Tara watches across the junkyard as Gabriel bandages up Rick’s hand, trying to get the wound as clean as possible before he wraps the old torn t-shirt strip around it. Rick seems antsy, shifting his weight from one foot to another, and when Gabriel’s almost done with the makeshift bandage Rick yanks his hand away and points toward Michonne. “Holy shit, Gabriel, do you see that? Do you see that?”
The priest just looks confused. “What, what is it?”
“Wow,” Rick says again. “It’s the most beautiful woman in the world.”
Gabriel looks confused, Michonne delightfully exasperated. She rolls her eyes. “You’re dying of blood loss, you idiot.”
“Why’nt you come over here and kiss it better?”
Michonne shoots Tara and Rosita an amused and bemused Can you believe this guy look and then turns her gaze back to Rick, who’s grinning for what must be the sixth time that day (and the seventh time in probably three years, Tara’s pretty sure.) “I think you’re a few minutes away from bein’ a walker, and I’m not dealing with that.”
“Oh no,” he calls to her, sticking his arms out theatrically. “Michonne! I’m changin’! Michonne!”
“Stop,” she laughs, ducking behind Tara as Rick comes after her. “Can you please be serious?”
Michonne can’t help herself; she laughs at that. Rick gets close enough to snag her by the wrist and she jumps away, running around to Tara’s other side. They’re playing like children, chasing each other around Tara.
“Must catch… pretty lady…”
“You’re getting blood on my shirt.”
“Oh, then take it off.”
Tara tries to lunge out of range of the two of them without tripping over Rick. “Aaron, help, the heteros are attacking me.”
Aaron just laughs, one hand over his mouth. Gabriel and Rosita watch on, confused, annoyed, but Rick’s going to worry about that later. Clearly, he has more important business right now, like catching Michonne around the waist and leaning forward to pepper her cheek with little kisses. “Gabriel, you’re never gonna believe this. She’s even more beautiful up close.”
Tara’s not gonna lie, Michonne’s smile is gorgeous, wide and gleaming and sincere. And so rare, too. Anyone smiling these days is a little miracle, but to see both Rick and Michonne smiling, laughing? It’s a goddamn reason to celebrate.
“You know you’re probably ruining the deal we just made,” Michonne points out, halfheartedly trying to push Rick off of her.
“No, you are.”
“You shut up.”
“I’m about to shut them both up,” Tara says to Aaron.
“Yeah,” Aaron says, “break it up, you two. We’ve already got Carl and Enid to look out for. We don’t need another teenage couple running around.”
Which prompts Rick to fucking dip Michonne like they’re ballroom dancers and start singing, “Each night I ask the stars up above/Why must I be a teenager in love.”
“Cut it out,” Michonne says, but she’s laughing, and she honest-to-God giggles when Rick twirls her around. For just a second, they’re not in a junkyard at the end of the world. They could be in Paris, or old Hollywood, dancing beneath a sky full of stars, wine sweet on their lips and the air full of magic. No walkers, no Saviors, no problems.
But of course, Rick’s leg is injured and so’s his hand. They’re surrounded by debris and strangers, and Michonne’s more than a little tired. They do have problems, mountains of them. But they also have each other, and for just a few little moments, that’s enough to make them feel like silly teenagers again.