a soft cushion of plush curves. Her hips have widened, creating a heart shaped contrast against her tight waist. Especially from the back, where you can't tell she's pregnant, but you can discern that her ass has definitely gotten fatter, with a new, heavier, tear drop globe of jiggle to it. She hates it, but I love it. Who knew I was an ass man?

She's maturing too, though some things about her will never change. There is still the pouting when she's hungry, or doesn't get her way, or like earlier when she's not the center of my attention. But has now developed this astute sense about things, a keen intuition that has guided me past the dramatic estrangement with my mother, and brought me closer to my father. Though I was not aware of how close they had become, I know that her optimism and inspiration have made a way for my father and I, even my once truly foreign to me brother, to establish this newfound relationship. Welcoming my father further into my own family, the one I'm making with Michonne, has brought him to a place where he has been truly reconciling and being fully transparent with his half-brother, and with my brother and I. And with this has come the revelation that even though my father has let my mother rule over him, our family for quite some time, that Rance Grimes, while suffering a great deal mentally, has always been quite financially sharp.

The divorce between my mother and father, which seems never ending, has also bonded us in a way that none of us could have foreseen. Alienating my mother even more with the discovery of her machinations to finagle and hold on to a financial inheritance that is not rightfully hers, the divorce also let us see how brilliant my father and grandfather were in structuring and hiding the true wealth of my family from her. Not fully trusting my mother, knowing that she was always upset at losing financial backing from her own rich family, my grandfather willed numerous properties throughout King County to my brother, and to Morgan and his father. More than just the farm or the lake house that my mother knows about that were willed to my father and my brother and I, there are numerous trusts, that Shane's father Dale is the trustee over. These trusts contain the deeds to over half of the farming land in King County. Most of which is leased to other families, but belongs contractually to our family. The trusts will be dissolved and equally dispersed among the surviving family members whenever my father and his brother decided. On the precarious precipice of finding his freedom from my mother's grasp, my father is ready to do so, as is Morgan's father, Robert. They are just waiting for the divorce to be final so that my mother can not get her hands on it. It seems that even though she was successful in driving a wedge between the brothers when my grandfather first died, over the years they have found a way to make this all right, previously unbeknownst to her. Unfortunately, now reconciled with her own family, she is fighting tooth and nail to try and keep the farm, and whatever else her attorney can dig up that might belong to my father. At the end of the day, my father has maintained his optimistic outlook, and comes off as quite willing to do this legal tussle with her in order to finally give her the fight she has always deserved, but never got.

It's all getting very messy, but despite it, my pops has been keeping close to Michonne and I, finding in her the daughter he always wanted. And maybe for her, she finds in him another father, one she says is very much like Andre Kelly. So, she welcomes him, loves him, hangs out with him, and gives him advice. In turn, he dotes on her, and shares with her all of the stories that my brother and I have long tired of, but are all new and fascinating to her. Her openness and affection for my father, just make my love for her grow and consume me even more. Sometimes I have to even wonder at how perfect she is for me. How do I deserve someone like her? How can she be real?

At the thought of how lucky I am to be blessed with the gift of a woman like Michonne, who's not only beautiful but smart, my hands animate on their own to reach for the object of my lustful affection, and grab a firm handful of her. Enticed by the warmth in one of my palms, I raise my other hand to lower the cups of her white lace bra. Spilling over the drooped cups, the large mound is more than my hand can cover now, and my mouth begins to water with anticipation of the feeling of it filling my mouth.

Intense passion takes over me at the thought that all of her, this angel, belongs to me. Michonne is all mine. Though she is smiling down at me, with an innocent smirk of shock to her seductive lips, the urge to fuck and dominate her, is chipping away at my resolve to allow her to continue talking to me about her clothing choices for graduation. But I can't even fathom being able to summon the willpower to not fuck her right now. So I don't even try.

"Rick… what's that smile? I need to choose a dress. Graduation is in the morning. Can we get back to that now and do this later?" Nodding yes, my sweet girl tries to get me to agree. It's too late though. She doesn't realize that at this point my mind is only focused on one thing. Her polite suggestion otherwise is pointless.

"No." Grinning and shaking my head, I crawl my hand away from her breast and around to her back to release the hooks of her bra.

While she may want to play coy, Michonne knows me. She knows my appetite for her is fully engrossing and absorbs all of my focus, bordering on obsessive. As my hand rises to tickle over the elegant column of her neck, her eyes spark with their own glow of excitement. Sensing that she's going to have to put her dress conversation on the back burner for now, she licks her lips and allows her bra straps to drop off her shoulders and down her arms. Carelessly tossing it to the floor, Michonne's hands are now molded to her breasts, thrumming her nipples with the padded edge of her thumbs.

"I love you, pretty girl." I choke out, the words bubbling up from my heart at will. A sincere gift of devotion to my wife.

"I love you too, Rick."

"I love you more."

"Not possible." She promises. Though I don't believe that she could possibly love me any more than I love her, the sentiment threatens to burn me alive with how hot it makes me. Needing to quench my desperate thirst, sate this blazing fire for her inside of me, I lift and drag her body forward. An exclamation of shock bursts from her mouth, leaving her lips parted on a surprised gasp.

With her pussy now hovering right above my lips, I raise my eyes to see that the crotch of her white panties are now translucent, glistening with her moist arousal. And dear god I can smell her. Pungent and sweet, the heady, familiar scent of her womanhood is lulling me into a wanton daze. I want to devour her fat, wet lips. Suck, and lick, and greedily gulp every ounce of pleasure from her. Swallowing my aggressive desires down a bit, I appreciatively caress the outside of her panties, along the split of her lips. Feeling the slickness of the lace on my thumb, I try to remember that she has been spotting again. That though the doctor is not entirely alarmed, it worries me to some degree. I can't take any chances with my wife, with the well being of her or my baby. So I try to remember to be easy. Easy, Rick. Nice and easy.

Michonne is stubborn though, and has been dismissive of any concern regarding the spotting. I think she can't help it. Her libido has been voracious. Freaky. Nasty. At the oddest times, the strangest places, she has reached for me. Sometimes it's slow, deep lovemaking that she craves, where she rides me for minutes on end, rising and falling on me until her orgasm freezes her tightly around me, and my toes curl and bend through my own climax. At other times though, when I wake up in the middle of the night to the wet pull of her mouth on my dick, I'm pulled under, drowning in enveloping pleasure. Or when she dragged me into the family bathroom at Target, lifting her dress over her ass and encouraging me to fuck her bent over the sink. Maintaining eye contact in the mirror, she threw her ass back on me, swallowing my dick with such tight precision, that I could barely last for fifteen minutes before I exploded deep inside of her.

On one hand it's exciting. The way she toys with me, teases and titillates until I have no choice but to give her what she wants, when she wants it. On the other it worries me how malleable I am in her hands. How easily she can sway and bend me to her will, or that I could break, dissolve into nothing without her. She owns every part of me, and the truth is that I love it. I love following her lead. The path she creates for us always ends in a joyous, happy ending. But, it concerns me too, that it might be dangerous, this passionate allegiance I have to her and her commands. That on her direction, I might not practice the proper amount of restraint at the right time, make the right decision when I should, and it could cause her or the baby some harm.

Like right now, when I'm wound so tight that a part of me wants to flip her naughty ass around, face down, ass up, and ride her until we are both too sleepy to think about graduation, dresses, or my father needing dating advice. Kissing and licking at the creamy flesh of her thigh, I take my time, trying to decide how to partake of my wife, when her wandering fingers flow through my hair, across my scalp, and pull me from my thoughts. The sensation is familiar and exquisite. She knows this is a sure fire way to get me going. This and rubbing through my beard.

"Be nice to me, daddy." Despite my apparent hesitation, my plan to be delicate with her while we both find satisfaction, her whispered request finds me submerged under my vow of temperance.

"Oh fuck, Michonne…" I growl, closing my eyes to the sight of her damp womanhood, just a lick away.

"Please…" she begs, her need so evident and alive in the breathy plea.

"You want me to eat this little fat pussy?" Smacking my fingers against her clit, I can feel Michonne squirm in my hand that's still roughly grasping her ass.

"Yes. I want to feed you. Then I want you to fuck me good, Rick. Nice and rough." Reaching behind her, Michonne places the tips of her fingers on my chest, holding herself steady. Widening her thighs, she raises her legs, stilettos now spiking into the mattress on both sides of my head, offering herself to me. With amazing balance for a woman seven months pregnant, like that of a trained gymnast, she stabilizes her gorgeous form, and spreads open her bountiful gift.

"You smell delicious, baby. Come here."

Pulling her pussy to my mouth, I gingerly tug the seat of her panties to the side, and direct her to drop herself on to the suction of my waiting mouth. Stealing a long, grateful sniff of her, my nose is pressed against her clit, and filled with the fragrance of the most luscious and sinful place on earth. My most favorite place in the world. Losing myself to the frantic and reckless need to not just sample, but to ravage her, I limply lap my tongue through her folds, sampling the pungent sugar awaiting me there. Sticky and slick, I keep at it with long languid strokes, ending in a tight suckle of her clit between my lips.

Writhing, squirming, begging, and whimpering, Michonne threatens to topple herself from my face in her ecstatic enjoyment. Mobilizing my hand to support her back, I urge her to sit up straighter, to give me even more control of her pleasure, her body, to keep her safely latched to my greedy mouth.

"Mmmmm…you taste so fucking good!" I mumble across her wetness.

"Rick, it's too much…" She whines, gyrating away then returning to shove her pussy back on to my lips.

"Stay right here." I roughly command, my raging need for her now straining my voice. "Didn't you say you wanted to feed me?"

"Ye- ye- yes…"

"Then feed me, pretty girl." Giving her a little stinging bite of her dripping lips, a tiny punishing reminder to sit still, I stiffen my tongue to explore as much of her canal as I can reach.

"Oh god, Rick! Oh my god!"

"Mmm…"

"Fuck, right there!"

Looking up at my wife, her chocolate kissed stomach, swollen with my baby inside, blocking me from the bounce and sway of her large breasts, my excitement is peaking. Feasting on the decadent taste of her arousal, slippery and slick on my tongue and lips, I continue my strategic pace of fucking her with my mouth. On the bed in her Atlanta apartment, I'm enjoying this moment of raucous, and vibrant intimacy, with no concern for impressionable ears, or nosy parents. Raising her throaty hums of delight higher and higher with each swipe of my tongue, Michonne is pressing her fat pussy lips tighter to the wandering fasten of my mouth.

Squeezing and massaging at her round ass while she rides my face, her keening moans of satisfaction are making my dick so hard, that I might come if she keeps it up. For that reason, I gently lift her from my face, returning her delicately to perch on my chest. Breasts heaving, attempting to catch her breath, Michonne focuses her sexy coffee eyes on me.

"Why did you stop? I was about to cum."

Rubbing my hand over her full, heavy breast, I flick and softly tug at the pointed flesh of her nipple. A hissing breath escapes her full lips, and she bites down, sucking the cushion of her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Fuck, Michonne. You were so wet, tasting so good, and moaning so loud I was about to cum too. I don't wanna come yet." Wiping my hand across my lips, the scent of her is all over my hands and face. My beard is damp and saturated with her essence, and I would have it no other way. In fact, I would like one more taste, just a little more.

"Turn around and lean over." I command, making up my mind to saturate my face with her sweetness again, and to fuck her just the way my dick wanted to all along.

Turning to stand up at the side of the bed, my girl balances lightly on her tiny feet, then kicks off her shoes and removes her panties. As I watch her, I remove my boxers, easing them down and off my hips and thighs to release my dick. Pointing stiff and proud up towards my belly, a hint of pearlescent cum glistens in the slit. Rubbing my thumb through the sticky fluid, I take a strong hold of my dick, and a shallow kick of enjoyment relaxes me into the bed. Swiveling my head, I observe as Michonne, with her back to me, crawls atop my lap, and plops her round ass down across my groin.

Glancing at me over her shoulder, hungry yet soft eyes, rove over my face then down across my chest. In a demure voice, one she uses to incite my senses even more with its subtle hints of submission, she inquires, "Is this how you want me, Rick?"

Wanting to get inside her as quickly as possible, as deeply as I can get, but still wanting one last swallow of her juices, I command her to scoot down even further and off of my lap. Still facing away from me, Michonne is between my wide spread legs on either side of her. On her hands and knees, the dark slick invitation of her pussy, covered in a fine sprinkle of black hair, is begging me to finish what I've started.

Lifting to reacquaint her with my mouth, I grab her ass and pull the cheeks apart, marveling at the tightly knotted hole found there. We have never gone there, not fully. Though I've licked and tasted every succulent inch of my lady, I have been hesitant to explore this part of her with my dick. Even though I have a feeling that she would not only agree to and enjoy the wanton pleasure of this foreign sensation, I fear that her welcoming me in this way would only further enslave me to her. I'm not sure how that could be possible, as I have gladly handed over to this woman the reigns to my head and my heart. But I'm almost certain that the heavenly experience we could mutually find there would surely seal my fate.

Pulling myself back from my appetizing thoughts on how Michonne could further her hold on me as the best type of drug like vice, I jiggle her rounded flesh in my hands, and place a wet kiss to each of the cheeks. Submerging my face in between each, my tongue immediately licks at her sensitive hole. Squirming and whimpering, Michonne jumps a bit, then jerks forward.

"Rick!"

"Sh!" I deliver a stinging slap to her ass, ordering her silence, which is accompanied by her defiant whimper. Biting down on my bottom lip, I stifle a laugh, knowing that she is both aroused and steaming at the bossiness of my direction. Soothing the sting of my slap with the warmth from the palm of my hand, I grin at how well she obeys. I belong to her, but Michonne also belongs to me, and she knows that everything I do is for our mutual enjoyment.

Sucking and licking at each of her holes, as well as the sensitive patch of skin between the two, I'm no longer able to withstand the tease I'm laying on her, as my dick is tingling with a pulse that is bordering on painful.

With one final lick and bite of her ass, I lean back some, and bend my legs at the knee. In this position, with my palm flat to her back, I ease Michonne down on to my stiff dick. Her petals blossom and open easily to my intrusion. Slick and slippery, her pussy stretches and welcomes my girth, while her lips release a long satisfied moan of appreciation. Laying back fully, flat to the bed, my hands tightly grip her hips, and instruct them on how to ride me, up and down, in and out. Our rhythm is a practiced one. We know it well. It's a dance that we have perfected together in this bed, and many other places, as well as one that gets better every time.

Snaking and swiveling my own hips around and up to meet every drop of her fat ass to my groin, I'm searching for that spot, the spongy bundle in the back of my lady's pussy that will set her on fire. That will increase the already drenching stickiness between us. Roaming my sweaty hands up to the sinewy expanse of her lithe back, and around to her bobbing breasts, then back down to the slope of her wide hips, I'm pumping and thrusting, driving us both dangerously close to the edge of release. Then I pull back with just a short shallow bang of my hips against her ass, wanting to prolong our descent into the crazed madness of our shared and eventual climax. Holding her tightly in place, not allowing her to bounce and fuck me back, I move my hips in a back and forth wave like motion that elongates my stroke. It has the desired effect and my lady begins to sweat even more. And beg.

"Rick… please, daddy, please…let me cum? I need to cum…"

"I know, I know… me too, pretty girl. You feel too good though. Don't you wanna feel good?"

Nodding franticly, Michonne looks back at me, focusing on my sweat drenched face and chest. Licking out her tongue to sample the salty perspiration above her lip, she promises on a strained break of her voice. "I want to cum on your dick so bad, Rick. Let me make it wet." The words drip from her pretty mouth, lips puckered into a sexy, naughty pout. She's winding me up now, teasing me like a matador does a bull. Waving her wanton words in front of me, raising my ire, driving me to quickly fuck her to completion.

Licking at my own lips, feeling my fingers release and regrip the cushy plumpness on her hips, I blink and attempt to gather my thoughts. But her dusky skin is shining, glowing in the moonlight straining to land on her heavenly body through the blinds. Witnessing how it dances and skips across her back, slashing over the beauty of her face, I'm blinded by how it highlights her coffee eyes so intently focused on my own. And I can't do anything but accept the challenge she's laying down.

Wanting to feel the shower of her cum bathe my dick, I furiously pick up the pace of my pistoning hips. Gifting my enraged libido with her delighted screams, I tightly close my eyes, and hold on as I pound away at the very back of her.

"Rick…that's iiiiiiiit…" Michonne whines, her body frozen, petrified with the flush of her growing orgasm. And I can feel it. How it's suffocating my cock, extracting every ounce of cum from my heavy balls, and up through the pulsing shaft, to bathe her soft womb.

"Michonne… Michonne… Michonne…" I chant, punctuating each quick hiccup of cum from the tip of my dick, and jerk of my hips.

Her head drooped forwards, pulling away from my now deflated dick, but still on my lap, Michonne is quietly puffing out her exertion. Coming out of the fog of my orgasm, I sit up again, and drop my legs back flat to the bed, and gather her even closer to me, her back warm and cozy against my chest. "Come here, pretty girl. You ok? Did I hurt you?" I ask, kissing softly behind her ear and to the back of her neck.

"Nope. I needed that." Slowly her head drops back to my shoulder, and I hug her to me, with one arm snug across her chest, her breast soft and pliant in my hand. My other arm drapes over the peak of her belly, down by her popped out belly button. Roaming my hand across the blush of her velvety skin, across my baby, I can feel the tense pressure of a little push against my hand. Then another just below it. "Feel that, daddy?"

"My little girl didn't appreciate that disturbance, huh?"

"Yeah, our son wants you to simmer down out here." She confirms, settling her tired body fully into a calm repose in my welcoming arms.

Chuckling at her confirmation, I wonder if her and my dad are correct in their adamant predictions that this baby is a boy. Maybe this is a Grimes boy bump? Stubbornly, I shake away the thought, and continue to enjoy the quiet of this moment with my family, my wife and my baby safely in my arms.

July 4th (michonne's birthday)

"Oh Mrs. Greene – I mean, Mom, these ribs taste amazing! Man these are good!"

"I didn't make them, your fiancée did, Rick. Where is she anyway? She snuck out of this kitchen quick! I know it's her birthday but I need a little help."

"She went to lay down. The doctor said it's normal for her to be so tired now that she's getting into her 38th week. I can help you. I just need to run and pick up my dad for the cookout. He said he's not feeling well enough to drive. Is that ok?" I ask Michonne's mother as I finish eating the meat from the rib bone. Sucking the sauce from the bone, then my fingers, I can't help but feel proud that my Michonne made such a good meal. It's not surprising though. Since we have both been living here right after graduation, Michonne has shown herself to be every bit as good of a cook as her mother. In appreciation for all of the good cooking going down in this house, I have gained a good ten to fifteen pounds to account for it. Michonne said my thighs are getting thick, and that it's from the eating in addition to sympathy weight from her pregnancy. I don't know about the sympathy weight thing, but I do know that I have been eating well, sleeping a lot, and I recently needed some new wranglers and uniform pants.

"Your dad is still feeling sick, huh? He was asking me about these chest pains he has been having recently. I told him to go to a cardiologist friend of mine in the city months ago when he said he was diagnosed with some coronary heart disease. Same as Michonne's father. I think he went. Do you know anything about that, Rick?"

"No, ma'am. He never mentioned anything about it. He did pop up in the city once and take Michonne to lunch, but he didn't say it was to see a doctor. Is he ok?" Worry causes my face to frown, and I assume that Mrs. Greene can tell because she comes to sit with me at the table. With a gentle hand placed atop my fist, clenching and releasing, I wonder at this new discovery regarding my father's health.

Mrs. Greene softly calls my name, gaining my attention. "Rick, you might want to talk to your dad about what's going on with his health, honey. I have probably said more than I should, but heart disease can be serious for people our age. With the stress from his ongoing divorce, angina, or chest pains, can be a sign of something much more serious. Add to that some of his unhealthy behaviors of late, eating a lot of fatty foods, drinking, smoking those cigars of his. I know he's enjoying his newfound freedom, but he might need a little reminder about his health. Or if you want, Hershel or I can talk to him. Sometimes parents bristle when their kids try to act like the parents. Not me, mind you, but some parents do." She lightly laughs, softening the serious tenor of her voice as she describes some of my father's health concerns, none of which he has shared with me.

"Yes, ma'am. I will check in with him when I pick him up now. I'll go do it before Michonne wakes up from her nap." Rising from the kitchen table, I realize that Mrs. Greene is maintaining her hold on my hand. "Is there something else, Mrs-, uh, Mom?"

"I like you, Rick. I hope you know that. You are a welcome addition to this family, and you have been taking such good care of my baby. I know she's your baby now, but, you're just what she needs. She's lucky to have you. Thank you for that."

"No problem. She means everything to me. I love her and the baby more than I could imagine loving anyone other than myself. She makes me... I don't know… It's more than happy. I guess you don't realize that you weren't really as happy as you thought you were, until you truly experience it. Michonne has given me that. I'm the lucky one, Mrs. Greene."

"How about you're both lucky?" She questions and smiles. A smile so bright, that her twinkling eyes crinkle in the corners, and her dark skin flushes with an undertone of a radiant red. In that moment I catch a flash of my Michonne. Older. More mature. Just as beautiful as the day I met her. It causes a heated rush through my veins, and sets my feet towards the steps that lead upstairs to where she is resting.

"I'm gonna let Michonne know I'm leaving. Thanks, Mom!" I wave goodbye, and hustle up the stairs, an unrecognizable need pushing me to lay my eyes on her pretty face before I leave. Opening the door, I find her asleep in a fetal position, turned away from me and towards the breeze wafting in soft undulations through the open window. Only wearing one of my t-shirts, that is straining over her protruding belly, and her panties, she is perfect. Lightly snoring, her hands cradled under head, sweet puffs of her breath leave her slightly open mouth, and I can't help myself. I lean in and kiss her on the lips. Grazing my hands across the creamy, dark russet skin pulled tightly over my baby, my heart is near bursting with love for this woman that has given me absolutely everything. Continuing to kiss and sip her breath from her full lips, I travel my hand to her ass, and rub in soothing circles against the jiggle. "Pretty girl, I'm going to pick up my pops. I'll be right back."

"Rick?"

"Yeah, I'll be right back, ok?"

"My back is hurting a little, so don't be gone long ok?" She pleads, a tiny whine underneath the soft whisper of her voice.

"Is it bad enough to call the doctor? Want me to get your mother?"

"No. It's probably those Braxton-Hicks things again. It just hurts. So hurry back, ok?"

"Absolutely, baby. Give me twenty minutes, then I'll be back to rub your back for you. Promise." Kissing her lips, I crouch further down her body to speak directly to her belly. "This is your daddy speaking. Go easy on your mama please."

"Pop! Pop! Open the door!" I yell, as ringing and knocking on the door have not roused my father, or anyone else to answer the door at Dale's house. Only seeing my father's brand new Escalade truck in the driveway, I'm becoming slightly agitated that he has not answered yet, knowing that I was on my way to pick him up. Picking up my phone to call him, while digging through the pocket of my jeans, the unexpected sight of only his booted feet pointed upwards towards the ceiling in the entry foyer, and the rest of his body eclipsed by the wall to the front room, causes a panic to rise in my chest. "Pop! Pop!" I scream, and continue banging on the door.

Trying to gather my wits about me, I pull on my deputy's training. Realizing that coupled with the information Mrs. Greene shared with me about my father's health, and the fact that he said he was not feeling well, I come to the conclusion that my father might not be able to answer the door at all. Fear and dread mobilize me to act, and I begin backing up and rushing my body to blast against the door, trying to break it down. The door doesn't move though, and I'm quickly devolving into a full on panic. Anxiously I reach for my phone, ready to dial 911 when Shane hurries up the front steps of the house.

"Hey, man, what the hell you trying to break the door down for?"

"My dad is in there. I think that's him collapsed there in the foyer. Maybe a heart attack or something!"

"Shit! Hold on, I've got my key."

Opening the door, throwing it open so swiftly it knocks into the side table behind it, Shane rushes inside, with me following closely behind. As I suspected, my dad is passed out, half in the foyer, half in the front room. The only sound in the room is the blare of the speakers in the front room playing one of my father's favorite songs. In an eerily melancholy, yet needy strain, Otis Redding pleads to his lover.

'These arms of mine, they are burning
Burning from wanting you

These arms of mine, they are wanting
Wanting to hold you

And if you,

Would let them, hold you
Oh how grateful I will be

Come on, come on baby
Just be my little woman
Just be my lover, oh…'

"Shane! Call 911! Quick man! Please!" I spit nervously over the sound of the music, checking my dad for his pulse. My hands are sweaty and fidgety though, and with the scattered wild thoughts in my head, I think that I can only pick out a small weak throb in his wrist. Deciding to try his neck, I scramble to place two fingers into the thick bush of his long, white beard covering his neck. My efforts to locate a pulse there seem even more futile, and so I begin CPR, as it's the only thing that comes to my fuzzy brain at the time.

"Come on, Pop! Come on, Pop!" I chant, pressing in the syncopated compressions required by CPR. Recalling the compression to ventilation ratio of 30:2 for adults, I begin to provide my father with mouth to mouth, then check for his pulse again. Finding nothing, I begin the compressions, pressing down on my father's barreled chest once more. In between my pleas that he wake up, and my prayers to God to save my father, I can feel the tears rushing in strong heavy streams down my face, and on to my father's favorite new t-shirt with the words 'Super Grandpa' emblazoned across the front, over a Superman styled 'S'. Michonne gave it to him. She bought one for him and Hershel, and I know he was wearing it today just to make her smile, and to piss off Hershel.

Continuing my rounds of compressions, mouth to mouth, and checking for his pulse, I'm lost in the steps of the process, my heart devolving into a puddle of despair and hopelessness in my chest, when I feel Shane pulling me away from my father's body.

"Paramedics are here. Let them help him now. You did good, Rick. Come on let them help." Standing me up, and wiping the tears and sweat from my reddened face, Shane is telling me it's going to be ok, and holding me up. "You alright, Rick? Rick?" I can hear him, but I don't answer. My lips won't move, and my face is as placid as a wall of stone. I can't tell if I'm still crying, if I'm still chanting, begging, praying. I can't even see anything anymore, with the exception of my father's cowboy boots, still pointing heavenward in the foyer.

"Rick! Rick! Your phone is going off, man! Michonne's mother called, Hershel called. You have a bunch of texts. Do you want me to check them or what?"

"No! No! Nooooo…" That's my mother, wailing, screaming, crying. I can't comfort her right though. I can't answer Shane's frantic questions either. I can hear it all. The beeps of machines tracking someone's life force. The bustle of doctors and nurses rushing about, saving people. None of them is my pops though. He's dead. He's gone. A heart attack stole my father from me. How poetic that I should lose my father the same way that Michonne did. And with that, the cloud in my head leads me to thoughts of my wife. She's not feeling well either. Back hurting. I should call her, tell her that my dad is gone. That my dad is dead. He's dead.

That's what the doctor said when he somberly walked into the waiting room with his head hung low, his hands wringing against themselves. He looked me in the eye and told me my father was dead from a heart attack. That he had coronary heart disease, and that it appears he was on medication, but either it was not working or he wasn't making the amendments to his lifestyle to help him manage it properly. Now he's dead. My dad is dead.

It helps to keep saying it to myself in my head, to try and shock my brain into believing it, and figuring out how to file away and compartmentalize what it means. Dead? My dad is dead. Dead? Yes, Rick, dead.

Shane is here, my best friend. Always my best friend. Well, second best now that I have Michonne. Michonne. She's not feeling well either. Back hurting. I should call her, tell her that my dad is dead, is gone. That my dad is dead. He's dead. Yes, Rick, dead.

"Rick, listen, man. I'm trying to calm your mother over here, but you gotta handle your phone. Something must be up, cause it's blowing up, man! Check in with Michonne, ok? Can you do that?" Shane asks, eyes rolling over the tight set of my features. His hand is on my back, and he's hugging my mother with his other arm, trying to calm her down. They called her because technically they are still married, and she's listed on his Red Cross blood donor card in his wallet as his next of kin. So she's here. Crying. But I don't care. Her tears are empty, affected, void of true emotion. It's Ellen's act. She's always played this role so well, the sad victim, but the truth is…she's empty. She fought my father every day, tooth and nail for what's his, mine, his brother Robert's, Morgan's, Jeff's. His real family. The people who loved and supported him. Not the one person who should have taken care of him, but who instead preyed on him.

No, I don't care about her vapid shrieking. Seated in this uncomfortable plastic waiting room chair, my eyes are focused on my open hands hanging helplessly between my legs. I have my father's hands, he always said that. Long, slender fingers. But strong and nimble. He could always fix anything. Me too. I have his hands, and I can fix almost anything. Just like my dad. Not today though. I couldn't fix my dad. But, Michonne always teases me and says that the real reason she loves me is because I can fix anything. Even her heart. What a sweet thing to say. She doesn't know it, maybe she does, but my pretty girl, she fixed me first. I love her more than my own life. Michonne… She's not feeling well. Back hurting. I should call her, tell her that my dad is dead, is gone. That my dad is dead. He's dead. Yes, Rick, dead.

"Rick! Come on, man! Listen to me. Here is your phone. Check your messages. We're gonna leave ok? There is nothing else you can do here tonight. I'm gonna take you and your mother home. You have to check your phone, man! Here!" Shoving my glowing phone into my hands, Shane begins ushering my mother away from the secluded waiting room. Feeling the weight of dread and sorrow anchoring my weak bones, tiring me more than the spastic crying jags I've experienced since finding my father, I focus my red eyes on the screen. There are 30 texts, and 20 missed calls. What the fuck?

Michonne: Rick I don't feel good. Where are you?

Michonne: Hey, my back is killing me dude! Where's my massage man?

Mrs. Greene: Rick! Michonne's in labor. Call me back!

Mrs. Greene: Hershel is driving us to the hospital. Meet us there!

Mrs. Greene: Did you get my messages? Come to the hospital here in KC Rick. Michonne had the baby. She needs you now!

Snapping out of my fugue state, my eyes focus on the words on my screen, and all that matters, the thing that gets my feet moving are the ones that say: Michonne had the baby. She needs you now!

Running. Yeah, I'm running. My boots are clacking against the hard grey floors of the hospital, and I'm not even sure where I'm going, I just know my wife and my baby are here. Somewhere. And…she needs me. Now! Momentarily forgetting the sadness of losing my father, I tuck it away, deep, deep. Somewhere I can find it though, still access that truth. To pull it out later and feel the stinging purge of anguish over my loss. But now? Not now. I stop a nurse who's ambling by, moseying about as though she has nowhere to go, no lives to save, no babies to deliver.

"Ma'am! Ma'am! My wife came in today; she was in labor. I need to find her."

"Um, she would be upstairs on three. Labor and Delivery. You can take those elevators over there."

"Thank you!" I take off running again, but I don't have the patience for an elevator, so I rush up the two flights of stairs to get to her. To Michonne. Hurrying from the dark stairwell, back in to the bright, sterile lights of the main floors I find a huddle of people all gathered around the main desk. Instantly a flush of coldness stops me where I stand. I know these people and they all look sad, unhappy. None of the joy of a new birth is evident in the drooped shoulders, or the frowns marring the faces of those gathered.

"Rick. Rick, come here, son." Hershel is approaching, and oh God, his face. His face is like mine was a while ago. Placid. Set in stone. Worry is dipping his brows sternly between his clouded eyes. "Come over here, son. Where have you been? The baby is here, but Michonne…" Reaching out to me, he grabs a hold of my elbow and begins leading me over to the group. Sasha is here. Spencer, Maggie, Beth, Mrs. Greene.

"Honey, Rick. The baby is here!" Michonne's mother exclaims, though there is some happiness in her voice, in her words, the look on her face tells another story. Clad in a pair of green scrubs, and a cap, she latches her gaze on to mine.

Looking away from the practiced pensiveness in her eyes, and the cloudy sorrow in Hershel's I begin scanning the halls, turning, spinning, inspecting the rooms nearby, looking for my wife. My Michonne. My baby. "Michonne! Michonne!" I scream, needing to see her. I need her to tell me where she is so I can see her, my baby. I keep recalling Mrs. Greene's text message. Michonne had the baby. She needs you now! "Where is she? Where's Michonne? Tell me!"

"She's here. Michonne had a lot of back pain, and went into labor. In the car she started bleeding. A lot." Calmly, Mrs. Greene holds my face steady in both of her hands, while she delivers the news that threatens to break me, to split me in two. "He was trying to come very fast. We got her to the hospital, and God love that little bugger, he held on and came via c-section because of the bleeding. But, Michonne kept bleeding, and they couldn't get it to stop. She began passing clots, and they were massaging her uterus to try and get it to stop. But, she needs surgery, possibly a transfusion. She's still in the OR, but… They wanted to know if they can't stop the bleeding should they do a hysterectomy. I told them that's your call. Not mine. So you need to get yourself together, son, and speak to the surgeon. He'll be back shortly before they begin. Michonne needs you to be strong for her, and for your son, Rick. If she's going to make it, she needs you to do that. Because of the blood loss she's in a bad way right now. This can be very dangerous."

"What? No, no, no!" Thrusting my hands to my eyes, I use the backs of my thumbs to stem the rushing flow of tears. "Oh nooooo! No!" The strength of my desperate emotions animates my feet into a quick pace away from the crowd. From their prying, wondering eyes, full of pity. I let my hands brush the curls of my hair away from my forehead. I've been growing it a little longer for her. For Michonne. She likes it this way. Says she likes the curls. To run her fingers through them. When we make love, she pulls them so tight sometimes it stings. It's a good sting. A pleasurable pain. Not like this pain, with its searing heat lashing against my tender flesh. Bringing forth the river of tears that redden my eyes and stain my already scarlet tinged face.

Catching up with me, Mrs. Greene slows my frantic walk, and takes hold of both of my arms. Wiping her fingers, softly and gently across my eyes, over my cheeks, she swipes away the salty rivulets. "Listen to me, Rick. I need you to listen now. It's called a placental abruption. There is nothing either of you could have done to prevent this. Sometimes it just happens. It was sudden, and it means that the placenta somehow separated from its attachment to the uterus. Right now, the baby is strong. Your son is fine. But we need to focus on Michonne because she did lose a lot of blood, Rick, and she could experience failure of her kidneys or other organs. We don't know what damage is done yet, so let's just get ourselves together and prepare to help our girl fight. Ok? Look at me, Rick. Ok?"

"I can't…"

"You can. I'll help you. We will help you. This is it, Rick. This is being a husband. This is being a father."

"Mr. Grimes?"

Tears continue. I can't stop them, and Mrs. Greene's fingers can't clear them away fast enough. My heart is thumping, racing strong and hard against my chest. Back and forth, my restless feet carry my scared body, my battered emotions, across the floor. How much more can I take today?

"Mr. Grimes? The cesarean is complete, they will be wheeling your son to the nursery in a moment and you can see him. But I need to worry about your fiancée now. Do we have permission for the blood transfusion, and to perform a hysterectomy should the need arise? If so, sign here." A man, tall, white, another frowning face. Another face set to stone. Emotionless. Pushing a clipboard out towards me I take tentative hold of it with my fingers. Long, slender fingers. I have my father's hands that can fix anything. I can fix anything. Can I fix this?

I look to Mrs. Greene, the woman who is my real mother now. "What do I do?" I sniffle, lip trembling, a wounded howl threatening to escape instead of the broken, slight bass left to my voice. "Tell me what to do."

"Tell them yes to the transfusion, and yes to the hysterectomy. They need to do whatever to save her life, Rick. That's what's important. Ok?"

"Yes. Yes, ok. Yes, you have my permission." Wiping away at my nose, dripping with snot, with the back of my hand, I use my hands, hands like my father's to sign. To try and fix this.

"Ok. We will update you all when surgery is complete. There is a chance that there may be damage to her organs. More blood loss than anticipated. The hysterectomy will mean that she can not carry children again. But we don't know that yet. I need to get back in with her. We'll know more soon."

The next thing I know my legs give out on me, and I'm in another uncomfortable plastic chair, looking down on my hands. My hands are like my father's hands. They can fix anything but this. Or my father. They couldn't fix him either. My father is dead. He's dead. Yes, Rick, dead. And now I have a son. A son. Just like Michonne said. Just like my father said. I wonder if my son has my hands?

Chapter 19 – Michonne

"He's a beautiful baby. In the nursery those ladies were swooning over him. They all wanted to hold him. He's a good looking boy. But, uh, he doesn't really look like I expected, Michonne. Blue eyes, my eyes, my nose. Lots of hair though, curly like mine. He's damn near white. Your mom said he might get a little color to him, at least I hope he does. Beth said she didn't know a black lady could have a white son. I didn't either honestly, but regardless he's our boy. I hope you don't mind but they said we needed to put a name on the birth certificate today, so I did. I, uh, I named him Carl Rance Grimes. Like you and my dad discussed. Cause, well, my pops is gone, Michonne. He's dead. We can name the next one after your dad, ok? Don't be mad."

Clearing his throat, I can hear Rick's somber voice fade. It's faint, and quiet, and with me not being fully conscious it's almost like a dream. Is this a dream? Did he say his father was dead? That Rance was dead? My eyes are closed, and my head is foggy. Everything is muffled. When I try to open my eyes, the lids are so heavy and only allow a sliver of light in. The room is dimly lit, with blurred sepia toned edges. Like watching a movie underwater. My limbs are heavy, weighed down by some unknown force.

Rick. In his voice I can hear something. Despair. And for that I want to reach for him, touch him, console him. Rance is dead?

Little whines, fussing, whimpering mewls. My baby. I want to hold him in my arms. Count his fingers and toes. Kiss his brow, breast feed him. I need to connect to him. To my…boy? Did he say it's a boy? Carl Rance Grimes. I knew it. I knew it was a boy. Rance and I knew it. He called it. But now he's gone. He's dead? Again. My dad is dead.

"Um. I need you to wake up, pretty girl. This, this is more than I can do alone. I can't...not by myself. I need my wife…and Carl needs his mama. You are the only family I have left, Michonne, and I'm trying. I promise I am. I- I fed Carl this morning, and man can this boy eat." An anemic laugh breaks through his words, softening the melancholy laced timbre of his voice. "I know you want to breast feed him, but he was hollering for milk so the nurses said it was ok to give him a bottle until you wake up. I know you will… I know you will wake up soon. The doctor said you should – you will. Don't know when, but you will. I won't lose you and my pop. I won't-"

"Mr. Grimes, excuse me, but do you want us to take the baby, sir? We can take him back to the nursery for you. Let you get some rest, go home and get yourself cleaned up?" Another voice says. A feminine one that is further away than Rick's, which feels close. So close that I can feel him move against the side of the bed. Feel him touching my hand, my brow, my lips.

"Naw. I got him. He should be here when his mama wakes up. I want her to see him. Him to see her. They've already lost so much time…"

"Sir, she may not wake up any time soon. The doctor told you that she lost a lot of blood. She's very weak, and might need more time to come out of it, to wake up."

"Then when she does, my son and I will be here for her." Rick spits in a terse, abrupt manner, dismissing her helpfulness. And I hate this. Even deep down, senses submerged under whatever drug they gave me, whatever illness necessitated this dense fog, I can hear the tension and pain in his voice. Hear how he's lashing out like a wounded animal, unable to recognize help when he sees it.

"Ok, sir, I'm sorry. I'll leave you alone then." The door closes, and with its click, Rick releases a tired, weary breath.

Hearing him shuffle, move away from the bed, I can't quite make out what he's doing from the dimly lit split of my eyelids, but I can hear his boots clopping on the floor. Click. Tap. Click. Tap. He's pacing. When Rick starts pacing it means that he is stressed, but he's humming so he must be trying to calm himself, or maybe the baby. My husband is not the best singer, but many nights he helped me cope with heartburn, or sleeplessness, by slowly rocking, swaying with me, and humming. Never fully singing a song, but humming different tunes. Sometimes old country ones that I've never heard of, but often a few old R&B or soul songs crept into his repertoire.

The longer he paces the easier it becomes for me to pick out the song he's humming. It's Otis Redding I believe. These Arms of Mine. It's one of my parents' golden oldies, and the emotion in the singer's voice always made me feel like he meant every word rising from his diaphragm, from his very soul. And though Rick sings no actual words, I have the same sense right now. His burning need is making him blue. I share the sentiment. My arms are yearning to hold him as well. And we are so symbiotically tied to each other, our emotions so heavily tethered, that his distress is mine. Even though my senses are dulled, I can literally feel the weight of his sadness, his grief. Like the caul covered grip of the grim reaper that surreptitiously snatched our fathers from this world, the dreary shadow of death would seek to cloud our hearts and minds with despair. We could share this dread. Wallow in the comfort of the expected grief and mourning period that normally follows death. Or we could fight past it and dance in the warm glow of life, the love and appreciation of our son's birth. Leave death in the dank, musty corners of our hearts and minds that hold the memories and the love for our fathers, and survive. Just survive somehow.

So I decide to fight. For the three of us. For Rick. For Carl. For myself. I make up my mind that Rick won't suffer alone any longer. Carl won't cry for his mother, and find her unresponsive to his call. Clawing, scratching, internally screaming, I beg my limbs to move, my lids to open, my mouth to speak. To stop the pain that's threatening to enclose my husband in never ending grief as he wades through the muck and grime of his sadness. Click. Tap. Click. Tap. He's pacing and humming. I'm fighting. And finally, through the tight closure of my throat, across the sandpiper dryness of my lips and tongue, one word escapes. "Rick."

"Michonne?"

Trying to lick my chapped lips with a tongue dryer than dirt, to prepare them for more words, I say his name again, along with another that brings me such immense joy, that no power exists strong enough to stop me from saying it. "Rick. Carl."

"Awe, pretty girl, you're awake!" Rick rushes over to me, scrambling to hold on to the very small bundle in his arms, while also launching his body on to mine. Kissing all over my face, with a series of firm, bruising pecks, his lips are also soft and careful. More careful than the vigor of his swift movements would appear to be. "Michonne…damn… you- you're awake." Rubbing his free hand across my face, he's removing the wetness that mingled over my cheeks from his tears and apparently mine. Leaning over my face, the tip of his nose pressed to mine, his hair tumbling over onto my forehead, the relief in his distraught eyes speaks volumes.

"Rick. Carl."

"I'm here. We're here. I wanted him with me when you woke up. Look at him, Michonne."

Leaning the squirming blankets that cozily comfort my son toward me so that I can view his face, I witness the most beautiful sight I've ever seen. The little round visage of my son. Rick beams proudly between my face, and the small barely tan one of our boy, Carl.

"Carl."

"That's right, this is Carl. You heard me talking to you? Telling you his name?"

Nodding, I begin to cough and lightly gasp at the dryness of my mouth.

"You need some water? Hold on. Lemme get you some water, and call the nurse to come check you out. You feel ok? You in pain?"

Shaking my head a little to let him know I'm not in any real discomfort, I continue to scrutinize my son, and Rick. My poor husband. I can tell that he has not slept, as evidenced by the red rim of his ocean blue eyes, that are heavily ridden by dark bags. By the stark paleness of his normally tanned skin. And he's wearing the same t-shirt and jeans from yesterday. My birthday. Carl's birthday.

Placing the baby in a bassinet next to my bed, Rick simultaneously presses a buzzer behind the bed to call for assistance, and grabs a pitcher of water. Swiftly he locates the button to raise the bed behind my head, elevating me to a seated position. A quick burst of tightness and pain radiates from my abdomen, and causes me to grimace as Rick takes a hold of my elbow, and places his arm around my back to lift and help me get comfortable in this new position. After pouring me a cup, he's now holding a straw to my lips, and lovingly rubbing his hands through the short twists in my hair. The beginnings of dreadlocks that I decided to grow during my pregnancy. He continues with long, easy strokes, the pads of his fingers, his hands fixing me and massaging the stress in my scalp away, the same way I have done for him numerous times.

On Rick's face is a tiny placid smile. A show of happiness. Pride. But the tense twitch at the corner of his lips shows the tenuousness of it, how easily it might falter, and fall into a frown to match the steady stream of swollen, fat tears that drop from his eyes. In this moment I am reminded by what I heard from him while I was under. Rance is dead. He's gone. He's dead. And my heart can't reconcile the idea of it, but my head knows that I must. Why? Because right now Rick can't. He's trying. God knows he's trying. That handsome smile of his shows that he's trying to do what he always does. To be strong for me. To take care of me. To bury his own pain for us. Me and Carl. Our son. But, that twitch, that little fault in the perfection of his beautiful face is telling. He's hurting. My sweet husband is falling apart inside. No. I won't let him go through this alone. I love him. I love them both. Rick. Carl. And Rick needs to be free to mourn, to be sad, to cry, to scream, to rage. To feel every single tearing rip of his soul. And to know that he can do that, free of my judgment, and supported by my own strength and love for him.

Instead of continuing to soak up his soothing affection, I softly stop his hand from stroking my hair, and place a kiss to his palm, guiding him to take a seat in the chair faithfully posted next to my bed. My movements are not smooth. They are jerky and erratic; I assume because of the medication I'm on. But, I attempt to keep them in sync with my brain, driving them to be of some help to my husband. To comfort him. Because I know this pain. The hollow, twist and wrench of it. The eviscerating crumble of your heart, knowing that your father is gone. That a piece of where you came from no longer exists in this world. It's familiar, this pain. We are dear old friends. But it is useful to me. I know what to do with it this time. How to protect my husband from becoming collateral damage from its savage and vicious blaze.

Watching my movements, it's as if Rick is holding his breath, waiting for me to fall apart and for him to have to step in and take care of me. And why wouldn't he? He's done it so many times before. Took care of me and propped me up. Made whatever is wrong in my life, between us, better. Sitting in the chair, with his upper body turned my way Rick is staring at me, expectantly waiting for me to do, or say something.

Assuredly, I raise my hands to his cheeks, and with a twinge of pain lean towards him and pull his face, his lips to mine. Placing my lips over his, I utter a whispered command. "Breathe."

And, he does. Dear God he does. In a wail that shows how inconsolably wounded he is, Rick releases a rush of his warm breath over my lips, accompanied by the continued free fall of his tears, escaping the glistening ocean of his eyes. Angling his upper body to lay on mine, his weary bones and muscles relax, as he lays on me, gifting me with the opportunity to help withstand and bear just a piece of the terrifying anguish that has plagued his soul. Wrapping my arms around his heavy torso, my hands rub over his back, his shoulders, up over his nape, to rub through his hair. To use my fingers to fix him, the same as he has always done for me.

Holding him to my breast, comforting my husband in my arms, I feel empowered and strengthened by his willingness to let me take care of him. I'm his to love, honor, and protect. But the same is true for him. Rick is mine, and when I said those vows to him, I meant every single one. Rick belongs to me.

"Ma'am, Ms. Kelly. You're awake?" The nurse from earlier returns. I can tell it's her by the same wary voice she used with Rick earlier, she's using with me right now, as her eyes suspiciously peruse the way Rick's large body is unceasingly draped across my own.

"Yes." I rasp out in a calm whisper, my throat and mouth less dry now with the water Rick provided to me.

"How- how do you feel? May I check your vitals?"

"Sure. Yes. On my other side though. Please."

"Oh, ok."

Rounding to the other side of the bed as requested, she checks my pulse, and blood pressure, all while Rick remains steadfast in my arms, his breathing no longer labored and distressed.

"Your vitals are good. How do your stitches feel? Any pain in your belly? Maybe he shouldn't lay on you like that just yet." She cautiously advises.

"It's fine. I have a little pain in my abdomen. Can you tell me what happened please?" I ask, continuing to stroke through Rick's hair.

"Sure. The doctor will want to come in and examine you further, to fully explain. But, you came in yesterday, in labor, heavily bleeding. Your baby was successfully delivered via c-section, and you had to receive a blood transfusion. You lost a great deal of blood, so you are probably going to feel very weak for a while. The doctor thought a hysterectomy might be necessary to stop the bleeding, but it wasn't. Aside from the stitches from your delivery, you should be fine I think. The doctor will tell you for sure though. Let me go page her."

"Thanks. Um, my family?"

"Yes! Oh! They are all camped out in the waiting room. They have not gone home all night. I will let them know you are awake. Your fiancé stayed here all night as well. He's kept the baby with him. I can see why he's tired. Would you like for me to take the baby to the nursery?"

"No. I want to see him and try to feed him when I can."

"Ok. Please don't try to lift him though. You won't be able to lift or bend for a while. The doctor can explain when she comes in." Turning to leave, she is immediately rushed by the dominating presence of my mother entering my room with Hershel following closely behind.

"I was just coming to get you, Dr. Greene."

"No need, I heard at the nurse's desk that my daughter was awake, so here I am. Well look at you, baby girl!"

Hurrying over to me, her warm chocolate eyes first land on Rick, then rise to my face. "He's had a rough go of it, Michy. Did he tell you?" Stroking her caring fingers over the apples of my cheeks, she leans over me to place a small kiss there, trying not to disturb Rick who appears to be sleeping now if his measured snores are any indication.

"That his dad is dead. He didn't tell me what happened though. How? When? I feel groggy like I missed a lot, but at the same time, nothing. And the baby is here, I have a son. Please tell me what happened."

"When he went to pickup his father he found him passed out. Heart attack. He tried to revive him with CPR, but he was already gone, honey. I guess at the same time you were going into labor, delivering this little angel. Your birthday has always been a hell of a day, little girl."

"Oh, Mom, how awful. I can't believe he's gone. On my birthday? On the same day Carl was born? Rick missed it…"

"And he'll be ok with that. You have to help him be ok with that. He can't feel guilt over something he had no control over, Michonne. Rick is a good man, who does the right thing. He was where he was, and what matters is where he is now. No hysterectomy means more babies, and that means he has a chance to be there for the next one, and however many more follow."

"You're right." Looking down at Rick, then over at Hershel, seated in a chair near the foot of the bed holding my baby in his arms, still wrapped tightly in his blankets.

"You did good, Michonne. You and Rick did good. This is a fine boy you have here. Rance would be so proud of you both. He was proud. And he loved you guys so much. Talked about you incessantly. Pissed me off a little if you want me to be honest." Hershel says, tone wistful and light as he carefully cradles my son, his grandson, in his caring arms. "Carl Rance Grimes. He resembles Rick when he was born. He's gonna look like Rance too. Have his heart, his fire, kindness. His grandpa is still here. A part of that tough son of a bitch's spirit will live in Rick, and in this boy for the rest of their lives. And with you. You were his daughter as much as you are mine. Don't you ever forget that, Michonne."

"I won't. I loved him too. I'm sad that he didn't get to meet his grandson. He was just getting to live his life on his own terms." Sadly, I swipe another rapid rush of tears from my cheeks.

"Don't you ever believe that. Rance was no victim, Michonne. He was human, yes. Made a lot of bad choices. But he lived. He saw the world, smoked his cigars, went to war, had children, friends, people who loved him as hard as he loved them. Ellen may have ruled over one part of him, the part he let her have, but there was so much more to him. I've known him most of my life, and you better believe there was more to that boot wearing redneck than what you saw. Rick is so very much like him sometimes it's amazing. Every good piece of Rance Grimes is right here, and right there." He pointed to Carl, and then to Rick. "And he wouldn't want sadness right now. This family is going to pull together, celebrate his life, and keep living. That's what Rance fought for, and that's what we're gonna do. Ok? And we're gonna all have to help Rick get through this together. His brother will be here from Japan on Friday for the funeral and the reading of the will. So, you get well, so you and my grandson can come home, and let's get to the business of living." Sounding very much like my mother did when my own father died, the love I have for my step-father, my father, Hershel, swells and blooms in my chest, threatening to overflow into another round of tears.

"I hate to ask, but how is his mother? Does she know?" I wonder aloud, only slightly interested in the actual answer.

"Yeah that bitch knows. She was apparently here last night with Rick down in Emergency, crying and wailing like she gave a damn about poor Rance." My mother muses, seemingly completely disinterested in sympathy for Rick's mother. If I'm being honest, I feel just about the same as my mother does regarding any concern for Ellen.

"Oh. Does she… does she know about the baby being born? About Carl?"

"I don't know, but for her sake I would suggest she keep a distance from my grandson. Matter of fact, Hershel let me hold my grandbaby, you're over there hogging him."

"Mona, I just got him." He playfully complains, but follows his wife's directions and hands him over as requested.

"Beautiful isn't he, Hershel? A little light, but he might get a tad darker. Maybe." With love my mother's soft eyes roam over her first grandchild.

"He is very fair. I didn't expect that. Thought he might have a little more color. Kind of like his great-uncle Robert. Guess genetics is funny that way."

"It is. And it doesn't matter. Your Nanny Mona loves you, Carl. Whether you are white as snow, or dark as coal. So many people love you, sweetpea. You're such a wonderful little blessing." She whispers, speaking the positive energy of love and life to him. Swiping her hand over the thick, chestnut curls covering his head, her gaze remains latched his form. Increasing his squirm at the feel of her ministrations, Carl begins to wiggle. In a matter of moments, completely unexpected, his little eyes pop open and he fixes them on my mother. As if her well of love for him could grow any deeper, she begins to laugh, and cry at the same time, holding my son even closer to her bosom.

"Mom, let me hold him. I haven't held him yet. I want to see him." I request, reaching out towards him, itching to get my hands on my son.

"Ok, but you will have to move your sleepy fiancé first. Poor boy."

"Rick, honey." Kissing the silky strands at the top of his head, I try to rouse him from his deep slumber.

"Hm."

"I need to hold the baby. Can you sit up for a moment? Are you ok?"

"Huh?" He sits up and looks around, blinking away the sleep from his eyes. Surveying the room, and finding my parents have now joined us, with my mother holding the baby, a tiny ghost of a smile animates his lips, tugging them upwards at the corners. "Hey. Hi. Sorry, I fell asleep for a moment."

"It's ok. You've had a rough night. Matter of fact, we'll run home and get you some clothes and things to change in to, allow you to freshen up, and spend some time with your family. Come on, Mona."

"Take care, guys. We will be back in about an hour." My mother hands me the baby, then bends over and kisses Rick on the cheek, as Hershel gives him a pat on the back.

Looking down into the tiny face of my boy I can feel my heart growing with more love than I ever thought possible. He is absolutely beautiful. With a round face and apple cheeks like my own, my son, Carl, is really a spitting image of Rick. Releasing the snugly wrapped blankets from his little body, Carl begins to kick his arms and legs, flailing them as if enjoying the freedom from the tight restriction. In a powder blue onesie t-shirt that matches the shocking blue of his eyes, with the sleeves folded over his miniature hands, Carl puckers his little pink lips and begins to place his covered fist into his mouth.

Wanting to inspect him, to confirm the perfection of my son that I'm already convinced of, I remove his hands from his mouth, and uncover them. Counting off ten long, slender fingers, I run my hands down his legs and repeat my count of each of his diminutive toes. Next I raise his little body in my hands, marveling at how long and thin he is. Bringing him to my face, I breathe in the powdery scent of his neck, and the milk laced smell of his sweet breath. Clutching him to me, I'm in awe of his majesty, and once again the tears begin to fall. How is it possible that I have any more to shed? Laughing, I admit to myself how grateful I am that at least this time they are not in sadness, but in appreciation for the gift of this tiny precious life that I hold in my hands.

This whole time, Rick stands next to the bed, his hands on his hips, watching as I officially meet our son.

"Rick, he's perfect. Thank you for this. For him. For everything. I know you are hurting right now, and I'm so sorry for that. But look at him. Come here, sweetheart. Look at what we've done. We did this. Me and you, Rick."

"We did good. This is all so bittersweet, and I wish I could be happy about our son, without feeling sad about my dad. It's a fight that I keep feeling like I'm losing, and I'm tired, Michonne. I am. And, I let you down because I wasn't there when you needed me. I'm sorry-"

"No, Rick, don't do that. Don't apologize for that. You were exactly where you needed to be. Doing exactly what you were supposed to be doing. What matters is that you are here now, with us, and we are going to get through all of this together. I promise you." Echoing my mother's words, I deliver them to Rick with nothing but honesty behind them.

"Every time I close my eyes I think about it. See him laying there on the floor, alone, wearing that 'Super Grandpa' t-shirt you gave him. And I tried to save my dad, Michonne. CPR, mouth to mouth. He was already gone according to the doctor. I just hope he knows that I loved him, love him still. That I'm sorry that he's gone. That he never got to meet Carl."

"Baby, it's normal to think about it. It just happened. And it's normal for it to hurt, even though you want to be happy about the baby. I want you to allow yourself to experience every single one of those emotions. Take your time, sweetheart. I remember how this feels. But, I'm here to help you through. I loved your dad, he was like my dad too. And I'm going to miss him dearly. But I remember my therapist telling me when my dad died, that I have to take all of those good memories, and keep them with me every day. Feed on them. Allow them to sustain me and carry me past death, to keep living. We have to keep living, Rick. Otherwise we are throwing away every wonderful thing about your father's life. He was a kind, loving man. His goodness is still here, in you. In Carl."

"And in you, pretty girl."

"That's right. And in me. We'll get through this. In time."

"Hold his head, Beth. You have to support it like I did." Maggie informs, educating Beth on the proper way to hold Carl. Seated on the couch in the front room, Maggie and Beth are keeping an eye on him as Rick and I get dressed, and prepare for his father's funeral.

"I got it, Maggie. I'm not a little kid you know." Beth huffs, exasperated with Maggie's overbearing presence hovering over her while she takes her turn with the baby.

"Well then support his head like it, Beth. Sheesh!" Maggie grumbles, watching to make sure Beth follows through as instructed.

"It's ok, Beth. Just be careful with him. Ok?" I offer, attempting to ease the tension between them. Since Carl and I came home from the hospital, Beth and Maggie have been extremely helpful with him. I am not really supposed to carry him up and down the stairs, or bend, so they have both been falling over themselves to be available to do it for me. Even when Rick is around and clearly capable.

"I will, Michy. I am always careful with him." Beth sarcastically asserts, only removing her eyes from the baby in her arms for a quick second, to roll them at Maggie. She has been taking her job as an aunt very seriously, and is quite enamored with Carl. With how small he is. Dressing him. Watching me feed him. For her, I suppose he is like a living doll, though her devotion to him stops at changing diapers, which she always offers to Maggie. After I bathed and fed him this morning, they took it upon themselves to get him dressed for the funeral in a lemon crème yellow jumper and socks. A ray of sunshine on an otherwise somber day.

Dressed in a white sheath dress, and gold flats, I pull my growing dreads back from my face with a bejeweled headband, and check myself in the mirror. Though it initially struck me as odd that Rick's father would request in his will that his funeral be a party, and that no one wear black, after giving it some thought it really does make total sense. Congruent with the man that I spent the last couple of months getting to know, Rance Grimes was someone who loved a good time, and abhorred pity. He didn't want it, and often when he spoke of his life's struggles, mentioned that it was useless.

"We about ready to go?" Rick asks as he descends from upstairs, shuffling the soles of his brown wingtips over the hardwood of the floors. In a tan colored suit, with a crisp, white, collared shirt underneath, Rick looks as handsome as I've ever seen him. Having taken a leave from work and no longer keep himself as staunchly groomed as he does when he's on duty, his hair is growing out, curling back from his face, and around his ears and nape, though still tapered close on the sides and back. His beard is trimmed low, and dark, thicker and longer than just his customary weekend scruff.

Taking a seat on the couch next to where Beth is still holding a sleeping Carl, he leans back into the cushions, his head dropped back, taking a brief moment to rest his tired body. We have been home from the hospital for a day or so now, and with the adjustment of a new baby and his erratic sleep schedule, Rick has also been unable to capture any true moments of restfulness. I suspect that he has been getting only a few hours of sleep a day, closing his eyes here and there. Resting and waking on Carl's schedule, helping with feedings and diaper changes, as well as working with his brother and uncle Robert to plan his father's funeral, it has all seemingly burned him out. Physically and emotionally. It's easy to tell. From the bloodshot red shocking through the whites of his often squinted eyes, the droop of his strong shoulders, to the slow measured pacing of his careful breaths, Rick needs a break.

Heading over to him, I stand in between his widespread legs. "Carl and I are ready when you are, baby. I just need to grab a few bottles of pumped milk just in case, then we can leave."

"Oh, I'll grab some bottles and stuff out of the refrigerator for you guys." Maggie offers, jumping up from the couch to head off to the kitchen.

"And I'll take Carl and get a blanket, just in case he gets cold." Beth adds, rising with Carl held tightly to her chest, then walking gingerly up the stairs.

"They're so helpful. I don't know what I'm going to do without them when we leave for Boston." I muse, a little lump forming in my throat at the thought of being so far away from home, without my little sisters.

Lifting his head, Rick glances up at me for a moment, rubbing at his tired eyes. "Yeah. They are good girls." Sitting up, he runs the flat palms of his hands up the backs of my legs, and under my dress, grabbing a firm handful of my ass. "You look beautiful, pretty girl. I like this dress."

"You clean up pretty well yourself, Mr. Grimes."

"I wanna talk to you for a moment, while we have a little time alone before the funeral."

"Ok, what's up?" Concern angling my brows into a frown, I move to try and sit next to Rick on the couch. Instead, with his hands still on my bottom, he urges me down on to his lap, with my legs resting across his.

"Where were you going?"

"To sit on the couch. Whatever you wanna talk about sounds serious."

"It is, but I want you right here with me. Ok?"

"Ok." I sheepishly reply, rolling my eyes away from the intensity of Rick's azure blue gaze.

"Listen, I know you are excited to go to Boston in September. To start school. But, um, I might not be able to join you and Carl immediately. I might have to come a little later."

"What?" I question, disbelief causing my voice to rise with obvious agitation.

"I was speaking to Dale yesterday, and he said that he was going over the will, preparing for the reading today. And looking at my father's finances, everything... Settling all of this between my brother, my uncle Robert, Morgan, and my mother might take longer than initially anticipated. They weren't fully divorced yet, and she could contest some of his decisions. Which would mean that I would have to be here to deal with that. I can't get back and forth to court here, if I'm in Boston."

"I don't understand…"

"I don't either, not fully. Dale said it should all make better sense today."

"Oh. Ok. So, like Carl and I would go on our own?"

"Maybe. Just for a while. I don't know. Let's see what happens today, but we need to be prepared either way."

"Hm." I want to cry. I want to get angry and scream. But, I can't. It wouldn't even make sense for me to get mad at Rick, over something that once again, his mother would be the cause of. All of this is completely out of his control, so how can I blame him? I don't want him to see the disappointment I'm feeling though, so I try to harness any negative energy I can feel brewing and shove it down. Stomp it to dust underneath the heel of my love for this man. The man that I would sacrifice everything for.

"Hey, pretty girl. Don't make that face. I shouldn't have said anything… The thought of you guys being away from me for any amount of time kills me. Physically hurts me. But, I know that I can't let this drama with my mother keep you from doing what you need to do. Thousands of people try to get into Harvard, and thousands are turned away. But, you are special, Michonne, that's why they chose you. That's why I chose you. I can't be selfish and ask you to lose out on that. We'll figure this all out, I promise you. Can you hang in there with me until we do?" With a little pinch to my chin, Rick turns my face towards his, and captures my lips. Kissing me with an earnest fervor that causes butterflies to flutter through my chest, and my head to feel light, I clutch at the lapels of his suit jacket to anchor myself against the onslaught of his passion.

"Are we good, baby?"

"Absolutely, Rick. You're right, something with your mother, and your father's finances is probably going to happen. And that might affect our Harvard plans. But, like you said, we can wait and see. Let's not be premature and make something happen, worry about something that might not even occur. We can find a way to make whatever does happen work for us. And even if it's not going to Harvard, I'm still with you." I nod, trying to convince Rick of the truth of my words.

Staring at me with so much relief and adoration in his eyes, Rick gives me a slowly spreading smile, then reaches his hand around to cup the back of my neck and bring my lips back to his. Before we have a chance to kiss again though, there is a knock at the door.

"I'll get it." I groan, as Rick carefully helps me up from his lap, mindful of the stitches from my c-section. Pulling my dress back down over my thighs, then smoothing it down over my bottom, I try to fix myself before I answer the door.

Swatting me lightly across the behind with his large palm, Rick tosses his chin my way. "Hurry back."

"Hush. Go upstairs and get Carl from Beth please. She's probably up there changing his clothes again. She treats that baby like he's a little doll or something."

"Alright."

As Rick heads upstairs, I hustle over to the front door, hearing the doorbell ring out again, announcing that our visitor is impatient for someone to answer.

"Ok, ok… Mike?"

"Hey, hi, Michonne."

"What…? What are you doing here?" I stutter, completely surprised to find him standing on my porch in a pair of khaki shorts and a red golf shirt, holding a large gift bag in his hands. Seemingly more handsome than I remember, Mike cuts a striking figure. The sun is high in the sky behind him, bathing him in its bright light, and showcasing the gorgeous dark cast of his mocha skin, his masculine features.

Sporting a newly grown out beard, that appetizingly frames his full lips, he nervously licks his tongue across them before jutting his hand out awkwardly towards me. "Your mother told my mother about the baby. I brought you this."

"Oh! Thank you… this is a surprise." I answer, accepting the gift bag from his hand, which casually brushes against my own in the exchange. Feeling the spark of familiarity spring between us, I jerk my hand back a bit, shocked at the occurrence. "It's not really a good time right now…"

"I understand. Like I said, your mother told mine about you giving birth the other day. That you're getting married. I just wanted to congratulate you, and say goodbye."

"Goodbye?"

"It's been awhile since we've spoken right?" He laughs. The movement causes him to brightly smile, which instantly causes me to smile in return. Again I'm caught off guard by my reaction to him. By the familiar comfortability I find in his presence.

Checking behind me, I know this is not a good time, I don't want this to further sour Rick's mood on an already difficult day, but something in me can't dismiss Mike so easily. There are years of history and friendship that will forever bind Mike and I, and though we have been estranged, I do feel an unexpected need to once again tap into that connection.

"Um, yeah it has been. I'm being rude, come in for a moment. Let's talk." Stepping back, I lift my hand and gesture for Mike to enter.

"You sure? I didn't come here to make trouble, Michy. I promise I didn't." Mike searches my face, my eyes, for some inkling that I believe his assertion.

"It's ok. Just for a moment. Rick is upstairs getting the baby. It's a bad day for him, his father just passed away. The funeral is today, so we are leaving out soon."

"Ah. I'm sorry to hear that. I'm not the guy's biggest fan, ya know. He stole my girl from right under my nose. But, my best friend lost her father, and I remember how difficult that was for her. I hope he can find his way past it. I'm sure you will help him with that. You're good that way."

"Thanks."

"I mean that. You are good that way. You have this energy about you. This something special that draws people to you, makes them choose you. I took that for granted, and behaved like a selfish idiot when I realized that I'd lost you. I lost my best friend and my lover, and that hurt me more than I can explain in words. But I tried to give you space, I hope you recognize that, Michy. On Halloween when we pulled up to your house, I saw how that guy handled you. How much he cares about you. He didn't blow up and want to fight or argue when he caught you with me. He just wanted you. And that's when I realized that his selflessness is what you needed. What you deserve. In that moment, it was like an epiphany. I got it."

"Mike, I'm really sorry for how we turned out, how our plans got turned inside out. That you got hurt in all of that. I truly am. I hope that you believe me."

"No more apologies between us, ok? I said it before, and I mean it, it's not necessary. Anyway, I got into MIT, my parents and I are driving my things up in the morning. I heard you got into Harvard law. I hope that we can still be friends, and that maybe this is one part of our plan that we can still see through, together. If that's ok with your…uh…fiancé." Nodding his head in acknowledgment, his eyes are now sternly focused somewhere behind me.

Turning to see what Mike is looking at, I find Rick standing behind me, holding Carl in his hands, and a diaper bag slung over his shoulder.

"Am I interrupting?" Rick calmly asks, his gaze swiveling between me and Mike, then down to the gift bag hanging from my hand.

"No. Uh, Mike… uh."

"Nah, man. I came by to congratulate Michonne on everything, and give her that gift. That's all. No trouble. She told me about your dad. My condolences." Offering his right hand out to Rick, Rick takes the few steps from behind me to accept it, giving Mike's hand a firm shake. "This is your little man, huh? You're a mother now, Michy. That's wild. It's kinda blowing my mind, ya know?"

"Yeah, mine too." I agree, inching closer to Rick, and clutching tightly to his arm. Witnessing the mature way that both of these men, the only two men in the world that I have ever romantically loved, has my heart swelling, and my eyes threatening to water with tears. Crying. That's my thing now, and I can do it at the drop of a dime.

"He's kinda light right? I expected him to be darker. Little man has blue eyes?"

"He takes after his dad I guess." I gush, grinning and just a tad nervous at how quiet and easygoing Rick is being with Mike here, staring so intently at a now wide awake Carl.

"No doubt. He's definitely your kid, man. Real talk, don't take this the wrong way, but when my mother told me you had a kid, a small part of me was holding out the smallest bit of hope that it might be mine."

"What?" Rick says, his calm demeanor finally showing a crack. I can feel the tension set in his bones, and instantly I'm rubbing my hand over his back, hoping to soothe him and reintroduce the placid serenity of just a few moments ago.

"Wait, wait. I know it was impossible. We…Michonne and I hadn't…"

"Hadn't what?" Rick asks, straightening his back, stiffening as though he is readying his body for a fight. Waiting on Mike's answer, he tilts his head to the side, and I know this is a bad sign. With his nerves so frayed from the string of ups and downs over the past week, I know that this can easily end in a violent flurry of fists.

"Been together. We hadn't been together in that way in a long time. It was impossible for him to be mine. But, I think I wanted him to be. I know that's wrong. You're together. You won, man. You have the baddest chick in the game. And she loves you."

"Hm."

"Thanks, Mike. But, maybe you should leave now."

"No problem. Yeah, I'm gonna get going, and let you guys do your thing. He's a good looking boy, Michonne. He may look like his dad, but I see you in there, Michy. That round head, and those chubby cheeks. Your little chin. That's all you." He muses, laughing at his own astute observations. "Yeah."

"Thank you for the gift, Mike. And uh, good luck. Maybe we will see you in Boston. Either way, I'm sure you will do great."

"No doubt, Michy. No doubt."

And with that, Mike turns on his heel, and walks out of the house. Out of my life. Maybe for good. Closing the door behind him, I'm struck by how potentially final his departure is, and I breathe out a solid ,thankful, gust of air. Thankful to have that chapter of my life peacefully at rest.

"Thanks for coming, everyone. This should be fairly quick. You all knew Rance Grimes pretty well, so you know he was nothing if not direct, and to the point. He left behind a will that is every bit as direct as he was. He also left a few letters for some of his loved ones. I will hand those out at the end. Any questions before I begin?" My uncle Dale began, peering into each of our faces over the frames of his silver metal glasses, perched precariously on the tip of his nose.

"No, Dale, I don't think there are any questions. Get on with it. I'm sure we are all ready to hear what my beloved husband had to say." Rick's mother offers up. In a black dress, despite the wishes of her 'beloved husband', Ellen is seated front and center, with her hands clasped daintily in her lap. Playing the role of the loving and faithful widow, she sat front and center at the funeral service as well, wailing and bellowing at every mention of Rance's name. Dabbing at her eyes now, Rick gives her a long sideways glance from where he is seated to her right, with his hand around my shoulders, holding me close.

Throughout the funeral, a beautiful outside ceremony held at the gravesite where generations of Grimes family members have been buried, Ellen moaned and groaned, crying and begging the Lord to spare her the pain of losing her husband. Surrounded by the rolling eyes, and smirking lips of nearly 100 people who knew the truth of her theatrics, and loved my father in law, it was all met by a measure of disbelief at how disrespectfully she attempted to make the ceremony more about her fake grief than about my father in law.

Despite his mother's loud protestations and faithful widow act, Rick remained stoic during the entire ceremony. Back erect, he held our son in one arm, and my hand, rested in his lap, in the other. The only indicator that he was in any kind of distress at all, were the few tears that slipped from behind the dark protection of his sunglasses, which he allowed to proudly and without apology, to fall over the plains of his handsome face. The manner in which he managed the day so far, with such grace and pride, I have to admit that while Rick may say that I am the stronger of the two of us, I have to wholly disagree.

Among the sweet fragrance emitting from the large floral arrangements, the largest of which was from a veteran's support group Rance belonged to, were swaths of stoic faced men and women, all decked in their military dress uniforms. I sat beside my husband, and his uncle, and could not hold back the tears and heartache at the loss of my fun loving father in law. Rance was more than that though, more than my husband's father, he was also my father, and the misery in my heart at the realization that I had lost another father, cut me deeply. As much as I attempted to hold it all together to support Rick through his mourning and sorrow, I stumbled and quietly fell apart in the privacy provided by the cover of my face with my hand, once I was confronted with the image of Rance in his casket.

How reminiscent and familiar this all felt. It was not so long ago that I was in this same position. Seated in the front row. Dressed in my best clothes, tears streaking my young face, misery tightly gripping my spirit in an unrelenting choke hold. Pleas and promises, prayers to God that I would be a good girl, a better daughter if this could all just be a bad dream. A hallucination that would disperse, setting all things back to rights when I opened my tightly shut eyes. Eyes that could not look upon the beautiful, dark face of my own father. At least this time maturity prevented a full break down. Unlike when I did finally have to approach the casket, and look down on the unnaturally made up visage of the handsome, once full of life, kind, and intelligent, Andre Kelly.

No. This time I held it together a bit more. If not just for myself. If not just for Rick. Then for the wide open, wandering eyes of my son, poised and ready to cloud with tears at a moment's notice, somehow sensing the stress of his parents. The tension in my face. Instead of the wails, screams, or chanted prayers from before, only soft whimpers and tears escaped my tightly pursed lips, and my tired, sad eyes.

Equally dashing as my own father had been, even in death, Rance was buried in his Marines dress blues. In a dark wood casket, the insignia for the Marines stitched with impeccable craftsmanship along the lid, it was obvious that he had been impossibley meticulous with the details of his burial. Rick mentioned that there was nothing left for his family to do but show up, as everything had also been pre-paid and pre-selected. All of which led Rick and I to come to the conclusion that his father must have known he was sick, and that his death what only an unexpected occurrence for us. Rance was well aware that this day was swiftly approaching. And as my uncle Dale began to recite my father in law's Last Will and Testament, noting the date was only a month ago, our speculations regarding his awareness of his own mortality was all but confirmed.

"I Rance William Grimes, resident of King County, Georgia, being of sound mind and body, not acting under duress or undue influence, and fully understanding the nature and extent of all my property and of this disposition thereof, do hereby make, publish, and declare this document to be my Last Will and Testament, and hereby revoke any and all other wills and codicils heretofore made by me.

Now that the fancy stuff is out of the way, here is the grit of it. I leave everything directly as follows, with no legal deviations allowed. All trusts that I am the named trustee of in full or part, are left to my brother Robert Carl Grimes-Jones, to be maintained and dispersed of as directed by our late father Carl Grimes. I leave any and all property left in my name, including the businesses on Main Street in King County, the farm on Forsyth Road, my cars, jewelry, and all belongings therein to my sons, Jeffrey William Grimes and Richard Andrew Grimes, to be managed and split between them equitably. Any cash, stocks, bonds, and mutual funds are left to my brother Robert Carl Grimes-Jones. All jewelry, totaling in value of approximately $2 million dollars, left in a safe deposit box at Georgia Agricultural Savings and Loan, are left to my son Richard Andrew Grimes, and his fiancé Michonne Sabine Kelly. All real estate properties in my name are left in a trust for my grandchildren, all who are yet to be born, to be split equally amongst them, for which my sons Jeffrey and Richard are to share trustee responsibilities. There are also deeds for homes, for each of my sons and their families, each on Cherokee Rose Road in King County, on fifty acres each, that include a back fifty acres for farming, as well as stables for horses. And for my legal wife, Ellen Stafford-Grimes, I leave nothing. Not a gotdamn thing."

A shocked quiet settles over the room. With wide eyes, and a nearly imperceptible smile, Rick looks my way. Shaking my head, I can not believe that Rance left me anything, let alone the wealth he had accumulated to leave behind at all. In the stillness, Dale raised from his seat and began handing out envelopes, one for Robert, Jeff, Rick, and myself.

Reaching out to Dale as he attempted to return back to his desk, having not provided her with a letter, Ellen raises her voice in anger. "Is there nothing else, Dale? Nothing for me?" Gasping, waiting for an answer, she jumps up in shock from her chair in front of Dale's desk.

"There's no letter for you, Ellen. And, I think Rance was pretty clear what he wanted you to have in the will. Everyone here will get a copy, and you can check but these have been filed with the probate courts. You can contest it there."

"He was still my husband, gotdamn it! This can't be right." Shaking her head, she lunges towards the papers that Dale just read from, scattered on his desk, rifling through them. I assume she is looking for a letter to her from Rance. A letter she surely will not find.

"Ellen, have a seat or leave. You heard the same thing we all heard. Don't make this harder than it needs to be. Don't embarrass yourself any further." Rick rises from his own chair, and stands between his mother and Dale's desk. Setting his blazing blue eyes on his mother, staring into hers that are identical to his own. The disgust and acrimony he has for her is palpable. Reaching for my hand, Rick mutters, "Come on, Michonne, let's get to the party."

"You ready to go, daddy?"

"Hm? Yeah. Jeff and I were just going through some of my father's things out here. Records, books…" Rick grumbles over the soft hum of oldies playing through the speakers in the dark garage, tossing back a half full glass of what I assume is whisky. Running his hand back through his curls, he drops his head, chin to his chest.

"Yeah. He has a trunk full of our report cards, art projects, letters we wrote to him while he was deployed. Saved it all." Rick's brother Jeff muses, his own glass of whisky clutched tightly in his hand. Seated atop a stool in the corner, by a workbench covered in tools and parts that I cannot begin to name or identify, Jeff is bathed in the stark light overhead, illuminating the mess of the workspace. Every bit as handsome as Rick, with a high forehead, and hair that is dark, nearly black, spun through with hints of gray, Jeff is more Ellen than Rance.

While Rick is Rance 2.0, Jeff showcases the darker, probably Eastern European, good looks of his mother. With a life as a career military man, an officer, Jeff's skin is not blessed with the kiss of the sun constantly bearing down. Instead, he's got a pale cast that makes him appear every bit the stoic, cozy office having, military captain that he is. At odds somewhat with that, is the warm and welcoming manner that he has displayed with Carl and I, and the clear affection he holds for his younger brother. While he and his impossibly diminutive wife, Tina, met Rick, Carl and I at our house last night with hugs, kisses, and a lot of playful and familial ribbing, he has not uttered a single word, or gesture of acknowledgement to Ellen. Not one. Even when she approached him at the funeral, he stared through her as though she were some invisible apparition, only real in the minds of those who believe in her.

"That was sweet. He always told me how proud he was of you guys. That you turned out so well, all things considered."

"You mean that our mother who raised us was a spiteful, racist, shrew? That what you mean, Michonne?" Jeff asks, his squinting gaze settled on me in question, as he sips from his glass with the same thin, smirking lips as his mother.

"I didn't use those words exactly, Jeff."

"I'm sure you would have liked to though. I'm certain Rance did." He laughs, obviously knowing his father well enough to be confident that those were almost word for word, the terms Rance used to describe their mother. "Ah, anyway, I'm gonna get going. Tina and I wanna go check out the house the old man left for us in the morning. I'm drunk and worn out. It's been a long day. See you tomorrow, bro." Walking over to Rick, seated on the pristine hood of the old car in the middle of the garage, Jeff claps him on the back, and places a brotherly kiss to the top of his head. Turning to leave, towards where Carl and I stand in the doorway of the garage, he leans in to give me a warm hug, and gently rub his hand over Carl's head. "He's a handsome boy. Too bad he looks so much like you, Rick. His mama is much better looking." He tosses teasingly over his shoulder, then winks playfully at me as he walks out of the door, closing it behind him.

Chuckling at Jeff's parting words, I amble over to Rick, who is leaned forward, his elbows resting heavily on his thighs. Having dispatched of his suit jacket right after the reading of the will, his shirt sleeves are rolled up to the bend at his elbows, showcasing the strong veins that course underneath the tanned, hairy skin of his forearms. Running my palms over his skin there, the warmth found, along with the tickle of the hair against the life lines of my hand, cause goosebumps to form over my own arm.

"I'm ok." Rick offers, whisky on his breath, lacing his brief declaration.

"I know."

"How?" Looking up to me, question in his dark sapphire eyes. His form awash in the strike of light from overhead, he tilts his head awaiting my answer.

"Because I'm ok too."

"Yeah. This song, you hear it? This is Otis Redding. My pops was listening to this the day he died. It was- it was playing in the house when I found him. I miss him, Michonne. My Chonne. That's what he used to call you. Remember?"

"His country lips just couldn't get that French pronunciation. At least that's what he blamed it on."

Laughing softly, eyes focused on my lips, Rick unexpectedly wraps his arm possessively around my waist, dragging me closer. Raising his head, he kisses me sweetly. With the press of his lips against my own, familiar warmth caresses my skin, moving down from where we are joined, and out to my limbs. "Come here, pretty girl. Dance with me."

Swaying easily against my husband's firm chest, his lean hips are pressed closely to mine, and our sleeping son is between us. I drop my forehead to place a loving kiss at the base of his throat, where his shirt is unbuttoned, and the hair from his chest peeks above, tickling my lips.

The bluesy rhythm of the current song, and the next, keeps us in synch with each other, dancing away our melancholy. Recalling the words to the song, Misty Blue, sung pleadingly by a woman whose name I can not recall, I whisper them softly into the crook of Rick's neck, and the mix of cologne, sweat, and his familiar musk, that is all pure Rick Grimes.

"Oh, it's been such a long, long time
Looks like I'd get you off my mind
But I can't
Just the thought of you (just the thought of you)
Turns my whole world misty blue (misty blue)

Oh honey, just the mention of your name (just your name)
Turns the flicker to a flame
Listen to me good, baby
I think of the things we used to do
And my whole world turns misty blue (misty blue)…"

"Ahem. Found you in the same place I always found your father. I guess you are always going to be just like him."

"Ellen. What can I do for you?" Rick asks, clearly upset that he was disturbed from the quiet, private moment with his family, his arms tighten stronger around my waist in frustration, and protection. As though he needs to keep Carl and I secure, safe from his mother's presence.

"He's left me with nothing, Rick. I'm going to have to fight that. After sticking with him all of those years, I deserve something."

"You deserve what he left you. Nothing."

"You turned out fine. Jeff turned out fine. I couldn't have done such a bad job as a mother. Do you both hate me so much that you would see me destitute? On the street?"

"But you aren't, are you? You've been staying with your family since Rance left you. You're hardly destitute. I think you are right where you should be, with the people you should be with. Come on, Michonne." With his hand to the small of my back, Rick begins ushering Carl and I to the door.

When we reach his mother, stiffly standing in the door, blocking our way, she drops her eyes to my son. Eyes now open, wide awake, his blue eyes are now focused on Ellen. His grandmother.

"He- he has my eyes. They're blue. And he's very fair… he's almost white as snow…"

"Shut up! My son is not white. Regardless of what your deranged mind might think, what you think you see, he's not like you. He's not white." Rick admonishes, his voice enraged at her insinuation.

"But, Rick, look at him, he's not black at all. May I hold him? I'm his grandmother."

As she reaches for him, I instantly smack her hands away, driven to protect my son from even the thought of her wrinkled hand touching his new and innocent skin. "No, Ellen, you may not." I answer, appalled at her nerve, and feeling the anger wafting from Rick in waves. His face is now twisted, lips downturned in a frown, matching the displeased twist of my own. "Forget you ever saw my son. Because that's who he is, my son. My half black son."

"What? I know I have done some things, said some things that you both don't agree with, but I did them out of love. To protect this family. Your father left me. I didn't leave him. I could have, so many times. The times he was so angry he would grab me, hurt me. When he cheated on me while he was overseas. I forgave him. Welcomed him back home. And he's the saint? No! Now that I'm alone, no one cares that I'm hurting, that I've been damaged and wronged. I have no one, nothing. Now you're going to keep my grandson, my own kin from me?" Laying herself out there, Ellen finally shows a modicum of true humanity underneath the veneer of her time cherished legacy of racism and hate. But then again, she's also played the card she has remained so faithful to, and casts herself as the victim.

"Yes." Rick coldly responds, his face not betraying even an inch of softness or caring for her emotionally naked words.

"I'm sorry, Rick. I am. Can't you see that? If you don't, if you can't forgive me, and help me to get what's due to me, then I'm going to have to fight you for it, son. You and Jeff are leaving me no choice." Steeling herself against his terse dismissal, she lays it out there, her threat delivered with a defiant upwards tilt of her chin.

"I welcome that fight, Ellen. You're going to finally get the pushback that I should have always given you. If Rance ever raised a hand to you, I'm sorry for that, no woman deserves that kind of aggression. I truly am. He was wrong for that." Taking a moment, seemingly pained by the very idea of his father lashing out to physically abuse his mother, Rick closes his eyes. "That doesn't absolve you though. Being a victim, doesn't make it ok for you to become the predator. It's doesn't absolve you from using him to steal away the inheritance that belonged to my uncle Robert, to my cousin Morgan. You drove Jeff away with your bullshit. Now you turn to me, but I don't owe you a damn thing. In my own naïve way, I let you believe that I was your sucker. Never said anything to you when you would say racist shit, when you would make your little comments, when you always pushed Lori on me. Part of this hate I have festering for you is my fault. But, when you tried with everything in you to manipulate and use me, to take away my free will, my choice. To keep me from my woman, I decided I can never forgive you. Michonne is the only woman I have ever loved, and your mind is so twisted and sick, that it wasn't enough for you that I was happy. In love. If it were up to you I would be stuck with Lori, raising another man's child, even though you know I don't love her. And now that you see that none of that shit worked, that you're left with absolutely nothing, no one... Not even the girl you unconscionably used to get what you wanted, you want my sympathy, my forgiveness. To be apart of my family. Let me tell you something, Ellen, you won't get any of that here."

"Rick-"

"I mean it. You want to fight me for any of Rance's things, his money, this farm. I dare you to try. But know this, you are already dead to me."

Chapter 20 (Epilogue) – Rick

"When we fuck
When we fuck
When we fuck
When we fuck
I could be aggressive (I could be aggressive)
I can be a savage (I can be a savage)
I just need your blessin (I just need your blessin)
Say that I can have it, yeah
When we fuck
When we fuck…"

"Chonne…gotdamn it, pretty girl…"

"Rick, what are you doing in here? You're supposed to be getting ready for the wedding."

"I was, then I heard you in here playing this song, and I assumed you wanted me to come in here instead."

"Why would you assume that?"

"Isn't this the 'Rick, come fuck me' song? It was last week."

"Rick! It's not." She shakes her head, attempting to convince me of something that we both know isn't true. It's absolutely the come fuck me song, as I clearly remember her playing it when I came upstairs for bed last week. Laid across the gray comforter on our king sized bed, on her back, in a completely sheer, red negligee, with only a very tiny G-string covering her pussy, Michonne lured me into bed, and ravaged me. There's no way that I could ever forget that. Or the song that was the soundtrack to a night of delicious and carnal lovemaking.

"What? Yeah it is. Come here. What do you have on under this little robe? Let me see."

Backing away from the door, clutching her white silk, knee length robe to her body, trying to keep it closed, Michonne is giggling, and smiling as I push through the entrance to her old bedroom at her parents' house. "Don't you dare! We are supposed to be dressed, and walking down the aisle in one hour."

"I only need thirty minutes."

"That's a lie. When have you ever only needed thirty minutes?" She asks knowingly, tilting her head to the side, with a bend of her neck and a sassy purse of her lips. And, she's right. But, sometimes, on a rare occasion, her loving is so good, that I can barely last five minutes, let alone thirty. That actually only happened once, I had been drinking, and she gave me porn levels of theatrical head for like fifteen minutes straight. Making eye contact, tossing her long dreads back over her shoulder after tickling my groin with the ends, caressing my balls in her hand, moaning as she glided her wet mouth sloppily up and down on my dick. Dear God! There was no way after that dizzying performance that I was going to actually last inside of her tight little pussy for more than a few minutes. There was literally no way.

Right now, thinking of that moment, and looking at her standing in front of me in a robe that is barely covering her womanhood, clinging to every peak and valley of her body, I'm experiencing the well known blaze of heat rushing in my veins, encouraged by the vulgar lyrics of the song pulsing through the room's speakers.

"You love it when I lose it
You love it when I go there
You love the way I use it
You love that I don't play fair
You end up callin me master (master) 
Say this universe is mine
When we're done it's a disaster
End up like this every time…"

Yeah, I think this might be one of those times. The stark, virginal white of the robe is so striking against her beautiful dark skin, I'm ready for the talking to cease so we can get to the good part. The part where I get my pretty girl dirty. Wet. Where I fuck her so good that my scent will be oozing from her. Marking her as mine. Even if I know that I might not make it a full thirty minutes. Honestly, either way, her loving is so decadent, I'm willing to risk it as long as I can last long enough to take care of her, make her scream, make sure she cums first. I'm confident I can do it. I've made her cum in less than five minutes before. Today, when I finally get everything that I've ever wanted, on my wedding day, I'm feeling invincible, like I can do anything.

Advancing on her, predatorily stalking my prey, Michonne continues to retreat, to slowly walk backwards. The back of her knees hit the edge of the bed, and she's forced to stop. With nowhere left to run, a little shocking start animates her features, and her lips part in anticipation of my next move. Never breaking contact with the warm fudge of her seductively lowered eyes, I reach for the tie to her robe, and slowly pull, watching as each half falls open. Through the dangling split of the soft silk, it's revealed that Michonne is completely nude underneath.

Hissing, sucking in a tight breath, I confess to my love, "You're perfect." Stepping back to admire my lady, I run my hand over my lips and beard, then slide my hands into my pockets, taking a moment to gather myself. Every time I see her like this, nude, open, vulnerable to my greedy gaze, it's like our very first time all over again. Once again, she's an innocent, sexy 18-year-old, and I'm the smitten man who has fallen hopelessly in love with her. Even now, after nearly ten years together, and watching her body bloom and transform through the miracles of womanhood, there is still a feeling of shock and awe that this goddess chose me.

Bashfully she looks down at herself, responding to my proclamation of her perfection. "You're just saying that, Rick. I still need to lose about ten pounds left over from Nina. Your babies keep making me fat." Rubbing her hand across the stretch marks covering her belly, she frowns.

"Nah. Every bit of you is perfection." Inching my hands from my pockets, no longer able to keep them from touching her, I slide them inside her robe. Gliding them over the soft velvet like swell of her wide hips, I can feel my cock stiffening inside of my black tuxedo pants. Rolling my hands further back to get a hold of her by the jiggle of her fat ass, I pull my lady closer to me, wanting her to feel the steel of my dick, aroused and hungry for her. "Feel that? Let me have a little taste?"

"Rick…" she whines, but I know that the sensation of her heat against my hard dick, tenting the expensive material of my pants, throbbing against the zipper, is a clear indicator that she's not going to be turning me away. "You can't mess up my hair." She directs, pointing a finger at me. A finger that I proceed to capture with my lips and pull in to my mouth, sucking, laving her slender digit. "Oh god…"

Drawing back, I release her finger from my mouth, and agree with her terms. Kind of. "Ok. I'll try not to mess up your hair. I like it up by the way. It's like a crown for my beautiful, sexy, queen."

"Don't try to butter me up. You only have thirty minutes, Rick."

"I can make you come in three, and still have time left over." I cockily promise, a confident smirk twisting my lips. Lowering to her, I place a series of wet kisses to the rounds of her cheeks, then down to nip at her jaw and throat.

"Whatever." She moans in response to my mouth on her. "And we have to get cleaned up right after, because we can't get married smelling like sex."

"Why not? We already have three kids. You think anyone coming to this wedding believes that we don't have sex?" I raise my head from the quickening pulse of her throat, and quirk an eyebrow at her in question.

"You may have a point, but we still have to shower after. You're finally making an honest woman out of me and I don't wanna smell like a hooker when you do it." She huffs. Teasing me. I have been trying to get this woman down the aisle for the last nine years. Between unexpected babies, deaths, issues with my father's will, school, a new city, then moving back, a legal wedding ceremony never seemed to be a priority for either of us. Michonne has been wearing my ring, loving, and raising a family with me so long that we are common law married anyway. But, she's kind of right. It has taken a long time for this technicality to be taken care. And whether either of us needed it or not, the pageantry involved in us finally sealing the deal with a big wedding, in front of our friends and family, does incite a serious bout of emotion and love to swell inside of me.

"We are already married, and you know it. And, I love the smell of you on me. Nothing better than the sweaty scent of sex with my lady." Wagging my eyebrows at her in a suggestive manner, I squeeze a handful of her ass, delighting in the plump feel of her.

"Ew, Rick, you're so gross sometimes. No one wants to smell that but your nasty behind."

Turning me, switching our positions so that I'm now seated on the bed, Michonne begins unbuttoning the crisp white tuxedo shirt I'm wearing. Helping her with the buttons, starting at the bottom, we meet in the middle and get it open. I hurriedly remove it from my body, and try to toss it onto the floor. Being the orderly person that she is, she takes it from my hand before I have the chance, and gently lays it across the chair next to the bed. As she's doing that, I carelessly kick my trousers and underwear to the floor. An action that is immediately met with a scowl from my wife. "Rick! I don't want your clothes to get wrinkled."

"Come back over here, and stop fussing. You're cutting into my thirty minutes, woman." I mutter, pulling her back to me once she's within arm's reach. Standing in between my widespread legs, Michonne looks like an innocent, but equally naughty angel. With her large breasts and body exposed by the slowly drooping silk of her robe, the image of her is both erotic and sobering. My eyes scan across the beauty of her. To her satiny red lips, pouty and ready for my ravishment. Over her rounded breasts, full and swelling with milk. Down her flat abdomen, anchored by the dark line of a C-section scar that has made it possible for all but one of my three children to safely enter this world. One of whom is only a few months old.

Pulling her even closer to me, I grip the wide set of her pillowed hips, and slowly rub my face across the dusky, dark plum skin of her stomach. Kissing the lines that bring her so much grief, and unnecessarily cause her to doubt her own perfection, I'm thankful. Reverant. I love every one of those lines that streak, and stretch, mapping a course across the expanse of her abdomen and hips. Rubbing my bearded face there, Michonne giggles at the tickle it creates. With her hands on my shoulders, I can feel the pressure from where she is pushing me down on to the bed.

Now on my back, her warm, lithe body, dainty in its weight on top of me, one of my hands is cupping the back of her neck, pulling her lips to mine, while the other is riding the jiggle of her ass, grabbing and massaging the warm cushions. Kissing her, sucking that sweet bottom lip into my mouth, I can feel a rush of inflamed heat dancing in my veins. It's burning me up like an addict taking his first hit, and enraging a need to dominate her. Still holding Michonne close, excited by the moans our kiss is eliciting from her, the beast in me can no longer tolerate her being on top. I roll her over to her back, and ease my way in between her thick thighs.

Pressing my groin against her, I'm grinding the roughness of my pubic area into the smooth flesh of her puffy, hairless pussy lips. With her head now tossed back, cradled in my open palm, I latch my lips on to the column of her neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin. "Mmmm, pretty girl, you smell so damn good…"

"Rick, don't mess up my hair, ok?" She huffs, breathing heavily, repeating her request. Chest heaving against mine, puffs of her sweet breath escape over the tufts of her kiss swollen, and slightly parted lips.

Traveling my hand from the back of her head, and down to the warm apex of her thighs, I find my wife damp, her petals already slick, awaiting my touch. Running my fingers through her wetness, from her pussy lips to her ass, a widespread tingle is gripping my stomach, stirring a need to simply be inside of her. I shouldn't waste any more time than necessary, even though my favorite thing in the world is to take my time with Michonne. To work my way around her body, licking, sucking, stroking, tasting, arousing every inch of her until she's dripping, and begging for me. But right now, there is a crowd of our closest friends and family gathered on the grounds of her parents' farm, waiting to witness our nuptials.

When my father died nearly ten years ago, and my mother contested every part of his will, Michonne and I were forced to come clean about the impromptu marriage ceremony that we he asked Father Gabriel to perform. It helped to strengthen the validity of my father's will, his reason behind leaving her such lavish and expensive jewelry. But it also helped to maintain and strengthen the bond between us, as spiritual husband and wife. It served as a reminder of who we truly are to each other, during a dramatically difficult period in our lives.

It was a rough for us then, and there was simply too much going on at once. Our son Carl had just been born on the same day my father died, and just a few months later Michonne and Carl left, without me, to head to Boston, and Harvard. It was the most difficult thing I have ever had to do, encouraging my life partner, my lover, my wife, and my son to go ahead and embark on that journey without me. But, I felt like I had no choice. I needed to be in King County to work through my mother's challenge to my father's will. Even my brother and his wife temporarily relocated back home to assist in the fight. And, though Michonne wanted to work with the school to see if they could postpone her entrance into law school, at least until things were settled with my mother, I felt like it would do her good, give her some space to succeed instead of worrying about the legal wrangling involving my mother and my father's estate.

Michonne and I fought unceasingly about my decision, but in the end, her and Carl did leave. Momentarily. Her parents and I got her and Carl settled in Boston in a nice, fully furnished condo, and even identified a school sponsored daycare for him. Us being apart, my family being broken up, just didn't work though. Not for her, and definitely not for me. I couldn't sleep, she couldn't focus, Carl was constantly fussy.

We were a mess. I was too stubborn to ask her to come home though. To ask her to postpone her life and her dreams for me, again. And, if I'm honest, there was a small part of me that loathed the fact that her being home with me might drag her down, away from her dreams. We'd been here before, when she returned to Spelman last year. And I told her then that she was special, and I meant it. She is the kind of person who deserves only the best in life, the finest of everything. Because of that, a tiny, self-pitying part of me believed that she was still too special for me. That a small town guy like me didn't deserve a unique and wonderful woman like her.

Michonne called daily, always reassuring me with loving patience that thinking like that was crazy, but it was an uncharacteristically dark time, and I couldn't shake the anguish of it all. I was also attempting to deal with a creeping feeling of being adrift, like a part of me that anchored the core of who I was, went missing when my dad died. My mother was clinging with every opportunistic breath to the title of widow, playing it for all that it was worth. But, no one had a title for me. A label for who my father's death left me as. What do you call a person who has lost their parent? The only real parent I ever had. Estranged and no longer claiming my mother, who was Rick Grimes if he was no longer a son? Who was I without the man whose image I was made in? And now, with my pretty girl, and my son gone, I wasn't even a husband, boyfriend, fiancé, or a father. Not anymore.

My head constantly tussled and fought with this jumble of dreary thoughts, along with a few others. Michonne and Carl being so far away from me felt like the perfect trinity of loss. The father, the son, and the pure mother. A spiritually cleansing emptiness that I somehow deserved for daring to allow my own hubris to get me to fly so high to perfection, to the purity of Michonne's love, the birth of my first child, on the same day that my father was snatched from this world. What kind of man was I to deserve such happiness on such a somber day?

At the end of the day, it took a very unlikely deliveryman to end my little family's suffering. On a remarkably hot October day, my girl's brand new, white Volvo that she had traded her cute little Jeep in for, pulled up to her parents' house, with her ex-boyfriend Mike behind the steering wheel, and a sleeping Michonne and Carl as his passengers. Once the instant flash of shock and virulent, blinding, rage at seeing him with my family subsided, I rushed the car, whipping open Mike's door to crush my fist into the flesh of his usually smug face. Instead of a smirk, some kind of look of victory, Mike held up his hands and offered me an explanation that has since won over my grudging respect.

With him also in Boston, attending MIT, Mike took it upon himself to check in on Michonne and Carl one weekend. Finding her clearly depressed, and Carl a whimpering, whiny mess of baby cuteness, Mike said he told Michonne to grab some things for her and the baby because he was going to take them out for the day. Instead of taking them to dinner, or to a park, as she must have suspected, he jumped on the highway and drove all day and night to get them here. To get them home. To me. It was an almost eighteen-hour drive, that took him nearly a full day to make, what with ducking and dodging Michonne's heated initial accusations that he tricked and kidnapped her, and with taking restroom and eating breaks for themselves and for Carl.

Looking at the safe, tired faces of my wife and son, wiped away and paid for every moment of acrimony or dislike I ever held for that guy. And though I wanted to pay him for bringing her, to pay for his ticket back to Boston, something to show my gratitude, all he would accept was my thanks. Noting that he was simply a friend, who saw his best friend suffering, he just wanted to get her back where she belonged, where she would be happy. And that was with me.

To this day, though Mike is still not my favorite person in the world, I do consider him, still begrudgingly so, a friend.

About six months after Michonne returned home to me, I knew what I needed to do to keep my family together and I settled my father's estate with my mother, allowing her to live in the house I grew up in, and giving her a monthly stipend to live off of. Though my brother was unhappy with the settlement, as was my mother, it was the fairest I could be. Ellen and Rance Grimes were married for over 30 years. She deserved something, and giving her just that, a little something, freed my family and I up to leave for Boston, and for Jeff and I to finally put the drama with her to rest. Michonne was able to attend Harvard law the following fall, I was accepted to Boston College to obtain a Masters degree in Criminal Justice, and I began to see a therapist to work through the lingering grief left behind by father's death, and my mother's much needed isolation from my life.

Remembering that time, a painful time that seems so long ago now, I'm smiling down into the face of the woman whose return snatched me back from the chasm of pity and grief. My heart is beating erratic, near bursting with the fullness of love and affection I have for her. All of her. Her intelligence, her heart, her looks. Everything. But in this moment, pinned beneath me, I am so enamored with her visage that I am nearly transported away by my thoughts and my feelings for her. Such blinding joy.

"Hey. Rick, where are you? Where did you go?" Taking a hold of both sides of my face, Michonne's slender fingers rub through my beard, pulling my attention back from the trance her beauty, and my memories, has me in.

"I'm here. I just, uh… I love you. I want you to always know that I love you. That you, and the kids, are the most special thing in the world to me. That I need you more than I need air to breathe. You are my life, Michonne." Not giving her a chance to respond, I lean in and kiss her. It's a smothering, consuming, and needy kiss. Pushing my tongue between her lips, I'm welcomed by the equally voracious swipe and twist of her eager tongue. With my cock now fisted in my hand, I angle it towards her entrance, and with a strong firm thrust, I embed myself, slowly and fully, connecting to the deepest part of her.

A rush of air escapes her, and against the passionate twist of our lips, she mutters softly, a sound that I can barely make out. "Rick."

The sound of my name on her lips has always found a way to undo me, and this time is no exception. Pulling back, resting most of my weight on my knees, I lift her long legs, glistening with the coconut oil that lightly fragrances her limbs. Bending over the joints at my elbows, I push both of her legs up, folding them until her thighs are pressed against her breasts. Still immersed inside of her, I lower myself onto my lover once more, and begin a slow winding thrust, making sure to continuously apply pressure with my pelvis to her clit. Tilted up this way, her canal welcomes me, snuggly fitting like a glove.

"Ahhhh… Rick, oh shit…"

"Yeah…" Biting and licking at her chin and neck, the smell of her sweet and crisp perfume, Be Delicious, is driving me crazy. Her pussy is almost unbearably hot. The tight grip of it around my dick, almost vise-like, is causing my thrusting pummel to create a near vulgar sloshing sound. Add that to the rhythmic slap of my balls against her ass, and the soft panting of my name as she anxiously likes her lips, and I'm nearly ready to explode. But, remembering her teasing toss of a sarcastic 'whatever' when I told her I could make her come in three minutes, I steel myself against the glorious creep of my pending orgasm, and instead settle in to give my lady the promised three-minute orgasm.

"Rick…oh God, baby… oh God… I'm gonna-"

Fucking her, thrusting and rolling my gyrating hips, I whisper over her lips. "Yeah, what was that shit you were talking before, Chonne? Hm?"

"I…I…"

"You what? Hm? What do you want, pretty girl? Tell your man what you need."

"I… please?" She breathes. So soft, so pretty. I have to close my eyes to the vision of her begging for me to take care of her. To send her body soaring high, fucking her like only I can.

Flushed, sweating, a tight grip on her hips, I'm crashing my hips down, driving deep into my wife. With just a tiny hint of her little pink tongue peeking from between her luscious lips, a long, high pitched hum emits from her, and I know she's about to cum. I can feel it. Her pussy is squeezing the life out of my dick. Gripping and pulling, trying to suck the cum from the recesses of my balls, and up through the shaft and head. But I hold on, keeping a firm steady grab of her wildly winding hips. Licking my thumb, then sucking it into my mouth, ensuring that it's nice and wet, I lower it underneath Michonne. Slowing the pounding of dick into her, to a nice and easy grind, I ease my thumb between the cheeks of her ass. Finding her hole already saturated with the evidence of her slick arousal that has dripped lower from her pussy, I rub and massage my thumb in a circular motion around the rosette of her ass.

"Ahhh!"

"That's it, pretty girl, I know how much you like that. Relax. Let me make you cum." Easing my thumb through the tight cinch of her hole, I begin to work it in and out, a steady carnal rhythm. Hearing the erotic gasp that I love to hear escape her lips, and seeing the backwards roll of her eyes, I know Michonne is there.

"Mmmm… Rick, fuck!" Swiping her tongue hastily across her lips, I join her, and lick at her lips and tongue as well, tasting the remains of her smeared red lipstick. A low, throaty rumble begins to erupt from her, ending on an open mouth gasp of ecstasy, that I eagerly swallow by fixing my open mouth to hers, sloppily kissing away her orgasmic cries.

Feeling the tension in her body dissipate, I remove my thumb from her ass, and release her mouth from my kiss. Pulling back to my knees again, to catch my breath, needing to gather my wits about me, I notice that the song has changed to Jeremih's "All the Time".

"Early in the mornings when I think about you
Yeah - I hit you like 'what you sayin'?'
In the mornings when I wanna fuck you
Yeah - I hit you like 'what you sayin'?'
I could fuck you all the time
I could fuck you all the time…"

Wiping the sweat from my brow, tossing my now wet hair back off my forehead, I'm looking down at my Michonne, watching the play of emotions and sensations over her beautiful face. The goose bumps and sweat, glistening and brushed across her pretty skin, pooling between the valley of her breasts. The concentrated frown between her eyebrows, and the satisfied smirk of her sexy lips. Fuck.

Her legs are no longer pressed tightly to her chest and abdomen. Instead they are held high by the firm grip I have on her ankles, holding her open to me. Watching her pussy swallow my dick, over and over again, coating it with with her arousal, I'm only mildly pumping into her. Just enough, a small shallow bit to help her ride out the wave of her forceful climax. Witnessing her drift down from that blissful cloud is making me want to join her.

Finally opening her eyes, focusing the chocolate depths of their wide set on me, my heart begins a wild beat against my ribcage, constricting my breath. Her own breaths now steadied, Michonne leans up, resting on the elbow of her left arm. With red tipped nails, she teasingly grazes her fingers over the hair on my chest, then rests her heated palm flat over the cursive words, permanently etched carefully in ink over my heart.

Michonne 

Carl

Andre 

Nina

Wincing at the softness of her feathery touch, followed by the tight stinging pinch of my nipple, I bite down on my bottom lip. "Michonne, baby…"

"Rick… Don't you want to cum too, baby?"

"Oh, pretty girl, you know I do."

"Then fuck me like it." Challenging me, Michonne knows the words to say to bring the beast in me back out to play, and I drop her legs. With a twinkle in her eyes, she lifts them on her own, hitching them around my waist, hooking them at the ankles. Encircled by the tight cinch of her lovely legs, I run my palms up and down her thighs, as I drop my weight on her once more.

Prepared to finish what I've started, with each of my hands pushing into the mattress on the sides of her head, I'm fucking my wife with a quickened pace of fast, steady thrusts, each punctuated with a wind of my hips. The pace is hard, almost punishing, causing Michonne's breasts to bob and bounce. Reaching to grasp a hold of the globes of each of her breasts, Michonne begins massaging herself. Pulling, tweaking her own perky, blackberry tinged nipples. With a naughty, seductively inviting smile on her lips, she raises one towards her mouth, and laves the peak with her tongue. Recognizing the flirtatious and welcoming glint in her alluring eyes, I lower myself, lapping my tongue out to join hers.

"You're so beautiful, pretty girl. I love you, baby. I do…" I mumble into the comfort of her bosom, tasting the sweetness of the few drops of breast milk leaking from her stiffened, pebbled nipples. Losing control of myself in the rhythmic roll of my hips, and the provocative scraping, and scratch of Michonne's nails up and down the expanse of my back, I'm tunneling, digging, so close to busting this nut.

"I know, I love you too, Rick. I'm- I'm- I'm cumming again…"

"Me too… I'm…" My voice is snatched from me. The words are stuck in a jumble in my bulking chest. The tingle of an orgasm begins creeping up my spine, flushing and rushing over my skin, through my limbs. Its exquisite spike of titillation shocks my body, freezes me in a catatonic state of bliss. Bursting, blasting in a thick stream through the head of my dick, my wife's pussy is now awash in the stickiness of my semen. Sweat drips from my forehead, and into my drowsy drooping eyes, my forehead resting heavily against Michonne's.

Burying my nose into the crook of Michonne's sweet smelling neck, I know my weight is too heavy for her small body. I know this. But I can't help but snuggle and nuzzle into her, needing the comfort of her softness. Holding tightly to her, each palm overflowing with the supple flesh of her ass, her curvy body is crushed to me. Though my cock is deflating, our connection remains, and the thought of releasing her never crosses my mind. The heated, ropy mix of our excitement is oozing from her, leaking onto the bed, onto my balls. My breath is harshly blowing on her. I can't help it. I need to remain here with her just a little while longer, in the loving cradle of her arms. Sensing her fingers gliding through my hair, pulling gently at the curls at my nape, I can feel myself drifting off.

"No champagne for you, Michonne? You're not pregnant again are you?"

"Uh no. I'm still breast feeding the baby, Shane. I don't want to drink while I'm still feeding her my milk-"

"Ok, ok! Too much information, cuz. Damn! I got it. You could have just said no. Ok? Next time just say no. I don't wanna think of you, and your breasts, and… whatnot." Obviously uncomfortable at just the mention of Michonne breastfeeding, Shane's face immediately flushes a bright, scarlet hue as he waves his hand in a frustrated manner at her breast area.

Wearing a body hugging white wedding dress, covered in lace, belted across her tiny waist in Swarovski crystals, with a bustled train, Michonne is the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen. She always is to me. Whether she's hanging out around the house in nothing but my blue jean shirt and leggings, a breast milk soaked t-shirt, or a $5,000 wedding gown, my lady is a rare and precious beauty. And right now, even though we just made love an hour ago, I can feel that same familiar tingle of arousal blossoming in my groin. If I could snatch her away from the reception right now, and feast on her, I would. Her breasts are fetchingly propped up in the strapless dress, creating a gloriously plump cushion for the diamond necklace she's wearing. It's one of the pieces left to her from my father, and sparkling against her radiant skin, giving off flickers of brilliant twinkles of light, my mouth is watering at the thought of burying my face between the two globes.

"It's completely natural, Shane. It's just milk." Michonne teases, delighting in my best friend's discomfort.

"What the hell did I just say? Y'all think this is funny don'cha?"

"Well, it is." Michonne offers on a snicker, rolling her eyes at how affected Shane is at the smallest thing.

"And it tastes kinda sweet." I offer, joining in. Squinting with glee at the uncomfortable squirm and grimace Shane is acting out at the idea of anyone other than Nina drinking Michonne's milk.

"Yuck! Y'all are a special kinda freaky I don't wanna ever think about again!" He shakes his head back and forth, probably attempting to rid himself of the thought. "Anyway…whatever. It's good you're not drinking, Michy. More for me. I'm gonna need it, dealing with your snooty ass cousin and her husband."

"Hey don't talk about Sasha like that. If I remember correctly, you always seem very interested in my snooty ass cousin. Despite her being married." Playfully swiping at Shane's arm with one hand, Michonne is tightly holding on to mine with her other one. Now legally husband and wife, it's odd to feel the cold metal of my wedding ring on my left hand. But when I look down at our intertwined hands, a wide smile breaks out on my face at the absolute perfection of the sight.

"That's cause that evil woman has her claws in me deep! I can't shake her. It's like she put a spell on me or something. Damn woman!"

"Well I know it's hard for you to remember that you weren't raised in a damn barn, so try and be easy around her today. It's Michonne's and my day. Let us enjoy it without you and Sasha fighting or fucking, ok?" I ask, hoping with everything in me that Shane will take my advice.

"You dorks get on my damn nerves. You know that? Do you think I want to be trapped in her web? I can't stop loving that crazy ass woman. And she loves me too. But she won't leave that sap Spencer… at least not for good. Fuck it, I don't care!" Staring off into the distance, where Sasha stands at the chocolate fountain, with her tiny daughter in her arms, Shane's gaze is trapped by the sight. Holding on to a stick with a fat red strawberry on the end, Savannah, Sasha's daughter, bears an oddly striking resemblance to Shane. It's not something that the family talks about openly, but it is quietly whispered about. Mostly when neither Shane, Sasha, or Spencer are around. After holding his fascinated gaze on them for a long moment, I suppose he has tortured himself enough, because Shane turns and simply stomps off in the direction opposite of them. Michonne and I share a woeful look, and a tiny snicker, because as usual, where Shane or Sasha goes, drama follows.

Four years ago when Sasha decided to leave Spencer, she came back to Atlanta and began working to open an art gallery that would feature the pieces she had been diligently working on over the years. Michonne and I had also just returned to Georgia ourselves with a five-year-old Carl, and a two-year-old Andre. We moved into the farm house that my father had purchased for us a few miles up the road from her parents. I began working at the training academy for new deputies, and taught a class at the nearby King County Community College in corrections and criminal policy. At the same time, Michonne was setting up to take over her uncle Dale's practice. Excited to be living in the same vicinity again, Michonne and Sasha began working together on Sasha's business venture with, with Michonne investing her money and her time.

It was during this time that Sasha was spending a good amount of time in King County with us while she was trying to figure out if she was leaving Spencer for good, and wanted a divorce or not. It was also during this time that the on and off thing with Sasha and Shane was fully on again. Actually, according to Shane it was really never off, as they hooked up a few times over the course of her marriage, usually when they would happen to be anywhere near each other for family events or holidays. Again, it has never been ideal, or accepted, but for those of us who know about it, we simply try to keep our noses out of their rather tempestuous affair. Especially given that you never really know if they love or hate each other with all of the insults and rage cavalierly tossed around, generally followed by some secret tryst.

For some reason, that only Shane and Sasha are aware of, Sasha ended up going back to DC, and back to Spencer once her art gallery was up and running. And not long after that, Savannah Michelle Williams-Monroe was born. And even though the math is a little sketchy, with Sasha spending a good six months in Georgia, separated from her husband, and Savannah bearing a striking resemblance to Shane's dearly departed mother, Spencer claimed her, and loves her dearly.

On the other hand, Shane has only seen Savannah a handful of times, and seems entirely conflicted by the whole thing. He mostly keeps his distance from Savannah, but even a blind person could see that he's clearly hurt that Sasha returned to Spencer, and that Spencer is probably raising his daughter. For the most part, he simply won't talk about most things involving Sasha, not even with me. Either it hurts too much, or he's too angry, and in a way that is very much Shane, he shuts down. Continuing to whore his way across King County, and any surrounding areas he wanders in to, Michonne asserts that he's probably just trying to bide his time with women he will never commit to, waiting for Sasha to choose him. I tend to agree with her, but again, I know Shane, and I am aware that he's still fighting some pretty tough self-doubt. Whatever it is that keeps those two ensnared in their messy affair, everyone around them politely accepts that Savannah may belong to Shane genetically, but for now, until Sasha and Shane figure out what the hell they are doing, she is a Monroe.

Last year when Michonne and I took the kids to visit with Sasha and the Monroes for Thanksgiving, we witnessed that she may be a Monroe in name, but she is obviously a Walsh in attitude and biology. Even Carl made a rather innocent mention of how Savannah had a temper, kind of like cousin Shane's. As she stomped around Sasha and Spencer's regal brownstone in Alexandria, pouting and demanding her doting grandparents pick her up, that her father give her cookies, that Andre play with her, and that Michonne and I pay attention to her, my wife and I had to look at each other with a quiet nod of agreement with Carl's assessment. My God that girl is Shane Walsh 2.0, and heaven help us all when he finally decides to do something about it.

Now alone with my wife, I drag my gaze from the retreating form of a pissed off Shane Walsh, no longer interested in his self-inflicted drama, and back to her. Scanning the crowd of gathered friends and family, not yet realizing that I'm watching her, my pretty girl blinks those soft brown eyes, dropping her thick lashes to sweep the tops of her cheeks, and ensnares my heart in the palm of her hand once more. This scene, her in white, with the sun retreating behind her, bathing her in its luminescence, is strikingly familiar to the very first time we met. The memory of her, so young and beautiful, strutting into my life, stealing my heart, causes me to reach for her much smaller hand.

Swallowing the lump of emotion growing in my throat, caused by her piercing gaze sweeping my way, I am simply robbed of the ability to speak. But in that moment, my affection for her is too overwhelming, and since I don't have the words, I tug gently on her hand and pull her into my waiting arms.

"Rick?"

"Dance with me." I declare. It's not a question. It's a command. An assertive plea to grace me with the press of her sexy body to mine.

Nodding, she follows my lead on to the dance floor, joining our sons who are grumbling and complaining to their aunt Beth, about the slower pace of the oldies song that the DJ is now playing. Over the rising lilt of the singer's voice I can hear them telling her, as they march off the dance floor, that the song is too old and slow to dance to. Following close behind his older brother, Carl's constant shadow, Andre is excitedly explaining to his aunt why they should play some song, unknown to me, that will allow him to show her how to 'hit the quan'. I chuckle at my youngest son's exuberant response to even the smallest of things. Andre is such a rowdy little boy. So much so, that we were all caught off guard by how rambunctious he is compared to the mature calm of Carl.

Coming along in our second year in Boston, Andre was not the surprise that Carl was, as we were actively screwing like rabbits at any chance we got. Moving to Boston was a treat for us. It was like a brand new life. A new beginning. Despite the stress of school, and being new parents in a new city, our passion for the freedom of this life, away from some of the dour sadness left behind in Georgia, it sparked a refreshing bout of an unquenchable lust for life and each other. With all of the sexing going on in that expensive ass apartment in Harvard Square, less than a mile from campus, we were bound to end up with another baby. And we did.

At nearly seven pounds, Andre Hershel Grimes, was born very quickly, just like his brother before him, but in a very different way. Nearly two weeks overdue, Michonne was miserable on the February day that he was born. 35 pounds heavier than her pre-pregnancy weight, feet swollen, and tired, she was over being pregnant. Trying to keep up with her studies, and having trouble sleeping because of the sheer size of her swollen belly, she was sitting up in bed as I snored quietly beside her, worn out from my own studies, and from chasing Carl around all night trying to get him to take a bath. One moment all was quiet, my snores and her page turning the only sounds in the room. The next moment, Michonne was shrieking and pushing me in the back, telling me that she had peed the bed. At first I was irritated that she had interrupted my sleep, as I needed to be up very early for my first class at 8. But very quickly, feeling the soaking wetness spreading under her on the mattress, I sobered up and jumped into action.

Still sore at missing Carl's birth, I was ready and prepared for her to go into labor, and realized immediately that the amount of wetness in the bed was not her peeing herself. Her water had broken, and I called her doctor's emergency number to let her know we were headed to the hospital. Excited beyond belief, I rushed around the room, grabbing the already prepared suitcase, my phone, her purse, our coats, and boots and ran out to the car. Not until I was halfway down the street did I realize I had remembered almost everything, but the most important things. I had left my wife and son in the apartment. Collecting them after finding her patiently waiting on the sidewalk outside of the apartment, holding the small hand of Carl who was agitated and still quite sleepy, we rushed off to the hospital.

Andre was born within ten minutes of our arrival. In a brown tinged flurry of wild black curls, pumping fists, kicking feet, and loud screams, my baby boy dramatically announced his entrance to the Grimes family. And he has been the same ever since. He's a wiry skinny boy who loves to run everywhere he goes. He's constantly laughing at something, he has no inside voice, and he is the smartest kid I have ever met. A toasted caramel to Carl's very light summer tan, almost black, thick tight curls, to Carl's mostly straight chestnut hair, and more book smart than Carl's intuitive street smarts, Andre is a true mix of Michonne and I. Her mother said it's like we each sat down and gave him exactly fifty percent of each of us, which is a stark contrast to how Carl is clearly my spitting image, and Nina is every bit my wife.

Grinning at their hasty departure from the dance floor, their tuxedoed forms lead them directly to their grandparents standing at the buffet table, who willingly fix them plates piled high with all manner of treats. Mona and Hershel are good at spoiling their grandkids, and helping us keep up with the demands of our lives. Both having recently retired, they swear their doting is simply a result of them having nothing else to do, especially with Beth getting ready to leave for college. But, Michonne and I know better, and easily recognize that they are trying to make up for my father's untimely death, and my mother's welcome estrangement. It is what it is, and none of the kids seem to notice their absence, since they have a large family, including a Nanny and a Poppy that love and spoil them unceasingly. Only once have either of them even mentioned that they don't know my parents, to which Michonne stuttered through a convoluted explanation that caused them to quickly lose interest, and kept me from having to dive into the murky waters that is my deceased father, and…Ellen.

No longer watching my boys eat up as many cookies, and as much cake as their tiny bodies will allow, I tightly crush my wife's sexy form to my body. I begin a slight sway with her, keeping in time with the music of the familiar song's romantic lyrics.

"You were meant for me
No one else could come between this love, I know
Cause I'll never let you go

You and me...it seems
Never have a problem we can't overcome
Cause you'll always be the one

Never thought I'd be so happy
Loving you has made feel so fine
I can see my friends turn green with envy
Every time I tell them, I'm so glad you're mine…"

"Remember this song, Mrs. Grimes?"

"Kelly-Grimes. And yes I do, Mr. Grimes. At my parents' wedding you were so damn handsome, and charming. I was kind of scared of you. How you made me feel. Nobody has ever made me feel like you do, Rick."

"No one ever will, pretty girl. And they better not try!" I declare on a growl, angling my head to sip at the sweet, blood red lips of my wife. Passionately kissing her, my tongue tangling and twisting over hers, a low groan of excitement begins to rumble in my chest.

"Ahem, excuse me, guys. I think your baby did a poop." Tapping me on the shoulder, I reluctantly pull my lips away from my wife's, a few short pecks between us before I swivel to my right. Standing there, holding my little Nina out to me, her crisp white dress stained a telling greenish-brown in the back, is my little sister in law Maggie. In a fit of heaves, her boyfriend Glenn stands next to her, threatening to vomit.

"Mags, you couldn't just change her?" Michonne asks, reaching for my squirming, smiling, baby girl. Trying to hold on to Nina's chubby form, while also trying to avoid getting any poop on her expensive wedding dress, Michonne frowns at Maggie and Glenn's already retreating forms.

"I love my niece, but I'm done changing poopy diapers, Michy. Give her to Dad. You know he'll do it in a heartbeat." She offers on a departing shot over her shoulder. Knowing that she's right Michonne turns back to me.

"Rick, I'll be right back. Let me see if I can get my dad to handle little Miss Nina. You stinky girl. You went poopy in your pretty dress?" Michonne pops another kiss to my lips, then coos to our baby girl, as she switches off to coerce her dad into changing a stinky diaper. He will. Hershel loves his grandkids, and welcomes helping out any way he can.

Watching the hypnotic sway of her rounded hips as she prances away from me, leaving me alone on the dance floor, a proud, joyous grin covers my lips. Proud because that amazing woman is mine. These kids are mine. This is family is mine. And remembering the advice my father left to me in a letter, I make a silent vow to myself…

Rance's Letter to Rick

Rick, 

If you are reading this letter then I am surely dead and gone. Ain't that a bitch? I knew it was coming. When I went to Atlanta to see that fancy heart doctor, I knew my time was quick approaching. She told me I had heart disease. That it was pretty far gone, but surgery and meds might help, but probably not. So, you know me, son. I said fuck it. I'm tired. I'm done fighting and fussing, and raging, and hiding. Yes hiding. I have hid behind my PTSD for years. It has allowed me to blame your mother for everything. To shift the cause for every rotten, rowdy thing I've ever done. And trust me, Rick, I've done plenty. And so has she. We did everything we could to hurt each other. Lied, cheated, stole. Your mother is a mean ol piece of work, and some of that is simply who she is, how she was raised. And some of that is my fault. I can't fix it now. What's done is done, and I got nothing left for her. Not my heart, my love, or my damned money. 

It's amazing that as piss poor of a job as we did being good to each other, the good Lord blessed two rotten apples like Ellen and I with such great boys. We didn't deserve either one of you, and when Jeff figured that out he left. And look at you now, Rick, you're gone too. And that's good. That's what's best for you. You found you a precious girl, and you ran with her. You weren't too big a coward like I was. You chose happiness, and I couldn't be more proud. That's why I left things the way I did. I wanted to reward you boys for being better men than I was. I wanted to reward my brother for sticking with me through all the shit with our spineless daddy, your greedy mother, and for putting up with a brother who was a miserable son of a bitch. You all deserve better. My grandkids deserve better. Your Michonne deserves better. 

So there it is. I love you. You and Jeff are the very best parts of Ellen and I, and for that I thank God. Hug my grandbaby. Give him lots of love and encouragement. You're going to be a great father, I know you will because you are simply a good man Richard Andrew Grimes, my son.

Kiss your girl for me, tell her I love her too. She's a good one. Michonne is beautiful, sweet and smart. She's almost perfect. You need a woman like her. Take care of her and love and protect her with everything you got, son. Don't take her love and devotion to you for granted, cause life doesn't always give you another chance to find your way back.