Chapter 8 – Michonne

"Rick? Rick, what are you doing here?"

"Hi, sweetheart." Moving my dreads from their scattered disarray in front of my face, Rick delicately leans down and places a kiss to my forehead, then takes a seat on the edge of the bed. "I decided to come tonight instead of tomorrow. I missed you."

"I missed you too. I'm happy to see you. Where's my Carl? Are you going to get him tomorrow for Andre's birthday party?"

"Nah, he came with me tonight. They are out of school tomorrow for some teacher meetings or something like that, so he decided to come on now." He answers, as my cat Teeny saunters her way from her watchful perch at the foot of the bed, to his lap. She loves Rick almost as much as I do, and I have to laugh at how possessive of him she is quickly becoming. Yeah, Teeny, I know the feeling. Petting her from head to tail, she purrs and curls herself into his stomach, now a satisfied ball of fur. Rick doesn't even seem to notice as it's simply become their thing. One day she barely gave him the gift of her green eyes. The next, she was following him around, often finding herself perched on his lap. One morning he woke and she was asleep on his chest. He didn't seem as alarmed as one might think, especially considering that he says he's not particularly fond of cats. It's kind of hilarious because out of all the men in my life, only Andre, my dad, and now Carl and Rick receive this kind of affection from Teeny, who is pretty much a 'leave me alone and I'll leave you alone' kind of cat. Her and Aaron employ this model and keep an amicable distance from each other. Whenever Mike makes an appearance, she is quick to give him an impolite hiss then make herself scarce until he leaves. As my grandmother used to say when I was a young girl, animals and kids are the most intuitive about folks. Guess she was right, because with the exception of Aaron, Teeny seems to be a pretty good judge of character.

"Oh good. I missed seeing him last weekend. I should get up and make sure he gets some dinner. You guys hungry?" Attempting to sit up, I pause for a moment, fighting off a bout of dizziness. With one hand to my forehead, I briefly close my eyes, and still myself to allow the fleeting sensation of faint lightheadedness pass.

"Don't worry about it, we ate before we left KC. Lay back, Michonne." Rubbing my leg, then down to my toes, Rick urges me to recline on the bed, obviously witnessing the distress on my face. Grimacing at the deep breaths I take to still the spinning in my head, I can see the worry creasing the lines on his face as he begins to massage my foot, kneading his thumb into the arch, just the way I like. This guy. "You're in the bed kinda early. It's only 8. Andre said you weren't feeling well?"

"Yeah, I just feel weird. Real tired, like I could barely keep my eyes open any longer. I think maybe it's my period coming, but I don't usually feel like this, ya know? My breasts hurt something awful, I felt nauseous after lunch. Just so blah."

"None of that sounds good. Did you eat anything for dinner? Andre was eating pizza when I got here. Maybe if you ate some of that it messed with your stomach, made you nauseous?"

"Oh god no! I couldn't stand the smell of the pizza when it got here. I wanted a piece until I got a whiff of the grease. I think I just need to rest some. This case I'm working on is draining."

"Hm. Well you lay here for a minute. Then I'll go fix you some tea and something light to eat. Maybe settle your stomach."

"Sure, ok. Thank you, Rick."

"You know, you have gorgeous little feet, woman." Rick muses, as his hands work their magic, rubbing and stroking, applying just the right amount of pressure to the ball of my foot, causing me to keen and moan at the glorious sensation.

"I've never heard that about my feet. You got a little fetish there, Sheriff?"

"Maybe. I've never noticed a woman's feet before. Yours are very nice. Cute little toes and red nails." Dropping a kiss to the bottom of my foot, he glances up at me with a sly, questioning grin to his lips. "All of you is perfect isn't it?"

"Not all of me. I have my faults, just like everyone else. I'm lactose intolerant, I need glasses or contacts because I'm blind as a bat… I've got stuff."

"Minor things." His voice low and deep, gravelly, seductive. He shakes his head as though he is denying the mere thought of any defect on my part, then proceeds to kiss his way from my toes, to my ankle, causing a little thrill of excitement to shiver through me. With my dizziness almost completely forgotten, supplanted by the zing of pleasure emanating from Rick's lips to my foot, I'm eagerly awaiting his next move. "Feel better?"

"Yes." I answer on a breathy moan, seduced away from my ailments. Instantly I'm rolling my eyes at myself. At how quickly this man and his affection for me transforms me into a breathy damsel, my voice only a faint whisper.

"Good. I'll be right back." On a parting peck to the inside of my leg, Rick gifts me with a quick wink, then rises from the bed.

Watching him stroll away I take a moment to admire the look of him. My cowboy with his long, bowed, legs, broad shoulders, wide back, his tan uniform shirt straining across the expanse. Always standing so tall and erect, gracefully carrying the weight of so much on him. It's an odd miracle that you can hardly tell. Given what I have unearthed about his job, what I've learned about him, he should be a ball of tension, stress. But no, he's always a cool breeze. Staunchly supportive, a stalwart port in the storm of my chaotic emotions.

I'm glad he's here. I sorely missed him too, but would never have called to ask him to come earlier than planned. This thing with Rick is getting more and more serious by the day, powering forward, imbedding him into my heart, and I can't help but wonder how we got here so quickly. How is it possible that he and I have only known each other for a month, but it feels like an eternity? Almost seamlessly, we have worked our way into each other's lives. Between the daily calls and texts, and the constant back and forth between the city and King County to see each other, even if only for lunch, for the night, for a quick fix, it's becoming apparent to me that nothing feels right when we're not together in some way. I can meditate all day long, but if I haven't had a recent dose of Rick Grimes, my whole world is off center. My body craves the exhilarating thrill of simply being with him. Basking in the effortless ease of this connection we share. The electrifying, kinetic exchange of energy between us, keeps me energized and in balance now, and it is something that I'm not willing to do without. I won't jeopardize it again. I can't. It has become obvious that he is the cure to what ails me, serving as the soothing balm to my wounded heart, and my damaged confidence.

As of last weekend I'm so certain about his place in my life now, that not only have I divulged it to Aaron, but I also told my mother, who was ecstatic beyond belief. Nia Alexander is the consummate romantic, and the very thought of the two kids who met one time on a summer day around 30 years ago, actually falling in love, is like fairytale catnip for her. It's so appetizing a premise for her, that she hasn't even bothered to ask what happened to Shane. I'm glad. Instead she only made me promise that at the first chance we are free, we will join her and my father for dinner. That should be good. My dad seemed pleased with Shane because he was his choice for me. But, Rick is new, and if I know my dad, he's going to be much more skeptical of him as a result. Hopefully he will see how happy I am and we can forgo the puffed up, hyper-masculine, and protective dramatics Arthur Alexander is known for. Hopefully.

Exertion inching through my limbs again, I'm smiling to myself at the thought of Rick being here in my bed with me tonight instead of 40 minutes away. I nuzzle back down into my pillow and blankets, taking comfort in the warmth and cozy restfulness I find here. Like I told Rick I've been feeling under the weather lately, and it seems to have kicked up even further this last week or so. At first I thought it was my period coming, or because there has been so much going on over the last 4-5 weeks of my life. Meeting Rick. Starting a new relationship. The drama with Shane and Jessie. But, after holding a meeting today with my new client, Glenn Rhee, and his girlfriend Maggie, discussing the upcoming depositions, I began to feel even worse.

Not just from whatever is physically ailing me, but also from the details of this case. It's really beginning to wear me down. The more I find out about King County, the less I like it, and the more I question how a man like Rick can be from there. While I realize that nowhere is perfect, the kind of corruption that is going on in King County, that has been going on for some time now, is appalling. My investigator Paul may have started with just looking in to the Sheriff's office, and the DA's office, but all of it has led to the Mayor's office as well, and given the types of things he has uncovered I'm not surprised that all forms of King County law and government are involved.

Paul found that the Sheriff's office has a long history of not arresting people when they should, unlawfully detaining others, and using unnecessary force as a common practice. The District Attorney's office isn't much better. In a town that is almost laughably small, the DA has seemingly found it feasible to always prosecute those who don't reside within city limits, to never seek prosecution for friends and family, and the judges will often find favorably for whoever is on the giving side of a plentiful bribe. The Mayor, one of a long line of Monroes who has served in that position, appears to be the only one not explicitly a part of the corruption, but given how enmeshed that family is in the fabric of King County, I find it hard to believe. Especially given the fact that her son is the defendant in my current case.

Thankfully, so far nothing negative has come up with the last name Grimes associated with it, and for that I can only breathe the largest sigh of relief. I simply don't know how I would handle that. I've even been too scared to tell him about my role in this case. I don't know how. With depositions coming up late next month, I am hoping that after speaking with my client today, and gaining some new information from his girlfriend, that I might be able to persuade Deputy Spencer to settle this out of court. With the way I have been feeling lately, I don't know if my health can handle the additional stress right now. I need things to settle down, to find some semblance of normalcy again.

Pulling me out of my thoughts a few soft raps on my bedroom door catch my attention.

"Come in."

"Hi, Michonne. Are you decent." Carl asks, peeking his head from around the edge of the door.

"Sure, come on in." I answer, sitting up in bed and pulling the blankets up over my chest. In just a camisole and panties, I don't want to give Carl an eyeful that I'm sure he doesn't want.

"Dad said you're not feeling well, but I wanted to check on you. Do you need anything?"

"Awe, thank you, Carl, but I'm good. Your dad is downstairs fixing me something now. Aren't you sweet though! Come here and give me a hug."

Leaning into me, Carl gives me a warm hug, and instantly I notice his once too long hair is now closely cropped, just a little shorter than his dad's. Making him resemble Rick even more than usual.

"You cut your hair?"

"Ah, yeah… What do you think?" Self consciously he pulls his hand back from our hug and runs it over his shorter locks.

"I think you look as handsome as always. What made you cut it?" I ask, tilting my head a little in question. I think I already know the answer, but I'll let him tell me.

"Thanks. I just wanted to look good, and fit in with Dre's friends a little better."

"Sit down for a minute, Carl. Why do you think you don't fit in already?"

"I just… Ya know, in the city no one is wearing long hair or nothing like that. I kinda feel like it makes me stick out as a hayseed or something. My mom thought it would give me a more mature look too. I don't know…" He shrugs, uncertainty in his hunched posture as his blue eyes focus on his fidgeting hands, twisting over themselves in his lap.

Running my hands over the short feathery strands of his hair, I take a moment to appreciate the connection that Carl and I have that allows him to be so honest and inquisitive with me. We've had moments like this before, where his emotions are open, his thoughts clearly laid out for my commentary. Just like tonight, he often seeks me out for my opinion, my ideas on something. One time he asked me what it is about his dad that made me want to date him, and if I mind that he's white. At first it felt like an odd thing to ask, and after I got over the shock of it, and as he kept going with his questions, he offered that he's trying to determine if a black girl like Macy would really like him or if he even has a chance with her. My response to him, just like it would be to Andre, is that any girl, black, white, or any other color would be lucky to have as handsome, kind, and smart of a guy as him. Period. He seemed to like the positive simplicity of that answer, and has been my right hand guy ever since.

Thinking on it a bit more, I'm in awe at how quickly and easily our little fractured family has come together. To trust each other. Carl is very much like Andre. Intelligent, intuitive. And perhaps that recognition is what has made it so easy for us to get along. When he spends the night here, it's like I have two Andres running around, making jokes, eating up all of the food, playing video games, listening to music too loud, Facetiming girls, trying to setup dates or time to hang out. The similarities are so apparent that sometimes if I close my eyes I can't tell them apart from their voices, and it's eerie.

On the other hand, while Andre is often quick with his sarcastic wit, and sometimes a little too smart assed for his own good, Carl seems to always be carefully thinking over his words before he says them. Taking the measure of his audience to see how they will be received. I suppose given his admission just now, it's all born out of his desire to fit in, to say the right thing to ensure he finds acceptance. To keep things smoothed over, and I wonder if this isn't also a result of him trying to keep things light and easy between his parents.

There is very real tension between Rick and his ex-wife, Lori. It was so obvious that it was palpable, hanging like the ghost of relationships past in the air between them. Given what Rick has told me about Lori, and the demise of their marriage, this is not surprising. Despite the fact that Lori is still very much a presence in Carl's life, I can't help but wonder what that kind of living, breathing strain in a home has done to affect him. I think it's what makes him so strategic with his words and actions. What makes him always so cautious to make sure things are just so. He's looking for reassurance in his interactions with people, a confirmation that at the most inopportune of times, things won't be volatile and fall apart. Not like they have in the past. Sometimes I can see the stress of it on his face, like now, as he worries over me, and over whether or not his new haircut will be a hit with the young and pretty Macy Stokes.

"Carl, look at me." I command, taking a slow and easy grasp of his cheek to turn him my way. With my palms flat to either side of his face, I make sure I have his full attention. "There is nothing for you to worry about, ok? Long hair, short hair, no hair, you are still Carl. And Carl is an amazing young man. What you look like on the outside does not change who you are. Do you understand me? But if you like it, I love it. Ok?"

"Ok. Thanks, Michonne. I appreciate you being so cool to me, and for loving my dad. He really likes you." He grins, and the way it lifts and brightens his face, highlights the maturity of his features, and how much he looks like his father. Showcasing the same smattering of freckles over the bridge of his nose. And of course those blues. But I see her there too, in the angles of his face, and the thin set of his lips.

"I really like him too." Confirming my feelings for Rick, Carl releases a quick breath, as though he was holding it in anticipation of my response.

"Cool. I love my mom, but she really hurt him, so I'm glad that you guys found each other. It's… it's a good fit, right. All of us together. I hope it can always be this way." He offers, widening his smile at me, his face so much like Rick's the way it always seems to be on the verge of amusement.

"Well, Carl, you never know."

"True. But I hope it can. It would be awesome if you and my dad got married, and like we all lived here in the city together. Right?" Excitement raises his adolescent voice, cracking it a bit on the end of his question. There is so much hope wrapped up in his words, and on his young face, that I can't help but want to give him the world right now. But, as an adult, one who has seen optimism get crushed under the cruel boot of reality, I don't want to taint his dreams. Instead, I only offer one word, and a truthful smile, one that I hope conveys all of the love and warmth that Rick and Carl have brought into my life.

"Maybe."

"That's good enough for me. I'll get out of here so you can rest, and before Dad runs me out of here anyway. See you later, and I hope you feel better tomorrow. I think this is gonna be a fun weekend. I'm really excited!" Gifting my cheek with a quick peck, his gangly form rises from the edge of my bed, then hustles it out of the door.

Inching back down into the covers as I watch his departure, I notice that the screen on my phone is brightly lit. When I got home I immediately turned off the ringer to try and get some rest, so no one has been able to reach me. I roll over to check my phone, and see that I have a few missed calls from Mike, including one voicemail, and a text message. I definitely don't have the energy for him right now, and I immediately dismiss his attempts to reach me, tossing my phone face down on to my night stand.

After last weekend, with both Rick and I admitting to our indiscretions, and him divulging how he sees a comparison to my relationship with Mike, and Jessie's with her husband, I am beginning to see Mike very differently. Which I guess, had shame and stubbornness not tainted my rose colored glasses, I should have been doing all along. While Rick didn't harp on it too much, preferring to move past it, and enjoy our time together, I have been doing a little research of my own on it. And what I have found is eye opening, in a sad way.

When I told Rick that I still loved Mike so many weeks ago, I meant it. I do. I did. I loved who he was, not willing to come to terms with the monster he had become. Instead I clung to who he had been to me. The only man who had ever loved me like a man does a woman. We had been together for so long, that even when things turned bad between us, I could only see him as the man who swept me off my feet. As the man who I married, and built a life with. The man who made me a mother. All of those warm and cozy feelings of love drastically overshadowed who he had become. A cruel, emotionally absent, abuser. It was easy for Rick to recognize this when I reluctantly admitted some of the things Mike would say to me. How he wouldn't come home for days, and wouldn't say anything to me. Then would just show up as though nothing had happened. How he would ridicule me when we were alone, or with his family, make jokes about me being beautiful but barren. Even laughing when his own father commented in front of me that the pretty ones are always crazy or broken, and he should have chosen better.

And I never defended myself. I didn't know how. To try and stay his unpredictable temper I would attempt to navigate our time together away from topics that I thought would set him off. Which rarely worked, because in the end, even the littlest things did. It was always so jarring for him to speak to me, about me, this way, sometimes not just in front of his family, but in front of others. It would freeze me in disbelief, guilt, shame, and after a while it became so common that I no longer had tears to shed. Sometimes it felt like I deserved the punishing words, his avoidance of me, because isn't this the life I wanted. I would be crazy to throw this handsome, successful, black man away. Even though he was mean sometimes, didn't I have it all, the very things that most women would kill for? Handsome husband? Check. Smart, well behaved son? Check. Career. Large house. Fancy cars. Check, check, check. So, I swallowed my pride, those tears, my fears, the pain, and set the same steel in my spine that many black women had before me, and determined that I would just survive somehow. I wasn't the first woman to do it, and I wouldn't be the last.

Despite the fact that my tears dried up, and I had become emotionally numb, my heart still bears the scars of his hurtful jabs. My confidence is still wounded by the digs. By the way he dominated me with his abusive words, and attempted to control me with his abandonment. And as a result I still find myself struggling to believe in the goodness of a man like Rick. It's sickening how Mike's faults color my relationship with him. To the point where I almost willingly threw away the best thing to ever happen to me, simply off the word of a man that I barely know. But not anymore. I've found love again, and I want to do whatever I can to hang on to it. Because yeah, I almost let Shane lead me astray. Almost. And though I do think that underneath his spite, and his clear disdain for Rick, there is or at least once was, something good in him.

Hearing the door to my bedroom reopen, I banish any and all thoughts of Shane, and concentrate on Rick and his handsome form, now sauntering into my bedroom. Carrying a cup of tea in one hand, and a package of saltine crackers, and a half sandwich on a plate on the other, his smile lights up the room.

"You don't have much in the kitchen, but I Googled what to do for nausea on my phone and ginger should work. You don't have any ginger, but you do have peppermint tea, which it said should also help. And these crackers might be good. If you want, I can run out and grab you something else." He offers, placing everything on my night stand.

"No, this is good. Thank you, Rick. You gonna come lay down with me?"

"Nah, not yet. Drink your tea before it gets cold." He mumbles over his shoulder, already leaving the room and heading towards the bathroom. Immediately I can hear a rush of water coming from the bathtub faucet, and the scent of lavender from the bath salts I keep on the edge of the tub.

Coming through the doorway of the bathroom, Rick has already removed his uniform shirt and pants, and only his boxers remain.

"Come on, baby, let's get you in the bath. Help you relax." Tossing the covers back and away from my body, Rick leans down and with one arm behind my back, and the other under the crook of my knees, he picks me up. Holding on to his neck, my arms wrap instantly around him to stave off the slight nausea and dizziness that wells up in me from the movement.

Once we are in the bathroom, Rick slowly lowers me to my feet in front of him and without pause my head drops forward to rest my clammy forehead on his chest. Stilling me, his hands remain anchored on either side of my hips, keeping me steady and close to him, warming me with his body.

After a moment, I can feel the nausea pass and the fog in my head begin to dissipate. On a long, deep sigh against his firm chest, I lift my head and latch on to his eyes. His calm, beautiful eyes. A prismatic blue, soft and focused on me. Always on me. The usual mirth, or adoration isn't there now though. Instead, they are full of worry, slanted into a concerned squint with the lines at the corners crinkled, showing his age. And even though it's not a look that I want to see on his face, it does nothing to diminish the sexy that is Rick Grimes. No, it actually enhances it, the way he cares for me. Loves me. It's an intoxicating feeling, being loved by him. Having him worry over me. Despite his consternation, I smile.

"What's that look, Sheriff? I'm ok. Just not feeling well. It happens."

"I imagine so. I just don't like the idea that you were here alone. I should have been here earlier to take care of you."

"I'm fine, Rick. Andre's here. And thanks to a certain sheriff he's a pretty good driver if I would have needed him to take me to the doctor. I'm good."

"You are good. And yes he is a damn good driver. But you're my lady, and it's my job to take care of you."

"Is that right?"

"That's right."

"How are you going to take care of me, Sheriff?" I flirt, with a quirk of my eyebrow. Feeling that I'm starting to get my bearings a little, I can't help but be drawn to him. Rick is exactly what I need right now. Rubbing the palms of my hands over his chest, I delight in the feathering of his chest hair through my fingers.

"Gonna start with a nice hot bath."

"Uh huh. And then?"

"And then you're going to drink your tea, and eat some food."

"Boring."

"And then you're gonna get back in the bed."

"Now you're speaking my language." Wiggling my eyebrows, I grin at him, hoping this is leading to him putting out the fire that's slowly coming to life inside of me.

"And then you're gonna rest. Now lift your arms so I can get you naked and in the tub."

"Yes, sir." Obediently raising my arms high over my head, I arch my back a bit, pressing my breasts into him.

Taking note of my movements, his eyes latch on to the jutting crush of my naked breasts against him, and with a slow lick of his lips he strains out, "Good girl." Clutching my camisole in his fist, as though trying to find the strength to restrain his urges, he finally throws it into the hamper. Dropping to a crouch, he hooks his fingers at the lace trimmed leg opening of my panties. Leisurely inching them down my legs and over my feet, he lingers and kisses my inner thigh and rubs his hand up the length of my leg, stopping before he gets to his favorite spot. My ass. His face is conflicted, as it's clear that he wants to keep going. To knead my flesh with the full grasp of his strong hands as he has so many times before. He doesn't though. Instead he rises, and directs me to get into the bathtub.

Dropping down into the heated, lavender scented water, the froth from the bubbles tickles my sensitive nibbles as I take a seat. Seeing the desire and concern warring with each other over Rick's handsome face, his eyes ablaze with lust, even while his lips tilt down into a frown, I reach my hand out to him. An offer I hope he won't refuse.

"Join me."

"Nah. That's not a good idea. You don't need sex, you need relaxation."

"You relax me. Come on, Sheriff. You could use it too." I offer, noticing that his eyes are now fixated on the way the white bubbles teasingly cover some of my body, leaving my nipples to ride the very edge of their transparency. He's conflicted, but when he sees me drop and ease my other hand down the curves of my body, and disappear underneath the water, between my thighs, he seems to be thinking it over.

"Hold on." He announces, tossing up a single finger to still my movements as he dashes from the bathroom. In a few brief moments, I can hear him engaging the lock on my bedroom door, and music playing from the record player speakers.

"This ain´t for the ones
That just love for fun
That just love and run
That just hold the gun
This is for
Those that bleed
That want but have no need
This ain´t for the war
This is only…"

It's his favorite artist now, he plays his music often. To communicate with me. To relate with me. To tell me something that he's not certain his own southern tinged words can properly deliver. And more often than not, when he wants to be naughty with me. I welcome the soft, sultry whisper of Maxwell's falsetto as he croons "For Lovers Only", and the return of my sheriff.

Shoving down his boxers to ease them over his lean hips, to drop to his feet, Rick kicks them away, and eagerly struts over to the bathtub where I'm relaxed in quiet repose, waiting for him. Instead of immediately entering the water to join me, he stands at the side of the tub, his cock in his hand, his palm traveling the reddened column of flesh. His eyes laser focused on mine, scanning my face, taking the measure of me. Returning the heated warmth of his blue eyes, I simply can not keep my eyes away from the movement of his hand, the way his cock seems to be growing harder, longer, thicker, right in front of me. I want to taste him. To feel him. This is what will make me feel better. I don't need rest. I only need Rick.

"For lovers only
Lovers only
Strictly for the lovers only
Who are lost and lonely

Ever since the way you looked at me
Love is not a want
Love is now a need…"

"I don't want to hurt you, Michonne, but… god knows I need you right now. My beautiful temptress." The words escape his lips, and drop into the air on a tortured groan as he watches me gingerly fondle my breasts, my fingers carefully tugging and rolling the peaks of my nipples in anticipation of what comes next, mindful of their tenderness.

"Let me give you what you need, Rick." I plead again, needing him to put out the fire building and blazing like a tiny inferno inside of me. Inside of both of us. "Please, baby…"

Without another word he enters the large tub that is big enough to fit three people. Instead of joining me where I sit, he practices more restraint than I thought him capable of, and rests in the heated water on the other side of the tub with his arms outstretched across the edge.

"Rick?" Confusion clouds my features, as I watch him lean back, his eyes still on me. Focused. Feral.

Licking his lips before he answers, he takes his time, his words delivered slowly, measured, careful. The way he always is with me. Well, until he isn't… And that's what I want. That's what I need, for him to unleash the animalistic vigor that often rears its head when we are together. To abandoned the controlled lover, and transform into the wicked beast I know he wants to be. "I need a minute. I don't want to cum too quickly. I'm wound too tight, sweetheart."

"Let me fix that." I answer, rising to join my lover, hungry for the carnal pleasure that lies dormant inside of him. Last weekend after Lori left his house, after both of our admissions of indiscretion, our lovemaking was slow, measured, a beautiful coupling, a sealing of our souls, that only endeared me, bewitched me even more. His touch and kiss delivered with a worshipful caution, as though I might be broken by the true ferocity of his love. Break into a million tiny pieces, and escape his claims of worshipful adoration. As though I might seek to withdraw from him again when it gets tough. Or I might sanction him for committing the same crime I am guilty of. I don't. I won't again. Instead I relish the love he lavished on me, and whispered over my lips, into the crook of my neck. The same love I tried to gift back to him, curving my body into his in an attempt to give as good as I got. To love him with the same wild abandon that he loves me with him.

Water runs down my body in tiny rivulets, caressing the curves, the peaks and valleys of my shape, as Rick's eyes follow them in their vertical skim over my sable skin. Despite the bit of nausea I'm still fighting, my hunger for Rick supersedes all things, and my memory of how good he makes me feel drives me to sate my desire for him. Easing my wet body over his, I look down at the pretty face of my sheriff. His long eyelashes, his pink lips, poised in a sexy pout to receive my kiss. Always so open and ready to receive me. So beautiful. So calm. So in love. With me. I take pleasure in recognizing my own feelings returned to me, so transparent in my sweetheart's features. God I love him.

During our time together it has been difficult to believe in the magic of this connection between us, but as I take a hold of both sides of his face with my hands, and feel the blunt tip of his cock pushing, prodding against my pussy, I find glorious relief in that inalienable truth. I love him. He loves me. It's uncomplicated. It's real. And as I accept the curve of his long length, veiny, strong, tunneling through my heated folds, I place a soft kiss to each of his eyelids in appreciation of this endowment. A true chance to live again.

"Damn, Michonne… damn."

"Rick, baby… Ah, you feel amazing." I ease out, seating myself on his lap and wincing at the stretch, the complete fullness of him penetrating my body, breaching my walls, and occupying my heart. With his arms now wrapped tight as a vise around me, enfolding me into his body, with one hand guiding the back and forth of my hips around my waist, and the other clasped gently across my shoulder, his hand on the back of my neck. Rick bends his legs at the knee and begins to hold me firmly against him, while gently thrusting upwards, causing the water to bob, and wave, disturbed by the erotic current of our lovemaking.

Winding my hips in a circular motion, I'm meeting each of his strong strokes, teasing him with the brush of my drenched walls against the sensitive head of his cock.

"Easy, Michonne…fuck. You're killing me! I told you I don't want to come quick. I want to take my time with you."

"I want you to give it to me good, Rick… Nice and hard, baby. Just how I like it. How you like it." I whisper into his ear, taunting the part of him that's holding on so tightly. I'm punctuating my words with a rough grind of my pussy and my clit into his pelvis. He's buried to the hilt, the magnitude almost punishing in how deeply he's buried inside of me, grazing against the secreted parcel of nerves that will make explode. Still sensing his hesitancy, I continue, "I'm not gonna break. You won't hurt me. I need it." I beg again, speaking directly to the part of my lover that is keeping him from ravaging me the way I can tell he wants to. I need him to unleash the full fury of his lust and love on me…I need it.

"You sure? You're not feeling well." He answers, mumbling the words around the pillowy mound of my breast in his mouth, the stubbled scruff of his re-emerging beard tickling my skin. Shaking his head a little he's protesting a bit, but the way he's fondling my other breast with his fingers, firmly pinching my nipple with a slight punishing sting, raising his eyes to witness the shock of pleasure clenching my features, lets me know he's giving in.

Wincing at the feel of his mouth and hand on my sensitive breasts, I grab a hold of his hair, a clutch of the longer strands near the top, then gently tug back to pull his head away from the cushion of my bosom. With his head now tossed back on the edge of the tub, the jolt of the tug delivers his full attention to me. Leaning my face into his, I lick, I bite at his lips, his cheek, his chin, his neck, all the while our wet bodies glide against each other in a slippery and gratifying dance. Inching my face down I flatten my tongue, and lick against the pulse of his throat. Inching my lips to the side of his neck, I bite down with just the slight edge of my teeth, then deliver a strong suction of my lips. Ending on a graze of his skin between my teeth, pulling away then sucking again, I can feel him swallow and gasp down the most wicked words, the most grateful supplications and words of thankful prayer.

And that's when I've got him. When he can no longer deny my pleas of something a little naughtier, harder, rougher. With his strong hands around my waist he lifts me from his lap, a drastically disturbing the rhythmic lapping of the water around us. The sudden separation causes an instant feeling of emptiness in my core, turning down my lips in frustration, and dipping my eyebrows into a frustrated frown.

Still holding me to him, Rick inches both of our bodies from the water in a series of quick movements, causing some of the fragrant and soapy suds to spill over the edge and on to the floor.

Once we are out of the water, the air a surprising blitz of cool sensations crawling across my feverish skin. His red, flushed with desire, water flattening the hair on his chest and abdomen, running a trail into the dark bush that surrounds his long cock and the meaty drop of his balls.

"Back up, then turn around. I want your hands flat on the wall."

"Rick-"

"Quiet! Do as you're told." He commands in a low growl, his tone offering no playfulness, brooking no argument as he grips his dick in his fist with a lazy up and down pull. Yes.

As I follow his orders, and take a few tentative steps back to the wall, I can feel my arousal peaking, leaking in sticky fat dollops down my thighs, in a wanton anticipation of the onslaught of aggressive passion soon to come. Turning to the wall, gracefully bend at the waist, lifting my ass enticingly for his appraisal.

Advancing on me, Rick assertively presses his cock into me, grazing the head through the cleft of my ass, smacking it against my cheeks. Watching him over my shoulder, I take note of the wicked twist of his beautiful lips, as he grinds out, "You're a bad girl, Michonne. Stubborn. And hardheaded. You don't listen, so now I'm going to have to punish you."

A gasp disturbs my lips as it flits from my diaphragm. Closing my eyes, biting nervously at the inside of my jaw, I'm trembling in anticipation of my well deserved, and ardently desired punishment.

Rick's left hand finds its way around my throat, a gentle clutch, delivering the tiniest whisper of pressure as his thumb swipes against the hollow at the base. First licking at the index finger of his right hand, it then rides a path from the angles of my shoulder blades, over the dip of my spine, to my ass, haughtily jutted into the air. Grabbing a handful of my cheek, he kneads and jiggles my flesh.

His breathing is heavy, labored, as though he is already weary from practicing restraint, from caging his desire. Lifting his index finger to lick at it again, he travels it back along the middle of my ass, and over the pucker of my hole, then further down to my drenched opening and slowly plunges it into my wetness, drenching it with my excitement.

"Did you get this wet for me, Michonne?" He asks as he lazily removes his finger. Then I feel the sting of his palm on my ass. Smack!

"Yes." I stutter, an instant zing of pleasure nearly sending me to my knees, weakening my shaky legs.

"Why?" Smack!

"Ah! Because I belong to you." I huff out, clenching my eyes closed against the onslaught of the delicious mix of the electrifying tingle of his swats, and the erotic thrill it stirs in my core.

"Oh I know. But, are you sure about that? No more questions?" Smack! Smack!

"No. No more questions. I belong to you, Rick." My nails are scraping against the wall, then curl my fingers into my palms, as the words are nearly lost in my throat, but find a way to eek out a response. An affirmation that seems to satisfy him.

"Good." Rubbing his palm in soothing circles over my reddened ass cheek, his left hand finds its way to cup my chin, his thumb playing over my lips. Immediately I wish his thumb was his cock, and I suck it into my wet mouth. "Fuck… You're exquisite, baby. I'll never let you go. Never."

"Never, Rick."

"Turn around, I want to look at your pretty face while I fuck you. I want to hear you scream."

"Yes…"

Swiftly I turn around to face him, to gaze upon the wicked handsomeness of his chiseled cheeks, the straight slope of his nose, his square jaw, mixed in with the beauty of his soft lips, and those eyes. An ocean of blue, swirled with an influx of a stormy grey, signaling how excited he truly is.

"I love you, Rick." I offer, running my thin fingers over each of his features, paying homage to my lover.

"I love you, more." He grunts, then hooks his strong arms around my waist and lifts me high up on the wall. "Open your legs wide, and wrap them around my waist."

Following instructions like a good girl, I'm ready to receive my reward, and wrap my legs around his waist, and my arms around his shoulders. Eye to eye with him, I eagerly attack his lips with my own, slicking my tongue into his mouth. Tangling my tongue with his, I'm caught off guard when he rapidly heaves me down onto his hardness, fully impaling me in the most decadent of ways, causing a leaking rush of excitement to drip on to his groin. Instantly he sets a harsh and bruising pace. Spurred on by the slickness of my womanhood, Rick is pummeling his hips up against mine, our entangled bodies banging roughly against the wall.

"Ah, ah, ah, ah!" I whimper into his lips, sucking in his breaths to sustain through the onslaught of pleasure, the bursts of exhilaration blooming and threatening to explode within me.

"Yeah, that's good, baby. That's good… You take this dick so good."

"Ah, ah, ah… yes, baby, yes…" Scratching at his back, I'm attempting to hold on to conscious thought, but as he raises his thumb to my mouth, inserting it and wetting it on my tongue, then drops it to swirl it against my puckered hole, I simply can not survive the thrill of delight raiding my senses. Thrusting his thumb in concert with his tunneling cock, I'm brimming with him, fullness at every turn, and instantly I'm gone. Buried underneath the luxuriating glow of my orgasm, all I can do is moan a drawn out mewl through my flush of arousal into the crook of his neck.

Within moments, and only a few pumps of his dick later, Rick joins me, floating on a cloud of ecstasy, his semen erupting and washing my womb in its stickiness.

"Mmmm…" Rick growls, low and rough against the side of my face, his lips and teeth biting at my cheek, his curls now sweaty and plastered flat on his forehead. Seconds, minutes pass. Time is of no consequence. It's meaningless in this twinkling instant, when we are joined in a cataclysmic exchange of love, passion. Our souls finding life affirming sustenance in the forceful attraction of the other.

Rick hesitantly opens his eyes, looking upon me with fresh eyes. Clear as water, free from passion or lust, laced only with the luminosity of tender, adoring affection. As though it was the first time he has seen me. Truly.

Sheepishly I have to look away, unable to remain intact, whole under the overpowering ardor of the disarming fix of his stare. I realize that the depth of emotion I witness there must match the love sick cast of my own gaze, seeing through the physical, to the very essence of this man. Recognizing his glowing spirit as my life's compliment.

Stepping back from the wall, Rick reluctantly releases me from his hold, and the pressure of his body pinning me to the wall. Easing me down his body until my feet hit the floor. I'm a bit wobbly, uneasy in the weakness of my legs, like those of a newborn calf, baptized with the gift of birth.

Giggling at my unsteady gait as I head back over towards the tub to wash, I can't help but catch a peek of Rick over my shoulder watching me. Always watching me. Even if we are in a room with hundreds of other people, his eyes always are on me. It's as though I'm the only thing that matters to him, and the very thought of that sends a keening shiver of delight up my spine.

"Let's get cleaned up, Rick."

Chuckling, finally breaking his fixation on me, he follows me into the tub. "We gonna actually bathe this time? You gonna be a good girl now?"

"Maybe. Sit here and let me clean your back and wash your hair."

Settling between my legs, Rick wraps them around his waist again, massaging up and down my calves with his calloused hands as I begin to wash his hair. No words exist between us for a moment, only the lilt of Maxwell still singing into existence the story of us.

Breaking the stillness of the moment, braver than I am, Rick finally speaks. "Sometimes I'm… afraid of how intense I am with you. I want to be gentle with you, handle you softer, like you deserve."

"That's not always what I want, or need."

"I don't want to hurt you. Ever. I would die first, Michonne. The way I feel about you, how much I need you… It's… this thing is scary, consuming…"

"I'm in love with you, Rick. That scares me. But you? You don't scare me, you don't hurt me."

"Hm." He huffs, as though taken by surprise at my admission. "Well then we're both fucked cause I'm in love with you too, Michonne."

"Aren't we a pair, Sheriff?" Wondering at the place we find ourselves, my body still humming, coming down from the high of being properly handled by Rick Grimes, I lighten the moment. "How was work?"

"Rough. Uh, Jessie came in and got a restraining order against her husband. He got out on Monday, and was right back over to her house according to her. Gonna have to find something that will stick to keep that guy away."

"She needs a good lawyer. Not me, but a good one." I grimace, not even wanting to get tangled up in her drama. I have enough of my own, as my mind trails back to the unread texts and unheard voicemails from Mike. While I sympathize with her situation, I also hate the fact that she used it to put her lips on my sheriff. I hope she's smart enough not to attempt it again.

Probably sensing the tension settling in my muscles and my halted movements, Rick offers, "Hey, I'm sorry to bring her up. That wasn't a good idea."

"No problem. Unless you-"

"No I don't." Interrupting, he Rick leans his head back on my chest, still soapy with my coconut mango shampoo. "Let's talk about something else. You ready for Andre's birthday weekend?"

"Yeah. I have to pick up the cake tomorrow morning, and my parents are bringing the car tomorrow as well. The DJ is scheduled, and the caterer is handled, and there's not really much else to do other than watch my baby turn 16."

"Well I'll be here until Monday morning to help make sure you have all the help you need."

"That's sweet of you, Rick. Thank you."

"No problem. When is your ex due in?"

"Ugh. Saturday night, since the game is on Sunday."

"And he's still going to stay here?"

"I was going to tell him not to, but I remember he said hotels were booked for this weekend, so I guess I will still let him stay. Is that ok with you?"

"It's your house, Michonne, you don't have to ask me." He chuckles with a hint of strain. Rick is making light of it, but I can tell the thought makes him unhappy. "But, uh…I'm glad you did ask. It's not a problem though. If I wasn't, I would probably not be cool with it. Sorry, it's the truth."

"No need to be sorry. I appreciate you being honest. And hey, I would not be ok with you letting Lori stay with you if I wasn't there. Hell I don't know if I would be ok even if I was there. It's clear that she's still interested in you."

"What? No she's not."

"Yes she is. Didn't you hear her introduce herself as your wife? She's not slick."

Turning to me, confusion twisting his features, Rick scans my face as if trying to pick out the joke in my words. There is none. "You're serious?"

"As cancer. She was looking at you like you were a steak, and she hadn't eaten in weeks. I don't know whose baby she's carrying, but I'm sure she wishes it was yours."

"Well… you kind of do know whose baby it is."

"What? Rick! You said it's not your baby!" Alarmed at this turn of events, I unwrap my legs from his waist, needing to better understand what's going on.

"Hold on! Not me! Shane! It's Shane's baby." Calming my agitation, his hands are raised in a halting motion. "Shane and I used to be friends. From high school on. Ya know, Lori was his girlfriend first. We were all friends actually. Our senior year they broke up, she caught him with another girl. Which was normal for him, we played baseball, and he was popular. It used to happen a lot, but of course Lori didn't know that. When she found out she was heartbroken, and I was there. I was just there. We slept together once, she thought she was pregnant, so at graduation I proposed. Turned out she wasn't, but we got married anyway. Shane was leaving for school in Alabama, and he didn't seem bothered at all that she and I had hooked up and were a couple."

"Rick, that was sloppy seconds, ew."

"It was stupid, yes. Lori was a sweet girl. Really easy to get along with, and since I was going to play AAA ball as a pitcher here in Georgia, it kind of felt like everything was falling into place for us. She wanted to be a stay at home mother, take care of our family, and I wanted to give her that. But, I hurt my shoulder that summer lifting weights, and my pitching was just never really where it needed to be after that. My pop suggested I enroll in school, apply to become a deputy, and give up on baseball. And I did. I didn't have a choice really. Then Carl came along, and honestly I think Lori never really got over the fact that I didn't end up a famous pitcher. A rich guy. That she was indeed a stay at home mom, but now she was the wife to a small town deputy instead of a ballplayer. When Shane came back from Alabama, he was all kinds of messed up over some girl he was with the died in a bad accident, but we picked our friendship right back up. All three of us. Hell we became partners in the sheriff's office. He even picked back up with his womanizing ways, it was like old times. But I guess his dad got sick of him being the talk of the town, and wanted him to clean it up a little, so he talked him into go to law school in the city, UGA. Again he came back after school, and I thought things would be the same, but they were different. He was the same Shane, but Lori began to look at him differently this time."

"She was jealous."

"Yeah, I think she was jealous. He was the man she wanted me to be. A big shot, making big money. I wasn't that guy. I was happy being a deputy, with my small house, and my family. I wanted more kids, but other than that, it was good. I guess in the end she chose him, and here we are."

"Damn. So he was trying to get with me, and he and Lori are having a baby together? This is some shit. I wonder if my dad knows? You know he's the one who tried to hook Shane and I up. They met playing golf, and he thought Shane and I would be a good match. Guess he was wrong."

"He was very wrong."

"He was."

"The other day when Lori showed up at my house she said he's not answering her calls. She needs money, stuff for her and the baby. I guess they aren't together anymore."

"What did she expect you to do about that?" Rolling my eyes, I'm incredulous at her nerve. How dare she bring Rick into her and Shane's drama? It raises my hackIes a bit, my need to protect Rick from this sordid mess, and escape the small town drama. King County is like a cesspool of bullshit it seems.

"To talk to him. Like I said, we used to be friends, but we have had ups and downs over the years. He was pissed that I was a better ball player, that I had a chance to make a living at that. I think he's still mad about Lori, even though he swore he wasn't. There were a couple of dustups when we were deputies together, some stuff he should have steered cleared of that I simply didn't want any parts of. He's upset that I didn't even have to run a real campaign to be elected sheriff. The mayor kind of put it out there, then it just took off, and I got elected. I didn't want the job, and I didn't run for it. Shane thinks everything has come easy to me. It hasn't but you can't convince him of that. Thinks I'm a golden boy or some shit."

"Wow. I guess that explains a lot. He did say to me that you always get what you want, I- I was trying to tell him about you and me, but he didn't want to hear it. And all the time that he was trying to date me, he had cheated with your ex-wife and got her pregnant. What a piece of shit he is! I'm so embarrassed that I thought he might be a half decent guy."

"Hey, don't be embarrassed. Shane is a charming guy, I get it. He's always been a hit with the ladies. But, I told him to stay away from my lady. And he better."

Ducking my head feeling ashamed, I shake my head in disgust at the whole sordid drama. "I can't say it enough, Rick, I'm so sorry I ever let him get in between us. I am."

"He's not between us because we won't let him. Or Jessie, or Lori. No one. Nothing, can come between us. Right?"

"Right." Grinning at the finality in Rick's and my proclamations, I proceed in rinsing my lover's hair.

"Mom! Rick! You guys awake?"

"Andre? Hold on a sec."

Wrapping myself up in my robe, I cinch the tie around my waist and quickly open the door to see why my son is frantically knocking and calling my name from the other side of my bedroom door. Opening it, I find him standing there with a pensive yet nervous frown on his face as he cleans his glasses on his sweatshirt.

"Andre, what's going on? Is everything ok?"

"No! Yes? No… I don't know."

"What? Slow down and tell me what's going on. Is everything ok or not? And if not, why?" I ask, cocking my head a bit to peer into my son's face. Pushing his glasses back onto his face he blows out an exasperated breath as his eyes dance behind the lenses. Initially avoiding eye contact, he tilts his head back, searching for the answer on the ceiling I suppose.

"Andre Miles Anthony, honey, use your words and tell me what's wrong."

"Dad is here. Downstairs."

"What?"

"He showed up about an hour ago. I tried to come tell you, but he said not to, since we could kind of hear you guys downstairs. Ya know the music, and uh…you and uh…Rick were kind of loud. And Dad said he texted you and left you a voicemail to tell you already, and you would find out when you were no longer preoccupied anyway. So… I'm sorry, please don't be mad!"

"Why would I be mad? This isn't your fault. Your father wasn't supposed to come until Saturday night. I don't know why he's so damn early." Frustrated at Mike's assumption that he can just pop into our lives when he's ready. I do crack a tiny grin in amusement at the thought of him hearing Rick and I having sex. Serves his ass right.

"Well… um so, when I spoke to him the other day, I kind of mentioned that you were throwing a 90s themed house party for me Friday night. He didn't say anything about it then, but maybe he thought he would come for that also?"

"Sounds like your father. Ok, well no worries. Let's go see what the hell is going on with him. Where is Carl by the way?"

"Downstairs keeping Dad company. I had to try and come up here to warn you, so as soon as I heard the music stop, I had Carl distract him so I could rush up here."

"Andre, I appreciate you being so mature and thoughtful, but that wasn't necessary. I can handle your dad. It's all good."

"What about Rick? How's he gonna handle Dad being here?"

"How's Rick gonna handle what?" Rick asks, exiting my bedroom in a pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt that he left over here a few weeks ago. Among a lot of other things. Actually Rick has two drawers and half of the bathroom vanity now, and it's funny as I watch him scoop and swipe a few curls behind his ears, and I think how easily all of that just came to be. He's got a few spare uniforms hanging in the closet, a pair of sneakers, and it's official that the side of the bed closest to the door is his.

"Uh, my ex is here, downstairs. Early."

"Oh yeah? Well let's go say hello." Dropping a kiss to my cheek, Rick hustles down the stairs, and all Andre and I can do is stare in awe as we listen for any potential fallout. Instead, we only catch Rick's deep southern accent offering a hello, and his name to my ex.

"Well come on, Andre. Let's get this over with."

"So, I apologize, Meesh. I didn't realize you had company. I texted you and left a voicemail to let you know that I was going to try and get a flight today. I hope it's still ok I stay here. You know all of the hotels are booked this weekend because of the game." Mike offers, easing his body back into the comfort of the large cushions on the couch.

"I wasn't feeling well, so I haven't been checking my phone. I saw you called though."

"Sounds like you were feeling ok to me." He dryly comments, his voice flat as his eyes quickly dart over to Rick who's sitting on my left, his arm casually draped across my shoulders.

"I had to come take care of my girl. She's better now. Right, sweetheart?" Rick asks, leaving a peck on my cheek in the process.

"Uh, yep. Feeling a little better now. Still a bit nauseous though. Matter of fact I could use some more tea."

Rising to retrieve the tea, and escape the odd tension hanging over the living room, my head instantly begins swimming again with a tinge of dizziness. I don't know if this is from whatever is making me feel sick, or if this is from sharing an evening with my boyfriend and my ex-husband. It's such an odd thing, it's like being a spectator to one of those daytime soap operas where the tension is always so overly theatrical and dramatic. Right now, this scenario I'm living through isn't far off.

Mike is pissed. I can tell by the curt and snarky way that he's speaking, only addressing me. Rick is cool as a breeze, his fingers twirling my dreads over his fingers one minute, caressing the spot just behind my ear with his thumb the next, his involvement in the conversation a constant, despite Mike's intention to cut him out of it. And poor Carl and Andre have retreated to Cyndie's house, obviously not wanting to get caught in the crossfire of whatever wild west showdown they are expecting to happen.

Dropping back to the couch, a grimace scrunching my face at the way my head feels to be spinning, Rick catches me in his arms.

"Hey, sit back, sweetheart. I'll get you some tea." Wiping his large hand over my forehead, removing the sheen of sweat that has almost instantaneously gathered there, seemingly out of thin air, Rick's eyes focus on my face in concern. His pretty eyes squinting and animating the lines around his eyes. "Matter of fact, I'm gonna run around the corner to Publix and just get some ginger and make you this drink I found for the nausea ok? It'll just take a moment." Kissing me on my lips, Rick fusses over me, settling me on the couch with my feet up, and propping me against the throw pillows.

"You don't have to, Rick. I'm fi-" Heaving, I launch myself from the couch and run to the bathroom. Barely making it, the tea and crackers I consumed after our bath release themselves in a heap into the toilet. Apparently Rick and Mike hurried after me, with Rick catching up to me first. Crouching on the floor behind me, he's holding my dreads back from my face as I continue to lurch and heave the contents of my stomach into the toilet. I hate throwing up. I never do it, thankfully, as I don't get sick very often. The bile burns my throat, and the force of the spasms from my gut incite a bout of fresh tears to well in my eyes, and float down my cheeks in fat drops.

"Meesh, baby, you ok?" I hear Mike question from the doorway of the bathroom.

Rick doesn't even give me a chance to answer as he's lifting me in his strong arms, and taking me back to the couch. Rushing back and forth, he quickly brings me a cool damp towel that he places on my forehead. A cup of water to rinse my mouth. The wastebasket from the bathroom, and a throw blanket from the closet. With my eyes drowsy, and at half mast, I could only partially make out Mike sitting across from me on the other end of the sectional, once again watching Rick take charge and fuss over me. I can only imagine what's going through his head, but decide that whatever it is, I don't care. I just want to rest.

Allowing my eyes to drowsily fall closed for what feels like only a moment, I am startled awake by the intense feeling of nausea flushing over me again, sending me back to the bathroom. Once the vomiting passes, and I'm standing in the mirror, rinsing my mouth, I catch Mike's eyes on mine in the mirror.

"Meesh, you never throw up. Never. The last time I remember you throwing up was while we were in Hawaii and you found out you were pregnant with Andre." Smiling sadly, his eyes flit away from my reflection in the mirror. "Guess we both know that's not possible. Even if you do have a new boyfriend."

Sighing, I see the Mike that I know so well, the one who seemed hidden behind the polite façade he wore while in Rick's presence, has finally emerged.

"Well… thank you for the reminder, Mike. For making sure I never forget all of my faults."

"Just being honest with you. You know, your friend is a little intense right? All of the fussing over you. Rushing around playing nurse. He putting on this show for me or you?" Entering the bathroom, standing close behind me, I can feel the heat of his chest emanating through his sweater and my robe, on to my back. "You should tell him that he doesn't have to try so hard."

"Where is Rick?"

"He ran off to the store after you fell asleep. You were only out for a few minutes."

"Oh." His proximity to me is throwing me off. Mike is much taller than I am, at least a good five inches, but the way he's leaning his body down into mine is causing his warm breath to drift across the side of my face as he speaks in a low, deep register, directly towards my ear.

"This is the guy who was with my wife and son for parents' night, huh?" Sweeping my locks off of my neck, Mike eases around to my side to make eye contact with me, latching his dark chocolate eyes with my own. For a moment I see all of the love we used to have swirling there, mixing it up with some new unreadable sentiment that I'm not used to coming from him. "I have to apologize to you, Meesh. I did you so wrong, baby girl. I did. I'm sorry. There simply aren't enough words to express how sorry."

"I've forgiven you, Mike. The ink has dried on those divorce papers, and it's done. We're done." I offer in acceptance of his apology. Backing away from him, I don't want to put myself in a bad position. Not just because I don't want to give him the wrong idea, but also because I will be damned if I ever hurt Rick again. Never again.

Walking back to the living room, I wrap up in the blanket and reposition myself on the couch where Rick left me.

"Meesh, I've been going to counseling, trying to get my shit together. And, I realize that the reason things crumbled between us is because I realized that it wasn't you, you were never the problem. You and Dre are the best things to ever happen to me."

"Mike, this… let's not do this, ok?"

"Just, please give me a minute. It was me. Always me. I couldn't make you happy anymore. How could I when all I could see of myself was that I couldn't be the man my family expected me to be. I wasn't the husband or father that you and Dre deserved. If anything I made you guys miserable while I was chasing this sense of duty I had to my parents, to my family to be this successful guy with a large family, like my dad, my brothers. When I figured I couldn't be that with you, I- I did seek that elsewhere. But you were everything. This kick ass lawyer, and mother. This sexy ass woman, and gotdamn it, Meesh, you just don't know how badly I missed being with you. But I was a failure, and you reminded me of that. But, I promise, no one has ever turned me on like my baby girl. You owned me, baby, you still do. I just gotta get my head together. I was so hurt that we couldn't grow our family. Angry… I was angry as hell. What we had was so perfect, ya know?"

"It wasn't, Mike. I see that now. It wasn't perfect. Things started good, but you got mean. You hurt me more than I can even verbalize right now without wanting to cry, and I'm not gonna give you anymore of my tears. My pain." Gritting the words out, choking back the tears, I turn my face from him. I can't look at him right now.

"Baby girl, I know. I know. I owe you everything, my life, my heart…everything. I'm such a fool that I thought the grass was greener elsewhere, but Meesh, baby, if I had taken care of you in the first place, tended to my earth, made it a fertile place for love and life to take root and grow, I wouldn't be where I am now…on the other side of the fence, where there is nothing but a patch of weeds and dirt. Watching this other guy with my lady. Teaching my son to drive, getting haircuts. Dre talks about that motherfucker like he's the fucking father of the year."

Rising from the couch, he walks towards me, and it frightens me at first. Not because I think he will physically hurt me. No. It's the look on his face. How afraid but determined he is. His long strides hurried, but paced. Those eyes so intent and focused on me. Crouching in front of me, he grabs my hand in both of his.

"I still love you, Meesh. And, my counselor… it's like he held a mirror up for me to see how my toxic masculinity poisoned things between us. All of the blame I could muster was just delivered at your feet. Instead of protecting you, loving on you when you lost our babies… what did I do? Like a fucking coward I ran to my parents! What kind of man does that?"

"Mike-"

"Let me finish, please…" He groans. The wail in his voice like a wounded animal. Tears are brimming in his eyes, fierce and focused on mine, pleading for the strength to get through whatever else he needs to say. And while I'm flattered that he wants to apologize, it's too little too late. "You needed me. I was supposed to be there for you then, and I wasn't. But I will now. I promise."

"What does that mean, Mike?"

"I'm moving back to Atlanta. For good."