We're the Ones Who Live: Richonne One Shots Chapter 9: Lessons
Rick learns an important skill...
Michonne nodded at her husband, her lips quirked at the sight of him, back bowed over his daughter’s head with studious concentration.
“Right,” she encouraged, doing her best to keep her hands in her lap.
Rick struggled for a moment to hold the hair and reach for the brush, but managed after a few fumbles.
“So, you pull the hair over the middle part…” Rick recited, his brow furrowed. Judith squirmed in the hard kitchen chair, looking desperately over at Michonne.
“Mama,” she plaintively called for Michonne, teetering dangerously on the edge of a meltdown. Michonne smiled at her reassuringly.
“Daddy’s going to fix your hair really pretty for church,” she assured the toddler. She glanced back up at Rick, still struggling. “Make sure to smooth the hair first,” she cautioned.
Rick sighed, but reached for the brush again. With a few strokes, he managed to calm Judith’s wayward curls then began again.
“How do you do this so fast?” he asked, his eyes still on his daughter’s hair.
“I’ve had lots of practice,” Michonne giggled, her own hair brushing her back and shoulders as she laughed.
“Ok,” Rick released a breath, tying the end of the plait off with a pink hair tie. “How does it look?” he asked, his expression hopeful.
Michonne inspected the little girl’s hair, taking in the even sections. It was a bit lopsided perhaps, but otherwise it was passable.
“It looks great,” she said, too much enthusiasm in her voice, both for the benefit of her daughter and her husband. Rick grinned brightly, glancing down at his handiwork. “You might be ready for French braids now,” Michonne told him, coming up behind him.
Rick looked horrified at the prospect. “There’s more than one way to braid?”
Michonne laughed, reaching for Judith as she squirmed down from her chair. She swept the little girl up to her waist, balancing her in place against her growing belly.
“You better hope this one is a boy,” she told Rick. “I don’t think you’re ready to learn about curl patterns and hair textures.”
“I’ll figure it out,” he told her confidently, setting the brush down on the table and turning to his girls. He kissed them both on the foreheads, lingering to grasp Michonne’s hair between his fingers. “You can show me how to fix these later,” he told her, grinning.
“Ambitious,” she complimented, impressed.
Judith wiggled out of her grasp and she let the little girl go, listening to her little feet beat a path out of the kitchen and away from her kissing parents.