Spy

A/N: Just a little one-shot about how Rick would feel if he found Michonne with another man, especially if that man was his best friend.

...

Rick Grimes understood all too well the reasons for Daryl's withdrawal from everyone. He understood why he went off by himself every chance he got. He'd done the same thing when Lori died. That could mean only one thing: At some point while they were out in the wild, away from the family, Daryl had fallen in love with Beth Greene.

He wasn't one to pry into another man's business, especially a man he loved as deeply as he did Daryl. They were more than friends. They were brothers. He wanted to talk to Daryl about it, wanted to break that unspoken rule that men had that they understood whether they gave voice to their feelings or not, but he doubted Daryl would want to talk it out.

Rather than talk he decided he'd simply sit with Daryl, talk around the subject. Water was getting scarce in the hellish heat of summer and they'd decided to take a break by the shallow stream they'd lucked up on. They'd bathed and washed clothes that afternoon, and boiled as much water as they could haul in the backs of their vehicles in the hopes it would last and they'd manage to keep the truck and cars fueled long enough to make it to Washington. That would be the topic of conversation, Rick decided. Then, if Daryl wanted to open up he'd know Rick was ready to listen. Hell, he'd know it anyway.

It was the voices that drew Rick's attention as he approached a stand of moonlit trees. Michonne was with Daryl, speaking softly, her tone soothing even to Rick though he wasn't the focus of her attention. That made Daryl a lucky man, in Rick's eyes, to have Michonne give her undivided attention. It also took some of the burden from Rick, who'd worried Daryl was going to hold his pain inside and never open up. Hold it in till it killed him, because every man had a limit and after a lifetime of abuse Rick feared losing Beth would be the straw that broke the camel's back.

"You loved her," Michonne was saying. "Now she's dead. God, don't I know what that's like."

Daryl leaned against the tree, his head down, and Michonne reached for him. It didn't come as a surprise when he pulled away, jerked back as though he expected a fist to plow into his chin rather than gentle fingers to caress his face.

Very slowly, gently, Michonne pulled Daryl to her. She stepped into him and he allowed her to wrap her arms around his shoulders. Out of reflex, or maybe instinct, Daryl's arms circled Michonne. There were no tears from Daryl. There was only a sigh, as though Michonne had lifted some enormous burden from his shoulders. He visibly relaxed into her embrace.

Rick watched the moment, nodding to himself, glad that someone had gotten through to Daryl when he needed it most. He thought he'd give them a few moments and then make his presence known, tell them the meat and wild veggies Glenn and Tara had scrounged up was ready. He thought he'd take awkwardness of the moment off their shoulders but he didn't get the chance.

He saw Daryl's head tilt, saw him softly press his lips to Michonne's throat in a kiss so gentle she didn't recognize it for what it was-at first. Then, when she realized what he was doing, pressing feather light kisses to her neck, she froze, her eyes widened in surprise.

She wasn't as surprised as Rick. He'd always assumed Daryl would rather shoot himself in the head than make a move on a woman in their group. Maybe his need for a connection, for comfort, was so deep he'd risk rejection just to be close to someone. Still, Rick waited for her to let him down gently, tell him that grieving wouldn't be soothed by sex, not for the long haul.

"Is this what you need?"

That question was like a kick to Rick's gut. He stood perfectly still, scarcely able to draw breath after hearing her ask that question. When Daryl answered by gripping Michonne by the ass and grinding her center against him, a surge of jealousy like white hot iron pokers being jabbed into his stomach made him clench tight inside.

Daryl's hardness was revealed not by the moonlight but by the wanton moan that escaped Michonne.

"I need it too," she gasped, rubbing her pussy against Daryl. He spread her apart by pulling one of her long legs over his waist and leaning against the tree, flattening himself out so she was flush against him.

No.

That one word repeated in Rick's mind. It stubbornly refused to leave him. Why he would react this way he didn't know. What Michonne did, either with Daryl or someone else, was none of Rick's business. She was his friend, not his woman. Yet he stood there and watched Daryl pull her close, tongue kiss her with a finesse he wouldn't have ever dreamed Daryl possessed, with a sense of ownership over her, the same sense of ownership he'd felt for Lori, the same jealousy he'd feel if he even remotely had reason to believe she was flirting with another man, or enjoyed it when another man flirted with her.

Stop them.

Rick watched Daryl slide his hand down Michonne's pants, watched her throw her head back and moan. He watched the muscles in Daryl's arms flex as he rubbed Michonne between her legs. He heard the wet squelch of his fingers move inside her wetness and his temples began to pulse with rage...pulse in time with the blood that wanted to pool in his half hardened cock.

This wasn't right. He had no cause to be jealous. Of course he loved Michonne but she wasn't his woman. So why did it bother him that it would be Daryl to feel her from the inside? Was that what this was? Simple jealousy that Daryl was getting something from Michonne that she had never hinted she wanted Rick to have?

It wasn't that simple and Rick knew it. His feelings for Michonne ran deep, much deeper than he wanted to admit. It wasn't until he watched her lean against his brother's powerful body, clutch at his shoulders and grind her hips against his fingers, tongue him with lust, whimper under his touch, that he understood she was his. He felt a sense of ownership because he'd made her his woman and hadn't realized it.

Daryl had his fingers in his woman.

He was about to have more than that inside her. Rick stood frozen, his body eager to move and his lips ready to scream a single word to them. STOP. His mind coolly reminded him that he had no right. He had no claim on Michonne. He had no right to interfere in Daryl turning her to the tree and unzipping his jeans while Michonne worked her leg out of hers and then wrapped around Daryl again.

"Oh, God..." Daryl moaned.

Rick's jaw was clenched like a vice when he watched Daryl pushing his way inside Michonne. Slipping was more like it. She was so wet Rick could hear it, so ready it took no effort to get into her. As angry as Rick was by what he witnessed he wasn't ignorant to how beautiful Michonne was in that moment, her whimpers light, airy, growing in intensity until they became moans.

Daryl's ass muscles clenched with each thrust of his hips, making them both moan now. Her hands were tangled in Daryl's long hair, she bounced against the tree with each thrust, her legs gripped his waist just under the angel wings of his vest. Rick's cock ached as he watched, watched Daryl lower her to the ground and rolled atop her.

"Daryl. Don't stop, please, don't stop."

It was petty but Rick wanted Daryl to pull out and come before Michonne could get off. He wanted her unsatisfied so that he could get her alone; prove he could do the job Daryl couldn't: leaving her weak with satisfaction.

Daryl didn't stop. He just rolled his hips and Michonne sounded wetter and her whimper suddenly turned into a scream that she muffled in Daryl's shoulder. Then, and only then, did Daryl allow himself to let go. Then and only then, as they lay panting and sweating and tangled up in each other, did Rick leave. He had an erection to deal with. He had a mask of ignorance to what he'd witnessed to mold if he hoped not to do or say something to destroy his friendships with either of them.