Author's Note: Yeah, so, apparently this is now, officially, my longest chapter. Almost 15k words! Damn. I just couldn't condense it any more and all of this was meant to be one chapter long anyway, I just got a little carried away. But, hey...too long is better than not long enough, right?
As always, R&R! - Holly
"I'm falling apart, I'm barely breathing
With a broken heart that's still beating
In the pain there is healing
In your name I find meaning"
— Lifehouse
Walking away from the prison without her daughter in her arms or knowing any details about her fate was possibly the hardest thing Jo had ever done in her life. It felt almost cruel. She wished it had been realistic to stay behind longer and search through the cell blocks to make sure for herself. She wanted to see with her own two eyes that there was no sign of her daughter or if there were any clues lying around that pinpointed who might have her or if she, for sure, survived.
There had been too many walkers descending into grounds, though, and the prison was a loss.
She knew this. She just didn't want to accept it.
She didn't want to accept having witnessed Lori, her friend, get decapitated, but she had.
She didn't want to accept that Maggie, also her friend, had literally died in her arms.
But she had.
She didn't want to accept the notion that others might not have made it out alive.
So, she didn't.
Instead, she bottled up that fear and doubt and grief and became stone-faced.
And now, there she was, carrying the brunt of Maggie's weight down an abandoned country road as Rick did his best to help while hobbling at her side, with the sleeve from his right arm having been ripped off so that he could tie it around his left leg where he'd been shot.
"Jo, don't walk so fast," he muttered. His voice sounded muffled, though it was probably due to the swelling on the left side of the face from where The Governor had punched him really good. "She's gonna turn soon if we don't do something."
"I am doing something."
"Jo."
She stopped walking, which caught Rick off guard a little as his own footing stumbled slightly as he came to a quick stop as well. Turning briefly to look over at him, Jo pulled Maggie's body away from him and dragged her over to the side of the road, laying her gently down onto the ground. She could feel Rick's eyes on her, looking grief-stricken, but she ignored his gaze, even when she stood back up and walked up to him. She looked down instead, at the Colt Python holstered at his side, and removed it. Stepping away from him, she crouched down at Maggie's side again and placed the end of the barrel against Maggie's temple.
Jo finally turned back to look at Rick. "Happy now?" she asked, and pulled the trigger.
Tiny bits of skull, brain matter and blood exploded from the opposite side of the brunette's head; canceling any possibility of her reanimating.
Rick watched Jo with concern and regret in his expression as she walked back over to him and returned the smoking gun into his holster in a rather brusque way. She gave him a brief, stern look and then went back to Maggie; lifting the younger woman upright to lean against her. Bending at the knees, she struggled slightly to toss Maggie's dead body over her right shoulder. Jo let out a grunt of exertion and when Rick attempted to help her, she whipped her head toward him and snapped.
"I got her."
She then proceeded to walk, carrying Maggie on her own; ignoring how heavy she was now and how that dead weight made her ache. It was a necessary ache, though. It almost felt like penance for letting so many get killed recently while she was still alive. It was penance for not protecting her daughter or anyone else for that matter. She was supposed to have been the prison's First Lady, wasn't she? What a great job she'd done at that.
"Jo, let me help."
"No."
"Jo," Rick implored.
"I said no."
Choosing not to fight with her on the matter any further, they continued to walk along the road in silence for what felt like possibly an hour. A few times, Jo had to stop and catch her breath and just take an overall break from carrying Maggie's body. She had to switch shoulders a few times as well, but it usually didn't last too long when it was over her left shoulder, which was still aching from where she had been stabbed and stitched up less than a week before.
As the road opened up, becoming more of a rural highway, albeit surprisingly vacant of any vehicles or walkers, Rick and Jo sauntered tiredly onward for another twenty or so minutes before any kind of shelter came into view. When it did, it was a simple roadside diner with a grey stone façade and a green, tin roof. There were seven abandoned vehicles in total out front; a grey SUV, a champagne-colored sedan, and five motorcycles. Dried leaves and a few articles of clothing were scattered here and there, while two fuel canisters were situated between two of the bikes.
It looked like any other abandoned place in this new world.
However, there was no way of telling what the inside was like.
As they approached the front door, Jo brought Maggie's body down to lie upon one of the picnic tables on the covered patio and then reached behind her for her short sword; pulling it out of its scabbard. Rick leaned up against the side of the door and removed his Colt before yanking the screen door open, creaking as it went.
"Wait out here," Rick commented, looking over at Jo. "Keep watch."
She narrowed her eyes and lifted an eyebrow at him in response. "Are you shitting me right now? You should keep watch," Jo scoffed. "You can barely stand right now. I'm not letting you go inside alone."
Rick stared back at her and he really wasn't in any position to argue, and didn't want to either. Instead, he raised his gun and pushed open the inner door and darted inside as quickly as he could manage. As Jo followed after him, with her sword at the ready, they found themselves initially in the establishment's bar area. Moving around the side of the bar counter, Rick peered in toward the kitchen while Jo walked ahead toward the dining room.
"Kitchen's clear," Rick announced in a quiet, raspy voice, as Jo walked straight through into the dining room.
When he joined her, they were both staring at the tables and chairs stacked on top of each other, forming a barricade of sorts. After a moment of accessing the area, a walker came out of a back room, making the typical snarls they were both long used to.
Rick gestured to the shelves of hot sauce and other pickled items along the wall behind the makeshift barricade. "That may be all that's left."
Jo nodded at the walker. "I got him."
Turning toward her, he watched as she set down a piece of paper she had been looking at before pulling at the barricade and letting the tables and chairs fall down. Without hesitation, the walker came rambling toward Rick, who stepped aside in time for Jo to swing her sword.
In one fell swoop, the head came off and dropped to the ground mere seconds before the body followed. However, the head was still snarling and chomping at air so Jo finished him off by jabbing the tip of the blade into its temple, which required very little effort due in part to the amount of decay.
Rick holstered his Colt and brought his gaze back over to Jo, giving her a nod before pointing at the shelving. "Let's get what we can and move on."
"No shit," she muttered under her breath, sheathing her sword.
He'd heard her, but simply clenched his jaw and looked away as he went off toward the kitchen, while she stepped onto the other side of the now demolished barricade. As she began pulling a bag of pork rinds and a few jars of pickles off the shelving, the sounds of Rick's shuffling feet became louder as he soon rejoined her in the dining room with items in his hands.
"The kitchen wasn't empty after all," he informed, shoving some sort of food item Jo hadn't caught a glimpse of, along with a few water bottles in a cloth bag. "My haul. How about you?"
"Pork rinds and pickles," Jo replied. "We'll eat like kings."
Rick looked down at the bag as he held it open for her to shove her found items in, and then looked up into her eyes to see the sparkle he loved in them was missing. His heart ached even more, because they were both aching over the same things and he could tell she was blaming him as much as she was blaming herself. But blaming themselves wasn't gonna help them move forward and attempt to find Hope or any of the others.
"Alright," Rick nodded. "Let's head out and find some shelter where we can rest. It'll be getting dark real soon."
Jo paused. "We need to bury Maggie first."
Rick held her eye, and then nodded once more. "Yeah." He gestured toward the outside with his sore, right hand. "I think I saw some sort of shed around the side of this place as we were walking up. There might be a shovel in it we can use."
Jo didn't reply. She walked ahead of him out of the dining room and back into the bar area, not waiting to see if he was following. Once she was outside, she stepped over to Maggie's body and pulled her up against her chest, grunting slightly as she tried lifting the brunette back over her shoulder again. However, she was so tired and so sore from the amount of time she had carried Maggie like that, that her body rejected the move and her knees buckled. Falling back onto the ground, Maggie's body fell down on top of her just as Rick was coming out the front door and in an instant he was leaning down to help remove Maggie from Jo.
"I'm fine, I got her," Jo insisted.
"Like hell you do."
"I got her."
"Goddammit, Jo, no you don't. Now, stop acting like a fucking child and let me help you," he growled at her, but only out of love and not out of malice.
Sighing heavily, Jo obliged him. Tears were stinging her eyes and she bit her lips together as she scooted off to the side a little while Rick let the cloth bag on his arm slide back toward his elbow as he hooked his hands under Maggie's arms. With a grunt of exertion, he pulled their deceased friend up, turned her over and then hoisted her up into his arms, bridal style. Maggie was completely and utterly limp, like a wilted flower in his arms. What was left of her left arm, with the bladed prosthetic still attached, was dangling downward while her intact right arm lay draped across her chest. Rick looked down at her peaceful, eternally resting face and did his best to ignore his own tears which were starting to sting his eyes as well.
Bringing his gaze back over to Jo, he watched as she finally got back up to her feet and looked at Maggie for a brief moment. Then, she just turned and walked away from the patio and off toward the side of the building to where the shed Rick had mentioned was.
Slowly, and limping, Rick followed behind her with Maggie in his arms and finding it very difficult not to give in to his tears that wanted to fall. He chose to not look directly at Maggie's face anymore and look straight ahead toward Jo who was yanking the doors to the thankfully unlocked shed open. It wasn't a very deep shed, but it was large enough that when she stepped inside only a foot or two, the shadows seemed to envelope her. Rick just remained waiting, doing his best not to put too much weight on his left leg while Jo looked around inside the shed.
Fortunately, it didn't take very long at all for Jo to procure a shovel.
"Is there another one?" He asked. "It'll go faster if we both were digging."
"There was this only this one," she answered; holding it up as if to prove she wasn't lying. Looking over to the grassy area beside the property, Jo pointed at it with the shovel's handle. "That's a good enough spot."
As she walked toward the area in question, Rick followed quietly behind her. When Jo stopped walking, she turned around and helped Rick lay Maggie down on the ground before turning away from them both to begin digging the grave.
"We can take turns," Rick suggested. "You dig a foot, I'll dig a foot."
"I can manage," Jo insisted. "Just keep an eye out for walkers."
Clenching his jaw again, Rick shook his head but accepted his role as watchman while Jo pushed the shovel into the grass, and then pressed her boot down to assist in the removal of the initial clump of earth.
While she continued to dig and toss the mix of grass and soil off to the side, Rick removed his Colt from its holster once more, to be prepared for anyone or anything that might approach. He looked down at the ground, at his boots, daydreaming for a while about everything and nothing at the same time. Eventually, he brought his gaze back upward and looked off toward the empty rural highway; listening to the sound of the shovel digging into the ground.
As the sun fell lower in the sky, Rick finally looked over toward Jo and the grave to see that Jo was coming along really well with it.
"Are you sure you don't want me to take over?"
"I'm almost done anyway," she assured, huffing slightly. "It's not like it needs to be six feet deep."
After a few more minutes, Jo finally jammed the shovel into the ground, off to the side of the grave so that it was sticking upright on its own, without falling. She then gestured down at Maggie and Rick crouched down with her, as best as he could; him lifting Maggie up at the feet and Jo hooking her hands under Maggie's arms. The two of them, together, gently set Maggie's body down into the grave and then stepped back to see that their friend fit very well.
"Should we bury her with the prosthetic or without?" Jo wondered.
"I feel like it's become a part of her, so that it might be a bit weird to remove it, but I know she also loathed having it for the longest time," Rick replied. "That it was a constant reminder of what she'd lost."
"Losing her arm wasn't the worst thing she'd lost."
Rick caught Jo's eye and frowned, and then nodded in agreement. "So, off it is?"
Jo took a moment to consider the two options, and then nodded as well. "Yeah," she answered.
Kneeling down, Jo reached into the grave and unhooked the strapping that went around Maggie's chest and shoulders and slid the prosthetic off; leaving the deceased brunette with only her stump. When Jo stood back up with the prosthetic in her hand, she reached forward toward Rick and shoved it into the cloth bag.
"Who knows…maybe one of us will end up needing it down the line," Jo remarked with little emotion in her voice.
"Let's not think like that."
She shrugged in response and removed the shovel from its niche in order to begin tossing the dirt onto Maggie's body. As she did, the tears she had been holding back could no longer be contained, and neither could the sobs that echoed in her chest.
Watching Jo crying felt like the cue Rick needed to allow himself to cry as well, although he still forced himself to reel it in a bit. If Jo was going to show her moment of weakness, then he wanted to be the stronger one for her; the way she had been stronger for him back at the prison when he was falling apart at the seams.
Jo waited to cover Maggie's face completely until the very end and when she did, it was almost cathartic, like a weight had lifted off her shoulders, and not just the literal weight that had been Maggie from carrying her body for such a long distance. It was like saying goodbye to the last bit of the prison and to all those they couldn't save or left behind. It was like saying goodbye to those who had gotten away but were still probably dead anyway. But it was also the chance for her and Rick to focus on themselves and the whereabouts of their daughter.
But first—
"We need to get moving," Rick interrupted her thoughts. "It's already starting to get dark."
Jo nodded and let the shovel fall to the ground. "She doesn't have a grave marker," she commented.
Looking at Jo, and how dejected she appeared, Rick dragged his eyes over toward shed; setting the cloth bag on the ground before limping over to the shed. As he temporarily disappeared inside, Jo followed after him with her own eyes, waiting to see what he would find. After a few moments, Rick stepped back out, holding a battery-powered nail gun in one hand and two scrap pieces of wood in the other. Kneeling down, and wincing as he did so, Rick hunched forward and unlocked the switch so he could use it. Placing the pieces of wood, one on top of the other, in the form of a cross, Rick checked to see if the battery was charged at all. When he saw that it had enough juice in it, he pressed the end against the top board and pulled the trigger; releasing a nail through both pieces of wood. Just to make sure it took, he shot two more and then tossed the nail gun away. Climbing back up to his feet, with Jo's help when she grabbed onto his arm, Rick stepped over to the head of Maggie's grave and shoved the base of the makeshift cross into the ground, letting it stick up on its own.
"I think she'd appreciate it," Jo remarked, nodding at his impromptu handiwork.
Catching Jo's eye, Rick closed the gap between them and wrapped his left hand around her right wrist. As he leaned his face toward hers, she inched away slightly from him, so he looked down. However, Jo seemed to sense his disappointment and instead inched forward so that the side of her face brushed gently against his. She reached her left hand up and cupped the back of his head before turning hers to let her lips graze the corner of his mouth.
It was barely a kiss, but it was the most affection they'd shared with each other since earlier in the day when he'd kissed her before she'd left the prison yard with Lori and Zach to burn the bodies of those walkers.
Anything was welcomed at this point.
When Jo pulled away completely, she picked up the cloth bag from the ground and nodded to him. "Alright, let's go."
"Should we say goodbyes?" he asked, gesturing lamely down at Maggie's grave.
Jo shrugged. "She's long gone," she replied. "Goodbyes are pointless now."
Turning around, she began to walk off; knowing he would soon follow, but not waiting for him to do it.
As twilight wrapped around them, not long after leaving the diner, Rick and Jo found themselves stepping across a set of railroad tracks perpendicular to a residential street.
Jo was walking a few feet ahead of him, dragging her feet from exhaustion as he called out from behind her.
"Hey…hey…"
Jo slowed her pace down and cast him a look over her shoulder at him. "What?"
He gestured with a nod of his head to a home coming up on their left. "That one's as good as any."
Agreeing, Jo waited as he was beside her before making her way up toward the house in question.
Walking up the pathway together, they stepped up onto the large front porch and, as usual, she removed her sword from its scabbard and Rick removed his gun from its holster. Then, with a nod of his head toward her, Rick lightly slammed the right side of his body into the door and, as soon as it slammed open, his arm was raised and his weapon was aimed straight ahead before he even considered stepping inside.
"You could've just turned the handle to see if it was unlocked," Jo remarked with a slight roll of her eyes.
Stepping around him, Jo walked in first with less apprehension and began to check out to room to their immediate right while Rick moved around the living room they had entered into. When Rick lost sight of Jo, he darted around until he spotted her in the hallway where the stairs were.
"Jo," he called out.
"What?"
"Stay close."
Jo sighed. "Rick, I'm not a child," she retorted, continuing forward down the hall away from him. "All the doors are open down here. Nothing has come out. I think it's safe to say we're fine at the moment."
"Would you just stop for a moment?" he compelled.
Doing just that, Jo's shoulders slumped and she turned around. Catching Rick's eyes, she pursed her lips together. Letting out a small puff of air through her nostrils, she lifted her fist up to the wall and began banging on it.
Bang.
"Olly olly oxen free!" she shouted.
Bang.
"Come and get it, big boys!"
Bang.
"Is anyone home?"
Bang.
"Jo, stop it," Rick bit out.
Jo leaned back. "Seriously? If there were any of them down here, they'd have come out by now," she retorted. "Get your panties out of a bunch."
After a moment of just staring each other down, Jo turned and walked up the stairs, leaving Rick behind downstairs, clutching his gun tightly in his hands. As he let the silence from the first floor fall around him, Rick huffed and began to limp forward down the hall, stepping into the kitchen with his Colt once again raised.
Not surprising, he found it to be empty.
Shutting the fridge door, he hobbled into the room which was a complete mess, like the rest of the lower level, from the original owners and most likely plenty more people coming through to ransack the place for food and other supplies. Cupboard doors and drawers were opened, pots and pans rested on the counters and small table, and there were plenty of empty cans of food lying around as well, not to mention the many Tupperware containers of rancid food sitting in the now defunct fridge that offended Rick's nostrils as soon as he stepped in front of the fridge.
He couldn't get that fridge door closed fast enough.
Pulling open one of the unopened drawers, he found the utensils and pulled out a carving knife that would do for a decent weapon since he no longer had his machete or his own knife. Those had been left behind at the prison, amongst plenty of materials possessions they'd all come to cherish, like—
"Shit," Rick muttered.
He remembered Jo's father's pocket watch. They had left it on the table in their cell and, after everything she had been through in losing it to The Governor and finally getting it back after the fight in Woodbury, and now losing it again…Rick felt a new pang of guilt.
After a while of them each puttering around on different levels of the house, Jo finally came downstairs and rejoined Rick in the living room where he was struggling to push the overturned couch up against the front door to barricade themselves in.
Frowning gently, Jo walked up beside him and took to the other side and helped push the couch the remainder of the way with him.
"Thanks," he mumbled.
Jo simply nodded in response, and then helped him pull the couch down so it was right-side up.
Wheezing slightly from the exertion, Rick began to unhook his gun belt and, when it was undone, let it drop to the floor. "This'll hafta do for the night," he spoke, sinking down onto the couch, and momentarily reveling in how good it felt to sit.
"There are beds upstairs," Jo replied.
"We should stay down here," Rick insisted. "We can keep a better watch out and it'll be easier to leave if it has to be done in a hurry."
"We ain't going anywhere right away, Rick." She gestured to him and how his breathing was still labored. "You're ready to keel over."
"I'll survive."
Jo lifted her eyes toward his face and after a moment he sensed her gaze and met it.
"Let me take a look at your wounds."
Rick began to wave her off, insisting he was fine and didn't need her to fawn over him, but as she knelt down on the floor in front of him and began to unbutton his completely ruined shirt, he knew it was better not to argue the matter. Instead, he just sat there, somewhat slouched, watching her nimble fingers working each button that was still somehow attached to the tattered material. He let his tired blue eyes watch her intently; the left of which had the small issue of a broken blood vessel caused from being punched in the eye by The Governor.
Once his shirt was pulled completely open, Jo ran her fingers gently over the large bruising on the left of his torso. "How badly does it hurt?" she inquired.
"Bad," he replied, "but like I said; I'll survive."
Jo shot him a withering look. "Stay put," she commanded. "I'll go find something in the way of first aid."
"I'm fine."
"Well, I say you're not."
She didn't even wait for a reaction from him. Jo just got up to her feet and made her way out of the living room and up the stairs the second floor's main bathroom. However, stubborn as an ox, Rick refused to stay put, as he achingly pulled himself back up to his feet and hobbled out of the room to follow after where Jo had gone.
He was slow to ascend the stairs, but he did make it all the way up; finding the bathroom over toward the right just as Jo was walking out of it with a white, roller bandage in one hand and a pair of scissors and two metal bandage fasteners in the other.
When Jo saw him standing there in the upstairs hall, she frowned and let out a sigh. "Well, as long as you're up here…" Nodding, she gestured toward the master bedroom and wouldn't budge until he walked ahead of her and into the bedroom. When he did as nonverbally told, she then pointed toward the bed. "Sit."
Rick obeyed, sinking down onto the edge of the mattress, which he could tell was about ten times more comfortable than the couch downstairs was. Although, he kind of felt like he didn't deserve this amount of comfort. Not after everything that had happened. Not when there were so many of the people they loved who weren't currently lucky enough to enjoy these comforts.
Another pang of guilt pulled at him.
Setting the first aid supplies onto the bed beside him, Jo gingerly tugged off what was left of his shirt and tossed it to the floor. She had seen him wince out the corner of her eye as she lifted the roller bandage up and began to unfurl it. Once she had enough of the gauze material to work with, Jo used the scissors to cut it off from the rest of the roll. She then reached her arms around him and began to wrap the bandaging around his abdomen until his bruising was hidden. Finally, she held it all, firmly, in place with the two metal fasteners.
Taking a step back, Jo gave him a once over. "You should get some sleep," she advised. "I'll bring you up those pork rinds and a water bottle. Have something to eat and drink, and then sleep."
"You, too."
Jo didn't respond.
She walked silently out of the room, into the hallway, down the stairs and then made her way into the living room where they'd left the cloth bag. She took a moment to inspect the downstairs, checking to make sure the exits were intact, and then went back upstairs the way she came. When she returned to the master bedroom, Rick was in the same spot; seemingly unmoved.
Setting the cloth bag down on the floor, she reached into it and removed a water bottle, which she handed up to Rick, and then pulled out the bag of pork rinds, which she opened and set down beside him.
"Here," she muttered.
Rick lifted the bag back up and offered it to her first. "Have some."
"I'm not hungry right now," she lied. In fact, her stomach had been grumbling all day. She hadn't eaten since the day before, having never touched the stale package of crackers The Governor had tossed at her and Lori. "I'll have something later."
After a moment, they locked eyes.
"Thank you," Rick rasped.
Jo could tell he was referring primarily to the bandaging around his abdomen. "You're welcome." She then pointed back at the pillows. "Go right to sleep after you've eaten and drink something."
Rick followed her with his eyes as she began to retreat from the room. "Where are you going?"
"I'm gonna go to sleep, too," she replied. "It's been a long day. I'm sore, I'm tired and I just need this day to be over so tomorrow can get here as soon as possible."
As she went to step out of the room again, he asked, "Aren't you gonna stay in here?"
Jo looked back, but not directly at him, as she shook her head. "I—I can't. Not tonight," she answered sadly. "I need to sleep alone tonight."
When an awkward silence fell over them, she finally lifted her eyes and found he was already staring back at her. She almost attempted a reassuring smile, but it fell flat.
There was nothing for her to smile about right now, so why bother pretending?
Turning away, Jo slipped out of the bedroom, into the hall, and down the stairs.
In the middle of the night, Rick was lying back on the master bedroom's queen-sized bed, staring up at the ceiling and listening to the deafening silence. There were no random coughs or bouts of snoring from his friends in their nearby cells. There weren't the occasional shuffling of footsteps along the concrete floor when someone was up before the others. There was no clanking or creaking of doors opening and closing to the other sections of C Block that Rick had grown used to for almost a year. Even in this house he was in, there was nothing to really listen to. The house had been around for possibly the better part of a century — maybe more, maybe less. Yet, there were no random groans from the house settling here and there, no floorboards creaked from anyone walking on them. Maybe the house had seen a series of structural remodels in the recent years before this apocalypse. Or maybe the house wasn't as old as Rick thought. Maybe it was built to have the same look and feel of an older house, but with none of the headache that came with owning an older home.
Rick sighed.
None of these were the sounds he was expecting to hear that really mattered.
He was straining his ears, expecting to hear Jo beside him, snoring lightly as she curled tightly against his side. After all, they had become accustomed to sharing a twin bed for so long, and now, here he was, alone in a big bed with plenty of room for the two of them, but she had gone downstairs to sleep.
What was harder to accept, was not hearing the occasional middle of the night crying from Hope when she woke up from a bad dream and couldn't find her mommy and daddy right away.
If she was still alive, and Rick hoped like all hell she was, Hope might be crying right now, stuck with whoever had her, and they probably didn't have anything she needed, like diapers, a bottle and formula. She was probably scared and hungry and her cries would possibly be drawing the attention of walkers who would then come toward the sound.
Rick closed his eyes tight. He didn't want to think of what could happen next.
But closing his eyes didn't stop those terrible images from entering his mind.
There was no stopping them once he thought them.
He couldn't sleep.
Not now.
Pushing himself up to sit upright, Rick groaned in pain and dropped both his legs over the side of the bed. He looked at the bedside clock, which had been digital once upon a time and was now blank from lack of electricity. Placing his feet onto the floor, Rick stood up with another groan before turning and hobbling slowly out of the bedroom and over to the bathroom. He shoved the door open a little further as he stepped inside and pivoted around to get a good look at the interior.
It was simple and, from what her remembered from seeing Jo come out of it earlier, when it was lighter out, the room was painted yellow; normally a bright and cheery color, but was currently lost on him. The toilet was sandwiched between the wall and the tub, there was a window that led out to some sort of roof, which Rick assumed belonged to either the front or back porches, and then there was the sink and its counter across from the tub. Rick migrated toward that.
There was no running water. He'd tried the faucets to be sure. However, there was a mirror above the sink and he was finally able to see what he looked like and he grimaced, not from the pain this time, but from how terrible he looked. He had known how it felt but to see what his face actually looked like was a different story. This had been the face Jo had been looking at since they left the prison, and even though there was anger and resentment and grief sitting uncomfortably between them, he knew love took up more room because, not once, did Jo look at him with disgust. She was able to see past his broken features and still see the man he was underneath, and for that he was grateful.
He, however, couldn't stand the sight of himself any longer. It was just another reminder of everything that had gone so horribly wrong.
Maybe he should've just let The Governor take the prison. Maybe Lori and Maggie would still be alive. They could've gathered their belongings up, gotten onto the bus or the RV, or any of their other vehicles and driven to Woodbury. The people there would've taken them in if they knew what was happening; that The Governor was back. And maybe then they could band together and take The Governor down for good as a whole.
But, no — Rick hadn't been able to even consider that option. His mind had been so struck dumb from the sudden development and seeing Lori and Jo bound, on their knees, with a tank pointed directly at the prison. His rage for The Governor had gotten his blood boiling and all he saw was red. Well, that and his fear for what could go wrong.
And everything did go wrong.
Turning away from the mirror, Rick back up and sat down on the edge of the tub, placing his left hand over the bandaging around his abdomen and leaned forward slightly.
He leaned forward as hot tears stung his eyes and the thoughts of everything he did wrong picked at his mind like starving vultures.
As the tears rolled down his face, he did his best to muffle the sobs that began to rise from his throat; revealing him to be nothing more than a broken man.
After crying herself to sleep the night before, Jo woke up at some point after sunrise when a sliver of sunlight broke through the blanket she had draped over the front window in the living room. It had hit her like a slap to the face and she rolled over on the couch, expecting to find Rick there, out of habit, and instead finding herself with her face pressed against the back of the couch. Sitting up, she draped her feet over the edge and firmly planted them onto the floor. She hunched forward and placed her face in her hands, closing her eyes when the memories from the day before began flooding back into her subconscious.
All that loss — it was too much.
And her heart ached for her daughter.
She hadn't seen, let alone held, her in days; not since after D Block fell to the infection that began to spread through the D Block survivors.
Her arms felt horrifically empty and her heart felt subsequently heavy.
All she had left in the world, for the foreseeable future, was Rick, and she was too angry and devastated by everything that she felt like she didn't want to be touched by him. Not because she didn't love him, but because she was just so angry. She didn't want to be touched by anything or anyone at the moment. She was blaming herself, because if she hadn't taken it upon herself to lead the "posse" in removing those bodies of walkers from the prison grounds, maybe The Governor wouldn't have had any leverage to hold over Rick. It hadn't been fair to make the decisions The Governor was forcing him to make. There were children and sick people to think about and she knew Rick tried doing the best he could. He was their leader but sometimes too much weight was put on his shoulders and she knew he that burden got too heavy for him sometimes; which was why she chose to do what she could to take on some of it.
And that's what she was doing now — blaming herself and maybe him a little bit, too.
She knew all too well that The Governor was actually to blame, but he was finally dead and gone and no longer present to be the scapegoat either Rick or Jo needed.
Pushing herself up to her feet, Jo sauntered off into the kitchen and perused the cupboards for anything that wasn't pickle-related. She had left the bag of pork rinds upstairs with Rick and didn't feel like taking the risk in waking him up by going up there to grab a crinkly bag that could wake the dead. She had a water bottle she had drank half of the night before left out in the living room and sitting on one of the top shelves in a cupboard was a box of stale corn flakes. Pushing a chair over, Jo climbed up onto it to assist her in reaching that top shelf and grabbing the box down. Once back on the floor, she opened the box, yanked out the plastic bag and tossed the box into the sink. The next step was grabbing a bowl, blowing the dust out of it and setting it down on the table before she began emptying the old cereal into the bowl. After finding a spoon, Jo sauntered back into the living room, grabbed up her water bottle and then made the short trek back into the kitchen where she sat down at the table, poured the rest of the water onto the flakes and then just sat there.
Breakfast is the most important meal of the day; she could hear her grandmother telling her.
Her grandmother had been dead more than fifteen years, but she still remembered staying over at her house as a child, on the weekends, or throughout the week during the summer when her dad was at work and she needed someone to watch her. Her grandmother would always make a full breakfast, every morning, complete with eggs, bacon, toast, sausage and sliced up peaches on a separate plate, and then all of it was paired with a tall glass of milk and a cup of tea. Jo's grandmother had gotten her to drink tea since she was six years old. There had been that one time where she asked to try coffee, and her grandmother obliged her, but that had been a mistake. Six-year-old Jo puckered at the bitter taste and decided it wasn't for her, and settled for the tea instead. It wouldn't be until Jo reached college that she developed a palate for coffee, and it was mostly to help keep her awake while she was studying.
Once the water in the bowl started to soften the hard flakes, Jo dove in and began to eat. It wasn't bad, to be honest. The water helped, but it would've tasted better with milk. Actually, eggs and bacon and a slice of toast would've been ideal, but that was all but a distant dream from a time gone by now.
As she ate in silence, Jo lifted her eyes toward the ceiling, thinking about Rick and if he slept well and was healing. She then brought her eyes down and looked out toward the living room and considered how they needed to find more food, but Rick was in no condition to do much of anything right now. As soon as she was done eating and as soon as she found something else to wear, she would head out and check some of the other houses on the block.
After only five minutes of trying to eat, Jo got tired of the stale corn flakes and pushed the bowl away. She stood up and walked out of the kitchen, quietly ascending the stairs to the second floor. Walking forward, she slipped just as quietly into the master bedroom where she found Rick was out like a light, lying on his back.
Giving him a once over, she could see the swelling on his face and lips had gone down considerably and the left side of his face didn't look so purple anymore. That was a good sign and she was able to breathe a sigh of relief.
Stepping over to the dresser, she pulled the drawers open one at a time and as slowly and as quietly as she could as not to wake Rick. However, the drawers had other ideas and it felt like she would wake not only the dead, but life forms on other planets. Throwing a look back at Rick over her shoulder, she noticed he hadn't stirred. Inside one of the drawers she found a pair of clean, women's underwear, and in another, she found a plain, grey T-shirt that would do. In one of the bottom most drawers was a pair of jeans that looked to be too big for her, so she opted to remain in the jeans she had on. She would just have to live with the dirt and blood stains until she could find something that did fit her. Maybe one of the other houses would prove fruitful.
Taking the clothing items out of the bedroom, Jo slipped into the bathroom and began to peel off her clothes; dropping them into a pile on the ground near the tub. She checked the faucets for water, of which there was none, so she couldn't wash off the dried blood and dirt on her arms and face.
Again, she hoped the other homes would be more helpful.
Pulling on her new shirt, she pulled her hair out from under the collar and then let her eyes scan the countertop and zero in on a brush, just sitting there, having gone unused for some time. So, Jo picked it up and began to brush through her blonde tresses, wincing as she forced out a few snarls and knots. Her hair was getting long and she was tempted to grab those scissors from the night before and just chop it all off to about her shoulders, but a flash of a memory of Rick running his hands through her hair every time they'd ever made love popped into her head.
Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she smiled slightly.
The hair would stay.
Somewhat redressed, Jo exited the bathroom and returned to the bedroom again. She walked up to the side of the bed Rick was sleeping on and placed a hand on his shoulder to give him a slight shake.
"Rick," she muttered, but got no response. "Rick."
Still nothing.
Pulling her hand back, she studied his face and frowned. "Rick," she repeated, raising her voice slightly.
When he didn't respond to her at all, she grew a little nervous; however, she had the sense to lift a hand to the side of his neck and, with apprehension, checked for a pulse. After a moment, just before her heart leapt fearfully into her throat, she felt the familiar, albeit subtle, rhythm of his heartbeat as felt through the artery vibrating in his neck. As that moment of fear fell away, she brought her hand up to his forehead and brushed some of the hair off his face.
He was just exhausted and his body had shut down to allow him to rest and recuperate.
She could live with that, as long as he actually lived.
She wasn't sure she could handle all this on her own again.
Leaning down, Jo pressed her lips firmly to his forehead. He didn't feel warm from any sort of fever, so that was another good sign. Leaving a kiss upon his skin, she stepped back and exited the room.
Downstairs, she found where she left her sword and scabbard and strapped it across her chest. Once both were secured behind her in their place on her back, Jo headed for the side door and stepped outside. She figured Rick would still be asleep for a while and it wasn't like she could just tell him where she was going. She could've left a note in case he woke up, but she didn't want to waste daylight hours searching the house for something to write with.
Walking up the side of the house, she removed her sword and held it out in front of her as she crept slowly and quietly toward the front of the house, where she found two walkers wandering aimlessly on the front porch.
Jo frowned at the sight of them.
Making her way toward the front of the house, she watched as they caught sight of her. Casting a look over her shoulder, to make sure nothing else was around, Jo began to walk backwards; keeping her eyes focused on the decaying pair as they stumbled down off the front steps toward her.
"That's right, you ugly sons of bitches…c'mon…" she coaxed, leading them away from the house.
Leading them up the road a little, she spotted an ideal clearing between two homes. Once the three of them were concealed by the overgrowth of bushes and the tree overhead, Jo smirked and swung her sword in one wide stroke.
Both the walkers' heads had been sliced in half; the top half sliding off and down to the ground before their bodies crumpled second later, like sacks of rotten potatoes.
Giving her sword a shake to remove some of the blood and decayed brain juice from the blade, Jo leaned forward to wipe both sides of it on the back of the male walker's shirts. Before she could step back out onto the deserted residential road, she heard a snarl from behind her, and she whipped around to find another walker approaching with its arms outstretched and its greying skin drooping off its fingers.
"You wanna dance?" she asked it, side-stepping away from it.
The walker's vacant, yellowed eyes stared back at her as it chomped at air and followed her every move. However, their dance didn't go on much longer because Jo had shit to do. So, raising her sword, she swung down into the center of the walker's skull, ceasing the last bit of brain activity that kept it going. Lifting her right leg, she pressed the flat of her boot against the walker's stomach as a brace so she could pull the sword out. Once freed, she kicked the walker backward and it fell over upon the ground, completely lifeless.
Jo continued on her way after that.
A few hours went by, and Jo made out pretty well at several houses. The last one she had checked was the only one that proved somewhat difficult. The front door had been locked, for starters, so she shattered one of the small windows alongside the doorframe with the handle of her sword. She then stopped moving and held her breath, looking around to see if the noise attracted any hidden walkers. However, after a few moments of silence, she turned back to the small window and knocked the remaining shards of glass away before shoving her arm inside. Reaching over to the knob, she fumbled a bit but was able to find the lock and unlock it.
The second downside of this house was that she cut her forearm on a tiny shard of glass she hadn't managed to get rid of as she removed her arm from the window. She hissed at the painful sensation and looked down at the blood that began to dribble down her arm and onto the porch. Rolling her eyes at herself, she turned the doorknob and pushed the door open and her first goal was to find something to sop of her blood with.
With her sword arm, which was her cut arm, outstretched, she moved quietly through the downstairs, reaching the kitchen where she found a drawer filled with clean dishcloths. She draped on across her arm and wiped away most of the blood before spitting down on her skin to use her saliva in an attempt to help expedite the healing process. Hopefully the house had a bathroom with similar first aid supplies as the ones she found in the house where she and Rick were staying. She didn't want to wait too long in taking care of this fresh wound and risk an infection before she got back to her temporary abode.
With the downstairs cleared, Jo made her way upstairs and found all the doors were slightly ajar. The first one on her right was a bedroom with a dead parakeet on the ground below its cage. She closed that door and moved onto the room straight ahead, which was clear, so she closed that door as well. Behind her was a door to what she assumed must be the bathroom, judging by how the upstairs seemed to be laid out. Walking up to it, she turned the knob and pulled it open, just as a pair of decayed hands burst out and tried clawing at her.
"Fuck," she muttered.
Shoving her weight against the door, Jo gripped her sword tightly in both hands, and, on the count of three, she stepped away from the door and swung as soon as the walker came tumbling out. She ended up slicing right into the walker's head through its gaping mouth and continued until the top half of its head fell clean off.
Well, okay, it wasn't exactly clean, but it was dead now. So there was that.
Grimacing, Jo gave her sword a shake and pushed the walker's toppled body out of her way as she opened the bathroom door a little wider to step inside. Propping her sword up against the wall, she opened the medicine cabinet and found some aspirin and Band-Aids which she tossed into the cloth bag from the day before she was carrying around. She also had a garbage bag of supplies she had left downstairs in the front hall that was for any food she found, and had found at the other houses.
Crouching down, she looked inside the cabinet door under the bathroom sink and found a rolled up Ace bandage and smirked. "Bingo."
Unraveling the tanned, gauze material, Jo began to wrap her right arm; covering her cut. She had no scissors to cut the excess material, so she used all of it, and when she was done wrapping, she tucked the end into itself since there were no fasteners or safety pins to keep the material in place.
Standing back up, she grabbed up her sword and made her way back downstairs, ignoring the last room after hearing snarling from inside. Instead, she made her way to the kitchen after grabbing the garbage back up out of the hallway and found more canned goods there than in any of the other houses. She tossed them into the bag and smiled when she spotted the large can of chocolate pudding up above a cabinet.
Jo smirked.
As Jo lugged her found goods back to the house, the sun was a little lower in the sky. She walked around to the side of the house and reentered the same way she left and made her way to the dining room where she set her bounty down on the table with an audible thud.
"Rick!" she called out, and received no answer.
With a huff of breath, she made her way into the hall and up the stairs, and then stopped when she saw Rick was in the same position she'd left him in hours earlier. Biting her lips together, her chin quivered because, even though she had checked his pulse earlier and he was alive then, she worried that he might not be now. That was too horrific a thought for her to want to accept.
She couldn't lose both Hope and Rick within twenty-four hours of each other.
Stalking right up to him in the master bedroom, she hovered over him and held her hand up to his nose to feel for a breath. When it was hard to tell if there was any, she placed her hand over his chest and waited for a heartbeat. After a mere second or two, she felt it and she sighed in relief once more. But then she got angry over getting so scared and reacted by slapping the good side of Rick's face.
"Wake up!" she shouted. When there was no initial response, she began to fear he might've slipped into a coma from head injuries he possibly sustained the day before. Maybe slapping him wasn't the best idea in that case, but she was desperate for him to be conscious. So, she slapped him again, and this time a little harder. "Wake the fuck up, Rick!"
When she received no reply yet again, a sob bubbled forth from Jo's lips and she back up to lean against the wall, and then slid down it until she was sitting on the floor with her knees pulled up to her chest. Leaning her head down, she buried her face and began to cry heavily at the fear of being alone washing over her like a cold, ocean wave.
As her tears rolled down her face and dripped down into her lap, she heard a slight groan, and it didn't come from her.
Lifting her head, she saw that Rick's right hand had slipped off his chest and was dangling over the edge of the bed, and his fingers were twitching. Scrambling back up to her feet, Jo placed her hands on either side of Rick's face, she watched for his eyes to open with bated breath.
Slowly, he smacked his dry lips together, coughed and then, finally, lifted his eyelids. When his sight focused, he found Jo staring back at him and he smiled a little; forgetting for a moment where he was and everything that had happened.
"Why does my cheek sting?" he rasped.
Emitting an elated whimper that he was okay, Jo then let her frustration win over as she got angry at him for giving her such a scare by slapping his shoulder with the back of her hand. Rick knitted his brow together for a half a second in reaction.
"You've been unconscious since last night," she replied, glowering. "I was calling and shouting your name and you weren't answering. I even had to check your pulse to make sure you were still alive, and then I slapped you. Twice." Jo sniffed. "Sorry."
Rick attempted to shrug. "It's okay." He blinked and the memory of where he was came back to him as he fought to sit up. The pain in the left side of his abdomen wasn't as strong as it had been, but it was more bearable. "Sorry I was asleep so long."
"It's okay," she repeated his response. "I made do."
"Yeah?" He narrowed his gaze and noticed the Ace bandage wrapped multiple times around her right arm that hadn't been there the night before. Concerned, he grabbed hold of her wrist and then looked up at her face. "Are you alright?"
"Don't worry, I didn't get bit," she assured, pulling her arm away. "I was scavenging the houses in the neighborhood. I made out pretty well, actually, but the last house I had to break a window to get in and I cut myself."
"Is it deep?"
Jo shook her head. "Nah, it's only superficial." She then held his gaze and reiterated what he'd said to her the night before. "I mean, there'll probably be a scar, but I'll survive, right?"
Rick continued to look her in the eye. He tilted his head slightly to the side, lifting his hand up and touching his fingers to the side of her face before she once more pulled away from him. Frowning, he dropped his hand in his lap and shook his head, chewing on the inside of his bottom lip for few moments before he could figure out what he wanted to say to her.
"Listen, Jo, I know what happened yesterday was horrible, and I wish I could take it all back," he began to say, bringing his eyes back up to her face, "but I can't. I know you're angry with me and I know you blame me in part for it all. Hell, I blame me, too. And I wish—I wish I knew where the hell Hope is and who took her. If you're angry about us staying put for a while to recuperate, I'm sorry about that, too. We couldn't be out there, running on fumes; without food, or water and the way I—with my injuries, I'd be no help." He gestured to her, in general, and shrugged. "You did good gathering food and supplies, and you did it without me, and that's great. I feel like I can breathe easy knowing you would be okay on your own, so if that's how it's gotta be, if you wanna go on without me to find Hope, then that's what you gotta do."
Jo leaned back from his as if she'd been slapped. "You seriously think I would leave without you?"
"I'd understand if you did. I'm not much help right now."
"I can't believe you're basically suggesting I should leave you here."
"If it means getting Hope back to her mother sooner rather than later, then yes, that's what I'm basically suggesting."
"And what about getting Hope back together with her father or, now that our dystopian family unit has been broken up, is that not your thing anymore?"
Rick furrowed his brow at her, a little offended she would think he'd stop considering himself Hope's father. "That little girl is my daughter till the day I die, but I'm not gonna deny that you have a different bond with her, and for a mother to lose their child, when she's the one who carried that child inside her for so long, I just figured…" Rick trailed off, not knowing what else to say there. Instead, he looked off toward the hall outside the bedroom and placed his hands on his upper thighs. "I'm sorry. I'm not sure I know what either of us should do anymore."
Letting out a frustrated sigh, Jo just shrugged it all off and walked out of the bedroom, but then ducked in the direction of one of the extra bedrooms; shutting the door loudly behind her.
As Rick watched her leaving, he pursed his lips together and tried cracking each side of his neck. Turning away from the door, he then lifted his left arm and rolled it around in its socket to get out the kinks and stretch out the stiffened muscles. He winced from the overall movement and bit back on it as much as he can; recalling the last time he was in this much ongoing, aching pain was when he'd been shot on duty and wound up in a coma. Thinking back to that day, he realized he didn't remember too much. He had fainted from the pain at some point, but there had been brief moments of lucidity where he remembered hearing voices, and also the pain he was in before he slipped completely into his coma, only to wake up who knows exactly how much time later, alone in the hospital, after the fall of modern civilization.
All that almost felt like eons ago.
Hell, it felt like that all happened to someone else, because he sure didn't feel like the same person anymore; not that guy who woke up disoriented in a hospital gown who could barely tell his ass from a hole in the ground. He wasn't the easy-going, good ol' Southern boy his mama raised him to be anymore. He was angrier now, and bitter, and hardened, and the only good things that made him feel like the man he was happened to have just shut herself in a different room or was missing out there in the world with God knows who.
Pushing himself up to his feet, Rick grimaced from pain in his side but chose to fight through it. He limped out of the bedroom and turned left, not toward the bathroom, but to walk up to one of the extra bedrooms that Jo had gone in. Lifting his fist, he knocked on the door with the knuckles from his index and middle fingers, and then he waited for a response.
When there was no verbal answer, he knocked again. "Jo?"
"I don't wanna talk right now," came her reply.
Rick leaned his forehead against the door's surface. Something sounded off about her voice. "I know this might be a stupid question, but are you okay?"
"No, I'm not okay!" she snapped. Then, silence again.
Rick straightened his posture a little and nodded, although she couldn't see that. Scowling at, well, everything, he turned away from the door and hobbled off toward the stairs.
Meanwhile, inside the bedroom, which had belonged to some teenage boy once upon a time, Jo sat cross-legged on the floor with her back against the bed. Her hands lay limply in her lap and her head was hung low as tears were rolling down her face.
Hearing Rick's footsteps fading away down the staircase was her cue to let her sobs escape her.
She didn't want him to hear her crying.
Jo was just such a mess at that moment, so utterly broken, and she just needed to cry it out in privacy like she did the night before when she went to sleep on the couch downstairs.
When night fell once more on the house, bringing to a close their first full day there, Rick and Jo were still in separate places in the house.
Jo had eventually come out of the extra bedroom and come downstairs, but when she spotted Rick cleaning is Colt on the couch in the living room, she went into the dining room to sort through the canned goods she had found. When she heard him get up and wander toward the dining room, she slipped into the kitchen and found something menial to occupy herself with. She didn't have her back to him, but she wasn't facing him either. However, she could see him out the corner of her eye, looking over at her before turning to look away. She listened carefully to him shuffling his feet around the dining room table, and then the sound of the bottom doors to the china cabinet opening up.
Jo was confused by what he could be looking for? Did he require a ceramic gravy boat, or maybe a silver serving platter the original owners of the house probably never ended up using after receiving it as part of their wedding gifts forever and a day ago?
When his footsteps suddenly seemed to get closer to the kitchen Jo began to walk toward the hall to head back to the living room, in a constant game of avoidance on her part. Except, Rick appeared in the doorway to the kitchen before she made her way around the table and the sound of something heavy and glass thudded on the countertop.
Curiosity getting the better of her, Jo turned her head and saw Rick was gripping the neck of a bottle of Wild Turkey bourbon whiskey.
The frown she had been wearing quickly faded away as she looked up from the bottle label and up to Rick's face.
"Wild Turkey," she muttered. "That was—"
"—your father's favorite kind of whiskey. Yeah," he nodded, "I remember you telling me."
"That stuff is disgusting."
"Yeah, it is," he agreed, moving over toward the table and setting the bottle down upon it. "And we're gonna drink all of it."
"We are?"
"We are." Rick turned toward one of the open cabinets and pulled out two dusty glasses; not even bothering to blow the dust out. He set them on the table and twisted off the cap to the bottle. "We're gonna drink all of this, and we're gonna get shitfaced, and we're gonna have the nerve to finally just talk to each other about everything, instead of crying alone in different parts of this house or hiding from each other like we're terrified deer mice."
"Is that what you think I've been doing? Hiding from you?" Jo turned around completely to face him, placing her hands on the back of the chair in front of her as she watched him pouring both glasses only halfway
"You tell me," he retorted. "I'm not the one running out of a room every time you enter it." Lifting his glass to his lips, Rick nodded and looked over the rim at her. "Cheers."
Watching him down the entire contents in one, deep gulp, Jo couldn't help but smirk at how he grimaced at the taste the liquor had just left in his mouth. Reaching across the table, she lifted up her own glass and stared down at the amber liquid. She gave it a slight swirl and then looked up at Rick, locking eyes with him as she pressed the glass to her lips and knocked it all back in one gulp as well. She figured that way she wouldn't have to really taste it as much.
Unfortunately, she still did and she spurted and choked a bit. "Hoo, damn. It's been too long since I've had any kind of alcohol," she remarked. "Wait five minutes and I'll probably be shitfaced then."
Rick cocked his head slightly and smirked back. Then, he lifted the bottle once more and began to fill his glass again. Reaching over, he held the bottle out to Jo and she stuck her arm out, offering her glass and watching as he tipped the bottle to let the liquid fill her glass again.
"Should we toast to something?" she asked, sniffing at the bourbon before thinking of taking even one sip further.
"Like what?"
Jo pursed her lips together and considered a few options before raising her glass. "Here's to all our fallen friends, the ones we've loved and lost, and to those still lost out there in the world," she spoke, looking over at the sink for no particular reason at all. "And here's to finding Hope."
Rick nodded. "To Hope," he repeated. "And to us."
Looking him in the eye, she watched the way he chewed his lip for a moment before taking a swig of his bourbon, and then followed that up by another grimace.
"To alcohol," Jo added sarcastically, "because, as history will show, it solves every problem."
Rick's gaze went a bit stern as he looked at her. "At least it's something."
"No, it's cool. It's okay. I'm just—"
"Just what?"
"I'm angry," she replied, without missing a beat. "I am so fucking angry at myself, at you, at The Governor, at this fucking world. There are so many things we could've done differently and didn't. We should've been looking harder for that asshole. We shouldn't have let our guard down. We should've been more vigilant. It seems like only Merle gave a real shit about going out and finding him while we just bunkered down and turned the prison into a goddamned farming commune."
Rick pushed off from the counter he had been leaning against and gestured his nearly empty second glass at her. "That's it," he muttered, almost sneering as he spoke. "Tell me how you really fucking feel."
"I just did."
"Oh, but you ain't done. I can hear it in your voice. What else are you angry about?"
Jo practically glared at him and it wasn't lost on her that they'd never actually fought like this before. This was, essentially, new territory for her and it felt a bit strange, and yet oddly freeing. "I'm angry that you didn't just pick me to die instead of Lori choosing to sacrifice herself—and for what? The Governor still attacked us anyway. I'm angry that you didn't just give up the prison. Wasn't one of our escape plans, months ago, to get everyone into the RV and make a run for the house you and the others found Sophia and me in? We could've gone there, or maybe Woodbury would've taken us in. We had their doctor! We could've leveraged her if need be!"
Rick didn't bother bringing up that he had those same thoughts about Woodbury. Hell, it could still be an option.
Jo tipped her head and swallowed her second glass in one gulp again. After a cough, she stared back at him. "I'm angry…I'm angry that I went out with Lori and Zach and let them get killed. We could've burned the bodies in the yard, or buried them. I could've waited for you or Shane or Daryl or anyone else to come with us. I didn't have to be the one to do it. But…no…it wouldn't have made a difference. The Governor said it didn't matter who he would've crossed paths with. He would've taken whoever as a hostage. It was just my great fucking luck that it was me, wasn't it? It's my fault. Lori could still be alive, though. I let her die. I could've shot down her choice and insisted he kill me instead. But…no…he knew either way it went that you would've reacted the same. He knew…"
Her mind was already getting cloudy from the alcohol. How face she had downed both glasses and how heated she was getting, the liquor was moving more quickly through to her bloodstream. Her face felt warm, and it wasn't from the heat. She was also starting to feel a bit numb and it was rather nice. However, because she was drinking while angry, it just exemplified things.
Her last, truly rational thought was about where they were. "We shouldn't argue down here," she gestured toward the front door. "We might draw attention to the house from…from…you know," Jo waved her hand at the living room, "the dead."
Rick finished off his second glass and grabbed the bottle back up. "Alright. Let's take this upstairs and yell in the bathroom or whatever."
Stalking off ahead of her, which looked a little ridiculous, because he was still limping, Rick ascended the staircase, but teetered to the right a little from the alcohol already beginning to mess with his equilibrium. Jo held onto her glass with one hand and held the other outstretched as if that would somehow prevent him from falling backwards down the stairs.
As soon as they were upstairs, Jo pushed past him and went straight toward the master bedroom. "So, you want to know what else I'm angry about?"
"Yeah, humor me."
Before she spoke he moved closer to her and filled both their glasses for a third time. He then set the bottle down on the dresser and took a few steps back, sipping more slowly this time as he rounded the side of the bed to look out the window toward the street.
"I'm angry at myself because I think I made Maggie die sooner than she had to."
Rick turned around and narrowed his gaze at her. "What are you talking about?"
"I pulled her off that rebar, and then she bled out quickly. The rebar was what was keeping everything in place or whatever. I killed her," she muttered, her bottom lip and her chin both quivering. "That's on me. And she wanted to stay and die there at the prison, but I couldn't let her. She was okay to be left behind, and I denied her the right to be where her father and Glenn died. I'm an asshole."
"No, that's not on you," he insisted. "That is not your fault. She was going to die anyway, and you made it quick, yes, but it was a better death than her suffering longer than she needed to. And you gave her a respectable grave. It might not have been what she wanted but you gave her the grave she deserved." Rick step closer to Jo, reaching a hand out and palming the side of her face with it. "You carried her for a couple miles without my help and here you are somehow still standing. You went out on your own today, not knowing what you'd find, while I was laying her broken and unconscious. You're not an asshole, Jo. You're strong. You're strong for me, for others, and you're strong for yourself whether you realize it or not." He stared her directly in the eye; the only thing being was that both their eyes were glassy from the bourbon infecting their systems so quickly. "Do you know how lucky I am that I found you? Do you know how lucky I am that I still have you with me when others have lost that one person they planned on spending the rest of their lives with? I still have you."
Jo's chest heaved as she was overcome by so many emotions. Tears began to sting her eyes, so she looked away. When Rick dropped his hand from her face, they both simultaneously brought their glasses to their lips and swallowed half the contents.
"What are you angry about?" she asked, bringing the subject away from her.
"Not killing The Governor back at his apartment when I had the chance," he answered without hesitation. "I could've shot him point blank, but instead I let him talk our ears off, and T-Dog got shot because of it. And then I shot him in the head so he wouldn't come back. And I'm angry about not giving up the prison, too, about letting Lori die like that. I'm angry about losing track of Hope, but the last I saw her, she was with Sophia, so maybe wherever Sophia is then that's where Hope is and…" Rick tipped his head down, looking at his glass. "I'm just angry, about way too many things, and I wish I could just back in time and redo so many things. There are so many what ifs, but it all comes down to if even one thing changed, maybe I wouldn't have known you, and Hope wouldn't have come into this world without that, without the two of you in my life, I think my world would be much darker than it is. I'd be much more broken than I already am. Less physically broken," he pointed to his face, "and more mentally."
Jo swallowed the rest of her third glass of bourbon, and then stepped backward out of the bedroom. "See this?" she pointed to the glass with her free hand. She then chucked the glass into the other extra bedroom while holding his gaze instead of watching where exactly the glass was thrown. Upon the sound of glass shattering, she gestured toward that particular bedroom. "That's broken." Walking back into the bedroom, she placed her hands on his bare shoulders, since his shirt had been removed the night before so she could bandage him. "This—you—are not broken. We are not broken. We're not damaged goods. We're not incomplete. We're human. We're sad, we're angry and we're scared." Bringing both her hands up to the sides of his face, she maintained eye contact with him and attempted a smile. "We're not broken," she repeated.
Stepping back from her, Rick watched as her hands dropped from his face and then he finished his third glass off but, unlike Jo, he set his nicely down on the dresser instead of shattering it to make a point.
Turning his focus back to her, he suddenly raised his own hands to her face and pulled her in so that her lips crashed upon his own. Her hands returned as well, but she snaked them through his curls on the back of his head that were damp from sweat. Their kiss was hungry and engulfing. It was as if they were dying of thirst in the desert and they were each the cool, welcoming waters from a freshwater lake.
Walking her backward up against the horizontal dresser, her lower back hit the hard surface and she let out a small grunt of surprise. Everything on the dresser shook slightly; a random, old bottle of perfume toppled over and the bottle of bourbon shimmied dangerously close to the edge. Having noticed the latter out the corner of her eye, Jo removed one hand from Rick's hair and curled her fingers instead around the bottle's neck. Leaning her head back, she looked directly into Rick's eyes and she couldn't remember ever seeing them so glazed and so dark from lust. It sent a shiver down her spine at him looking her over like he was a lion and she was the gazelle he was about to devour.
Bringing the bottle to her lips, she smirked and tipped it back, swallowing a considerable amount and shaking it off. The taste wasn't as bad anymore, but that could be due to her being numb to it. She then tipped it toward Rick's lips, setting it down upon his bottom lip and waiting as he eventually opened his mouth and let her pour some down his throat. After swallowing that amber liquid, Rick took the bottle from her and stepped back to set it on top of the mantle above the bedroom's fireplace so that it was now safely out of the way.
As he returned over to her, his hands were fumbling between their bodies; his fingers moving to unbutton her jeans and shove them down off her hips.
Taking his cue, Jo did the same with his jeans, and the entire process felt like this big ordeal because their dexterity was a bit off. Rick swayed to one side and chuckled slightly under his breath before leaning in and claiming her lips again.
Once both their pants had pooled down around their ankles, Rick rolled one of his thumbs over her clit while he began to work his own shaft to get to the stiffness she deserved.
Gripping the edge of the dresser from his ministrations, she bit down on his bottom lip so hard she thought she might draw blood. She didn't, but if he hadn't tipped his head away at the same moment he inserted a finger inside her, then she sure as hell would've.
Everything was hazy and everything suddenly felt okay and good again between them. The issue regarding their losses was a hurdle they had put aside and gotten through somewhat, and now it was time to reconnect, figuratively and literally. Being united was a necessity. Their relationship didn't deserve to crumble because of the deaths and disappearances of others. They had experienced plenty in the past and would no doubt still yet experience more. The two of them, together, is what would keep them moving, keep them fighting; give them something to live for when everything else seemed hopeless and broken.
Grabbing Jo up by the waist, Rick grunted from the physicality of lifting her up to sit on the dresser, and then let out a breath of relief once he was no longer supporting her weight. And it wasn't because she was heavy. She was anything but. It was just that his left thigh was still sore from where he'd been shot. He had taken the bullet out with his fingers and then used one of his sleeves to compress the wound shortly after they got away from the prison, but the wound was still sore and was days away from truly healing.
Parting her legs for him, Jo looked down at him, placing her hands on his shoulders as he moved between her legs and pressed his tip at her entrance. He teased her at first, sliding the tip up and down against her moist folds and then, once he'd claimed her lips once more, he thrust quickly up into her, buried himself to the hilt.
Jo let out a sated gasp against his mouth, and then let their tongues circle each other, deepening their kiss as much as deeply as he was starting to continuously thrust into her warm, moist sheath. Her hands returned his hair, gripping tight enough to make him his, but he liked it and proved it my pounding mercilessly into her; filling her up with his pulsating hardness.
There was no doubt they loved each other, none at all, but this wasn't lovemaking anymore for them. This was, fucking, pure and simple, and it was just what they needed.
It was rough, it was carnal, and it was amazing.
Jo did her best to rock with him, but the she began to slip off the edge of the dresser and it was digging painfully into her lower back. Sensing her discomfort, when he whimpers began to sound different, Rick momentarily pulled out of her and helped her down. However, instead of moving things to the more logical, comfortable location, such as the bed or even the old, wingback chair in the corner, Rick turned her around so that she faced the dresser. He placed one hand on her shoulder and dragged his slowly down her back, before sliding his hand under the shirt she was still wearing and forcing her to lean forward over the wooden surface. He parted her legs a bit more with his knees and then repositioned himself at her entrance again before sliding back inside her with ease.
As he drove into her from that position, Jo was able to grind back into him more easily. They both grunted and groaned and when their eyes locked with each other in the mirror that was like the nail in the coffin. Maintaining eye contact with her like that was a bit exciting. Lifting his hands from her hips, he wrapped around her waist and the other snaked around, up under the front of her shirt, and then delved inside her bra to palm one of her breasts. He began hunching forward, leaning over her with his back arched.
Then slowly, he moved his hand out from under her shirt and slid it up to her neck, turning her head slightly so he could give her and over the shoulder kiss, and in that moment, she was done for.
Jo's entire body began to quake as she peaked and the entire time Rick's lips never broke from hers.
Even when his own orgasm began to shake him to the core, and he spilled his seed inside of her, he refused to break their kiss.
It was only after, when he slid out and turned her back around to face him, that he removed his lips from hers, and even then it was only temporary.
Rick wrapped his arms firmly around her back and pulled her tight against him, burying his face in her neck and leaving a trail of kisses up to her face before their lips met again. This time, though, it was soft, and it was gentle and it was slow.
"I told you we aren't broken," Jo muttered into his mouth. Bringing a hand up to his face, she gently touched the cut across the bridge of his nose, and then she kissed his nose. "We're just a little chipped and cracked."
Rick closed his eyes and leaned his forehead down upon her shoulder and she just slipped her arms around his let her hands rest upon the back of his head to keep him there with her.
"I love you," Rick mumbled against the skin on the side of her neck. "If I ever lost you, too—"
"Shut up," she cut him off with a smirk in her voice. Jo leaned her face against his. "I love, you, too."
After a few moments of standing like that in silence, Rick lifted his head back up and stared at her, studying her green eyes, which were still just as glassy as his were. "I think we should take another day of recuperating. We can leave her the day after to start looking for Hope. This," he lifted a hand and gestured to them both, "I will be paying for tomorrow and will set me back."
"Was it worth it?" Jo asked, brushing her lips delicately over his.
Rick opened his mouth and made like he was about to bite down on hers but she moved away so he just looked up at her through his eyebrows and nodded. "Oh, hell yeah."
A smile pulling at the corners of her mouth, Jo brushed his hair off his face and then pressed her forehead to his. "Let's get continue this somewhere more comfortable, then, shall we?"
"I dunno," Rick shrugged, stepping back from her, leading her over to the bed. "Can you handle me again?"
Jo snickered. "Can you?"
"Probably not," Rick chuckled. "But I'll sure as hell try."
Author's Note #2: Surprise! Sexy times!