Fifty-Fifty

Michonne was furious. She stood in front of the house, seething, while Rick played a game of stare down with Morgan. They'd been talking on the porch, enjoying a simple conversation. Now that he was lucid she saw that Morgan was quite a charming man. Conversation with him about philosophy and art was quite mentally stimulating, and Michonne found that stimulating in other ways as well.

Why not look elsewhere? Rick wasn't interested. He'd made that clear. He had eyes only for Jessie, the widow of the man he'd killed a few weeks previously. If he was going to pursue a relationship with her then there was no reason why she couldn't begin to pursue some happiness of her own. Things had been going quite well until Rick interrupted and became openly hostile towards his old friend.

"Is there a problem, Rick?" Morgan asked mildly.

"Yes."

When he failed to elaborate Morgan shared a glance with Michonne.

"She's unavailable," Rick finally said.

"Since when?" Michonne demanded.

"Since now. Why don't you go home, Morgan? Michonne and I need to talk."

Morgan looked at Michonne.

"Don't look at her," Rick said aggressively. "This isn't a discussion. It's not a debate."

Michonne wished she had another rock. She'd plaster it upside Rick's head. "You are way out of line, Rick."

"Yeah, I know. Goodnight, Morgan."

Michonne suddenly noticed the position of Rick's right hand. It was slightly behind his back and he was tilting his head. Morgan didn't know Rick, the way he was now at least, but she did.

"It's okay," she said, more for Morgan's benefit than her own. "He and I do need to talk."

"We need to talk too," Morgan said to Rick. "In the morning, after you've cooled off."

"Fine. Goodnight."

Morgan turned and left, heading back to Aaron and Eric's, where he was temporarily staying until he could find a place of his own. As soon as he was gone Michonne looked to Rick.

"You done pissing on my shoe and daring him to cross the line?"

"I saw the way you were looking at each other. How you were letting him lean in all over you. You looked ready to climb him like a tree," he said, his voice deceptively calm.

"Like Jessie's been climbing you?"

"Jessie and I don't have that kind of relationship."

"Let me get this straight. I'm supposed to just stay alone while you chase after whoever you want until you decide to look my way?"

"I'm not chasing anyone."

She shook her head, disgusted with him. They were both too angry to have a rational conversation and she wasn't going to stand there in the chilly night air and argue with Rick.

"Fuck you, Rick."

She opened the door and went inside. It took everything she had not to slam the door and wake everyone in the house. She trotted upstairs and tried to shut her bedroom door but Rick shoved it back open.

"Get out. I'm too angry to talk to you right now."

"I'm not here to talk."

"Get out."

She made the mistake of turning her back on him. When his arms wrapped around her she tried to elbow him in his stomach but he'd anticipated that and held her arms down, squeezing her too tightly.

"We're in this together," he said in her ear. "You said that just today, remember?"

"That's got nothing to do with me and Morgan."

"It has everything to do with it. Everything to do with us. You're mine. I'm yours. That's what being in it together means."

He pulled a hand up her leg and under her dress before plunging it into her panties.

"Get off me, Rick! I'm not yours. The days of black women belonging to white men ended hundreds of years ago and I'll be damned if it starts again now."

"That's not how I meant that and you fucking well know it," he said, pulling his hand out of her panties before picking her up and throwing her onto the bed.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Well, I'm done talking that much is for sure."

She tried to kick him, her foot lashing out, but he deflected it and pulled off his belt.

"I swear to God, Rick, get out of my room!"

He wasn't listening. Instead he gripped her by the waist and flipped her over. His hands were under her dress a moment later, his fingers deftly gripping her panties and yanking them down and off. She tried to crawl away but he yanked her back over and lay down atop her.

"You need to stop with the games."

She was looking at him with a mixture of anger and loathing and something else, something hotter than rage. He pressed his hardness against her center and began to grind into her. She lay still, looking up at him, relaxing under his grip. When she did he got to his knees to unfasten his jeans. That's when she moved, punching him square on the jaw, making stars burst before his eyes before she tried to turn and get away.

An angry growl escaped him as he yanked her back, flattening Michonne face first to the bed and shoving up her skirts. They were locked in a battle of wills, Michonne determined to fend him off while Rick was determined to take what he wanted.

"I'll scream," she finally said, realizing he was winning this battle.

"You're gonna scream all right," he growled in her ear. "Right into the palm of my hand."

Damn her body for betraying her. Damn her broken mind for liking what was happening, for wanting it to continue, for wanting him to take her, make her, right there in her own bed.

"You gonna tell me to stop?" he taunted, pushing at her entrance, which was slick and yielding and warm, dripping with her juices. "Say it. Tell me to stop and I'll leave right now."

He reached under her and began rubbing at her slit, making her wetter, making a moan escape her.

He wasn't prepared for what she said next.

"Stop. Leave," she said, looking back at him with her face on the bed, his right hand pressing her head down while his left hand massaged her clit.

He rested his head against hers and said…"No."

He pushed into her and she hissed. "Stop. I mean it."

"No you don't. I know you and you're lying through your teeth."

He worked his right hand under her head and covered her mouth, silencing further protests as he began to ram into her. The bed began squeaking, the headboard lightly thumping the harder he thrust. She was grunting, her face a mask of what looked like pain but Rick knew it wasn't. Pain and pleasure so often looked the same. Sometimes there was no difference.

He was normally a stoic lover, or he had been with Lori, hardly ever making a sound. This time it was different. This time it felt so fucking good he couldn't stop the moans, the grunts, the whimpers from slipping past his lips as he buried his face in her sweet smelling hair, his other hand grabbed her wrist as she pushed at him, holding it down. He drove ever harder into her until she was screaming, just as he said.

Just as he'd said, she was screaming into the palm of his hand. He felt the explosion of her orgasm over his cock, erupting in a wet spray that coated his balls and his thighs.

"Oh, God!" he cried, pumping harder, making a racket and not able to care if he woke the whole fucking house, his kids included. He cried out, his body stiffening as he felt the glorious rush of cum going through his balls, through his dick, and deep into her.

She savagely yanked his hand away, desperate for air, shoving at him.

She remained there, her face buried in the pillows. Finally Rick got up, tucked himself away, fastened his jeans and fixed his shirt before leaning over her.

"You're mine. I'm yours."

He climbed off the bed and went to the door before looking back at her.

"When I get home tomorrow night I expect all your shit to be moved into my room."

She said nothing, just lay on the bed, looking out the window, curled into a ball. He closed the door behind him.

Monster

Monster.

Whenever Michonne thought of Rick she wondered if she was thinking about a monster. Of course that was the worst thing she could think of, especially in relation to the man she was walking home with. She looked at his profile in the darkness. She saw her friend. She saw the man she loved. She also wondered if all of that was simply an illusion. Andrea had not seen a monster when she looked upon the Governor, yet that was what he'd been. Love had blinded her to what he was. Now Michonne wondered if perhaps her eyes weren't deceiving her in the same way.

Morgan left with Aaron, who had been offered a room in Aaron and Eric's house. Everyone was tired. No, they were exhausted. High running emotions could drain someone worse than running miles in the heat. 

After soothing herself with the mundane routine of a shower Michonne went to pull open the stall door but saw Rick was at the mirror, pulling off bandages to shave the stubble from his chin. 

"You don't have to respect my privacy, Rick?"

"Don't worry. I only peeped once."

She didn't know if he was joking. She wasn't sure if she cared. This was yet another line he'd crossed. Lying to her, excluding her, now not even bothering to allow her to shower in private.

"I need to talk to you when I get out of the shower. I won't be long. I know you're tired."

"If Daryl and Aaron found an injured man who was part of a small but heavily armed group, I mean armed with tanks and heavy artillery, and Deanna suggested you find the man's people, ambush them, kill them, and take their weapons for our use, what would you say to her?"

Rick pulled the razor along his chin and gave the question some thought. 

"I'd say it sounded like a smart plan. They could be a threat. They could take this place, do God knows what."

Michonne left him to shave and shower.

...

Rick came to her room twenty minutes later. She was on the verge of sleep having exhausted her mind turning over what Rick had said in answer to her scenario. She felt his weight move behind her and the warmth of his body flush against hers as he slipped under the covers.

"You still with me?"

"Yes," she said, but the conviction that had fueled those words hours ago was wavering, in her heart, though it didn't show in her voice. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Us."

She waited but he didn't elaborate. Michonne shifted on the bed and looked up at him.

"What about us?" she prompted.

Rather than answer with words Rick answered with his lips, pressing them to hers, eager, demanding. He pushed his tongue into her mouth and she tried to pull away. It was too much too soon but he wasn't giving in, wasn't allowing her to pull back. Moments later he was shifting the blankets and climbing atop her, his hardness pressing between her legs. He was, she realized, not just shirtless but naked, his skin moist from the shower.

He wasn't the only one moist. His rough kiss, his urgent hands tugging her sleep shirt up, was exciting her as much as it angered her. She pushed at his shoulders.

"Rick, what are you doing."

"You know what I’m doing."

"Stop."

He gripped her chin with his hands, not at all gentle. "I don't want to."

He dragged that same hand down her body and dipped it between her thighs, feeling her wetness.

"You don't want me to either."

"Is this what you are now? You take what you want?"

"Yes."

He stared at her as he shifted atop her, lining himself up at her entrance, before tilting his head to the side.

"Can you live with that?"

When she didn't answer he moved, pushing inside of her yielding flesh, his eyes locked on hers. He settled inside her, unmoving.

"That scenario was about the Governor, wasn't it?"

She nodded, pulling her legs up, wanting him to move while at the same time wanting him to leave her body, leave her bed, leave her alone.

He seemed to sense what she wanted, what she needed, and began to thrust, his mouth covering hers again as he began not to make love to her but to fuck her. He captured her wrists and held them above her, refusing to allow her to touch him, holding her captive as he took what he wanted. She gave it, looking up at the ceiling while he rested his head beside hers, his breath hot on her face and neck and his grip tight on her wrists.

"I’m not him," he said, his voice strained from the effort of his movements inside her. "I'm as cold as he was but I'm not him. You have to know that. Say you know that."

"I know," she whispered, before his lips claimed hers again.

Some part of Michonne did know. Some part of her feared that he was on that path and she wouldn't be able to stop him.

When it was over, when his seed filled her hot and thick, Rick lay beside her and stared up at the ceiling.

"He must have been a hero to his people," Rick said. "Until he wasn't."

"What makes you different from him?"

"I protect mine. I'm not a threat to my people. Stand beside me and I'll die for you. He would never do that. How can you even wonder what makes me different from Philip Blake?"

"You shot Pete without any hesitation. I know he'd just killed Reg but it was an accident and you just…Not even one second of hesitation."

Rick was silent for a long time. Michonne waited for him to speak, to say something that would put her mind at ease that the man she'd come to love so deeply wasn't turning into the Governor.

"Before you met me there was a farm we were living on. Hershel's farm."

"I know that story. Andrea told me."

"You know about Randall?"

Michonne nodded.

"If I had it to do all over again I would have shot him without hesitation. I wouldn't have even brought him to the farm. If I was then the man that I am now I would have killed Shane long before he could have lured me out to that field. I've made mistakes that have gotten good people killed, Michonne, but there's one thing that makes me a good man and not some…some monster."

She turned to look at him, knowing he couldn't possibly have known that was the very word that had been going through her mind.

"I have honor," he said. "I don't kill without reason. I wouldn't kill my own without reason. Pete was a threat and I eliminated that threat because I could see that if I didn't, more innocent people would die because of him. Trust has to be earned and he was never going to earn my trust."

"Neither could the people in that scenario I mentioned."

"I said it sounded like a good plan. I didn't say I'd do it. The Governor would murder without reason. I would have watched the men in that scenario. I would have had Aaron watch them, get a feel for them, and then decided if I would kill them or offer them a place here. That's the difference between me and the Governor, between me and the man Shane was. I only kill with good reason."

He started to get up but Michonne gripped his arm. He lay back and looked at her. She could see that she'd hurt him by even wondering if he was the same as the Governor. She shook her head, not at him but at herself, wondering how she could wonder such a thing herself about Rick. Anyone else, yes, but Rick? No.

"I'm with you," she said, her heart bursting with conviction that was even more intense than the first time she'd said those words to him.

Rick wasn't a monster. He wasn't a villain in the story of their lives.

He was the hero.

"I love you," he whispered, before wrapping an arm around her.

Michonne snuggled up against him, more than ready to sleep, especially with her body sated and her fears having been put completely at ease.

"I love you too."