Author's Note: If you're not a fan of OC's, then this story isn't for you. And if you're not a fan of reader-inserts, this story isn't for you. But if you do decide to stick around, I hope you enjoy yourself, and come again later!
State of Grimes
It's like stepping into a time capsule. This entire neighborhood has been preserved, completely untouched by the death of the world. There are sidewalks that aren't even old enough to need pressure washing. These houses look like they are copy and pasted out of a catalogue. The people are bathed and well dressed, most of whom have probably never stepped outside into the real world ever since this all began.
The others are gone, touring the community. They're probably all in pairs, and this is the first time that Rick and I have been left alone in a while. Our relationship is complicated, to say the least, but I cherish moments like these.
I'm sitting on the plush sofa, that's hardly been used at all. My feet are propped up onto the coffee table, and my head is leaning on the back of the couch. I could die here, I'm so comfortable. I feel like I'm becoming one with the cushioning. I'm inside of a house with air conditioning. And Rick is fifteen feet away from me, inside the bathroom, taking a shower.
I can hear the water, the unfamiliar hum of beating onto tile and fiberglass. I bet it's a hot shower, too. And I bet it's wonderful. Rick is the first of us to have an opportunity to clean up. I suppose it will allow him to gather his thoughts about this place. If he decided to up and run now, well, hey - at least he got a free shower out of it.
I wish I could just walk on in and join him. Strip, open the shower door, and climb on in. If I did that though, I'm sure he'd pull a gun on me or something, and that's a great way to ruin the mood. Even if he did know it was me, and even if he didn't pull a gun on me, right now, there's too much going on in that Grimes state of mind.
We've been running around for months, and this is the first time he's been safe. People who live in danger don't know how to be safe. Men like Rick Grimes don't know how to let down their guard. That's okay.
I decide to tour the house, myself. I count the rooms. There are six, and there are two more full bathrooms upstairs. There's an unfinished, unused attic, and a finished basement. Even if we weren't given two houses, there's plenty of room in this house for the entire group to split up comfortably. But all that is forgotten when I get a good look at the kitchen.
There's a goofy smile on my face that I can see in the reflection of the sparkling, clean glass of the microwave. The surface of the stainless steel appliances are cool and smooth on the tips of my fingers, and the granite is lovely. The stove is electric, which simplifies things. I'd hate to have to maintain a gas house during the apocalypse.
The cabinets are full of dishes, and more importantly, food to put in those dishes. The refrigerator is empty aside from chilled, bottled water. I wonder if Carol and I could fix up a small garden in the back. I stand in front of the fridge, and mentally map out where in the fridge I'd keep carrots, potatoes, or some cilantro. If we could find a few chickens, Rick could build me a coop in the back, and if we could find a rooster, we could cultivate an entire stock for the whole community –
But I stop myself. I'm getting carried away. We just got here, and as much as this all looks perfect on the outside, I'd hate to get my hopes up, just to be shattered later. Because I already know, deep down inside, that if Rick walked outside of that bathroom right now, and told me he was leaving, we'd pluck up Carl and the baby, and I'd go with him. No matter what, I will follow Rick Grimes to the ends of the Earth. Even if it would get me killed, but, that's why I put my trust in him. I'd always be safe under his wing.
The water has stopped. I hear the shower door close as he steps out, and I give him a few minutes to situate himself. A few minutes turns to ten, which turns to fifteen. And then I realize that I've been staring into an open fridge this whole time. I half way anticipate for my mother to come up behind me. "Lux, shut that door. You're letting all the cold out!" But, that won't be happening. Sorry, Mom.
I knock on the door, first, and I'm surprised to hear the door unlock. As if someone's going to break in and put him at gun point? But that's Rick for you, always prepared.
My jaw drops at the very sight of him. The beard is gone. I can't say that I'm disappointed. He was beginning to look like a homeless, old man. Technically, we're all homeless now, or were until this place – but even that's undecided. Regardless, he looks amazing.
I feel the large grin on my face, and I can see its reflection in his amusement. "What?" he says in a half chuckle.
"You look great." The door involuntarily falls closed behind me, and I take a step forward, running my hands across the soft skin of his newly shaven face. His eyes fall closed at the touch, as if enjoying the sensation of person on person contact. I can't remember the last time he and I have been alone like this, able to just be together, without worrying about a walker or someone walking in on us. I cherish these moments more than anything. It's hard loving a man, these days. Especially one in his position.
"You're supposed to like me no matter how I look," he teases, wearing a subtle smile.
My thumb brushes over his bottom lip, and I silently rejoice when he doesn't pull away. He's being fairly pleasant, which is hard to do when he's under this much stress. My hands travel from his lips to the back of his upper neck. His wet hair provides something new for my skin to feel, as my fingers tangle through his wet locks. His eyes fall closed as I give a gentle squeeze. He thinks I'm trying to cute, comforting, or even romantic. But I'm not.
I caught sight of the scissors almost seconds after I walked in. I turn around and temporarily exit the bathroom without a word, and return with one of the chairs from the dining area. The confusion is noticeable on his face. I sort of push him aside as I set the chair in the middle of the bathroom. I point to it. "Sit."
"I'm sorry?"
I grab the scissors from the bathroom counter, and point again. "Sit."
For a moment, he looks back and forth between the chair and scissors in my hand. His eyebrows raise and he gives a halfhearted shrug as he plops down into the chair with a sigh. "Fine."
There's a comb in one of the drawers. Whoever stocks these houses went out of their way to make sure any newcomers had everything they needed, didn't they? That Gareth guy could have at least offered us a shave and a shower before trying to have us for dinner – and I don't mean as guests. (Fucking Terminus.)
He stares at me in the mirror as I run the comb and scissors through his hair. I'm relatively sure how short he'd like it, and I know how short I'd like it, but I'm taking off an eighth of an inch more than that for good measure. If we did all leave tonight, at least he'd be good in the grooming department for a while.
"How was the shower?" I'm trying to initiate small talk, and I feel like a dork for it. But I think he needs it more than I feel foolish.
"Weird." The word comes out in a tone of uncertainty.
"Why's that?"
"I can't remember the last time I had a hot shower."
"Showers can be bad for you, you know."
"How so?"
I give his scalp a playful squeeze, and bend down to whisper into his ear. "Because that's a good place to think too much."
He knows exactly what I mean when I say that, and he lets out another sigh. A moment passes before he asks, "What do you think of this place?"
"What do you think of this place?" I'm partially trying to give him a hard time, and he isn't having it.
"Lux." There he goes, with that serious tone again. What's with me and serious guys?
"Fine." It's my turn to sigh. Party Pooper. "I like it, but I know you're dissecting every possible outcome and everything going on in your head."
He ignores the latter statement. "You think it's safe?"
As much as I'd like to believe that, I have to be honest with him, and more importantly – myself. "That would be unwise to decide at this point. We just got here, and we don't know these people. I think we need to be careful, but…" The words evade me, and he waits for me.
"But…?"
I'm finished with the hair cut. I run my fingers through it a final time, fluffing it, getting all the stray cut hairs out, and toss the towel I'd placed around his bare shoulders to the ground. I open the same drawer I found the comb, and pull out a bottle of aftershave, opening the cap and smelling it. The scent is subtle, and is right up Rick's alley. I put a dab on two fingers.
Nonchalantly, I straddle him, and begin applying the aftershave to his face. I'm thinking of how I want to say what I'm thinking, that's if I can even figure out what it is I'm thinking. Rick looks up at me, trying to read my mind, like he always does, even though he's not randomly going to acquire some psychic ability. But those blue eyes are hard on me, and he's waiting for me to finish my thought.
And I become completely side tracked. I'm fed up, to be honest. This is lovely, being able to be with him like this, close to him, skin to skin. I'm not even concerned with the sexual aspect of our relationship. I just enjoy being close with him. I like him just staring up at me while I rub aftershave onto his skin, and being straddled over him. And I'm fed up with not being able to do this, like a regular couple.
Regular couple? That's dumb. We will never be a regular couple. We're not in a world for that. But maybe, just maybe, this place… this, community could offer that.
I place a hand on either side of his face, and pull his lips up to mine. For a second, Rick is content with his unanswered question. His hands come to my waist, and trail up my back as he pulls me closer to him. Our chests press together, my breasts in my blouse squeezed against his bare chest. He pulls away momentarily to exhale, and I can feel his breath on my face. He tastes like tooth paste, and he smells like men's shampoo and shaving cream. Our lips move against one another, and we're unaware of the world around us, of the situation we're in.
This is the first time I've kissed him in weeks. It was before Beth, I think. I've just left him alone to mourn. It's okay. I understand, but it doesn't mean I didn't miss it.
I was pleased when I felt a familiar friend near my inner thigh, but neither one of us can mentally handle sex right now, or emotionally. He would be distracted the entire time, and I'd worry about him the entire time. But it's nice to know that mutual attraction is still alive. Still hot during the apocalypse. Go you, Luxi.
I pull away, and our breaths are heavy. Just being like this, together. Oh, it would be wonderful if this place could work out, for me and Rick to try to be normal.
"But?" he whispers huskily into my neck, as I place my lips onto his forehead. He won't let it go.
"We need to be cautious, but I don't think we should rule this place out. We should feel it out."
I can feel the uncertainty emanate from him. He's worried. He's got the responsibility of the whole group on his shoulders, which is unnecessary. I'm positive Michonne, Glenn, and Maggie would have left the group for this place. This wasn't Rick's call, but that doesn't matter to him. He still wants us safe.
I trail kisses from his forehead, in between his eyes, the bridge of his nose, and onto his lips. "You know I'll always be with you, right?" I say. "You know I'll always back you up?"
He thinks for a minute. My eyes are closed, so I don't see the expression on his face, or if he's even looking at me, but my forehead is pressed against his and my hands are still holding his face. Finally, he nods. And in a deep, soft voice he goes, "Yeah. I know."
