#leeeel

       ❝ --wha...  ❞ he squints. who just sent that... is that?  

Taking Chances 

by leeeel

In the new world, when it comes to survival Michonne has learned that everyone must carry their own load or risk deadly consequences. However, her encounter with the Grimes men inspires a small measure of compassion which leads to her taking chances.

[ Richonne Canon Meet #4 ] EP 4x9 - After

 Afraid

“Rick. Honey. Get up. Something serious just happened?”

Eyes tightly shut, Rick’s hand slides down from his wife’s waist to her hip. “What?”

“The bed.”

Shuffling his legs, he feels dampness against his skin. He groans, forcing his eyelids apart. “Was that me, or you?”

“Me. I think my water just broke.”

Adrenaline stabs him in the chest and he bolts upright, fully alert now.

‘What?’

“No. We got…” he squints in the darkness calculating.

‘One, two…’

“…three weeks to go, babe. You sure you didn’t just pee the bed?” She swats him on the side of his face, he flinches. “Hey!”

“I’m sure. And it’s closer to four.” Michonne dislodges the soaked pillows from between her knees and eases herself up to her feet.

A fog descends instantly on his brain. “Wait. I don’t – I don’t understand, he’s not supposed to come out till the eighteenth. How is this possible? Unless…” Dread launches a fall-out assault on his cardiovascular system causing Rick to lunge off the mattress and flick on the light switch. “…Something’s wrong. We did something wrong.”

“No, no. Sometimes this happens. It’s fine. He’s fine. We do need to get on that road, though. ” She shoves off her sweatpants, gingerly stepping out of each leg.

Rick massages his temples. “Oh Lord. I knew it.”

“Knew what?”

“I knew it. ” He grabs a fistful of his hair and starts pacing the cool wooden floor. “Goddammit Michonne, I knew it. Remember that thing we did? On the couch? Sunday night?”

Michonne sweeps her arm around her massive mid-section peeping out from her hello kitty nightshirt. A smirk creeps across her plump lips. “Our fun time? Mmm, you were so good. But Rick, no.”

“That’s what I should’ve said. “Michonne, no!” But  you just had to come at me  didn’t you? And I couldn’t hold you back.  I was so weak…” He bends his head low leaning on his knees trying to catch his breath. “Should’ve let my wrath prevail over my mercy…”

“Rick, could you stop?”

“…And now, something’s wrong.”

Michonne waddles over to  her husband’s side. She rubs his lower back with one hand, and with the other she rubs her own. “This is fine, babe. Really. You’ll see.”

“W-won’t he be under-developed or something? Might be too small…tubes…he’ll need tubes, baby, to breathe, inside that little box thing. Oh god! My poor boy…” He was officially hyperventilating.

She grasps his ashen face between her hands. “Rick! It’s okay. I’m okay. The baby’s okay. Calm down. I need you to be okay too.”

“I’m okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He wasn’t, and she knew it.

“Come on baby, look at me. Breathe…just like we practiced. Hoo hoo hee, hoo hoo hee. Thaaat’s right. Breathe. We’re all gonna be – Oh my god!”

Rick wraps his arm around her shoulder as she buckles over clutching her stomach as though she were trying to prevent her body from breaking apart.

“Sweet Lord, what the hell was that?! You don’t sound okay,” he says.

“I – I am.“ She inhales deeply through her nose, then exhales slowly puffing out her cheeks. Her chest heaves until the murderous pain subsides. “I am. Just a…a contraction I think. It’s done. I’m good…But we have to get moving babe. This boy is not playing. He’s ready to see the world.”

Helping her change into clean clothes, Rick expresses his hopes that they make it to the hospital on time.

“Remember that woman who gave birth in her jeans?” he says, slipping on her trousers. “And then the other one in the car? And that officer had to see her in all her glory? I won’t let that happen, babe. Not to my wife, I promise. Plus…Michonne I can’t birth no baby. I–I…I might pass out.” Sweat trickles down his forehead and his heart starts needling his chest again.

His wife combs her fingers through his hair. “We have time. Try to relax. Focus. Go through the steps. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Get my bag out from the closet, the blue one with the brown teddy bears on it, not the white one with the blue balls on it from Abraham. Then call Dr. Greene, tell her we’re on our way to the hospital. Go wake up your brother. Daryl’s gotta drive us cause you’re freaking the hell out.”

Rick tenderly cups her swollen belly and kisses her. “This is it?”

She brushes her knuckles from his cheek down to his jaw surveying him with full-hearted pride and excitement. “This is it.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“I think we should call 911.”

“No,” she shoves his shoulder. “Go. Get. Daryl.”

Rick snatches up his phone, his keys, the blue bag (not the white one) and darts out the room. He flies down the stairs, bolts across the street to his brother’s house and starts banging on the front door.

"Daryl!” he hollers, “Daryl! Wake up man.”

A minute later, his younger sibling finally opens up. “Hey, what’s your problem? You know what time it is? I was getting my Netflix on.”

“Screw Netflix. I’m gonna be a father.”

Daryl blinks his slits for eyes. “Are you shittin’ me? Then why we wasting time standing out here lollygagging for?”

Turning back into the house not waiting for a response, it takes the soon-to-be uncle another minute for him to jump into his jeans and sneakers before Rick drags him out to his car. Bundled into their seats they both click their seatbelts on, Rick lights up the ignition, and gases out his driveway.

“Hey man!” Daryl grabs his brother’s shoulder shooting him a look of utter disbelief. “Ain’t you forgetting something?” He points to the empty backseat.

Rick’s expression switches from confusion to embarrassment then to pure mortification. He slams on his breaks. “Shit. The bag.”

“No! Michonne!”

come and get it, minato-san! L-O-L

Thankful Hearts

[The Richonne Writing Network Collaboration]

She’s looking for forever. Life has taught him forever isn’t real. Can they find something in each other that they both can be thankful for?

tags: #author!michonne, #chef!rick,  #romance, #drama, #angst #thanksgiving love story

Authors:  @greenhearts16, @rwtl2016 and  @chellepo 

Cold

Michonne rubs her hands up and down her chilly arms as she peers out the living room window in her new neighbor’s apartment. The onslaught of sleet and snow is deceptively breathtaking. The wintry night made more intimidating by the lightning flashes in the sky.

Due to nature’s viciousness outside, sincere appreciation for the contrasting calm inside, nuzzles her heart. Rick’s place is comfy. Decorated in neutral colors with one or two bold accents. Simple, sophisticated, but rugged and male. Evidence of a man who’s uncomplicated, yet has good taste and takes pride in his surroundings. “Here you go,” he says quietly. “Hope it’s hot enough for you?” She turns accepting the mug of cocoa from his hands. “Mmm. Thank you. It is.” Michonne savors the heated sensation defrosting her icy fingertips before taking a sip to thaw out the rest of her limbs. Looking back at him she didn’t miss his quick blink and glance to her mouth. “I like your place,” she says, “It’s neat. Mine, on the other hand…I am the total opposite. Scraps of cloth, thread, and zippers are practically everywhere. And I just about live at my job, so—” “Vintage boutique right?” Holding a Guinness, Rick perches himself on the armrest of his couch. “Yeah, so when I get home, other than bathe, eat and sew, I scarcely have time or energy to do a proper clean up.” “Opposites huh?” A smirk plays on the corner of his lips before he takes a swig of his beer. “You know what they say about that?” “No,” she challenges, “Enlighten me.” They both slip into blushing laughter. “That you?” She nods toward a framed picture on his bookshelf. His neck cranes to peek at what caught her attention. “Uh, yeah…Fourteen years old with my Dad, visiting my Uncle Ned at the hospital after surgery. Didn’t make it though. That’s the last photo of him before he died.” “I’m so sorry. How’d you get through it at such a young age?” He glances away from the dated picture. “Family. Pastor. And Mr. Jones, my middle school counselor.” “Left an impression on you, didn’t he?” Rick himself is now a high school guidance officer, one of the few facts she gleaned since he moved into her building 7 months ago. “Without question.” “No doubt you’ve made him proud.” He massaged the back of his neck and shrugged making her wonder if he felt he could be better. “Perfection is an illusion,” she says. “At least you’re a good man. Wouldn’t be here otherwise.” A ripe crimson colors his cheeks, followed by a grin. For a moment they nurse their respective drinks in hushed silence. Michonne wouldn’t have guessed it would be this easy to converse with him—the handsome guy next door with the wicked smile and the dreamy twinkle in his eyes. She likes him. “Thank you again, for letting me crash here tonight. It was either you or Mr. Porter next door.” When temperatures plunged to sub zero in her apartment, Michonne took a huge chance by seeking warmth in this stranger’s home. Gregory, their landlord, promised to replace her busted thermostat a week ago, and she had been roughing it thus far. Tonight, however, when she lost all feeling in her toes despite wearing three pairs of socks, she became desperate. “I apologize for just showing up, I don’t have your number.” “Well, I’ll be sure to pass it along before you leave.” “Oh…I wasn’t trying to—” “Wasn’t trying to be coy about getting my number? Hmm…I’m disappointed.” She laughs again. She really likes him. Kind hearted, has a sense of humor, and chivalrous. A treasure in this day and age where most men are…Ugh! “Would it be alright if I still gave it to you?” She jumps out of her thoughts darting her eyes to meet his with a question. ‘What did you say?’ “My number? You know, just because…“ he responds, deciphering the words that dashed across her mind. "And for the next time you need warmth or… anything.” She bites her bottom lip. “Are you always this hospitable when strange frozen black women barge their way into your home?” “Naw, just the ones I find are cute.” “Wow. You are on a roll Mr. Johnny Cash.” He chokes. “That’s who you think of when you look at me?” Michonne wasn’t about to reveal what she really thought of him and his sexy smile. Instead, she points to the blankets he placed on the couch, reminding him she brought her own. “Oh, these are for me.” He points down the hallway. “You can sleep in there. I changed the sheets. Nothing fancy, but clean.” She stares at him. “How could I put you out of your own room? The couch is perfect for me. I can rest anywhere.” "Well my conscience won’t rest at all. Please…it’s no bother. So if you’re tired, feel free.” “Thank you. Think I will. Goodnight Rick.” “Goodnight Michonne.” As she cloaks herself and ambles down the corridor, light ceases to exist. Rick’s bachelor pad becomes shrouded in darkness. As does the rest of the world. “Oh my god,” she gasps. “Don’t panic.” “This is a joke, right?” “Give it a few minutes. Think this building has a generator?” “Really?” No heat and no lights. With a raging blizzard outside. By the time her eyes adjust his silhouette is right before her. “Don’t worry, I have a flashlight and a camper’s lantern…in my closet.” A high voltage touch then cups her elbow. Michonne too nearly short-circuited. “I–I also have one. A–um  flashlight at my place. Extra blankets too, in case this lasts whole night.” “Won’t be necessary,” he says. “No?” Electric fingers singed a path up her arm. “No.” Another bolt lit up the darkened city and Michonne got hijacked by the mesmerizing blues staring down at her face. Her body jerks without her permission, and she laughs back her nervousness. “Are you trying to take advantage of me?” He chuckles, inching closer. “Maybe. You did say you needed a warm night.” “Well,” Michonne’s knees wobble, “guess I definitely came to the right door.”

written by @rwtl2016​