Sweet Damnation (Richonne Lemon One-Shots)

Off The Grid (Preview)

A/N: PREVIEW ONLY - Full story can be found here....  https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13665327/1/Off-The-Grid

Behind the wheel of the rental blue sedan, Michonne Taylor leaned forward, straining against the seat belt as she squinted with slack-jawed disbelief at her destination.

Sitting back with a helpless huff, she gripped the wheel in a manic tell - foot tapping while driving just wasn't wise. Fleeting thoughts bounced back and forth like ping pong balls, rattling the space inside her skull. She'd been on the road for hours, propelled by the certainty she'd finally gotten somewhere. She battled fatigue and a tiny, tense ball of anxiety that had been slowly building in the pit of her stomach.

She eased her rental up on the driveway in front of the building and turned her key - the engine went silent; the worrying atmosphere became just a tad more intense.

Michonne shook her head quietly, staring at the weathered down, swinging sign in front of her, confirming her fears this was, in fact, the Concorde Inn. Unbuckling herself, she leaned forward, fishing the pamphlet she'd been given from where it'd been jammed between the windshield and the dashboard. She stared at the picture on the front page, displaying a closeup view of a cozy, entryway, fronted by the sign she'd just stared at.

It was five stories high - comfortably perched on an isolated beachside – pale blue water reflected the sky, as the clouds pass by. The vibrant green grass sits along the border occupied by daisies with moonlight-pale petals and a speckle of yellow in the middle. The whole surface makes a gentle, waving notion as the breeze passes by.

Michonne pushed her door open and stepped out of the car, taking a moment to stretch and roll her neck and shoulders. After having spent six hours on the road, she felt like a bent metal coil ready to spring and break. She hadn't made any stops since she'd known for sure where he was. She was doing this on borrowed time and it'd taken her a week to find a lead. She'd rest when she stopped, she'd told herself. The idea of there being any rest to be had inside was a bit laughable.

The lobby was welcoming, polished wooden floorboards, cozy, soft grey rugs and bright deep -blue furniture, large potted plants by yellow curtained windows. The reception desk was very central, right underneath a quite charming, if a bit chandelier. Behind it a white-haired man squinted at her behind heavy-looking, glasses - his eyes so pale they seemed almost silver.

"Hi!" Michonne blurted out, enthusiastically, her voice echoing unexpectedly in the hall. She cleared her throat awkwardly, looking around. "Got any rooms?"

The old man, who so far had been frowning at her as though she was a solicitor from hell, suddenly smiled. "Why yes, we have Oceanside rooms and poolside rooms, fill out this form!"

Stepping up to the desk, Michonne reached into her jacket pocket for her wallet - she'd have to go back to the car to get her duffel bag, but could just check in now anyway. Distracted by the papers in front of her and sudden thoughts of access to a hot shower and a bed, she never heard anyone coming up behind her and nearly jumped when a voice spoke behind her.

"Am I under arrest?" the voice was familiar, even the playful tone couldn't mask its silky-smooth quality.

Michonne whipped her head over her shoulder, finding Rick Grimes himself standing mere steps behind her, wearing a familiar smile, eyebrows arching questioningly.

Well, the search had definitely ended.

He still looked the same. While personally, Michonne hadn't seen him in almost a year, his face was on billboards and magazines everywhere - he looked a little bit on the side of scruffy, with his overgrown dark curly hair, a few days' worths of stubble, and a worn-looking brown t-shirt - but he looked like himself, and he looked relaxed - almost enviably so.