Hi everybody! Here is the first chapter of a short little story based off of a prompt that thematsaidwelcome gifted me with after a long bout of writer's block. I want to thank her for curing me and getting me writing again. She's amazing and if you haven't read her stuff yet, please do so asap! This is going to be 3 parts and I will update frequently because it is almost done. Thanks so much for reading and reviewing :)

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"Shit!" Michonne felt her heart threaten to leap out of her chest when she pushed opened the door of the little, closet-sized evidence room and almost ran straight into a wall of drab khaki and brown. "What are you doing here, Grimes?" she asked, her surprise melting into annoyance when she saw his deceptively pretty blue eyes squinted above his ever-present scowl.

"I work here, Anthony. What are you doing here?"

"Funny," she sneered, "I thought I was the only one who did any real work in this building." She pushed past him and headed down the hall to the open room where all of the deputies desks sat in clusters. There had to be someone better to talk to than him. She frowned, though, when she saw all of the workstations empty and the lights dimmed, except for the one behind the main check-in. "Damn it," she muttered, glancing at her watch, and assuming she had been tucked away longer than she thought. Her brow furrowed in confusion, though, when she saw that it was only 4 p.m., much earlier than the state of the station suggested.

She heard the clicking of annoyingly loud boots on the old tile hallway, and turned to see Deputy Rick Grimes had followed her down the hall.

"What's going on?" she asked, hating to be forced to converse with him any longer than she had to. "Where is everybody? They cut out early to waste some more taxpayer-funded hours down at the bar?"

Rick chuckled, clearly amused by something other than her joke. "How long were you in that closet, Michonne?" he asked, his smile impossibly smug. "Been snowing all afternoon. All the town offices shut down."

She rolled her eyes at him; it was barely spitting before lunch, when she began sifting through the mountain of evidence for her latest case, he had to be exaggerating. She crossed the barren room to the glass doors, and peered through the "King County Sheriff's Office" insignia, to see the rare Georgia snow blanketing the ground and beginning to pile up on her Mini Cooper parked just across the way. She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed, doing her best to keep her exasperation from making its way to Rick's ears. This was not good.

…

Michonne could barely drive in the rain, Rick remembered, holding in a chuckle. For all her superiority and snobbishness that she brought with her from the city, she sure did have trouble navigating the old dirt roads of the rural town during the muddy season. Snow was way beyond her ability. She'd probably have to call her boyfriend to come pick her up. Of course, he was the only asshole in town who drove a fancy sports car, another high-bred lawyer to boot, and now the two of them would be like the blind leading the blind. He dropped into his desk chair and set his boots on the desk, watching her work it out and enjoying the big ball of rage sparking in her speckled brown eyes right now.

To his surprise, however, she didn't whip out her Iphone and call for help. Instead she folded her arms across her chest and wandered over to the desk farthest from him, taking a seat on top of it.

"How'd you get the short stick," she asked, surprising him again by speaking. "Don't you have seniority around here?"

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, running a hand over the back of his neck. "Yeah, well, the other guys got families waiting on 'em, so I volunteered." It wasn't his intention to sound so down and out about it, leaving Lori was his decision. He just wanted her to know how all alone she was in the line of people who considered him an asshole.

"So you're here all night then?"

"'Less I get a call."

After a few moments of tense silence, she did finally fish her phone from her ridiculously large purse, but she only turned it over in her hand a few times before tapping it nervously on the edge of the desk.

"Mike on his way?" he asked, suddenly finding himself willing her boyfriend's cocky mug to appear, for the first time ever. She looked like she was settling in and, given the fact that he was stuck there, he wasn't thrilled with the idea of her company lasting any longer than necessary.

"Mike's gone," she said, her eyes darting back to the window.

"Lucky him," he said. "Some swanky vacation somewhere, no doubt. How come you didn't go with him? Too busy making your own waves around here?" Michonne had a no-nonsense reputation around the county offices. It didn't sit all that well with some of the other deputies in the department. They were used to doing things their own way, but Michonne was as by the book as they come. He used to come to her defense when the other guys would complain about having to work with her, but that was back when she was still new in town, and he was still good enough to screw on the weekends, as long as none of their coworkers found out.

"No, Rick," she said. "Like gone, gone." Her plush, heart shaped lips were pursed in a frown that matched her attitude perfectly. He couldn't even remember what that thousand-watt smile he had been so taken with looked like, it had been so long since he'd seen it make an appearance. His, however, surprised him by materializing involuntarily at the thought of Mike's exit from her life. That guy was insufferable, he thought. Not that he actually cared, though, Michonne could do whatever she wanted.

…

He actually smiled, she thought. The nerve of this man never ceased to amaze her. She tells him her boyfriend left her, and his stupid mouth curls up into one of his self-satisfied, lopsided grins that she used to fall over with her legs in the air for. God, she was so stupid then. What kind of county prosecutor hasn't learned not to sleep with the local cops? It's practically on the bar exam. She shook her head in self-admonishment and turned her shoulders away from him.

"You toss him aside too?" Rick asked, masking his obvious enjoyment of her misfortune beneath his hand as he scratched at the stubble on his face. "I was wondering when that whole 'can't mix business and pleasure' rule was gonna kick in for him. Took us what? Six good months before you pulled that one?"

"I wouldn't call them good months," she retorted, sweeping a piece of hair away from her face, and tucking it behind her ear. His smirk grew bolder, and she quickly dropped her hands back to her lap.

Rick had pointed out that tell to her a long time ago, when she had the misfortune of working her first case with him. She hated to admit it, but it had actually been a valuable piece of information to have in court, despite its source. He had a detective's eye and he'd called her out on it after a particularly late night, when she'd made up some excuse to slip out of his bed and head home. He'd driven the point home by listing off each of the half-truths she'd used on a witness earlier that day, and how she'd made the same gesture each time. She'd been both impressed at his attention to detail, and annoyed at the way he found it so amusing. Not annoyed enough to leave though; the first of many nights she made that mistake.

"Anyway," she said, clearing her throat and straightening her posture. "That's actually none of your business. Regardless of the reason, he's not around, so I'm going to have to wait it out. I'm sure there will be a break in the storm at some point and I'll be fine."

…

Goddamnit. For a brilliant woman, she really was clueless sometimes. Even if there was a break in the storm, the town's one snow plow, the maintenance manager's personal vehicle, wasn't going to even begin clearing roads until the next day. They'd already cancelled school in anticipation of a twenty-four hour clean up.

"Michonne, you live on the other side of town," he said. "You're not getting there in that stupid car of yours until they plow the backroads."

"Well, what do you suggest, Rick?" she asked in a sing-song tone. She was doing that thing where she made her voice sweet and accommodating, and batted her thick eyelashes, all the while calling into question your intelligence with her gaze. He sighed heavily, sliding his feet off of the desk and standing to take his own gander at the situation. The trees that lined the parking lot were practically bent in half and encased in ice, and Michonne's red car had now turned completely white. Not a single car passed on the street in front of the station. He dropped his forehead into his palm and set his other hand on his hip. The Sheriff's department wasn't big enough to house him and Michonne for the entire night if both of them wanted to make it out alive. He was going to have to come up with a plan to get her home.

…

I'm never getting home, she thought. She flipped through her phone contacts for the hundredth time, trying to think of anyone who both owned a four wheel drive vehicle, and owed her a favor. The first list was pretty long, but the second was lacking.

Rick was pacing in front of the door, as if he could somehow will mother nature to free them from this cruel joke she was playing on them.

"Can you just sit down?" she asked. "You're making me nervous." To be honest, the way his left knee turned out just enough to give him that sexy, bow-legged, cowboy strut was distracting her thought process, but she wasn't about to admit that. And of course he would be wearing those damn worn out black jeans that hung low on his hips with the weight of his gun belt, and hugged his muscular thighs. Where were his brown, polyester uniform pants? Those were much easier to ignore.

"Why are you only half in uniform, Deputy?" she asked, making sure to remind him with her tone that technically, in the county employee hierarchy, she out-ranked him. It was really only when they were working a case together, which they were not currently, but so what?

"Overnight dress code," he said, his eyes still on the parking lot. "Surprised you noticed. You staring at my ass again?"

Michonne didn't hold back her irritation this time, jumping down from the desk and stalking over to where he stood. "Look," she said, her mind grasping for any solution to this unbearable circumstance. "You've got the keys to the county SUV. Why don't you just bring me home? It's not exactly a road trip to look forward to, but it will be better than the two of us being stuck here all night."

Rick took a step back and met her challenging posture with his own, setting both hands on his hips and puffing his chest out. She had kicked her heels off while she was sitting and now, looking up at him, she was reminded of how she always felt like her whole frame shrunk whenever she was in his powerful presence. She licked her lips subconsciously and her eyes darted for the refuge of a different focal point.

"First of all," he said, tilting his head to the side and staring down at her. "Dixon took the SUV home with him. I only have the regular cruiser. And second of all, I'm the only one on duty. I can't leave unless it's an emergency, and your failure to think ahead doesn't really constitute that. You know...rules are rules, right Michonne?"

…

He wasn't sure why he hadn't just agreed to her plan. His need to get a dig in at her over her rigid, stick-in-the-mud attitude had temporarily out-weighed the need to get her out of his hair, but now he was stuck trying to come up with a plan B.

"I'll make a couple calls," he said, turning on his heel and heading for the check-in desk where the county contact list would be. Maybe he could find someone who was willing to help him out of a bind.

…

"Come on, Andrea...pick up!" Michonne muttered under her breath as her friend's phone went to voicemail yet again. She had her back turned to the reception area where Rick was alternating between dialing and slamming down the desk phone in his own futile attempt at reaching another human being. She sighed aloud, hanging up the call and setting her phone back in her purse to save the battery.

After a few moments, she heard the squeaky hinges of the swinging half-door to the reception area, as Rick came wandering back into the room.

"I left a message for Dixon, the town maintenance manager, and Abe Ford at the fire department. Maybe one of them will call me back."

"Fine," she said. "Thank you."

He nodded, almost pleasantly, and she felt the tension brewing in her temples release. She was exhausted by the situation and she didn't need to spend any more energy hurling insults at Rick Grimes. The station was big enough that she would just avoid him for as long as she needed to until someone offered to help them out.

Having exhausted all of their options, they silently retreated to their respective corners, content to pass the time separately.

Michonne decided to chance the battery drain on her phone, and began scrolling through a few emails, catching up on what she had missed while she was hidden away in the evidence room. It was after six now, and she was kicking herself for deciding she only needed a salad for lunch. If she had known she wasn't going to get to devour the Chinese food leftovers she had in her fridge for dinner, she would have had something that lasted a little longer. She slipped off her blazer, tossing it on the chair next to her shoes, and began rifling through her purse for a power bar or even a mint to tide her over.

…

Rick had almost forgotten she was there, his nose buried in a stack of case files he had to sign off on, until he heard her teeth crunching and cracking a hard candy from across the room. He set down the paperwork he was studying and ran a hand over his face, before turning in her direction.

"You're not supposed to chew those," he said, admonishingly. "You'd think with your dental hygiene obsession, you'd know that."

"Better than an obsession with baseball and barbeque. At least my obsession makes me healthier."

"When you break a tooth don't come crying to me."

"That shouldn't be a problem."

Rick scraped his chair out from his desk and looked down at his wristwatch. It was getting late, and she was getting fidgety in that way she did when she was hungry. He remembered how a hungry Michonne was an even more unpleasant Michonne, and he figured it was probably best for both of them if he got her something to eat.

"We have some food in the breakroom," he said, stretching his back as he stood from his chair. The low pressure of the storm and the worn out desk chair he had been sitting in had his muscles stiff and aching. He ran his hand over the old bullet wound on his chest as he stood, and he saw her watching him out of the corner of his eye. Finally she stopped staring and stood to make her way across the room, following him to the little kitchenette at the other end of the station.

He opened the refrigerator, not quite sure what would be on the menu for the night, but he quickly spotted something he knew she wouldn't be able to resist.

"It was Leon's birthday yesterday," he said, reaching in and pulling out a large, plastic container. "Got half a chocolate cake left over."

Michonne's eyes went wide and her lips twitched into an eager smile before she caught herself. He saw it though, and he couldn't help but laugh. She had the biggest sweet tooth of anyone he'd ever met and he'd be damned if he could figure out where any of it went. Maybe it all went to her ass, he mused, as he set the cake on the counter and rummaged around for some plates. The rest of her body was firm and smooth, but her ass was as plump and round as they come. He couldn't help the vision that popped into his head of it naked and perched high up in the air as he took her from behind. He quickly handed her a plate, then turned back toward the fridge to hide the heat that was creeping up his neck at the explicit memory.

"Ain't much else in here," he said from behind the door. He pulled out a can of Crazy Cheese and dug up some crackers from the cupboard, setting them on the counter next to the cake to complete the saddest buffet ever offered.

"This is fine," she said. She cut a slice of cake and placed it on a plate, offering it to him, but he shook his head, opting to dive into it with his fork instead.

…

Rick was shoveling cake into his mouth, as she eyed him over her plate. He always ate like a starving man, she thought. He was sitting on the counter, where food was to be prepared, scooping bites of frosting and sucking them off of the end of his fork. She shook her head at his lack of table manners as he broke off another bite, his tongue darting out from between his pouty, pink lips to meet the creamy chocolate, and a sudden shock wave darted straight downward from her belly at the familiar sight. That tongue, those lips, her leg slung over his shoulder as he wore that same indulgent expression...she finished her last bite, quickly turning away to drop her plate in the sink.

"So," she said, desperate to hear him say something smug and annoying to get her brain and her body back on the same page. "How's Shane?"

Rick's partner had always been a wedge between them, his name was sure to make her forget the selective memories threatening to paint a less than accurate picture of Rick in her mind.

"He's fine," Rick replied, snarkily. "Thanks for asking."

"He still the town's biggest busybody?"

Rick parted his lips to spit out a retort when they both heard the shrill bell of the desk phone echoing off of the empty desks in the next room. She watched him jump down from the counter and take off in a near sprint to answer it.

Eager to hear from someone who Rick had left a message for regarding a lift home, she ran some water on her plate and hurried off to follow him.

…

"Don't be an asshole," Rick said to the bellowing laughter of Captain Abraham Ford of the King County Fire Department.

"Hey now," Abe said, "You know I'd help you out if I could."

"I don't know that, cause it seems like you could right now, and you won't."

"I'm just saying maybe it'll do y'all some good to spend the evening talkin'...or whatever."

He chuckled again and Rick felt his eyebrow begin to twitch with anger. Of all the good friends he had, Abe had to be the only one to call him back. "So you're refusing?" he growled into the phone.

"It's for your own good, buddy. It's a small town and frankly we're all tired of this feud between the two of you. I hope you have a productive night."

With one more burst of laughter, Abe hung up on him just as Rick heard Michonne approach.

"Ford said he can't make it over to give you a lift," Rick said. He watched the hopefulness that had seeped into her expression fade away and a frown overtake her face. Clearly she had as little interest in talking things out as he did. Better to just keep their distance for the remainder of their sentence, he supposed, turning his back to her to find something else to occupy the time.