A/N: I should comment on how long it's been since I updated this... my apologies. Writer's block is a bitch. A little encouragement would go a long way right now. Thank you for reading!

Chapter 14: Off The Wagon (Part One)

"My pop used to say that whiskey, like a beautiful woman, demands appreciation." Shane Walsh twisted the heavy cut-glass tumbler in his hands, the amber liquid swishing and swirling back and forth in a sweet dance that made the blood in his veins zing. "You gaze first, and then… then you drink." He took a slow sip, the sweet burn of Jack Daniel's Old No. 7 warming him from the inside out better than any blanket ever could. He was sozzled, delightfully so, and relished the buzz of alcohol working inside him.

Dwyer's was a dive, little more than a speakeasy but with less class. Small and dark, with faded leftover art deco fixtures and full of nooks and crannies where one could engage in barely private conversation for a drink barely worth the cost, but it was familiar. Comfortable. A man could breathe here, without the fancy airs and graces of finer establishments like The Five O'Clock Club.

"That's... charming." She didn't sound amused.

Shane tipped his head back and drained his glass.

-12 hours earlier-

"Someone's been burnin' the candle at both ends."

Shane groaned and pulled the brim of his worn fedora down further, wishing it could remove the silhouette of Rick Grimes from his vision.

"It's too damn early for this," he muttered. "Whaddya want?"

"How's the case going?" Rick shifted, blocking his path down the narrow sidewalk.

"Which one?" Shane asked with feigned nonchalance.

Which one? That's the real kicker here.

"'Which one'?" Rick scoffed. "So that's the cavalier attitude shown by members of the Atlanta Police Department in a time of veritable warfare? 'Which one'?"

"Lemme ask you somethin', Rick," he snarled back. "How would you answer the question? Assuming, of course, if you hadn't turned yellow and left us in the fuckin' lurch?"

He knew it was a low blow as the words spat from his mouth. Hell, if he was being honest, he knew it was cruel before he'd even begun to form the words, but knowing didn't prevent the hard knot of guilt that settled heavily in his stomach as Rick's face went pale. This man used to be your friend.

"I never abandoned you," Rick said angrily. "You're the one who abandoned me. We were supposed to be partners. You stayed on the force for what? Booze? Money? Women?"

"Come on, man," Shane groaned. "You're talking like a nut here. You know the score and it's long past time you wised up."

"Like you did? How has that worked out for you, Shane?"

Shane couldn't find words to argue back as he watched Rick spin on his heel and storm off into the morning crowd.

The thing that gnawed at him was: Rick wasn't entirely wrong. When they'd started in Academy together, they'd both been idealistic, ready to conquer the world with truth, justice and a shiny badge. He'd realized fast though that police work wasn't like it was in the Dick Tracy strips they'd read as boys. The job was gritty and exhausting, the hours long and the pay lousy. After Rick up and married that uppity broad, he'd holed up in a single room pad that smelled of reefer and piss, with water that dripped through the ceiling.

Hardly the glamorous life he'd dreamed of. When his supervising officer mentioned an easy way to make some extra dough off the clock, Shane was sold. 'Just helping a buddy out', they'd said. Guilt had pulled at his stomach as he'd moved those unmarked crates, but when he received a fistful of cabbage for his trouble, all he could think of was being able to afford something besides canned beans, bread and cheap wino hooch.

One 'favor' became two, then another and another. Move this, see that person, drop this off at another place. Soon he was making more off the job than he was on, but the extra work was wearing him down. Days were stressful and he needed a hand to get through them. One drink before work turned into sneaking a drink or two on the job. Cheap hooch became Jim Beam and Jack Daniel's, warm and smoky pleasure that soothed his spirit until he wasn't sure how he'd ever survived without. He kept a flask in his coat pocket, a bottle in his desk and several at home. It was as essential to his being as air, that glowing amber nectar… until he crashed.

It was Dale who'd come, helped him dry out and get back on his feet. Dale, who'd been there every day since, with his crazy eyes, good intentions and moral integrity. Dale, who told him there was fulfillment to be found in being a good cop. So he lived Dale's way, sticking to the rules like a good boy and going along his beat as best he could, desperately searching for the fulfillment Dale had promised.

The road behind him was twisted and paved with dead chumps, petty thieves, two-bit hookers and battered housewives. Miles of paperwork, more and more unsolved cases quietly closed by his superiors or left to dust with no evidence to move them forward. There was no meaning of life to be found there. They were failing, miserably, in their current war against Hershel Greene. The road ahead looked bleak, long and lonely and empty. He couldn't find any sense of completion in his future, even if he stuck to Dale's plan.

Shane was beginning to wonder if he was doing it wrong.

-Now-

"Want another?" Shane plunked his empty glass down on the table and waved his arm at the bartender.

"I haven't started my first one."

"Oh." He looked, blinking for a minute to clear the blurriness from his vision and she was right; her glass sat before her untouched on the table, full of sweet whiskey that called out to him. "You should get on that before someone tries to steal it."

"Detective-"

"Shane. I told you. Just Shane right now."

A heavy sigh.

"Shane."

God, that sounds good.

"Why am I here?"

-9 hours earlier-

"Shane!"

Fuck me sideways with a rusty razor.

"Afternoon, Mrs. Greene," Shane drawled slowly. He turned to see Lori Greene, Rick's ex-wife and the unofficial First Lady of Atlanta, peering out at him from the back window of a sleek black Lincoln Continental parked a few feet behind him at the curb; the newest model, if he wasn't mistaken. Being the devil's wife has its perks. "What can I do for you this fine morning?"

"I'm just fine, thank you," Lori replied. She looked pale, almost uncertain as she craned her neck out the window to glance along the street. Her voice trembled, just slightly but enough for him to pick up the tension as she spoke. "I'm meeting my husband for lunch at the Hibernian."

"Very fancy," Shane said archly. "Well, if there is nothing I can do-"

"Can we talk? Now?"

Well. This is interesting.

"Look, Mrs. Greene-"

"Please."

Her face disappeared from view as she shifted back into the car and the door opened. What the hell? Shane's feet were already moving, propelling him toward the car and he surrendered to his curiosity with barely a shrug as he slid inside, pulling the door shut behind him to muffle the sounds of Atlanta's daily roar.

The interior of the car was dark, all plush leather and sleek lines. Nothing but the finest for the Greenes. He knew enough about Lori to know it was what she thrived on. Appearances, creature comforts. She always managed an air of superiority even when she was trying to be kind.

He'd never really understood what Rick had seen in her.

He felt only a slight tremble of nerves in his belly as the driver smoothly maneuvered the car back into traffic. Shane knew instinctively who was behind the wheel even before the driver turned enough to show his profile: Theodore Douglas, Greene's personal chauffeur.

"Relax," Lori said softly. "I trust Theodore with my life."

Right, lady. Let me know how that works out for you. Being here, in Greene's car with Greene's wife and Greene's man behind the wheel, pulled at his nerves until he was afraid of snapping. Play it cool, brother.

"Well then," Shane said slowly. "Here I am."

She seemed nervous, jittery as a new foal as she pulled on the hem of her skirt. Shane said nothing, just leaned back in his seat as he reached into his coat pocket and tapped out a cigarette. He didn't want to spend any more time in this damn car than he had to, but long years of training had taught him that the longer he waited, the quicker she'd start talking and get to her point. Long minutes ticked on in silence as they weaved through traffic before she turned her head to gaze out the window, as if she couldn't bear to look him in the eyes even as she finally spoke.

"How is he?"

Shit.

"You mean to tell me all this cloak and dagger is just to ask me about Rick?" Shane said as he considered his half-smoked cigarette. Lori kept her head turned away, her posture stiff and unforgiving as she tried and failed to pitch her voice to something resembling nonchalance.

"I'm just asking."

"How do you think he is?" he replied softly. The sigh she let loose spoke volumes. Let's prod the bear a little and see what happens. "Was it worth it?"

Lori snatched the cigarette from his fingers and took a long drag, leaving a smear of ruby red lipstick on the crinkled white paper.

"You've got to make him stop," she said shortly.

"You've lost me." Shane shook his head. "Stop what?"

"'Stop what?'" she sniffed in derision, making Shane grit his teeth.

"That's twice today a Grimes has tried to bait me," Shane said. "I'm not likely to take another one too kindly. Stop what?"

"The articles, spreading all those rumors and… and lies, trying to follow me as if he isn't the most obvious person to spot with that ridiculous porkpie and that idiotic pudge of a camera man glued to his side…" She was fuming now, a flush spreading up her neck as she finally turned to face him with blazing eyes. "I left him. It's over. I'm with Hershel now and he needs to respect that." Well, well. The bear is mad, ain't she?

"You are a real piece of work, lady." He couldn't keep the laugh from his voice.

"I'm sorry, I know I'm being rude," Lori sighed. "Bethy was so sick we called the doctor and then Hershel was on the phone forever with who knows what all last night. I'm just tired."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Greene was on the phone for hours last night. Something's up. Shane filed the words away for later as he let himself slouch further into the seat.

"I just can't stand the thought of Rick trying to ruin our lives because he's jealous."

"Jealous? Lori, you left him. You left without a word, got your divorce pushed through and wound up married again to Hershel Greene, of all people, within a year."

"I'm not proud of how I left," Lori sniffed. "But you can't sit there and tell me that Rick trying to ruin my husband's career out of spite is all right."

"You're kidding me."

"I know my husband. He is a businessman, a landowner and an upstanding pillar in our church and our community."

Wow, she's rehearsed this load so good she's actually believing it. Shane knew Lori wasn't stupid. If she wasn't seeing Greene for who he really was it was because she chose not to. Just like Rick.

"I just don't want to see Rick get hurt," she said quickly. "Not for this."

"Are you telling me you think Rick is in danger from your husband?" His mind was spinning almost out of control. If Lori is willing to talk… "Listen, let me take you somewhere safe where we can talk in private-"

"Don't be so overdramatic," Lori scoffed as she rolled down the window and pitched the cigarette stub out onto the street. "My husband is not some common street hoodlum. I worry about Rick's career, his credibility. That's all."

"Why don't you tell him yourself?"

"That isn't a good idea," she said quickly as the car came to a stop. Shane glanced out the window and saw they'd arrived at the Hibernian. "I just thought that you would have cared enough to help. We used to be friends, Shane."

Go for broke. See what happens.

"What if Rick isn't wrong?"

"Excuse me?" The indignant screech echoed through the car and made his eardrums rattle.

"I'm just asking-"

"Don't tell me you're buying into that nonsense." Lori's voice had gone high pitched, shrill and brittle enough that Shane worried she'd bust a window. "Get out. I can't believe I thought talking to you was a good idea." She was out the door before he could blink and he wrenched himself out of the car, pushing his way past Theodore Douglas without a second thought as he chased Lori onto the sidewalk.

"What do you think I do all day?"

"What do you do all day, Shane? Have you found the arsonist who burned down Hartigan's? What about Ed Peletier's killer?" The name Peletier was enough to stop him in his tracks. He watched as she strode away from him towards the large glass double doors of the Hibernian. Lori stopped and turned just enough to cast him a withering glare over her shoulder. "You should be out looking for the people actually causing trouble, not trying to pin blame where it doesn't belong."

Lady, if only you knew.

"That's my job," Shane spat back.

"Then you're doing a very good job, are you?"

-Now-

Shane waited until the barkeep had refilled his glass and moseyed on to the next customer before continuing.

"Do you miss your husband?"

The silence stretched on, long and thick as he contemplated his drink. Waiting.

"Of course I do."

Shane smiled and reached out to the other glass, holding it up to her. He watched her slender fingers reach out to finally take the whiskey from him, catching just a hint of the heat from her skin as it brushed against his. He let his eyes flick to her face, her blue eyes watching him warily.

"Carol Peletier, you're a terrible liar."