Alright, kids, I know I said I wouldn't be posting anymore long chapter fics, on account of starting my novel, but I guess I'm a slave to my addictions. Blame Monica for this, because she's the bitch who put this idea in my head.
Some things you should know:
-This is a Walking Dead AU fic. That means no zombies and no apocalypse.
-This is a Dick story (for those who don't know, Dick is what I call the Daryl/Rick pairing, but I digress). That means lots of Daryl and Rick scenes, and not much of anyone else.
-This is a love story. I know the beginning makes it seem like it's going to have a more serious tone, but that only lasts for about the first 2-3 chapters.
-May or may not contain smut. I haven't decided, or thought that far ahead, yet.
And 100 points to whoever knows the band/album the song I've used as my story's title is from.
M.I.N.E (End This Way)
Chapter 1: What's The Matter Here
The heat was sweltering, a thick blanket covering the vast expanse of Georgia's backwoods, and Detective Rick Grimes had to wipe the sweat off of his forehead with the back of his hand more than a few times.
Damn summer heat wave had kicked in now that it was mid-July, and he could swear the pits of Hell had simply swallowed Georgia whole in their horrible, fiery maw. The last thing he wanted to be doing that day was try to catch a perpetrator, but the job required it of him; detectives stopped for nothing but death.
He'd had to park his car about a block away from the offender's house, so as not to alert them to his presence before he could get the drop on them, and had to walk all the way up to their front door. He desperately wished he could remove his suit jacket, but then he would look unprofessional, and God forbid one of the detectives not look perfect and proper in the eyes of criminals, or supposed-criminals.
The house he was visiting today belonged to the Dixon family, a rough-and-tumble trio of muscled and ragged men. The father, whose name he'd never bothered to learn, and the two brothers, Merle, who he'd had to deal with a few times, and Daryl, who he'd seen mostly in passing as he came to collect his brother from a jail cell.
The charges this time around were about illegal substances. A couple of meth-heads had been taken into custody, and the word around town was that one, or both, of the Dixon boys were dealing. Rick had the honors of dealing with them because they could have information about a big-time supplier, or cooker, or boss, which was vital to the investigation that was soon to be ongoing. Usually the beat cops or deputies picked up the druggies and got the information out of them, but the detectives had to deal with any higher-ups, which included small-time dealers selling out of their backwater shack near the woods.
To tell the truth, Rick really wasn't looking forward to this case. His partner, Detective Shane Walsh, was laid up in the hospital with a collapsed lung due to being shot in the back by some criminal or another from their last assignment, and so Rick had been set-up with someone else. Detective Morgan something-or-other.
Where the hell was Morgan, anyway? Oh, wait, he had to pick up his kid, Duane, from school. After the boy's mother had died, Morgan was the only one there to keep him on the straight-and-narrow, which meant taking him to and from school, and everywhere else he needed to go, and not leaving him alone for too long. It wasn't a very good position for a detective, but as long as Morgan managed to pick up his end of the slack Rick wouldn't complain.
Rick crossed the lawn, overgrown with weeds, and made his way up the few breaking steps onto the porch. It creaked under his weight, the wood beginning to rot in some places, and he prayed that it wouldn't break in the middle of his visit. He knocked on the door and stood back, straightening his jacket and tie.
"S'open." Rick heard someone faintly shouting from inside.
He felt uncomfortable just opening the door and barging into someone's home, but he pushed the feeling of unease aside and cautiously made his way into the house.
"Mr. Dixon?" Rick called out, his voice reverberating on the walls.
As he stepped into the front room his eyes fell on a table in front of the ratty sofa. On top of that table were a few titty magazines, a joint or two, and one very large back of Glass. Rick sighed heavily; whoever was here would be getting arrested today, and that would probably entail a fight.
"Mr. Dixon, I need to speak with you." Rick called again, resting his hand on the holster at his hip.
Daryl Dixon came from around the corner, a sandwich in one hand and a can of beer in the other. His hair was longer than Rick had remembered it being, his bangs falling into his eyes, wispy sideburns covering his ears, tendrils curling at the back of his neck. His bright blue eyes were heavy-lidded, yet still observant, giving Rick a very long once-over. Rick felt somehow awkward under the weight of Daryl's stare, and prayed that he wasn't blushing and making a fool of himself.
"Whatcha want, city slicker?" Daryl asked, shoving the end of the sandwich in his mouth and taking a giant bite.
Rick cleared his throat. "I came to ask you a few questions about the rumors spreading around that one of the Dixon men has been dealing drugs. But now that I see you are in possession of illegal substances I am going to have to place you under arrest."
Daryl's eyes widened and he made an odd sound, as if he had chocked on his food. His eyes wandered over to the stash of meth and weed on the coffee table and widened slightly. "That ain't mine. Them's Merle's shit. I ain't never touched that meth crap."
"Mr. Dixon, you are under arrest. Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law. You have the right to have an attorney present at any time during your questioning process. If you do not have an attorney one will be provided to you at the expense of the government. Do you understand your rights as I have told them to you?" Rick, keeping his hand on his gun, reached into his pocket and pulled out his handcuffs.
Daryl didn't speak, simply stared at Rick's encroaching form. He dropped his beer and sandwich and darted towards the front door, hoping he'd be able to get around Rick and make it into the woods before the detective could catch him. Unfortunately for him, Rick had been expecting that reaction.
Rick's body tensed, every muscle tingling like a live-wire, and his arms shot out, catching Daryl around the waist before he could make it to the exit. Rick wrestled Daryl to the ground, trying to ignore the feeling of the redneck's lithe body wriggling underneath him, and pulled his hands around his back to handcuff them.
Daryl struggled under Rick's weight, trying to buck the detective off of him. "C'mon, man, I said they ain't mine!"
Rick hauled the man to his feet, guiding him toward the front door. "I'm going to take you down to the station for questioning. We'll get this sorted out then."