Rick flipped the switch on the dash again and the siren of his cruiser gave a quick WOOP into the city street. With all the hustle and bustle, there was barely anyone who noticed. Except Michonne, who jumped for the second time at the sudden noise.

Rick bit down hard on the toothpick in his mouth and tried not to laugh. Michonne covered her face, giggling with embarrassment.

Her heart raced, but not because of the jumpscare.

Her heart raced because of the devilish grin of the handsome practical joker sitting beside her in the driver's seat. His muscled thigh flexed as he gave the vehicle gas and her skin ignited. She couldn't help but notice the spectacle of the oblong shape resting against it.

Her heart was racing because he seemed to be completely tickled about seeing her caught off guard. It was as if he got off on her coming undone. He did.

He watched her turn to Jell-o the first time they met when she realized he'd overheard her very private conversation. Last night he fantasized about stripping her down and watching her relinquish any shamefulness. He wanted to give her unrelenting successive licks and watch her twitch with pleasure until she could no longer care to be self-conscious.

And now he had her all to himself. Adrenaline ran through his blood whenever he stole a glance her way. He liked how it felt and he didn't think once about denying himself that feeling. He took a few moments at the next red light to openly stare at her profile.

Michonne felt his eyes on her, burning her skin and making her shiver.

"You know if you're scared, you can hold my hand," Rick teased her skittishness, offering his wide upturned palm.

Michonne rolled her eyes at his taunt, but put her hand in his all the same. His thumb stroked hers and she felt that stroke in another place.

A place she had been successfully ignoring. Until a few weeks ago when she saw the officer to her left standing tall with authority in the courtroom. Now that forgotten spot was screaming for some attention. Screaming.

Seeing her slender dark fingers intertwined between his bulky knuckles made her head swim. "Your hands are huge," she said before she could decide if the remark was appropriate. As soon as she said it, she decided it was not appropriate and wished she could sink into the leather seat of his cruiser and hide.

Rick just chuckled. "Yeah." He looked down, noticing the difference in size between them. "They match my feet." He fiddled with his toothpick. "And you know what they say about guys with big hands and feet?"

Michonne looked at him with wide eyes. "What," she asked in a whisper, nearly breathless.

She knew what they said about guys with big hands and feet. But she would literally turn into a puddle if he confirmed it. In her mind, she battled whether she should pretend to be offended if he did.

Another part of her thought there was no reason to play coy. The fact that he knew he was better known as Deputy Doggystyle in her private conversations should supercede any supposed decorum. She toyed with the idea of giving him a naughty response.

Maybe take a page from Andrea's book and ask him to 'prove it'...

Until Rick answered her, "They say guys with big hands and feet pay more for mani-pedis."

"Mani… what?" Michonne blurted, followed by a snort. She covered her face and folded over, forehead to knees, laughing. She sat up, throwing her locs back. "You play entirely too much, Rick Grimes."

"What? What did you think I was gonna say?" He laughed along trying to keep a straight face as though he was clueless.

"Nevermind. Where are you taking me? And what did you say to Andrea to get her to cover at work."

Rick spoofed a regretful, cringey face. "Sorry, I can't tell you. Attorney/client privilege, you know."

Michonne laughed again. It didn't escape her notice that she was giving him authentic laughter. It felt good. Freeing.

She had gotten so used to the fabricated amusement that she'd give to her stuffy colleagues. Hushed giggles in Andrea's office apparently were not enough. Never being able to hoot and holler was stifling her spirit more than she would've guessed.

"Well, if you're attorney is Andrea, you're screwed. You may as well head to the penitentiary now."

"Is she really that bad?"

"She is. She wanted to be a rockstar and even as an adult with no musical ability, she still thinks it could happen for her, if that's any indication of her judgement. But she comes from a family of lawyers and her uncle is a partner at our firm, so it's like impossible for her to get fired."

"That sucks."

"Yeah. She may burn the place down while I'm gone."

Rick laughed but Michonne didn't. He seemed a little less sure about trusting Andrea to cover for Michonne. His expression changed. "I don't want you to go back to a shitshow at work on my account. I'll take you back if you want," he said sincerely.

"Hell no," she blasted with abrupt finality. Her upper lip curled, her eyes rolled and she gave him a look that wordlessly questioned his sanity.

Rick smiled at her moxie. "Motion to proceed with lunch date kidnapping?"

"Sustained."

...

The long ride to Rick's secret destination included Michonne's crash course lecture for the deputy in loc maintenance, a tag team symposium on all their favorite apple recipes and a heated debate about whether her collection of porcelain kitties made her a 'crazy cat lady'. After she made her spirited rebuttal, Rick shyly admitted that it turned him on when she "talked lawyer", as he put it.

Finally, they arrived outside a row of park pavilions. A flock of people milled about the many pop-up shops and table displays of local vendors. Everything was for sale there. From fresh fruit to artificial flowers to refurbished furniture to fifties fashion.

"This was one of my favorite places as a kid."

"A flea market," Michonne asked, surprised.

"Yeah. A flea market," Rick said proudly. He joked, " You got a problem with that?"

"No, I don't have a problem, Rick."

He continued to needle her with a good-natured grin, "I mean, if it's too low-budget for a gorgeous, powerful, top dollar attorney…"

"Cut it out!" Her cheekbones peaked as she flustered from the praise falling from those tempting lips. She reached for the door handle, ready for a little air to clear her head.

"Michonne," Rick stopped her. He took his toothpick out of his mouth and put on a serious face. "Let's get somethin' straight here and now."

"Sure." Anticipating something harsh and unpleasant, her smile fell away.

"My momma, God rest her, she's in heaven lookin' down on me right now. Everytime you reach for a door, I can feel her twistin' my ear," Rick said, tugging lightly at Michonne's ear and smoothing his knuckles down her neck.

She squirmed in her seat and laughed through an apology.

"So can we just set the ground rules that I'm the kinda guy that opens doors and pulls out chairs? I'm the kinda guy that pays and holds hands. I know you can make big time criminals cry, but my momma ain't gonna be happy if I don't do ya like I was raised."

Michonne smiled again. She took her hand off the door, placed them both in her lap and patiently watched him round the car to her side. He took her hand and pulled her from her seat.

Michonne rose to her tiptoes to look over the cars at all the colors around her. Printed dresses flapped on hangers in the breeze. Quilts were hung from clotheslines tied to posts. Painted pottery was everywhere. The smell of oils and incense were heavy in the air.

Rick reminisced as they walked along. "I used to spend my days here when I was younger. I always came home with something new… well, new to me anyway."

"Most of this stuff is secondhand," he waved over the market in general with one hand, while he held Michonne's in the other. "But you can find a lot of unique things. Once my mother found a Billie Holiday record. 'Jazz at the Philharmonic'. It was worth a lot of money."

"I love Billie Holiday," Michonne said impassioned. "So what are we looking for today."

"Today, I got an idea," Rick announced as Michonne examined a few scarves for sale. "We're gonna buy each other souvenirs of our first date." Michonne's excitement bled through her curious smile.

"Souvenirs?"

"Yeah. We split up. You go buy somethin' you think I'd like and I'll do the same. Five dollar limit. We meet back here and, one day, it'll be a really cool story to tell our kids."

Michonne raised a brow. Looking him over, she couldn't help but think about his naked chiseled body covering her. She imagined him sweaty and focused working on baby-making. She licked her lips and tucked her hair behind her ear.

"Our kids, huh?"

"Yeah, our kids. Okay," he looked at his wristwatch, "In 20 minutes we meet back here and have a little flea market Christmas. Ready? Go!"

Rick moved away from her into the stream of browsing people. He seemed to have something in mind and knew precisely where to get it. Michonne felt a rush of panic. She was always prepared. That's how she conquered the courtroom.

If she had known that they would come here she would've made a list of things to get, mapped out a route through the market and approximated a budget down to the last penny of her five dollars. But Rick had a way of whirling her around until she was dizzy. She was surprised at how much she loved it.

Without all her ducks in a row, she would have to give spontaneity a try. That freaked her out. But she didn't have time to freak out. Michonne knew she would never make it to every seller in 20 minutes.

She hollered at his tall retreating form, "20 minutes?!"

He hollered back, "Yeah. Any more than that and I'll start to miss ya."

Michonne could feel her cheekbones making another appearance. She pressed her palms to her face to try and get them under control. Her eyes ping-ponged from station to station. She let out a quiet hysterical scream. Now, she wished she could spot Andrea in some terrible disguise and get some advice.

"Okay," she gave herself a quick pep talk, "20 minutes. Five dollars. Don't panic. It's just the guy you've been daydreaming about sleeping with for weeks… who turned out to be kind and charming and fun. He's just testing how well I know him… whether I've been listening to anything he's said or if I've just been envisioning recreating the sex scene from Desperado with him."

She might be in trouble. No matter how important the case, if Rick was in the courtroom she could never stop herself from drifting into a private fantasy of making love to him surrounded by a hundred candles with a pout like Salma Hayek's. It had only gotten worse since she ran that red light.

She rolled her eyes at the butterflies in her stomach. She was energized and terrified at the same time. She dragged her hands over her locks, pulling them with excitement. Then she took off to find Deputy Doggystyle something that he would love.

...

Rick and his stolen date sat next to each other in the open field near the local bazaar. A few yards to their right, a class of senior citizens learned tai chi. Across the long path to the market, a public playground was full of screaming little ones and their parents or nannies.

"I can't decide whether I'm more excited to give you what I found or if I wanna see what you got me first," Rick said with an unshakable smile.

"You wanna go first. I can tell." A nervous Michonne tried to stall. "Knowing what a generous guy you are, I would expect no less."

She quickly yanked away the linen tote he was holding in his fist before he could object. Rick smirked at her ability to redirect. It was something he watched her do in court on many occasions.

He was happy to go with the flow. Leaning into her, rapt by her reaction, he nervously pulled at his collar as he watched her take out the first object she touched. It dawned on him how much he was hoping to make a good impression and he was even more intrigued with her.

A porcelain Siamese kitten standing on all fours sat in her palm. She gushed over the exaggerated wide blue eyes and stubby dark brown legs.

"For your collection," Rick said, pleased with himself. "If you're gonna be a crazy cat lady, I'll be your enabler." He sighed as though being her enabler put the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"Oh my god," Michonne rolled her eyes. "A few collectibles does not a crazy cat lady make! And why us that even a thing?"

She geared up to make another strong defense. It was the speech she had given Andrea a number of times when her best friend also accused her of being on a path to becoming a 'barking mad kitty biddy'.

"Why all this feline hate? Why not 'crazy dog lady' or 'crazy bird lady'?"

"Or crazy fish lady," Rick joked.

"Believe it or not, I know a girl who kept buying goldfish, one right after another! She even named them after her boyfriend. She actually called them juniors! But nobody ever called her a 'crazy fish lady'. This is discrimination pure and simple! I submit to you that there are few social issues more ignored than the harassment of unmarried female cat lovers!"

Michonne tossed her hair with a humph. Rick only smirked and after a dramatic pause, he said, "You know, that is exactly what a crazy cat lady would say."

Michonne gave him a look and a fake laugh. "Why do you like to give me a hard time?"

He answered her instantly with a deep suggestive drawl, "Cuz you love it."

Those cocky words made her face burn and her stomach flip. She had no prepared statement for that truth, so she retreated into the bag, needing something to distract her from his stormy cobalt eyes.

The first night they spoke on the phone, Rick asked her the origin of her name. Like most people he'd never met a 'Michonne'. But when he complimented the beautiful uniqueness of her name, she pointed out the cons.

Like the awkward moments having to correct your boss' pronunciation or never being gifted personalized items.

Of course, she admitted that she could just personalize anything she wanted, herself. But, silly as it was, she just wanted someone else to give her something with her name on it. It amazed her that he remembered that little tidbit from their long, scattered conversations.

She held the gaudy beaded keychain in her hand. The unsophisticated look of insequential tri-beads and braided plastic gimp took her back to her childhood.

A little girl named Amanda was selling handmade keychains to fund a homeschool trip. The flat round beads were quickly slid into place by the girl's little fingers as Rick spelled out M-I-C-H-O-N-N-E.

Rick passed on a message from the little artisan, "She told me to tell you that your name is cool. She runs a hard bargain too. I tried to get her to come down on the price, but she suckerd me and charged me double. Five bucks didn't last long."

Michonne laughed and instantly fell in love with her presents. After Rick's thoughtful gifts, she also felt like maybe she could have done a better job with her purchases. She offered a disclaimer, "I just want to say that I'm not the best at picking out gifts, so…"

She trailed off, unable to look him in the eye. She sat her bag of finds on the seat between them and looked over at some inane scene in the market. It was hard for Rick to miss the red apples weighing down the netted bag when he picked it up.

"Okay, apples!" Rick took a bite of one and nodded knowingly, "These are from Rosemary's Orchard."

Michonne's eyes widened as she recalled that Rosemary was indeed the name painted in pink onto the wooden sign. "How did you know?"

"I told you, I came here all the time when I was a kid. I spent a lot of time with Rosemary and her husband. Did he sell you these?"

"I don't know. It was a big older man who looked kinda like Santa in denim overalls. Nice guy. A talker. But I didn't have time to chat."

"Yep. That's him. Dan."

"Dan! That's right," Michonne remembered. She snatched the apple away from Rick before he took another bite. "Don't eat all the apples. I bought these so you could make me that apple compote you swear'll be better than my momma's fried apples."

"Oh, so, your first gift to me... is actually for you," he asked sarcastically.

"No." Michonne thought of a clever retort quickly, "These apples are for you. They give you an opportunity to show off." She bit into the apple herself with a smug sort of cuteness. She chewed demurely, her fingertips covering her lips. "Which, I'm beginning to see, is something you love to do."

Rick's brow shot up in surprise at her cutting quip. He deflated and disappointment fell across his face. It seemed like everything was going great, but apparently not.

"Well, nobody likes a showoff."

"Don't take that the wrong way." She handed back the apple, almost like a peace offering. "I work with a lot of showoffs. That's definitely not you. You're not arrogant or belittling. I think you show off without even trying."

"I just enjoy doin' the stuff I'm good at." He shrugged and bit the apple again, making sure to chomp down in the same place Michonne just did. He was positive that the apple seemed so much sweeter on that second bite.

"They say nothing's more attractive than confidence."

"Oh, I don't know," Rick countered with a hinting tone, "I'm findin' that sweet and shy is sexier than I thought."

She caught his meaning and smiled. As stunning as her smile was, Rick tried not to let it swallow his heart whole. He was falling for this woman. He had no doubt.

He lifted a book out of the bag and read the title, "Coyote Sunset?"

Michonne explained, "We both like to read and this lady was selling used books. I thought we could read it together."

"Did you get this from a redhead with freckles?"

"Her name was Marie. She told me this was one of her favorites." Michonne pointed, "And the guy on the cover kinda reminds me of you."

Rick looked at the artwork and tilted his head, flattered and very amused. The male model was in an unconvincing police uniform, extremely buff. His biceps bulged from his short sleeves. His face was hidden by the brim of his policeman's cap as he carried an unconscious woman in his arms.

Rick cleared his throat. "Do you know what kind of books Marie sells?"

"What? You too macho for romance," she teased him now. "Marie said this one had a thriller subplot. So I think you'll be okay."

Rick nodded, keeping his comments to himself and nonchalantly dropped his bitten apple back in the bag. He opened to a random page of the book and started reading. "Demi handcuffed Steven to the fridge. 'I have lost three of my best girls,' Demi said. 'If you have a suspect. I need to know who he is.' Demi licked her palm, reached into his pants and started jerkin' his warm pink python."

Michonne gasped in horror and tried to wrest the book from her date's hand. "Oh my God! Shhh! Rick, stop!"

He switched to the hand furthest from her, stiff-arming her to keep her at bay. He continued, "Steven cried out so many curse words, Demi lost track. 'I'll do whatever I have to do to get a name from you, detective.' Demi reached into the fridge and pulled out a can of whip cream. She pulled off her satin underwear..."

"Rick, please!"

"Demi sprayed the dessert toppin' into her underwear."

Michonne covered her face. She spoke in a whispered deadpan, "Oh my God. I'm begging you to stop."

"Demi made him wear the underwear on his face. 'Lick 'em clean,' she said, 'and then you can have some pussy for dessert."

"I'm literally going to die of embarrassment."

Rick let out a belly laugh. "This is what you want us to read together?"

"I didn't know it was smut."

"Badly written smut."

"I thought it was just a cheap crime novel."

Rick closed the book and referred back to the cover, "Yeah this guy with the skin tight pants and unbuttoned shirt looks like a real no nonsense detective."

"Well, I don't read," Michonne whispered, ashamed, "dirty books. I wouldn't recognize one from the cover. Just give me the book." She held out a lazy hand.

"You've got to be kiddin'. We're definitely readin' this! Demi has a very unorthodox interrogation technique. In our line of work, this could come in handy." Rick skipped a few pages and continued to torture her. "Steven kept thrustin' harder and faster. Angel's boobs…Wait, it's Angel now? What happened to Demi," Rick asked with a chuckle, pretending to be impressed that Steven was on another woman in less than three pages.

MIchonne was mortified. "It says 'boobs'?"

"Yeah." Rick tried to keep from sputtering while he pointed out the words to Michonne and read, "Angel's boobs jumped with every thrust from the long swollen nightstick between his legs..."

Badly written or not, the description of a 'long swollen nightstick' being wielded by Rick was now taking over her brain. She was starting to sweat. Partly from embarrassment but also from desire as Rick's deep velvety voice kept reading. Michonne was desperate to quiet him and delirious enough to act completely out of character.

Determined to end her humiliation, she grabbed his face with both hands and pushed her full lips against his. Her body laid against him. Her petite frame was practically in his lap.

Utterly surprised, Rick pulled away from her mouth then kissed her back with more leverage. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer. Michonne relaxed into him. Her hands fell to his muscled shoulders and she slipped him a little tongue.

"Hi, Deputy Rick!" A sweet little voice came from outside their liplock.

Michonne regained her senses immediately and slid herself down Rick's solid body, back to the park bench. They both gave the little girl in front of them an obligatory smile.

"Is this your girlfriend," the little one lisped loudly through missing bottom teeth. Her straight black hair laid over her forehead. Her dark eyes all but disappeared when she smiled.

"Yes. It is."

Michonne's brown eyes met Rick's and she gave him the sweetest smile he'd ever seen. They hadn't discussed their relationship status. But instead of being taken aback, his quick answer sounded like the testimony of an expert witness to her. Irrefutable.

The little girl's eyes went wide. "Is this Michonne?"

"Hi, sweetie," Michonne nodded to her question and shook the child's hand. "What's your name?"

"Amanda."

"Oh! Amanda! You made this lovely key chain, didn't you?"

The little girl nodded vigorously. "You're pretty."

"So are you."

"Thank you." The little girl covered her imperfect happy smile. "Deputy Rick, your dad said to give you these for your pretty date." Amanda pulled a bouquet of pinkish white apple blossoms from behind her back.

Michonne smiled, cooing at the sweet-smelling white flowers as they made their way from Amanda's hands to Rick's to her's. The little girl ran off, giggling, without another word.

"Looks like you made an impression on old Apple Dan."

Michonne gasped, "That's your father?" She replayed their rushed conversation in her head. She had been distracted looking for Rick's gift. She prayed she didn't come off as rude.

"Yeah. I used to come here with my momma when I was small. We used to sell apples here. When she passed away, daddy named the orchard after her and carried on. Now he sells 'em here once a week. I grew up with all the sellers at this market. That's why it's one of my favorite places."

Michonne looked around the flea market with different eyes. She could imagine a baby-faced Rick, running through the space and playing tricks on unsuspecting shoppers. With that sunny characterization in her head, she felt a lot less sex-crazed even with the feel of his tongue still tingling across her lips.

"He wasn't so keen on me duckin' out of the apple business to be a cop. But like I said, I enjoy doin' what I'm good at and it sure wasn't growin' apples."

Michonne held the blossoms to her nose and inhaled their dreamy scent. "I'm sure he's proud of you. Your mother too."

"Well, we know he likes you a lot. So, that's one good decision I made." Rick nodded toward Dan who was waving at them from his apple stand.

Michonne waved back. "Come on. Take me back over there so I can meet him properly."

"Ok," Rick gave her a wicked grin. "Maybe he'll want to join our book club."