Friday afternoon, Michonne sat folded into the couch in her loft, staring at the blank canvas across the room. The sound of the doorbell ringing broke her from her thoughts causing her to jump slightly at the sound. Her eyes shifted to the table clock checked the clock in worry that time had gotten away from her.
She wasn't expecting Michael until four-thirty.
"Is that daddy?" André asked, looking up from his coloring. He enjoyed emulating his mother and would often join her in the loft whenever she slipped away to work. She enjoyed his company and he, ever a thoughtful child, made an effort not to be too distracting. He observed her in her element and mimicked her calm and focus with ease.
Unfortunately, today with her ever working mind, he was the only one utilizing his artistry.
"I don't think so," she said, stretching her cramped muscles as she rose from the paint splattered couch. It had better not be him, she thought. He seemed to have gotten the message when she told him not to come up to her apartment unannounced. "I'll be back in a sec."
Michonne jogged down the loft stairs, picking up a stray toy in the living room as she went to answer the door. Her soft music from her earlier baking adventure echoed around her as she passed.
She let out a sigh of relief and the familiar light feeling returned when she looked through the peephole to identify the unexpected visitor. "What brings you here on this fine day Sheriff?"
"I'm a little early, I know. I hope that's okay. I meant to call but…" He pulled his hand from behind his back revealing a bouquet of purple roses and lilacs. "For you."
"Thank you. What's this for?" She asked as she took them admiring the vibrant colors.
"I don't need a reason. Just somethin' pretty for someone pretty." A smile seemed to be permanently etched on her face whenever he was around. He loved seeing her smile. It was as if the sun itself was painted across her ethereal face.
"Sweet talker." She leaned up on her tiptoes giving him a soft kiss and he wound his arm around her waist pulling her body flush against his as their kiss deepened. He felt a stirring in his pants as she lightly ground her body against his.
"We alone?" he asked when they pulled away to catch their breath.
"No, my mini-me is up in the loft working on his next great masterpiece. I have the future Picasso in the making over here."
"Creative like his Mama, huh?" Rick patted her behind as he let her go and entered the apartment, shutting the door behind him. Snoopy ran up to greet him, nipping happily at his feet.
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On the Eve of Christmas, they discover a priceless gift.
"Gifts of love keep giving" — J. Stanford
Mariah Carey's high soprano voice belted her most popular Christmas song through Rick's small temporary kitchen as he attempted to prepare his wife's Grandmother's famous soup, that was guaranteed to heal any ailment.
"What more can I do?" he sang along, loud and off key as he ladled the soup into the first of three bowls. "Baby, all I want for Christmas is you."
If there's anything worse than a sick child, it's a sick wife and two sick children in the middle of nowhere just before Christmas. It certainly not where he imagined himself as a young man growing up, but his life turned out better than he could have imagined. The six years since his reconnection with Michonne was filled with even more adventure than when they first met at a house party in London. Ever since, it had been Rick and Michonne against the world.
He deftly loaded the bowls unto a tray, humming along to the song as he made his way down the narrow hallway in their little two-bedroom home on wheels. Photojournalism was never a career Rick imagined for himself. In fact, like most things in their life, it happened by pure chance. He had come to learn that knowing the right people can get you far.
Now their family of four was on a cross country trip, to document the state of National Parks for a special edition issue of a prestigious magazine with hopes to inspire public interest in national parks and environmental protection.
What better way to do this, than to pack up your family in a sizeable, modified RV and drive across the United States, instead of doing something more ordinary, like flying. Rick always preferred the open road and he'd always been very persuasive, so that's how they ended up.
December took them further west.
Yosemite was next on the list.
"I hate being sick." Michonne groaned from her place in the center of their bed. Their two boys lay on either side of their mother wearing equal expressions of misery.
"I hate you being sick too." He placed down the tray, sitting on the edge of their bed.
Michonne glanced at the mountain of snotty tissues that occupied their bed with a defeated sigh. "What time is it?"
"Lunch time," he grinned, gesturing to the tray while feeling remarkably proud of himself with his attempt to recreate a traditional family dish. "I think I have the exact thing to make you feel better."
Instead of the look of awe or appreciation of his mastery of the dish he had been expecting, Michonne recoiled away from him and the tray, her palm pressed against her mouth. "What is that?" Her voice was muffled behind her hand.
"It's Grann Marie's famous soup. It'll make you —"
Michonne bolted from the bed, nearly knocking over the tray in the process as she sprinted across the short hallway to the bathroom. "Throw up I guess," he muttered to himself when he heard the retching sounds coming from the bathroom. He glanced back at the two boys. "I should probably get rid of this before the two of you start too."
The next time they were all together it was the morning of Carl’s birthday.
Rick, Michonne and their sons visited an animal shelter outside Alexandria. Rick initially planned on merely purchasing a dog from a pet store, but Michonne enlightened him on why adopting was the surest way to go. They would be saving a life and giving a dog a second chance at a family as she did with her own pet.
“I definitely want this one,” Carl called to his father as he scratched the the vivacious midnight colored Labrador mix behind his ear. “I love him.”
“Me too,” André agreed moving to the other side of the happy dog, to get his share of petting in.
The volunteer leading their tour of the kennel presented them a leash and collar and allowed them time to spend with their potential future pet when Carl showed interest in one particular dog. He told them it would help for them to see if he was a good fit for their family. It filled Rick with a certain longing when they were referred to as a family. Especially when Michonne simply smiled, without correcting Gareth, the shelter’s overly friendly adoption representative.
Carl and André took an immediate liking to the seven-month-old Bear as he walked —more like ran —them around outside the shelter.
“You sure?” Rick asked, turning his attention to the boys. “There are more you can try out. Take ‘em for a walk. See if you like ‘em.”
“I’m sure. This is the one Dad,” Carl declared as the floppy eared dog bounced around, wagging his tail, enjoying the attention from his two new friends.
“He is pretty cute,” Michonne agreed as she linked her arm with Rick’s. Bear’s dark brown eyes found the pair as if he knew he was the topic of the conversation. “Friendly little guy too. I like him.”
Rick glanced at the woman on his arm smiling at how lucky he was. “Well it sounds like we have a consensus. Welcome to the family Bear.”
Gareth had them complete the necessary paper work and suggested they try fostering first as a trial run and if they took a liking to the dog, they can make the necessary steps to a full adoption. Their application would have to be reviewed and pet rescue workers will need to do a home visit to ensure Bear’s long-term safety.
By the end of the short application process Rick was itching to leave the animal shelter and chatty Gareth behind. Somewhere in their discussion of the appropriate care and safety measures for Bear, Gareth brought up his distaste for animal meat, the tragic death of his childhood pet goldfish and gave a lengthy diatribe about his ex-girlfriend’s tumultuous past as an exotic animal smuggler.
On the morning of her and Michael Anthony's wedding day, Michonne along with her entire wedding party were at an upscale Washington D.C hotel. A cacophony of clicking heels, doors closing and opening and women laughing filled the large, luxurious hotel suite.
Weddings were supposed to be joyous occasions.
It was the beginning of the bride and groom's happily ever after. Family had flown in from all over the country and the world to celebrate with them in some of their fanciest clothes. College friends, coworkers and a few congressmen and women would be in attendance. It was intended to be a dreamlike fairytale wedding, orchestrated by the best wedding planners in DC.
This was about a power-couple in the making. The envy of many.
"Hold still. I'm almost finished." Carey, the makeup artist, squinted dramatically as he added the finishing touches to her face. "You make such a beautiful bride. I almost want to cry. I can barely hold myself together hon."
She smiled tightly in response as the older Westbrook woman reentered the room, dressed in a peach two-piece pantsuit. "I think this might be one of the happiest days of my life. My baby is getting married and I must say, she made an excellent choice in a husband. Couldn't have picked a better one."
Her mother stepped into Carey's place after he glided away to fetch a box of tissues. "Smile." She lifted Michonne's chin, her eyes raking over the face almost identical to her own. Personality wise, she and her daughter couldn't be more unalike, yet the physical similarities were unavoidable. It was as if she was looking into the face of her younger self.
Michonne managed to morph her face into something she hoped, resembled a genuine smile.
"Uh uh don't touch," Carey admonished, lightly batting her hand away. "I put in work. Don't be messing up her face. You and me will fight."
Her mother held up her hands in surrender, taking a small step back. "I won't. I wouldn't want to get in any trouble with you Carey."
Michonne blew out a breath, her right leg bouncing a mile a minute. "This all happened so fast, didn't it?"
Winnie's expression softened slightly. "Nervous?"
"Yeah," Michonne stood up from her chair, feeling slightly overheated as she cupped her stomach. "You could say that."
The apartment was quiet for a while save for the sound Snoopy dragging his back against the floor as he entertained himself in the way dogs do. He shook his head in amusement at the silly animal.
Rick finally heard her moving around from above. She must have started working on the piece from the day before. He rose from the couch and made his way toward the stairs to find her. When he entered what she referred to as her lair, she was seated in front of an easel and her hair was pulled to the top of her head. She wore a look of deep concentration and she didn’t immediately acknowledge his presence when he entered.
“Sorry about that.”
“About what?” Michonne took a sip from her glass, but didn’t look up from the easel.
“For bringing up something you obviously don’t want to talk about. It’s just frustrating sometimes. The evasiveness.”
“You think I’m hiding something.”
“I don’t know. Are you?”
“I don’t know.” She held his gaze steadily before blowing out a breath and dropping her pencil.
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On the night of one of the worst snow storms in Virginia's history Rick Grimes encountered an alluring woman stranded on the side of a rural Virginia road with a dead cell phone and broken down car.
[Excerpt]
He stepped out of his truck, approaching what appeared to be a woman sitting in the car. As he grew closer he saw her eyes slightly widen at the sight of him. “You okay?” he asked when she hastily rolled down her window.
“Yeah…I mean no. Not really. I think I’m a little lost.” She stepped out of the car, pulling her jacket tighter against her body, and balled her hands into fists in reaction to the cold air. She wore flowy colorful clothing and wasn’t particularly dressed for standing on the side of a road in rural Virginia during a winter storm. “I’m trying to get back to Alexandria. I think I took a wrong turn or something. I stopped to try to figure out where I am, but then my car wouldn’t start and now I’m stuck here.”
“You sure did take a wrong turn. Did you contact roadside assistance?”
She hesitated before finally answering. “My phone died. I didn’t have any service when I tried to make a call anyway.” She looked conflicted as she pressed her full lips together in a slight grimace. “Do you have a phone on you? I need to call for some help. Also, can you possibly tell me where exactly I am.”
“I don’t have a phone on me,” he said apologetically. “I left it back at the farm since I rarely have any service around here anyway.”
Michonne woke with a start, breathing heavily as her eyes adjusted to the brightly lit bedroom. She was plagued by a recurring nightmare for the past month. She sat up slowly, placing her head between her knees as she tried to fight back the nausea that was becoming a normal occurrence. She closed her eyes, inhaling slowly through her nose, before letting out her breath.
“Hi Mommy.”
“Shit!” Her hand flew to her chest as she finally noticed Colette, who stood a few feet from the bed staring intently at her with wide brown eyes.
“You’re not supposed to swear Mommy.”
“I know Colette,” she said with a sigh, moving back to rest against the headboard, mindful of not making too many sudden movements. Her heart was still hammering in her chest from the scare Colette gave her. The little girl was as silent as a mouse sometimes. “Sorry.” She scooted over, motioning for her daughter to come closer. “What’s up sweetie?”
As they approached the stone pathway, she heard the faint sound of moving water. There must have been a river or a creek nearby. They walked in silence as they basked in the glow of their surroundings. The path led them into the thick trees and they walked in silence as the sound of water grew closer. "Is there a river or something?"
"A creek." As if on cue, the narrow strip of water came into view. It was a beautiful sight. It looked like a painting she once saw. She almost felt as if they were in a mystical world.
"Wow."
"Beautiful huh?"
Michonne didn't immediately give a verbal response. She walked slowly to the rocks that lined the edge of the creek, dropping her bag. She leaned forward, her hands on her knees as she peered into the clear water. She turned back to look at Rick, who was watching her with his hands deep in his pocket. He wore a strange expression. "It is. I like it here." Her lips curved upward.
A droplet of water landed on her forehead as she watched a breathtaking smile spread across his face. The sky let out a loud crack as the droplets fell with more fervor, landing on every part of her body. It was as if buckets of ice water were being dropped from the sky. She hurried to where Rick stood, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the direction they came from. "My hair!"
The icy droplets splattered against their clothing as they ran through the trees. When they reached the stone path, she looked at Rick breathlessly, waiting for him to lead them to an appropriate shelter. "This way," he yelled, pulling her toward the back of the house.
They entered a door that led to a dimly lit room with stone walls. "Whew." Rick held on to his side as he bent forward to catch his breath. "I think I might be really out of shape."
Michonne stood in the center, of what she now realized was a laundry room, dripping water and trembling from the cold. Her bag was soaked and she hoped the contents weren't ruined. In that moment, she somehow felt both miserable and giddy at the same time. She was freezing, but practically vibrating with happiness and the urge to laugh bubbled within her.
