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Rick

By semul

"Damn it," she swore under her breath.

Spotting the gleaming key on the driver's seat floor, Michonne sighed in frustration.

Her car was in the shop. So when Tyreese offered his '98 Honda Accord, she'd gratefully accepted. It was ironic really. The moment she'd settled out of desperation was the moment everything went to hell.

In fact, the same could be said of her dating life. Her last five relationships – as brief as they were – turned into mere moments of desperation.

No more, she decided. She was done with dating and she was done with this car.

Convincing herself of her resolve, she almost didn't hear the inquiring voice.

"You alright, miss?"

Cupid didn't exist. It was an indisputable fact but doubt gnawed at her as she turned to drink in the sight.

Dressed in uniform, the bow-legged man gently tilted his head at her. His mischievous smile sent her stomach aflutter and enraptured her so thoroughly, she nearly forgot to blink.

He repeated his question, "You alright?"

Fighting against the tongue-tied state he'd provoked, she huskily stuttered, "Locked myself out."

Nodding, he shifted his stance. "I might have something for that." He awaited her permission before retrieving his tools from his truck. Holding his tools up, he arched his eyebrow. "May I?"

No wedding ring or tan line, she noticed as she let the chivalrous officer proceed.

He wedged the window and expertly slid in the metal. Her stomach tightened at the imagery, an urgent need simmering inside. Her eyes dragged across his fit backside.

Clearing her throat, she shifted her attention. "You do this often?"

He glanced at her, answering between focused grunts, "Every now…and then."

She barely heard his answer as his look of concentration sent shivers up her body. He bit his lip, squinting up at the sky, wiggling the tool until…pop!

"There we go," he murmured, carefully pulling the tools out before wrangling the door open for her.

Allowing her eyes to linger up his commanding form, she expressed her appreciation for his sincere gallantry, "Thank you."

"Anytime." He steadily held her gaze, still holding the door open. "I'm Rick, Rick Grimes."

"Michonne Foster."

He smiled. "Michonne." His drawl, gentle and deep, captured her full attention.

She was in trouble. Her earlier resolve was quickly fading. Her insides trembled in anticipation as he continued gazing at her like she'd been the one to save him.

Forcing herself to blink, she quipped, "So, you help damsels in distress for a living, Rick?"

Her inquiry nearly went unheeded as she bent down to retrieve her wallet and keys.

Glancing away from her display with a blushing smile, he considered her question. "You could say that."

She stood, biting her lip. There was something about him, something irresistible, inescapable, that drew her in.

With her impulsiveness beating out reason, she stammered, "I was um…," she scoffed at her unease, the heat between them burning away all coherent thought.

When he grinned at her, she steeled herself. She wasn't going to let this gorgeous and considerate man slip away. "I'm thirsty. You?"

"Parched."

She glanced at the soda machine near the store entrance. "Buy you a drink?"

Weakening her last defense, he accepted, "Okay."

She was in trouble alright. Though, the thought promptly vanished as she finally allowed herself to bask in the warm glow of fate.