A/N: So this is a new fic I have been working on for awhile. I'm in the process of two other 'The Walking Dead' fics (you write what you know huh?) and was initially tentative about posting this one because I still have so much left to write of my others. I was inspired to write it purely because there seems to be a shortage of Rick/OC stories out there :) If you like it and want to read more please review and I'll update it regularly. It starts in season 2, after the 'incident' at the barn, but some time before they are forced to leave and will loosely follow the canon.
Thanks to my beta, Calcifer179!
Anyway; please R&R and enjoy xo

1.
You Hurt Where You Sleep And You Sleep Where You Lie.

Rick pushed through the overgrown forest with grim determination. Winter was almost upon them, but he felt overheated in the dense woods and a bead of sweat trailed down from his hairline, streaking the dirt that plastered his worn face. Rick was tired, dog tired. Every part of his finely built body ached, but he had to keep pressing forward, he had to get back to the farm. To Carl, to…Lori.
The small group of Walkers had separated him and Shane, forcing him to take off at a run into the woods that lined the sides of the highway. That was hours ago now, and he mentally cursed himself for getting so turned around. Damn Walkers. They were long gone, unable to keep up with his fast and steady gait, but the undead weren't the only things in these woodlands he needed to keep an eye out for and even as that thought crossed his mind a small tent crept into his line of sight, peaking like an orange beacon through the thick copses of trees.
He slowed his jog to a careful walk, stilling his ragged and exhausted breaths until they were barely audible and made his way between the trees, ensuring he didn't drag his feet through the leaf litter. His pistol was resting in its holster on his belt, and Rick felt a little safer with the weapon faithfully by his side, but it would have to be a last result. No way in Hell he was going to fire the gun at the first sign of danger. No, his weapon of choice was the long knife he currently had gripped firmly in his right hand, curved blade down and facing away from him.
As he made it over the slight rise, to crouch behind a thicket of bushes and cautiously inspect the area near the tent, it became abundantly clear that it was a well-used campsite. The tent itself was large, one of those expensive looking five man deals that Rick had never been able to afford back in the day, and the earth around it was cleared a few metres in every direction. A crudely fashioned fire pit was central in front of the tent, and still contained slightly smoky wood and charcoal from recent use. There were even a couple of camp chairs set up near the log fire, both a little worse for wear and weather battered, and a temporary clothes line strung up between two trees, a thick looking jacket hung carelessly over the rope.
But despite its lived-in appearance, the campsite appeared to be deserted and Rick approached it with caution, holding the knife aloft as he silently made his way to the front of the tent, inspecting its zip carefully before reaching out one hand to brush against the fabric of the tent entrance.
If there was someone, or something, inside the dome-like structure, it wasn't responding to his light stroking of the tent walls and the sheriff took the plunge and started slowly undoing the zip. The situation reminded him of the time the group had stumbled across a similar campsite, during their first search for Sophia and the tent had contained one very dead and decaying man, who had 'opted out', blowing his brains out the back of his head to avoid this new, harsh life. Just the memory of the smell they had encountered when Daryl had opened the tent made Rick's eyes smart and his body wretch. He prayed he wasn't about to relive that moment and be faced with another corpse, although that reality would be far better than a Walker.
Rick stilled after the zip was finally open all the way, his grasp on the knife tightening a fraction as he waited for a reaction to the noise he had just made unzipping the tent, but again, none came.
The floor crinkled beneath Rick's boots as he stepped through the flimsy fabric door, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the gloom and raising his knife directly in front of him in preparation. A stale, dirty smell affronted him, like mud and unwashed skin, and his gaze whipped around the tent quickly, taking in the mess of blankets, sleeping mats and assorted clothes before his eyes lighted on the figure curled up in the furthest corner of the tent.
She, for Rick could see now that her form was distinctly female, was staring at him with wide eyes filled with fear and something akin to curiousity and as he took a step towards her she backed further away, her jerky movements drawing Rick's attention down to a thick metal chain that encircled her neck, tethering her to the ground through a slit in the floor.
Startled by this revelation, Rick took another guarded stride towards the young woman, whispering as he did so;
"I won't hurt you." He refused to lower his knife, but his features softened when he saw her large, distressed eyes fill with tears and her body tense up against the tent wall.
Dirt and blood covered literally every inch of her, making her look like she'd just crawled straight out of a horror movie, and she was clothed in only a thin, greying t-shirt and the chain that looped itself around her skinny neck despite the chill in the air. The dirt, and her emaciated form, made it impossible for Rick to determine her age, but she looked young. Young and terrified.
"Who did this to you? Have you been bitten?" Rick murmured, noting the assorted cuts and bruises that weaved their way over her exposed and overly thin limbs.
"Please…please…" the girl gasped, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water with the effort required in forming the words. Her voice was dry and scratched, almost inhuman and Rick felt his heart twitch in a sympathetic pang as he closed the distance between them and inspected her wasted form more closely, checking that she wasn't concealing a weapon from him.
She instantly recoiled from his touch when he reached out to stroke her arm, like a beaten dog shying away from its master's hand, and emitted a low growl.
"I won't hurt you," Rick repeated more firmly, his gaze travelling from her round blue eyes down her body and resting on her bloodied hands. His mouth formed a perfect 'o' when he finally saw the cause of the blood that painted her body.
"Please…sir…Help." Every word exhausted her further, but she reached for Rick with one of her deformed hands, "I don't…I don't want to die."