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Chapter 4 – Rick


"Good morning, Hershel!"


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


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


"Is that right?"


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


"Wow…"


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


"Sure."


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


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


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


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




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


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


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


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


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


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


"What's the something good you see?"


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


"Sorry. Yeah, what was I saying?"


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


"Sounds fun."


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


"Rick…"


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


"Like Alice down the rabbit hole?"


"Yes! That's it exactly."


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


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


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


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


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


"Maybe."


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


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


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


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


"You'll find out."












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