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Michonne had never been in this convenience store before. She’d mostly dropped in because Andrea knew the owners and wanted to help them drum up business. Michonne wasn’t sure if a half-bent-up copy of TV Guide and a carton of milk was going to save them from selling up, but she did buy about six candy bars, so that might tip the scales. Their scales, not hers. Probably hers too, but she was busy enough to work it off. She was always busy. She liked that, really. Less time to think.
She picked up a toy car for Andre as she passed the garish packages. He was the light of her life.
Andrea (Andre was not named after her, although Andrea was happy to joke otherwise) had told her their names, because Andrea remembered everyone’s name. Patricia and Otis. They were in their 40′s, she would guess, if she had to guess. They gave her friendly smiles, matching the lines around their eyes and on their foreheads, but she could see the sadness underneath.
The withdrawn girl at the counter, drawing snakes around her name on a piece of construction paper, was Enid. The girl stocking shelves, humming, listening to music in her head, and occasionally smiling at her, was Beth.
Andrea hadn’t mentioned the man standing to attention near the soda coolers, pale skin against a brown and beige sheriff’s uniform. He held his hat in his hands, rubbing the back of his neck like he’d just had a haircut. She noticed that when he didn’t think anyone was looking, he’d put the hat back on and lean his back against the freezer, legs stretched out, hat hanging down over his eyes. He looked like an old cigarette ad come to life.
Michonne didn’t mean to stare at him as long as she did. Staring at the cops was never a good idea. He just looked so…quietly confident. He looked gorgeous, she had to admit to herself.
When he walked up to her, bow-legged as the day was long, she tried not to watch his thighs in the form-fitting brown trousers. She did try.
If he caught her, he was good at hiding it.
“Miss -”
“Michonne,” she finished for him, waiting for him to get cute about her name, the way the last cop she’d had to talk to had done.
“Michonne,” he repeated, a soft smile on his lips.
She couldn’t help noticing him checking out how she filled out her sleeveless green dress, then blushing slightly when he realized what he was doing.
She knew the feeling.
The warm feelings faded fast as he looked at the contents of her shopping basket.
“Did you pay for that?”
She wasn’t sure why that stung so much - she was sure as hell used to it by now. Maybe because it always stung. Or maybe because she’d been dumb enough to expect better this time.
She wanted to say no, she was planning to sprint past the security buzzers and live the life of a fugitive with her Snickers and NCIS cover story. She wanted to say that to him more than she’d ever wanted to say anything to anybody.
She knew better.
“Not yet, no,” she said, tersely, seeing the light dim in his eyes as he watched her smile fade.
He looked confused before realization hit in.
“Oh God -”
For a moment she was sure his eyes filled with tears.
“I’m not - I didn’t mean…”
He reached for her milk, giving her a slight jolt of electricity as he brushed against her bare arm.
“This…” he said, the wildness in his blue eyes making her wonder if he’d felt it too, “This is expired. Wasn’t supposed to still be on sale.”
Michonne nodded, relieved and confused. Not embarrassed, but confused.
He was embarrassed enough for both of them, unable to look her in the eye.
“And I…” he continued, “I am an A-1 dumbass.”
She couldn’t help feeling sorry for him.
“No problem,” she said, trying to project some warmth, without acting like she’d done anything wrong, as she hadn’t. “It’s fine. Thanks.”
She almost wished he’d kept avoiding her gaze, because when he let himself stare at her, relief and residual shame still in the cloudy blue eyes, she felt drawn in. He wasn’t just a sheriff who was for some inexplicable reason guarding the soda section. He was something to her. He was a part of her life. It made no sense…but it almost did. She wished it didn’t.
“I’ll leave you alone now,” he managed, voice tinged with regret before he walked away.
She wanted to tell him to stop, but she didn’t know why. All she knew was she didn’t know him, she didn’t know this store, she didn’t know why she cared. All she knew was that she hated seeing him walk away.
Enid and Beth were in the back room, leaving Patricia to ring up, and Otis to keep a wary eye on the three guys wandering in ten minutes before closing.
“They call him Officer Friendly,” Otis said, offhand, as Patricia went to look for the fresh milk. “Nice guy. Almost ran his son over once - wasn’t too friendly then, ‘course, but we got over it.”
“I’m glad,” Michonne said, wondering if his son was the same age as her Andre, who was probably wondering where in the world Mommy was.
“He stops in sometimes,” Otis whispered in guise of giving her change. “It’s gettin’ dangerous now. Used to have lights outside - city lights, I mean. We’re lucky if they come on an hour a night now.”
“Budget cuts,” Michonne said, remembering Andrea’s latest war with the city council.
He nodded, somewhat somberly.
“Patricia got mugged a few weeks back. He -” he glanced over at Rick - “makes her feel better.” He looked down at the register. “Way I wish I could.”
“I think you sell yourself short,” she said, sharing a soft smile with the older man.
They were interrupted by a loud crashing sound from one of the aisles. Otis and Rick went back to check, with two of the guys standing around, the picture of innocence.
They were the distraction. The third, with about a dozen bluray DVDs falling out of his pockets, ran for the exit doors.
He might have made it if Michonne hadn’t grabbed him by the back of the neck.
“Get off me, you -”
“I wouldn’t say that,” she warned through perfectly lined teeth. “I wouldn’t say another word. What I would do is put everything back, sit down, and hope Otis doesn’t call the cops.”
He clearly still wanted to say something else, but settled for a glower before going to the middle of the store.
She glanced at Rick, who was smirking at her as the other two teenagers squirmed on either side of him, pockets emptied - no weapons, just some bags of candy.
“Won’t be much of a call, either…just gotta say, ‘Hey,’ and I say, ‘Hey,’ back…right Otis? No long distance bill there.”
Michonne wanted to roll her eyes at how damn cheesy he was, but she couldn’t quite hide her smile as she shook her head.
Ultimately Otis called their parents - not the cops. Michonne wasn’t sure which they would have preferred.
Michonne saw the time and realized she’d already stayed much longer than she’d planned.
Waving off Patricia’s offer to make the groceries free, she was about to open her car door when she saw Rick in the reflection of the cherry red paint job.
She turned to see him smiling at her, bashfully.
“You were - you were somethin’ back there.”
He scratched his neck again, squirming. She decided to make things easier for him, adorably awkward as he was.
“They’re lucky I left my katana at home.”
He chuckled before his eyes widened at her laughter.
“Wow. Seriously?”
She nodded.
“Seriously. I keep it hidden…out of Andre’s reach. Andre’s my son.”
Rick grinned.
“Like Andre the Giant?”
She snorted, in spite of herself.
“My grandfather, actually.”
He studied his shoes, flushing and cringing one last time.
“Yeah…of course.”
She couldn’t help herself. She had a feeling he was feeling…something for her. Maybe the same bewilderment she was feeling at the moment.
“You aren’t always like this, are you?”
He looked up at her again, smile more glowing this time - from honesty or relief.
“No. No, I’m not.”
She felt a strange sense of relief at his admission. Peace.
“Neither am I.”
That seemed to throw him - as if he had no idea. Maybe he hadn’t.
He stared at her for a few more seconds, Michonne returning his soft study.
A honking horn from down the street jarred her back to reality.
“I think I’d better go.”
He didn’t bother to hide his disappointment, or elation at the next words out of her mouth.
“Otis told me you have a son.”
Rick grinned with fatherly pride, but also with sorrow hinting at the corners of his mouth.
“Carl. Turns 7 next week. Lives with his mom. I see him whenever I can. He’s…he’s the best.”
She thought she’d like to meet him someday. Until then, she handed Rick an extra toy car Otis had snuck into her bag.
“Tell him happy birthday…from a friend.”
Along with the car, she gave him her contact information.
“In case you want to see my sword,” she teased.
He nodded, grinning ear-to-ear.
“Good thing I didn’t say that to you, huh?” he blurted out, cringing as he heard the words leave his mouth. “Fuck. I really am a dumbass.”
There was something oddly thrilling about hearing Officer Friendly curse.
“You know I’m not gonna let you forget that one, right?” she snorted.
He shrugged.
“Think I deserve it.”
She really was about to go that time, reluctantly or not, until some type of light bulb seemed to go off over his brown curls.
“Almost forgot.”
He handed her a bottle of milk.
“Fresh,” she smiled.
He smiled back, probably knowing it had more than one meaning.
“I’m Rick Grimes,” he remembered before she left, extending his hand.
“Goodbye, Rick,” she said, shaking his hand.
“Goodbye, Michonne,” he said, tenderly.
As she drove back home, all she could remember was how reluctant they’d both been to let go.