I'm on a roll today, finished up another chapter :)
Enjoy.
XVII.
Even at the end of the world, Amanda Shepherd was a creature of habits.
The first morning after the unfortunate talk of the types that had happened a week ago, she'd showed up at the dawn at prison's steep lawn between the fences as Rick had come for his own field, covered in a black short sports short she'd found somewhere around, a loose sleeveless white shirt over it, long slender legs bare, her feet bare, and she started jogging.
She had never tossed a glance even at his direction, just kept running around the green field with her bare feet and legs and the scene hadn't that bizarre Rick would've laughed at it—but he hadn't been laughing, he'd been staring—afraid that she had finally lost it after her ordeal at the hospital.
Yet they hadn't talked, and Rick had turned to his own stuff, digging dirt and shit, his earplugs in his ears, and Amanda kept running for a full hour before she crept back inside the fence door through the C Block's yard as silent as before anyone came out.
That day had passed like that—she spent it with Greene's company, and Noah and Joan like she usually did, away from him, and Rick had thought perhaps she'd just wanted to blow off…some steam.
Then the next morning at the dawn, it happened again.
She appeared in the same way, and started running—her pace faster this time, as if she were gaining back her strengthen. Then Rick had understood she was trying to get back into the shape. The day passed like that too like the before of it, and the third morning, Rick had come out—his Walkman's earplugs in his ear, his eyes darting looks at the entrance—then a few minutes later, she had come out, too, and this time he gave her a half of nod in acknowledgement, and she did the same, yet they still didn't talk.
Rick returned to his crops, and Amanda continued running, then at the end of the session, this time she started doing some pull-ups, then push-ups, then ending it twirling herself within a side flip, a cartwheel, then sat on the grass in a split, her legs completely opened at both sides, and leaned forward on her stomach…and Rick stared this time for different reasons.
God, he knew she was agile, quite elastic, but he had no idea. No idea.
They never spent a minute alone with each other during the rest of the day, keeping their distances, well, Rick had a lot of…stuff to attend—and she…she was healing back.
That night though when she was with Beth and Maggie, he dropped the Walkman on her bed, and the next morning she came out with it, the earplugs in her ears, the player secured over at her hip. She tried to do an elbow stand at the end of her workout routine, but fell down on her ass, rolling herself over the ground each time she tried—and with the corner of his eyes watching her as he dug and picked up his greens, Rick smiled.
Sprawled out over the grass field a few yards away from him, Rick almost went to her, almost.
The next day, she managed to stand on the elbow stand for three seconds, bare legs up in the air, before she fell on her side again, but this time laying over the ground, she started laughing—Rick heard the merry sound even where he stood in his field, and started laughing silently between the crops, shaking his head.
The next morning Rick went to find her before she started with her routine after the run, "Hey there—" he called out at her behind her back, walking over to stand in front of her.
She stopped in the middle act before she bent down on the ground on her palms, and straightened back, "Hey there—" she told him back.
They looked at each other for a second or two, not talking, then she asked, "How's it goin'?"
He shrugged, "Good—We're gonna have some potatoes too, I guess, the next month."
She nodded, "Great. Not good carbs, but whatever."
With a small smile, he nodded, "You?" he asked then.
She shrugged the same way he did, "Good—" and answered, waving an idle hand around, "Managed to stand up three seconds on my elbows yesterday."
He smiled again, "I saw—" he said, and she gave him a look, "You do it a lot?" he questioned further.
She shrugged again, "Hmm mm. Used to do it every morning before the turn—" she said, and started doing some stretching, pulling one arm with the other, "Run around the city until to the Central park then do some workouts."
He nodded, "A good way to start a day."
"Hmm mm—" she said, rolling off her shoulders, "I missed it, you know. We were running at the treadmill at Grady but it wasn't the same—" she said, her eyes turning away—looking ahead.
Rick nodded in silence, understanding what she had meant, then their eyes caught each other again, then as if to break sudden silence between them, she waved at him, "C'mon—since you're here, make yourself useful—" she told him, and Rick arched an eyebrow at her, "I was going to try a handstand today—help me with it."
Rick gave out a sigh. "Amanda—you need to take it slow. You were bleeding to death two weeks ago."
"I am taking it slow—" she told him, "See—I'm trying it with you. You can get me in if I break my stitches or something."
Rick gave her another look. "Do Hershel or Joan know about this—morning exercises, Amanda?"
She shrugged.
"Amanda—"
She cut him off, "Are you gonna help or what?"
"Fine—" he bit off, "If you start bleeding again, don't say I didn't warn you."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah—" she brushed him off, bending down, and placed her palms on the ground, her legs in a straight triangle behind her, her hips sticking out. Rick couldn't see it exactly but suddenly it looked like an unbelievably bad idea.
He felt stirring in his pants as she tried to get into position, and lifted her head to look at him, "Okay—I'm gon' leap up—you hold up my ankles until I can stand on my own, kay?"
In silence, he nodded, knowing he shouldn't have come at the first place, then just like she'd said, she leaped, holding her knees at her elbows to support herself for a second, then pushed her legs in the air, her arms trembling with effort, and started shaking—and she groaned loudly—
Rick grabbed her ankles, and lifted the weight off her. She breathed out laboriously, still trembling, Rick angled his head down to look at her, "You 'kay?"
"Yeah—hold it—"
"Amanda—I don't think—" he started, but she cut him off.
"Shut up and hold!" she rasped out with a loud breath.
So, he shut up and held.
She stayed in the position for five or so seconds, still breathing loudly, her face cramped with fatigue, her legs and abdomen trembling—painfully—her loose tee shirt over her waist line where she had made it into a knot so it wouldn't have pooled over her head—and she was all over his eyes—the short lowering dangerously over her hips…
He closed his eyes for a second, at lost how they had gotten into this point—they weren't even talking to each other more than a few quick words during the whole week, now he was holding her ankles as she was trying a handstand.
And she said she hated surprises.
She let out another loud groan breath, and her body started shaking violently—and she started losing balance— "Let go!" she almost screamed, and Rick pulled back before she fell on him.
She twirled her legs and tucked herself and rolled over the ground and lay down at the ground. She turned on her side, pulling her legs over her stomach then started laughing.
"God—!" she laughed out again, "I forgot how hard these things can be."
"Yeah—" he told her as she straightened and sat on her legs, "I imagine."
She lifted her eyes up at him, "Wanna try?" she asked him, "I used to hold up Lamson a lot. I'm a great handler."
"No—" He shook his head as she started standing up, "I think I'll pass. I like my head where it's."
She gave him a look, "It's good practice, Rick. You know—Atlanta's finest gotta be in good shape." She paused, and rolled her shoulders up, making a face, "Well, no handstands for me for a while, though."
"Glad to hear."
She chuckled out again, remaking her messy bun again, then they fell into a silence again, and she bowed her head and poked at dirt in front of her with the tip of her bare feet—
"Amanda—" Rick then finally said, "I—for what happened at the field—" She snapped her head up and looked at him, "Um—with beans and peas…" She titled her aside as he struggled with words, "I'm sorry—" then said it out without further silliness.
She frowned, her eyes still on his, "It passed a week, Rick—a week," she told him pointedly, "Are you always this late?"
He shrugged, "Better than never—" he mumbled out.
She snorted, and sat down to tuck her feet back to her boots she had taken out before she'd started running, and lifted her head up at him again, "Well—" she said, pulling the ties of her boots, "You're missing something," she announced.
He gave her a look. She stared at him back in silence, finishing up tying her boots, and stood up again. Understanding what she was demanding, he gave out a sigh, but bent down to look for some flowers, then finding a tiny, little blossoming daisy into the grass, he picked up. He drew back then, and extended it to her, saying again, "I'm sorry."
This time she nodded, taking the flower from him with a small smile, "Okay. I forgive you."
Laughing softly, Rick just shook his head back at her.
# # #
As they started walking away from the field, Amanda felt much better, really much better. She didn't know why exactly, but this whole silent dance had started tiring her a bit, giving each other silent glances every morning, but pretending each other not being there, not talking.
She guessed Rick hated talking about shit almost as much as she did, so she guessed it wasn't a bad thing, either, they had covered up another thing without any real—conversation, but with a simple sorry—and she'd gotten herself another flower.
Her flower—her flower had been so cramped and bloodied when she had been shot, she had felt like shit, but now she got another. Overall, it'd ended well.
And had it ended, right?
Well, they hadn't still talked about the fact that they had kissed—but maybe there was really nothing to talk about. This—this was better that way.
They were both cops, not like high school sweethearts.
She wondered if his wife had been his high school sweetheart, somehow Rick Grimes was having that vibe, the sheriff of the town—the nice boy of the town, marrying his high school sweetheart, being a law enforcement officer, a family man cop… Quite the type, definitely.
It didn't matter, she told herself the next.
Soon she was going to be ready to leave.
Find Gorman and make him regret.
No. Amanda hadn't passed the whole week running, doing a few workouts and sitting on her ass. No. she had readied herself, prepared a plan.
Running, push-ups, pull-ups, handstands were all necessary to gain strengthen back, but Amanda knew she needed more than that.
Don't get into fights you can't win… Though sometimes one really didn't have any choice.
She just needed a good plan, and she'd founded it—a couple of days ago, while staring at at the lower side of the bunk's bed top, listening to hushed voices Rick made to put the little baby girl into back to sleep, Amanda had come up with a plan.
She—she needed to pull out Gorman out of there.
Grady was his own turf now. If she somehow managed to get him out—with a few of his pals, then grab a submachine gun from here before she left for the city, then she would have the better advantage, guns and location, all in her favor.
The only thing that remained now was to find a good reason to get them out.
She guessed soon she was going to come up with something for that too.
One step at a time.
Rick gave her a look, and she twisted aside, "About fences—" she started, that had been in her mind as well, but things had been so weird between them, she couldn't have gotten herself to speak with him—another reason why—this…them like this was a bad, bad idea… Don't shit where you eat, flashed in her mind again, and she frowned, she hadn't been thinking on it.
She hadn't….
She didn't want any relationship.
She didn't do relationships.
Amanda had never been even girlfriend material, and Rick Grimes obviously—she stopped the thoughts.
She didn't need to think on this.
It was…pointless. Served no purpose.
If—if she somehow managed to survive her ordeal with Gorman—she…she was going to need to live with these people, live with him, work with him.
When she didn't speak further, Rick tossed at her another glance, "I doubled the checks, and Maggie and Glenn don't take the same shifts anymore," he told her, darting at her another side look.
With a small smile, she nodded, "Good. But that wasn't what I meant. I've been thinking on it for a while," she told him then, "Who could do such a thing? Why?"
Rick nodded, "Yeah… I've been on that as well—" he said, "I thought first someone has tried to sabotage us—" He paused for a second, his face suddenly turning to stone, his eyes stern—his jaw setting, and Amanda squinted at his sudden change, "It happened before once. When we first came at the prison. One of the inmates who had been before here, he escaped, then tried to get walkers inside, feeding them to inside with pieces of dead animals."
She stared at him, her steps faltering a bit, "Really?"
He nodded, "Yeah…" She looked at him to continue, but he didn't say anything else on that topic, only went on, "But it happened quickly, and only once. That thing—" he pointed at the fences, "Was going on for a while. Someone—was feeding walkers, but not to hurt us."
"I thought someone was losing it—" she told him frankly then, "Perhaps someone who saw out there a corpse of a loved one—or someone who looked like it—then lost it." She paused for a second, "You—you said—a woman tried to feed you her dead husband before the day we met, right?"
Understanding her point, Rick nodded, "It might be…" he slowly said, then shook his head, "But who…?" He paused for a second, and muttered, "Everything is so…fucked up."
She shrugged, "It's what it's—"
Twisting his head, he gave her a look, "Yeah." He paused another a second, and asked, "I'm gonna make a tour around the fences," he stated, then asked, "Wanna come?"
She looked at him back, "Like a patrol?"
He gave her back a faint smile, "Yeah."
In silence, she nodded.
Two cops at a patrol. She could do that. Always.
They made a tour—seeing Maggie up in the watch tower, waking up, and Glenn came out a second later, in silence they went down, walking away… and as they kept walking around the clock, Amanda felt much…lighter, like something—a weight pulling off her chest.
And, she felt…safer.
Two cops at a patrol. There was nothing wrong with that.
# # #
In her dream… a scene played in her mind, a scene she'd forgotten…
Rick holding his baby girl close to his chest like the first time she'd seen them together in the prison as they stood under a barred window, rocking the baby back and forth… and for a second or so a beam of sunlight suddenly crept inside through the bars at the window and fell on them as Rick bowed his head and gave a soft kiss at the baby's head…
And, Amanda woke up, her eyes widened up as she jerked up into awareness.
She stared at the bunk's bed wooden side, her heart beating madly at her chest—and it was so hard, so hard to breath—even harder than when she'd been shot at her stomach...
Then, she heard it again—Rick's slow hushing whispers as he tried to put his baby back to sleep again.
Before she realized what was happening, tears filled in her eyes, and in silence, she struggled not to let them break away.
# # #
Before he woke up fully, Rick smelled pancakes.
He let out a groan, twisting on his stomach on the bed, hiding his face beneath his pillow—knowing that he was going to one of those Sundays.
Where Lori stubbornly would try those godawful pancakes again… Rick loved her for that, trying—never letting it go because she wanted them one of those families who ate pancakes at Sunday mornings—but really how hard could be learning making some proper pancakes?
Sunlight creeping through the shades over the windows, Rick threw off the pillow away, and started pushing up from the bed—he couldn't run away from this.
He didn't want to run away from it.
He just wanted to eat good pancakes in the meanwhile as well.
He chucked out faintly at himself and went to the bathroom to fresh himself from the sleep. He washed his face, shaved as he hadn't shaved yesterday off-duty, brushed his teeth before he hopped into the shower.
Leaving the bathroom after a quick shower, he put on a sweatpants and white tee shirt, he left their bedroom, drying his short curls with a towel as he walked to the kitchen. Smells assaulted him more as he drew closer—and this time it smelled actually good—and hope rekindled in his chest…perhaps today was the day.
When he finally got proper pancakes for Sunday breakfast, his beautiful wife finally managing it…
Smiling as he kept drying his hair with the towel, "Morning, son—" he murmured, holding Carl at his shoulder.
His son lifted his head from the comics he was reading for a second as he repeated back with a half mouth, "Mornin', dad—"
Rick bent down to kiss Judy's hair as she was sitting in her high-chair beside Carl at the kitchen island, Lori still preparing pancakes, her back on them, in her usual loose fitting jeans and shirts, her hair falling over her shoulders through her back—
Rick walked to her closer, and wrapped his arms over her waist—his beautiful wife…so tiny—so soft—so nimbly fitting against him—as if she was made for him, especially for him—she never felt like this—Lori was a tall woman…but she was fitting perfectly now in his arms… Rick bowed his head to kiss the side of her neck, and she giggled… "Baby—" and she murmured, her voice rich and clear, happy with her laughter, "Kids…"
And, Rick stopped…his lips stopping, his body stopping, his head still at the crook of her neck, her smell in his nostrils…
Then he lifted his eyes up as she twisted aside, and he saw her full profile… "Rick—" she whined, giving him look, light green eyes glinting with happiness…
Rick took a step back, looking at the woman who wasn't his wife… "Amanda—?" he whispered out.
She gave him a look, her brows furrowing a bit, "Baby?"
Rick took another step back as Amanda looked at him questionably—as Rick stared at her back…
Then Rick woke up.
His eyes shot up wide open in the dark—his heart racing against his rib cage, the dream—still so real in his mind as he stared at his bunk's bed's flat wooden surface above him.
With a groan, he turned aside and sat on the bed's edge, his bare feet touching at the cold floor—he bent forward, supporting his elbows on his knees, and held his head between his hands…
# # #
When the sun was up, Amanda didn't go out.
She didn't leave her cell either, not before she made sure some certain cowboy with a southern drawl had left his cell—Beth taking the baby girl from him. Amanda heard everything—the hushed down little voices they exchanged, just waited inside…feeling at lost.
She—she needed to go.
Just find Gorman and be done with it.
It was unlikely that she was going to live that encounter. So, she didn't need to worry about this stuff… and even though she did—then she could've gone back to Grady and put things back together—like she should've done at the first place.
She had no place here. This…. this wasn't her life.
Just like how Rick had put it—she wasn't the type.
She had to go and do what she knew the best.
This was ridiculous.
Dreaming about a man and his baby girl… a man who was still obviously mourning his dead wife.
And seriously, what would've happened even if he didn't? Rick was a family man—Amanda was hardly one. She couldn't even do relationship… she had never bothered herself with one…
She didn't even want one. They—they bored her to death. Always be in contact, doing stuff together, talking, always being reachable, having responsibilities of someone else… God. She hated that, hated anyone's responsibilities… She'd taken Beth's responsibility, and looked how that had turned out?
Why she would ever want to do that to herself again?
No. She didn't want it.
And, she was quite being ridiculous, too, as if…as if there were something to want—
There was nothing.
They—they'd just kissed once…not that they'd ever talked about it, either.
She was just being stupid.
God, she wished she'd only had sex dreams about him or something.
That would've been easier. She—she could've understood it. Fuck him, yeah, she would've totally done it—if things had been different—but this…
God, she was really being stupid.
She stood up from the bed and started going to the bathroom to wash her face—to get her shit back together at least— This was stupid, so stupid. Served no purpose at all.
When she was out of the cell, Beth caught her, the little baby girl in her arms as she paced through the corridor.
"Oh—" the younger Greener told her, "You—didn't leave for run?"
Amanda shook her head, and lied, "No—I don't feel well today. I think I'm just gonna lay down—"
Then with a frown, Beth came at her quickly, holding up Judith, "What?" she asked quickly, "Is it gunshot or you feel ill? Perhaps you get the infection—" She stopped, and pushed her back into the cell, "You go and wait there. I'm gonna get Joan."
With a sigh, Amanda went back, knowing she'd fallen into a trap with her own mouth. There was no way in the hell that Beth was going to leave it alone after that.
She went to the bunk and sat at the low bed. A second later, she rested her back against the headrest, leaning down.
Well, if she was going to fake it, she might be well doing it right.
Joan and Beth came a couple of minutes later, Beth still holding Judith, "I told you not to run like that, Amanda—" the nurse told her, fixing her an unapproving look, and Amanda shrugged in answer.
"She still doesn't eat well—" Beth supplied in too, as Amanda let out a sigh.
Well, she had asked for this, she supposed.
They fussed over her for a while, Joan taking her body temperature and all, checking out her—and finally deemed that she needed to rest for a bit.
"Okay—" Beth said after that, "I'm gonna give Judith to Carl, and will come back."
"Beth-" she cried after her back, but it was no use. She was already gone.
Rick liked working with his son at the mornings, Carl came out of the prison about the time Amanda turned back, so she really didn't want to come in between the father and son—but well, but it was too late for that as well.
Beth was already gone.
Then she was alone with Joan. "How's going Joan?" she asked to the woman then, "Do you like here?"
The nurse shrugged, "It's better than Grady, that's sure—" she said, "Noah has started liking it, I think… He still says he needs to find his family, but I don't know. He seems happy."
Amanda shook her head, "You know it, Joan. Noah has been together us since the beginning, always telling himself someday he was going to leave. He even prepared an escape plan, but never did it. He just does it to feel himself better because he feels guilty."
Amanda knew—she wondered sometimes she felt guilt like that, too, guilt for…surviving whereas all the bad things happened to all the other people…survivor's guilt. Either way, it was fucked up, so she tried not to dwell on it. "This place is good for him," Amanda told the woman then, because she wanted them to be safe, no matter what, both of them, "He should stay. His family—his father probably is dead long ago."
Joan nodded, too, and Amanda gave the woman a look, her eyes falling over her wrists. She was wearing a long-sleeve shirt, she always wore long sleeves now—and Amanda knew the reason. She wondered if the bruises were still over on her skin, and the thought just made her mind firmer.
Gorman—Gorman had to die. One way or another.
"And you, Joan?" Amanda asked then, "Are you happy too?"
Joan gave off a shrug, "No one has still tried to come to my bed, so…yeah, I'm happy, I guess."
Amanda shook her head, "They don't do things like that here, Joan," she said, somehow sounding quite certain, too, she just knew it… Rick would've never let it. He wasn't that kind of man.
But Joan let out a bitter smile, shaking her head, "We didn't used to do things like that at Grady first, Amanda," the woman said in return darkly, "Things change."
Things change… that had been one of the lessons she'd learned as well. Never take anything for granted. Things always change.
But still…somethings still had to remain the same. "I know—" she said, "I just don't believe Rick would've changed that much. It's—it's not his cloth. Gorman—Gorman had a daughter, too, you know before, and he—he used to like her a lot—go with her with her soccer games…but I've never seen him—never seen him the way Rick holds his baby daughter, even for once."
The woman gave out a sigh then, "I—I hope you're right, Amanda." She paused, bowing her head, "You told me once men scare you more than rotters now," she told her back, and Amanda nodded.
They did—but she'd learned that people in general were scarier. Carol had killed two innocent people to protect her own lot, Dawn had gone ballistic… If it'd been a competition, men probably would've still won, but women—women were coming close, too…
"I know," so she said back, and continued, "But either way, you're right. You can't depend on anyone to protect yourself anymore. You have to protect yourself. I was talking with Lamson. We—we were going to train you—teach you how to fight. We were idiots, only making you mop the floors, wash our laundry. You have to learn how to fight." She paused for a second, and leaning forward, held the other's woman's hand, "Ask Rick to teach you. Noah, too. He'll do it. He does it. He's a good man, believe me."
She waited for an okay, but Joan just gave her a look, "Why—why don't you do it yourself?" she asked, frowning, "We don't need Rick to teach us how to fight," she stated, "We've got you."
But she shook her head, not seeing any reason to deny it now—not from Joan. She—she needed to know. Perhaps Joan was the one who had deserved to see that sonofabitch dead the most. Amanda had talked to her into this, talked her into seduce the bastard, keep him—quelled, and when it all had backfired, she couldn't have done anything, just watched it. Just like she always did.
No more.
No fucking more.
"I won't be around long, Joan—" she told the woman finally, "So…"
Joan understood it, "No!" she cried out, trying to keep her voice down, shooting up from the bed where she'd been sitting at the side, "Amanda, no! Don't do it."
She shook her head. "I have to."
"No!" Joan said back, "You don't!" She shook her head, "What're you going to do—go and kill him? You can't kill Gorman, Amanda. Stop it."
She gave the woman a cool look, "We'll see."
Just that moment, Beth walked into the cell, too, and Amanda straightened back, swearing inside, "Beth!"
"You—y-you want to go back and kill Gorman?" the young girl asked, "You—we barely escaped Amanda! Why—" she pointed at her stomach, "This isn't enough for you? Why do you want to go back?"
Amanda stood up from the bed and tried to reach to her, but Beth shook off her arm, "Beth—" Amanda said, but Beth cut her off again.
"No—" the young girl told her, "You can't go anywhere. We won't let you."
"Beth—" Amanda started, trying to reason with her, but Beth stopped her again.
"I'm gonna talk with Rick—"
"NO!" Amanda screamed suddenly with panic, the word bellowing in the air, "Beth, NO!"
But it was too late, she was already gone, running out of the cell.
Amanda dropped on the bed then, and bowing her head, she held it between her hands.
So, I think, both Amanda and Rick are ready for a face-off, as I finally put them where I wanted, Amanda started having dreams of him and Judith (because seeing Rick with Judith such a cornerstone for her) and Rick dreaming her in a Sunday breakfast with pancakes instead of Lori. That was something I've always wanted to do, as well, so glad to have it at least.
The next, we'll have a Talk, he he.