XXXV.

In the police academy, a single term usually consisted of eight months, twenty two days a month, and six hours a day, which made in total nine twenty hours of training, and an eighty five hours of those times were of self-defense classes, including hand-to-hand combat, arrest techniques and use of baton or tonfa. The follow up courses had another forty-two hours, not mandatory but still frequently followed up by cadets, and Amanda had been always the most careful when it came to her survival.

So feeling unsatisfied with follow up courses and not having much else to do, Amanda used to pass most of her spare time either in the library, studying the books on tactics and strategies, memorizing each word of Sun Tzu or getting her ass wiped off at the gym. As she lay in Beth's bed back at the house, she calculated roughly nine hundred hours spent in the gym during her two years in the academy until her muscles could have mastered each move, until she learned when it was best to attack and best to defense in each situation, until she learned each five different escape scenarios from every possible unlucky situation she might find herself in, and she'd worked on them over and over again until her legs burned, until her arms tore off, until her hands left blood stains, until she didn't leave any inch of skin in her fucking body without bruises, until each move came to her mechanic and yet as natural as breathing, she'd worked over them, and yet, despite of the nine hundred hours, and countless splits, countless sore muscles, countless bruises, countless sleepless nights because it hurt so much, when she'd really needed it, she could NOT have stopped a fucking kick!

She could not do anything right, anything, not a fucking thing. She'd lost Grady, she'd lost Whitney, she'd lost Noah, and now, she'd lost her baby, too. Since the day she'd born, her life had been just one fuck up piling up on the other.

The familiar was anger building in her again, and her days were passing like this too, one moment she was so angry, snapping, biting off anyone who would dare to come close to her—the next she started crying—tears running off her openly—and she was getting really tired of it. Most of times, she just lay down on the bed, pulled the covers over her head—and well, hid in.

She knew she was being ridiculous, and she didn't fucking care, either. The new doctor had mentioned she was suffering a PTSD, but Amanda had stared at her like mad, shaking her head. Of course, she was. She'd had a fucking miscarriage. Hiding in the oom might be pathetic, but she guessed Beth wouldn't have like her trashing her room, either, so she was still being—considerate.

So, yeah, she'd bunked with Beth. Returning to the house as awful as she had dreaded, the looks, the whispers—the pity and wariness—even Michonne was giving her those wary, silent looks, mixed with pity, but that wasn't why she'd ended up at Beth's bed. At first, she had gone to her own room, the room she'd been sharing with Rick and Judith, and as soon as her eyes fell on the baby girl's cot she'd gone through another episode and couldn't have even stopped crying until Beth drugged her into the oblivion. When she had come to she'd been in Beth's bed, and then somehow had stayed there afterward.

It'd passed three days since then, and she had no idea where Daryl was sleeping now, and she knew Carol was taking care of Judith again. Rick came every morning and evening—sometimes even during in the day—gentle, kind—but distant. She supposed they needed to sit down and talk but she just didn't want to—and obviously, Rick didn't want it, either.

No, Rick was busy elsewhere. Deanne had come to her at her second night at the infirmary, too, when she'd been half drugged with painkillers, and told her she was going to sit down with Rick and have a chat. They were putting the guns away. Amanda had just nodded, but the truth of it, she just didn't fucking care. Amanda had never cared for building a better life, never cared leading anything, never cared for anything other than her own skin… for her baby—she—had wanted to change— No, Rick and Deanne could play their power struggles as much as they would like, so long as they kept her the fuck away from it. Amanda was just going to lay down here under the blankets and enjoy the end of the world until the death came to her, too.

At the end of the third day at the house, Amanda realized the end of the world without Rick Grimes was pretty boring. She picked up a small stone from where she sat on the steps with Beth and threw it at the street aimlessly. What it'd been so peaceful with Rick was just boring now—and Amanda knew it shouldn't have bothered her. She liked boring. She'd always wanted her life being simple and boring, just a plain city cop—she hated surprises. Boring meant routines, routines meant patterns, and patterns meant safe zones—so she shouldn't have felt like this—this wasn't her—this wasn't fucking her—

Before she could stop it, she started crying again. "Amanda—" Beth started, touching at her arm.

Bringing her hands to her face, Amanda shook her head, "I'm fucking hating this."

"It's hard for Rick, too," Beth told her, and Amanda wondered why exactly Beth had chosen to go with that topic, but she didn't ask, because she wasn't an idiot. She lowered her hands, and gave out a sigh. "When Lori died," Beth continued, "he—he couldn't even hold Judith for a while before he got over it."

Amanda let out another sigh. Rick blamed himself for what had happened much like she did. He'd even told her so at the first night at the infirmary, had tried to tell her it wasn't her fault, and it'd just so angered her.

She shook her head. They were both being idiots. That maniac had kicked her. It wasn't his fault or her fault, and deep down she knew it, too, but she just didn't…feel it. She also knew deep down Rick also didn't feel it so perhaps they really should sit down and talk about it. The thing was that Amanda had noticed something else, too, some fundamental truth about Rick Grimes she hadn't noticed before.

Rick liked talking about feelings as much as she did.

She could see it clearly now, and she was fucking surprised how she could've missed it until now. Whenever they'd ever managed to talk about something in the past, it'd always been her who sought him out.

Rick was a man more of action than words. Even when he'd come to her after their break up taking off his ring he hadn't told her about it until she noticed. She wondered if he would've ever come to find her if he hadn't been so angry after she'd stolen the gun, and he'd come to bite her head off first, then defined—uh— the perimeters but that was hardly being called sentimental. She hadn't minded, still didn't mind, either. In fact, she even preferred it, but it just proved her point.

Rick Grimes didn't do talking, not in usual sharing shit ways. He'd just tell you he wasn't doing it halfway, and let you wonder about the rest and then surprise you kissing in public or tying your hands and eyes fucking you senseless, to make you feel it but he didn't talk about it. He'd accepted it wasn't just sex between them with a simple yes and watched her stumble with words as she asked if they should try to find it out. He even told her to marry him—just like that… as if it was enough, no more words were needed than a simple "marry me."

In that moment, Amanda also realized she still had no idea why he wanted to do this with her—why he'd wanted her to have his baby, why he'd wanted to marry her—she thought he loved her, too—a man had to be crazy or in love for wanting to do this in their situation, but Rick wasn't crazy.

No, she knew he loved her. She just couldn't understand why. She knew why she loved him. Rick was—well, Rick was the family she'd never had. She could also see it clearly now. When come to think of it, it wasn't really such a big surprise that she'd fallen in love with a family man, a good father, but seriously what was his excuse? He got a thing for emotionally crippled, manipulative, selfish bitches that got daddy issues?

It didn't sound right. It just didn't. That wasn't Rick. Family men needed wives, and the life had proved the fact that she couldn't be one over and over again. She moved her hands into her hair, and with a groan, "Argh!" She pulled her hair lightly, "We should've just had sex instead!" and grunted out under her breath.

"What?" Beth asked her, giving her a wary look.

Amanda shook her head, and stood up, "Come on—" she waved her arm at her friend, "let's find Abraham. I need a drink."

# # #

"No!" Rick said, shaking his head, "No, we're not ready yet. We should—"

Deanne cut him off, "It's still my decision, Rick," the old woman said stubbornly.

Rick let out a frustrated sigh. This—this wasn't going anywhere, and he was really getting tired to trying to make Deanne to see his point, and a headache was slowly but decisively climbing over his temples. But he'd given her his word. This was still better than the alternative. They'd stopped drawing guns at each other, yes, but the common ground was still very far away.

He glanced at the windows, and wished Amanda had been here, too. She was much better at this than him, much, much better. She had a way with the stubborn leaders with big ambitions who refused to be...reasonable.

"Aaron and Daryl could go out together," her son, Spencer, supplied, backing up his mother.

His eyes moved to the younger man, and he frowned, the headache settling inside his temples further. The idiot had pulled a gun at him, at him. He still looked like he wasn't happy with his mother's decision to talk this thorough peacefully, at least try to talk it, but he was still there with her, Rick was sure, more to cover her back.

Rick didn't mind. It wasn't like that he was going to draw his gun again, he'd given his word, but still, they were going to do what he wanted. Rick still kept his gun, too. "No," he repeated, and motioned with his hand over the drawings that scattered over the table, "We need to deal with walls first. And I got other plans, too." He turned to Reg, "Can you—can you make build a mill for us?"

Surprised, Deanne turned to him, "You want a mill?"

Rick nodded. "After we start growing crops, we need to be ready to turn them into grains," he explained, "Alexandria has to be really self-sustainable."

Impressed, Deanne nodded, and stood up. She walked to the drawer at the corner, and opening the lid, she took a heap of long rolled up papers. She brought them to the table and started unfolded them over the surface. "When we first started the walls, we drew these plans with Reg," she said, carefully running her hand over the papers as if they were sacred, and perhaps in a way for her, they were, "It's the Alexandria we dreamed." She lifted her eyes and gave him a look, "The place where the civilization starts again."

Bowing his head, Rick looked at the plans. There were different sections of the town, and at the plans Alexandria was much bigger than it was now—then Rick understood this was really Deanne's dream—the town she wanted to build. Deanne's hand script was all over the drawings as she had also put down many explanations, thoughts and ideas along the sketches, and Rick saw many houses, a school, a church, another separate hospital, much better roads, and mill. Deanne had wanted to build a mill, too. Lifting his head, Rick pointed at the plans, "We can still do this," he told her.

The old man gave him a smile, nodding. Despite their fundamental difference about morality of civilization, Rick knew Deanne and he still got that common point, they both wanted to make Alexandria a better, a safer place. That would be their common ground.

"Is there a library around here we can go on a supply run?" Rick asked. The thought had been in his mind for a time, since he'd decided that they needed better walls, and a supply run to a library would be very useful to their case.

His eyes suddenly lit, Deanne's husband spoke, "There's something even better," he said, "There's a local Smithsonian History Museum in the downtown."

Rick's eyes lit, too. He didn't have to be a scholar to understand what that meant. A Smithsonian History Museum was just the thing you needed to survive when the industrialized civilization had collapsed. The museum must have devices, appliances, instruments, even sort of vehicles too, stuff people used to need before the age of industry had started, and the Institute always boasted to have the biggest libraries in the world. Rick couldn't wait to see it if the boasting was deserved. "Where?" he asked, leaning over the table.

Deanne, though, shook her head. "The road to there is closed," she said back, "Too many walkers."

Rick looked at Reg, "Show me," he ordered.

The older man took a map and laid it over on the top of the plans too. He pointed the downtown, much closer to D.C. "You don't want us to go look for new recruits, but you'd take people out there?" Deanne questioned.

Rick shook his head. "It's different," he shot back, and pointed at the map, "We need these."

"We need people, too," she said in response, giving him a stern look, "Think what we'd do if we find someone who studied medieval times."

Rick returned her look, "I think you don't send people out there on precognition."

Deanne let out a smile huff, "You know what I mean."

"Yes, and my answer is still no."

"Maybe—uh we should continue on the topic," her husband tried to cut in, and Rick decided to listen to the old man. "I'm gonna take a team and check it after we went to the quarry."

From the other side of the room, Spencer gave out a snort. "And when is gonna be that?"

Rick frowned, his head coming at him again, "Soon."

The younger man gave him a chilling stare, "We got a corpse rotting at our backyard," he hissed.

And Rick could not care less. He couldn't leave. Not yet. He couldn't leave Amanda. She—she was better now, but he still couldn't leave her. They weren't staying in the same room. She hadn't wanted to come back to their room, instead had gone to stay with Beth, and Rick had let her but if he didn't see her at the mornings and nights, didn't see she was all right with his own eyes, he could've lost his mind.

She wasn't—all right exactly either, but at least she was okay. She wasn't bleeding—she was still breathing, and Rick needed to see that with his eyes, too.

He wasn't going anywhere, no.

Deanna turned to him, too, "He's right. We—we need to decide what to do now. It's almost been a week." She gave him another look, "Perhaps we should bury—"

Rick cut her off, "We don't bury killers inside the walls," he seethed his rule again.

Deanne let out a sigh, and asked, "How's Amanda?"

His temples throbbed, his headache getting worsened, and Rick scowled further. "She's fine."

"Denise told me she didn't show up also yesterday," Deanne told him back.

Inwardly, Rick sighed. Deanne had wanted Amanda, Jessie and his boys to see the psychiatrist, and Jessie and her sons had started sessions with the new doctor, but Amanda had refused. All in frankness, Rick had never expected she would've accepted. Amanda had simply told no when Deanne brought the subject and hadn't let anyone mention it again to her. "Denise might be a bad surgeon, but she's a good psychiatrist," Deanne insisted, "Talking to a professional might help her."

Rick felt the anger was getting at him, for what he wasn't sure. "She doesn't want to," he rasped out, his jaw setting in, "I won't force her, either."

The older woman shook her head, "I know," she said, "But I need her here."

"She'll come back when she wants," he said with a finality. He was not going to force her to do anything. In fact, he would even be glad if she kept away from this. He didn't want her to be in stress more than necessary. She—she should lay down and rest, never worry about anything. She still got him. That was at least what he could do for her. He might be useless for anything else, but she still got him to keep her safe.

"You know we'll need her, Rick," Deanne said, though, giving him a look, and then announced, "I want to write down a Constitution."

Rick stared at her, "A what?"

Deanne nodded back at him firmly, and repeated, "A constitution. You can't build civilization without one," the woman said, "without rules."

Rick gave out a grunt, "Yeah," he said back, "I got one rule," he stated, "We don't bury killers inside the walls."

With that, he turned around and left the office. That was one rule he wasn't going to change—not ever again. If you kill someone, if you hurt someone, if you put anyone in jeopardy behind these walls, you die; it was that simple now. Sooner or later, Deanne was going to accept it, too. Or else—

He shook his head and walked back to the house. He'd given his word. A man's word still gotta mean something, even in this world.

The house was empty. Everyone was the most careful around Amanda now, so no one dawdled inside the house during the day but Beth. Rick went upstairs. He'd seen Amanda at the morning, he'd asked her how she was, and she'd said back fine, her voice indifferent and distant, and nodding, Rick had left.

He knew—he knew he shouldn't act like this. Even the notion of her staying with another room, sleeping in another bed than his own was rallying something inside him, her place was with him, not the farther corner of a room, not another bed, but his side, his bed. She belonged with him. He knew it. She knew it, too, so why the hell she wasn't with him? Why the hell he was letting her sleep away from him?

He opened the door and saw her sprawled out over the bed, as Beth sat down on the floor, resting her back at the bed, an empty bottle of scotch over her lap. Standing still at the threshold, Rick looked at the scene. Her right man was loosely draped over the edge of the bed as she lay on her stomach, her fingers barely touching at the floor. She looked like she'd passed out as Beth looked tired. His eyes moved from the empty bottle toward the younger woman.

"Where did she find it?"

Beth shrugged, "Uh—Abraham."

Rick decided to have a serious talk with the former soldier. This—this was… madness. His eyes skipped to her over the bed. He shook his head. What if an attack happened, what if the place overran by the walkers and he lost her because she'd gotten her ass drunk off? He wanted to shake her off senseless, he wanted to yell at her, he wanted to—he wanted to—Letting out a grunt, he shook his head. He didn't know what he wanted to, not anymore.

Beth looked at him, her eyes were tired too, but this time there was no softness inside them. "You gotta do something," the young woman told him and gestured with her head at the bed, "She can't go on like this."

And Rick already knew it.

He climbed down the stairs and went outside to the porch. Outside, he sat down at the steps. Daryl came to his side a couple of minutes later. Daryl was taking this hard, Rick was aware, too. He was sorry his own part, he was sorry for his little friend, and he was confiscated inside the town, not a good combination for Daryl Dixon.

"I saw Sam today," Daryl started, "He ain't eat—he ain't talk," Daryl said, and Rick felt—disturbed. He wasn't sorry he'd killed the bastard, not after what he'd done, but he was sorry Sam and his brother had to live through this. Spencer was right. There was a corpse rotting out at their backyard, covered with stones or not, the bastard's sons were seeing it every day.

"We gotta do something," Daryl concluded.

Stiffly, Rick nodded. He had to do a lot of things, a lot of things. And he gotta start somewhere, too, he realized.

"Take him out," he told then Daryl, "We need to check out the quarry, see how things are out there. Go to there, and get rid of him, too."

Without a further word, Daryl nodded, standing up, but before he left, he put a hand at his shoulder, and nodded at him.

In silence, Rick nodded back. Alone, Rick looked at the deserted streets. Beth was right. She could not go on like this, he could not go om like this. This could not go on like this.

# # #

"I need you back," Deanne told her at the night after she'd come around, took a shower, and started feeling a bit more like a human again. God, she was stupid, passing out like that—but well, she deserved a bit stupid, too, again, she guessed. And like everyone kept telling her, she got PTSD.

Turning her back to the older woman, Amanda started to brush her wet hair. "I need you back," Deanne continued. She'd hoped the dismissive gesture could have enough answer for the older woman, but obviously she wasn't lucky tonight.

Beth also had told her—rather pointedly that Rick had caught her too again, passed out on the bed, so, she might—be ready for him, too, but Amanda didn't know. She knew he must've gone out of his mind seeing her like that, but coming to her for a confrontation, she just didn't know. She wasn't sure anymore. But it'd been any other time, Amanda would've felt the anticipation of it—wondering if she would've pushed him, even before she could realize it, but she had become tired of it, as well.

So, she just kept brushing her hair. "No," she told the older woman, "I'm done with that, Deanne."

From the mirror in front of her, she saw Deanne shaking her head. "We can't do this without you, Amanda," she said, "You—you're a bridge between us. I can't find a common ground with Rick if you aren't there, you know it."

Yes, she did, but she just didn't care. She was done with that, too. "I'm trying to write down a constitution," the woman then informed her.

Her hand stopped at her hair, and startled, she gave Deanne a look in the mirror. "What?"

"We need to define the rules, set the lines," Deane explained, "What happened—" she shook her head again, "We can't tolerate it happen again. Law is the heart of the civilization, we can't have a civilization without a well-defined, well-practiced justice system."

Setting the brush down, Amanda shook her head. Some people just couldn't get it, just couldn't understand the world they lived in. "There is no justice now, Deanne," she said, "And there is no civilization, too." She turned on her stool and looked at the woman directly in the eyes. "You want my help?" she asked, "Very well then, I already told you, but I'll say it again: Do whatever Rick says."

Deanne still shook her head. "It doesn't work that way."

She let out a bitter laugh. "Really?" she asked back, tilting her head aside with a mocking smile, "Do you really think Rick plays nice with you because he has to?" She let out a laugh, "Get your facts straight. The only reason why we have this conversation is because Rick lets you."

"History is full of men who thought power is enough to make one a ruler," Deanne shot back.

There the old woman had a point, too again. Brute force had never made anyone neither a good ruler nor it made a long ruling. History was also full of leaders whose throats were slit at the least expected moments. It only took a second, only a second—and despite all your preparations, despite all your training, you couldn't stop it. She couldn't stop it. She couldn't have stopped the kick that had ripped off her baby out of her.

Fear—the familiar fear caught her again, and she recalled Maggie—no, she'd lost her baby, she couldn't have lost Rick, either. It was a small chance, but Amanda couldn't take any chances. Not anymore.

She lifted her eyes at Deanne, "Okay," she said then, "I—I'll come tomorrow."

# # #

"Have you ever heard of irresistible force paradox?" Amanda asked them the next morning.

They were alone in Deanne's office. She and Rick were seated across Deanne who sat behind her desk. "It tries to answer what happens when an unstoppable force meets with an immoveable object," she told them, "When I face with a dilemma, I always get my facts straight. So let's get our facts straight, here. Deanne—" She looked at the woman, "Here is your fact. You don't have enough power to stop Rick. If he wants to take this place, he takes it. You can't stop him. He's unstoppable." She then turned to Rick, "And you Rick, you don't want to be that man, but the only way to have all your ways is to be that man. If you follow that path, you're gonna end up being the man you don't want to; a tyrant. Because Deanne is immoveable. She's a believer. She believes in her own convictions. So that's your paradox. What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immoveable object?" she asked them again.

They both looked at her. Amanda shook her head, letting out a sigh. "They both surrender or ruin each other." She stood up, "So surrender," she hissed at them, "find a damn common ground before you ruin yourselves, taking us down along in the meanwhile."

With that, she walked to the door and left them alone.

# # #

Rick found her before the noon, coming directly from Deanne's office. He hadn't known if they'd managed to find a common ground, but Deanne had let him take all the decisions regarding the security and perseverance of their community, and Rick had let her take all the decisions regarding making this safe haven more than a protected cave, and Amanda had left the house and had come to talk to them, so it'd been a start, a real one.

Here—he was ready to take the next one. This would not go on like this.

Amanda was still Beth's room. "That—" he said, walking to in the room, "That was an interesting motivation talk."

She lifted her head from the bed where she sat her back rested along the bed's headrest, "Did it work?" she asked back.

Rick shrugged. "She let me take all the decisions regarding the security," he explained, "No intrusion."

She nodded. "Well, congratulations then."

Rick sat at the bed next to her, and rested his back at the headrest, too, his feet still dangling at the floor. Then letting out a sigh, he brought his hand into his pocket, and fished out the ring he'd found for her. "I found your ring—" he started, holding it between his fingers and extended his hand toward her, "It's not of diamonds, but it's still rose gold."

In silence, she looked at his hand, but didn't move. This couldn't go on like this. She had to come back. She had to come back to her own room, to her own bed, to him, where she belonged. She belonged with him.

But letting out a sigh, too, Amanda shook her head. "Rick—"

He cut her off, "Amanda, this's enough," he told her, waving his hand around the room, "you have to come back now. This isn't your life."

This time instead of a sigh, she let out a small laugh, "and that is?" she asked back, pointing the ring with her head, "You really still want to marry me?"

Dropping his hand at his side, he frowned, "I didn't ask you to marry me because you're pregnant," he answered, a frustration edging at his tone, he always hated to hear this from everyone, questioning his decisions—his…wishes, but from her the inquiry was even worse. They—they'd wanted to do it.

Amanda gave him a look, her eyes keen and searching, "Why?" she asked then with a clear voice, inquiring, "Why do you want to marry me?"

Rick held her eyes, "I thought you already knew it," he answered simply, but Amanda shook her head again.

"No," she said back, "No, I don't."

"Because I love you," he told her then.

"I know that, Rick," she said with exasperation, "I'm not an idiot. But why?" she asked again, "Why do you love me? That's what I don't know."

In silence, he stared at her. Why did he love her? He'd never asked himself that question, he just knew it, felt it. Why anyone would love someone anyway? He'd loved Lori, too, he'd just known it. They met, fell in love, and got married.

Shaking her head again, Amanda pushed herself over the bed, and got up.

She began packing in the room. "I know why Daryl loves Beth, and I know why Beth loves him too," she started talking as Rick continued to stare at her, "And I know why I love you," she said with letting another breath out, "Daryl loves Beth because she's only good in his life, his light or something like that, Beth loves him because she is Beth, and I love you because—" Her eyes fell on him, and she stopped pacing, "And I love you because—" she repeated, "Because you're the family I've never had," she confessed.

"Every time I used to see you with Judith," she went on, "something inside me was crying, Rick. The first time I patted Judith, my first thought was…how lucky she was having a father like you—and I wondered—" she let out a deep breath, "I wondered how it would've felt like having a father like you." She shook her head, "I wanted to have a child, Rick, your child—a piece of you inside me. I wanted us to be a family—"

His eyes were burning—again—He wanted to take her in his arms and never let her go. They were a family, she was his family. He stood up and walked to her, "Amanda, we still can be—"

Again, she shook her head, "But I don't understand, Rick. Why do you want to be with me? Since the time I got back to the house, I've been thinking on it. We somehow fell in love with each other, and consequently lost all the sense in the world—but I got issues, Daryl got issues, Beth is what she is, but what's your excuse, Rick?" she asked, her eyes boring into his, curious and searching, "Are you in a damn mid-life crisis or you got a thing for emotionally crippled, manipulative, selfish bitches who got daddy issues?" She barked out a laugh, "What happened, Rick?"

With her last words, his head snapped at her—and he stared at her… What happened, Rick? echoed in his mind— "Amanda—" he started, trying to catch her arm but she pulled back.

"No!" she cried out, "No! You're gonna tell me something!" she said back, "I don't know anything, not a damn of what you think, and I'm getting bored of it! You just say yes, or just say you don't do it half way, then you show up taking off your ring—or show up with another ring!" She gestured wildly with her hands, "It's driving me crazy!" she cried out again, "Why do you want to be with me? Am I just your type? Do I look like your old wife—or—"

He flinched and Amanda stopped in mid-sentence—a silence befalling on them.

Rick swore inwardly as she suddenly threw her head backward, and started laughing out loud. "Oh—oh, I'll be damned!" she swore between laughs and lifted her head to look at him. "Do I look like your old wife, don't I?" A mocking entered into her voice as she regarded him, smiling, "Even Carl has the same look. Green eyes—light complexion, soft auburn hair—" Mocking turned into a hiss, and she seethed out, "I should've known."

Rick tried to touch her again. This-this was going so wrong, so wrong. "Amanda!"

"No, seriously—" she went on, ignoring him, "You see, I was wondering… But you got me there for a moment, you really did, Rick." Her tone was disgusted now, "I have to say, it doesn't happen to me frequently. I guess it was really my feelings that blinded me to see what's in front of me." She laughed again, "But be fair to me, it's the first time I've ever fallen in love."

"Amanda—"

She laughed even further, derisive and mocking, cutting—curt and cold at the same time. "So I was the lucky one, huh?" she asked, "Your wife died and you decided to have another one , the family you couldn't get—and am I what, a replacement? Compensating your loses?" She tilted her head aside, curious, "Was it like that, Rick? Lori died, fuck it, let's get the next girl who looks like her knocked up?"

His jaw twitched. "You asked—you begged me for the baby," he told her back, his eyes turning colder, "People living in the glass houses shouldn't throw out stones, Amanda, never heard of it? You just told me I'm the family you've never had."

She barked out another laugh. "We make such a couple, right?" she asked acerbic, "Me—trying to have the daddy I never got, and you—trying to replace the wife you lost—"

"Amanda, stop—" he warned her, his tone getting a tone sharper, darker, too. They were getting into the dangerous waters. And it wasn't right. This wasn't right. He loved her. He loved her.

Ignoring him again, though, she took a step a forward, getting closer to him, and smiled, and he knew even before she opened her mouth she was going for the killing shot, her claws pulled out—quills were all out. "But tell me," she demanded, her lips carved out a sinister smile, "Who's exactly your best friend? I can't decide. I'd say Daryl but you got pretty wired up when you thought Glenn died. Tell me, who's the lucky guy I need to fuck at your back?" She paused, pursing her lips, "I really hope it isn't Daryl," she remarked, almost thoughtfully, "You know Beth is like a sister to me."

His anger snapping, he caught her at the upper arms and pushed her back at the wall. "Stop it."

She smiled even further. "I'm just getting my facts straight, sweetheart," she stated coldly, "Am I not replacing your dead wife?"

"Amanda, stop," he warned her the last time.

"Or WHAT?" she snapped back, her voice rising but tears welled inside her eyes, too, "You'd do what?" she asked, lowering her tone but there was a challenge still in her words despite her watery eyes, "Strangle me? Bite me? Tie my hands and eyes and fuck me at my ass?"

Giving out a sharp breath, Rick closed his eyes, dropping off his hands. "Amanda—" he rasped out.

"You're cunning man, Rick Grimes," she said back, and when Rick opened his eyes he saw tears running over her cheeks, "You got the wife and the mistress at the same time—killed two birds with one stone."

He shook his head. What she'd said—accused, it sounded true, but it wasn't. Amanda looked like Lori, yes, he'd already noticed it but she wasn't Lori. He wanted to put it back together, he wanted to have this with her, but it wasn't because she looked like Lori… no… it wasn't… "It isn't like that, Amanda," he started, but she cut him off again.

"How is it then, Rick?" she asked back, her voice getting frustrated again, "Because from where I stand, it looks exactly like that!"

"Will you listen to me?" he sneered, getting angered, too, and he was tired of her accusations, so tired of them, and he'd warned her before. "You tell me I don't talk to you, but you don't even let me when I try," he snapped. And he was trying—he was trying, trying his damn best—god, he hated this—he hated—but he'd already lost Lori once—and he couldn't have even told her-

Rick blinked. God, perhaps—perhaps Amanda was right. He always compared her to Lori—but he was trying. He was trying not to make the same mistakes again. He wasn't—he wasn't trying to replace her with Lori... he wasn't… God!

Shaking her head, Amanda started walking away as if she understood what he'd just thought. He caught her before she could get away. "Amanda—" he called her out, softening his voice a tone down. They had to find a common ground, this—this couldn't end like this, but before he could continue, Daryl suddenly walked into the room—

And stopped at his feet as soon as he saw them—"Daryl—" Rick said, "This isn't a good time."

The other man shook his head, almost agitated. "I went to the quarry," he said in response, "You gotta see this."

Something in his tone made him frown. This—this was the worst time— "What?" Rick asked back.

"Trouble," Daryl answered, "The worst kind, man." He gave them a look, "You gotta see this," Daryl repeated, "At the quarry—there's a massive herd."

Inwardly, Rick swore. He was fucking hating this.

A/N: All right, finally, we have Rick and Amanda lay all the issues out-of course, it hasn't finished yet, as you know, this is Walking Dead, and there is always shit happening :)

When I started building their romance, I asked myself how Rick would have fallen in love in a short period time in his state of mind in Season 5-and then I noticed how much the actress played Amanda looks like like the actress played Lori, too, and I got an epiphany, and it just built itself around it. I like romance in my stories as realistic and dysfunctional as possible, heh, so I wanted to play with the idea further. Rick is just the man for that, as he doesn't do healthy communication, Amanda isn't any better, either. :)