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.
"Why, is there something you want to tell me?" she finally quipped back, turning around fully, smiling back as his own smile broadened considerably. Whenever he was near, smiling seemed mandatory.
"Nah, I've been good," he shrugged, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "Ask Dale," he pointed with his chin at the man behind the counter.
Michonne looked back over her shoulder and the old man shrugged and nodded. "No complaints."
"I've been looking for you," Michonne lowered her voice, taking a step closer to her old friend.
"So, you didn't come for the postcard-worthy view from the Concorde suite?" Rick teased, while Dale grumbled behind the counter.
Michonne tried to contain her smile, trying to convey the seriousness of her mission. "People are worried about you."
Rick heaved a great sigh, his shoulders, his whole body moving with it as his hands dug just a little deeper into the shallow pockets of his jeans. "And they called the cops on me?"
Michonne laughed. "Nah, they just called on me... I'm off duty."
"I'm sorry you were dragged into this." He looked embarrassed.
"I wasn't dragged into anything. I was happy to help." She wanted to comfort him when she realized he was truly bothered by her presence.
"Your ID and room key, Miss Taylor," Dale cleared his throat, "do you need help with your luggage?"
"We've got it, Dale," Rick walked with her back to her car to pick up her bag, looking curiously from the rental to her and back.
"I'm on unofficial business, couldn't bring my car," she shrugged. "By the way..." she looked around the half-empty parking lot wondering where Rick's stunning white Range Rover was.
"How are you moving around?"
"I've been walking. But I left my car at the marina."
"There's a marina?" Michonne couldn't help the shock in her voice.
Rick grinned his patented grin, the same one she was used to seeing in photographs of him. It was surreal seeing it so up-close and personal.
"There are a few seaworthy vessels around, so, technically, yes, there is."
Michonne narrowed her eyes as she pulled her duffel from the trunk and snapped it shut. "Are any of the seaworthy vessels yours?"
Rick stepped up to take the bag from her, always reliably chivalrous. "Maybe."
Michonne chose not to comment as she walked beside him back into the Inn. She pushed the elevator, which carried them to the third floor where her room was.
It did have a nice view from its single bay window and the beach looked inviting. The full-sized bed looked fine the bathroom was small but looked clean and functional.
"Well... that's not too bad..." she mumbled as she tested whether or not the bedside table lamp switched on at all. It did.
Rick chuckled and she looked around to find him depositing her single duffel bag into the tiniest walk-in closet she'd ever seen.
"I promise you it's clean and safe, and you even have half-decent cable," he added pointing to the TV mounted on the wall, all the local stations are free and they even have Hulu and Netflix, I have to warn you though, the WiFi sucks."
Michonne nodded slowly, turning around and taking in the whole room curiously. "So where are you staying?"
"Fifth floor," Rick answered with no hesitation.
"Is that the presidential suite?" Michonne teased.
There was that patented grin. "No, it's the honeymoon suite actually."
"I see..." Michonne didn't know a good comeback for that, "What are the perks?" She expected him to say things like my I got married in Vegas last week, or the Italian supermodel is hiding from her husband, but, as it was clearly becoming the norm, Rick surprised her.
"It has a minibar out of this world," Rick nodded as though that was indeed something to boast about. "And a... bigger bed," he said staring at her own bed.
"That's nice," Michonne nodded, turning around and removing her jacket, the room felt slightly stuffy now.
He made the small room look smaller just by standing in it, and it made Michonne feel slightly claustrophobic for it - it'd been a while since she'd been subjected to his undivided attention in an enclosed space.
"So Uhm..." Michonne tossed her jacket on the bed and then sat at the foot of it, staring up, as he stepped closer. "What can I tell Maggie?"
Rick shrugged. "Tell her you found me. Tell her I'm alive. Tell her to stop worrying."
"Can I tell her where I found you?"
"Save that for later, keep the mystery," he winked.
Michonne chuckled. "Don't bite my head off but I'm contractually obligated to ask: Are you having a midlife crisis?"
Rick's eyes widened comically, his smile turning into a smirk.
"You don't see any sports car or girls half my age dangling from my arms, do you?"
"No, but apparently you have a boat!" Michonne joked, with a smirk of her own.
"Old, rich men have boats, Michonne," he pointed out.
"Yeah but maybe that's where you're hiding the twenty-year-olds."
Rick shook his head, still smiling. He reached with his foot to nudge hers. "Give me a day? I'm not ready for my sister, my parents, or my agent to descend upon me yet."
Michonne was nodding in acquiescence before she was even aware of it. She'd never been good at denying him stuff - a lifelong habit he had never knowingly exploited, but benefited from anyway.
"Thank you," he smiled softly. "You must be tired. I'll leave you alone," he started walking back towards the door.
"How about I show you around town in the evening?"
"Doesn't look like there'd be much to show around."
"I'll sweeten the deal with dinner. You like seafood, don't you?"
"Love it."
"It's settled then." He'd opened the door and half stepped out when he returned. "Don't use the wake-up call service. Dale never remembers."
Michonne laughed. "I'll use my phone, thanks."
Left alone, Michonne huffed a big sigh and stared around her room, back to the door where Rick had disappeared to and to her quiet phone in her hand. Part of her wanted to pacify his family back home, but the guy deserved the chance to prepare. She'd give him until tomorrow. He looked safe, healthy, and sane. That was really all she'd been asked to do, find him, and make sure he was okay.