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.