A/N: Wow. A rather entitled - and anonymous - brat left a review on this story trying to tell me I shouldn't be writing it and focusing on other stories they like better (while slandering even more of my stories). Just in case any readers see that and think it means I will be slacking on this story, please, just keep enjoying. I don't write stories based on which one is getting the most readers or the most reviews, and even if only the four followers this story officially has are all that ever read it on FFnet (which isn't my primary posting site anyway), that's plenty of reason for me to continue sharing these two communication challenged characters with the world.

You almost got all 30 or so chapters in a row before I ever wrote a single additional word for anything else. Luckily, I wouldn't do that to my other readers, but normally I would have held this chapter (which was written as part of Chapter 9) a few more days. Alas, Ornery is my middle name as a writer, so enjoy your early smut, courtesy of the Anonymous Brat. Next chapter - Carol's baby shower, and will that kid ever be born? ;)

Oh, and since FFnet doesn't allow MA level stories, this chapter is somewhat edited. For the full chapter, you'll need to see the same story on Ao3, under DarkTidings.

When Amanda wakes at three in the morning, she regrets her snooping curiosity that led her to forget to use the bathroom before bed. Rick's asleep on his back now, breathing softly, and he doesn't look anything like a man who'll turn forty before the year's out. Dark lashes any woman would envy stand out against his pale skin even in the dim light from the windows. She doesn't think she's ever seen him so relaxed, and he doesn't move when she slides out of the bed. Before she goes into the bathroom, she peeks across the hall, finding Joan sound asleep as well. The girl is curled around the second of her pillows, and it makes Amanda angry all over again for her sake.

It would probably be more polite to use the small powder room in the foyer, but that same nagging curiosity has ahold of her. Slipping back through the bedroom lit only by the waning moon outside, she slides the door shut behind her quietly and flips on the light switch. Double sinks spring into brightness on her right, making her blink owlishly for a minute. To the left is a large walk-in closet, one door ajar. She can see a row of suits through the gap, but figures there's curiosity and there's just being nosy, so she passes the door without looking further.

The toilet is tucked into a little spot past the sinks, hidden from view by a partial wall, and she takes care of nature as she looks over the rest of the large bathroom. The shower next to it is large enough for three people, she thinks, but the jacuzzi tub is even more impressive. From the lack of any toiletries around the tub, she suspects it isn't used at all, at least not by Rick. Beth obviously has to share either Rick or Carl's bathroom, since the powder room doesn't have a shower.

For all that Beth has an obvious place in the apartment in the den, there's no sign of her here. Rick's cologne, electric razor, and toothbrush holder are all that grace the sink closest to the bedroom, along with a refillable soap dispenser. Washing her hands, she isn't surprised to find the soap is strongly scented for citrus. She prefers the same to get the lingering odor from gun oil off her own hands. Rick might be the first single man she's ever seen who actually has hand towels in his personal bathroom, though, cute powder blue things with an embroidered lighthouse on the hem.

Turning the light off plunges her into the dark before she slides the pocket door back open. Rick doesn't seem to have moved from his spot, so she rounds the bed to slide back under the sheet. Sleep proves elusive again until she ends up rolling to her right side, like she normally goes to sleep. With Rick asleep, it doesn't seem as weird to be facing him. He's kicked the sheet mostly away, and with his shirt riding up in his sleep, she gets a glimpse of dark hair against pale skin against the flat planes of his belly.

The reminder of just how silky soft that hair is makes her fingers twitch, and she decides facing him is probably not a good idea. Back on her left side, she lies awake until exhaustion claims her.

When Rick wakes, it's still dark in the room, and it takes him a minute to register the strangeness of another body pressed close to him in bed. He hasn't slept beside anyone in close to two years. It was a rough lesson, early on, that overnights led to more attachment than he was prepared for, the sort of lesson most men learned in their twenties. He'd been married through that time period, and no matter how unhappy he and Lori were at times, the one thing he'd never done was stray.

Even without the memory of summoning Amanda in a panic last night, he would know it's her. Falling asleep last night, the width of the bed didn't hide that sweet scent of whatever shampoo she uses. It was only decades of sleeping whenever he could thanks to a cop's shift that made him ignore the mild arousal it caused enough to go to sleep. Having her here is unearthing the loneliness he's kept hidden since the divorce, and it's the first time he wishes she were one of those women who got easily attached. It felt… appropriate… to have her beside him last night, falling asleep together like it was an every night occurrence.

His right hand finds the edge of the bed, so he at least held to his promise the bed was big enough. The one who migrated in the night was the one who would object to how close they are if she were awake. She's draped across his chest, tucked into the crook of his arm, and his hand is thankfully against her hip and not her ass. Just thinking about it makes last night's mild interest return in full force, something that certainly isn't helped as he registers her leg over his is tucked neatly against the part of him now fully awake and aware.

Turning his head, he checks the clock, relieved to see that it's just past five. Waking her now won't be as awful as it could be. Letting his left hand drift to the bed, he reaches out with his right hand and shakes her shoulder gently. "Amanda?"

She's alert instantly, too much a cop herself not to wake quickly when required. "Is something wrong?"

Rick doesn't need to answer, because her brain catches up to how they're laying almost as soon as she gets the last word out. Jesus, he regrets it as she rolls away, because he's as aware of her now as he was when she called a halt to things on the couch that night. There's no way she missed it, and as prickly as she was about things when they were both aware and awake, he fully expects this to piss her off despite him not being the sleep cuddler.

"Dammit. I'm sorry, Rick."

The apology startles him enough that he rolls to his side to get a better look at her after touching the lamp to bring dim light to the room. She's sitting up, pushing her hair back from her face and looking embarrassed as hell. "It's okay," he tells her softly.

"I was an ass last night, and then…" She sighs and tucks her arms around her legs. "It's been a long time since I slept with anyone."

He's not sure if she means literally sleep or something more and figures asking will get him in hot water with her. "Like I said, it's okay."

But she doesn't seem reassured, so he raises up to an elbow. "Amanda? I meant it. It happened, and I'm not going to take it for more than just what it was. You're a beautiful woman, but you're not interested in me. I accept that."

Those green eyes focus on him finally, instead of staring at the books in the headboard. It isn't until she leans in for a kiss that he realizes she might not be upset that she woke up to using him for a pillow. The cautious part of his brain tells him that he's likely to deal with a whirlwind of her changing her mind, but the rest is wholly on board with the part of him that remembers what it's like to have his hands exploring the curves that are now pressed against him as he pulls her closer, tumbling her prone on the bed.

Her hands are under his shirt, tracing along his chest, and he pulls away enough to tug the shirt off to give her better access. "What do you want?" Rick asks, grasping for control. This backfired on him once already. He has to ask.

"You." The husky quality to her voice breaks that last vestige of self-restraint, and he's tugging at her shirt. It's some all-in-one thing with a built in bra, so once she helps him get it over her head, he's got her bare in front of him again. She reacts just like before when he seeks out the tempting skin, pressing his head to her with fingers tangled in his hair. The difference this time is that she's not astride his lap, so he's free to keep moving along her skin.

They don't have time for what he really desires right now, because somewhere in kissing and exploring, it's damn near five thirty. The last thing he wants is her to regret this because she's late to work and embarrassed. Amanda protests at first, when he presses one last kiss to her breastbone and trails more to her belly, but then she quiets as he looks up to her, hooking his fingers in the waistband of her running shorts.

"What I want is to taste you," he tells her. Her eyes widen and she plants her feet, lifting her hips so that he can remove shorts and panties both.

"Rick, you don't have to…"

Apparently the key to ending that sentence is to show her it is most certainly not a 'have to'. Her strong thighs seek purchase he doesn't allow as he does exactly what he told her he wanted.

He doesn't stop until she pushes him away, and he watches as she sprawls near bonelessly, body trembling. The dim light from the lamp makes her skin glow, and he strokes a hand along the inside of her knee, marveling in how soft her skin is. He told her she was beautiful before, and he meant it, but seeing her like this, knowing he made her feel like that? Beautiful isn't a strong enough word, and he wishes he had time to feel her around him. He thinks it would be goddamn spectacular to be inside her when she falls apart like that and to see her eyes on him as she does.

By the time Amanda's brain reboots, she doesn't quite understand why Rick is so far away until she realizes he's made no move to remove his pajama pants. Feeling a little guilty that she's barely even touched him, yet can't feel her own fucking toes, she tamps down on shyness and sheer inexperience that threatens to make her hesitate and reaches for his waistband. Neither of her former boyfriends she actually slept with ever wanted to go down on her, whereas Rick did it like it was all he wanted.

He doesn't seem to nearly black out like she did, instead dragging her down on top of him to kiss her. It's as heated as how they started this, and for once, she doesn't mind that the evidence of his orgasm is now trapped between them. She can taste herself on his lips, and regrets that she didn't return the favor.

She can do that another time.

The thought is sobering, her brain finally coming back from the haze of arousal followed by a better orgasm than she's managed in years on her own. Regret spills through her, not for giving into the temptation to feel his hands on her again, but because Rick seems to know her mood changed. He's no longer relaxed and satiated, although one hand trails slowly down her spine, even as she moves away from him.

"Amanda."

She's just had sex with a man she's not even dating. It doesn't matter that it wasn't full intercourse, but it's against every rule she ever set for herself. Her mother got pregnant at fifteen and couldn't even name a father. The one promise Amanda has always held herself to is that she would never just casually bed any man. Instead, she woke up with her body just aching for want of the man next to her, and she had to know.

"Amanda." Rick's tone is hurt now, just like it's been before because of her.

It would have been easier, actually, if he'd sunk himself inside her, because it would be just rutting around. Lust. Instead, he focused on her and her alone at first. It doesn't fit with the mental image of a man who only wants sex with no strings attached. Turning, she faces him, finally.

"I know you don't do casual sex." That's not what she expected him to say. "What happens next? That's up to you." He sits up and reaches for her hand. She lets him take it, feeling the gentle grip even as she tries to work out the puzzle that Rick Grimes always ends up being for her.

"I don't know that this is a good idea." She doesn't fit into this world, not other than as a friend.

He swallows hard. "Alright. If that's what you want, then I guess this never happened." For all of his accepting words, he still moves in for a kiss. It's short, holding none of the heat of earlier kisses.

Amanda wonders if regret has an actual taste. Rick leaves the bed, retrieving his shirt and wiping away the evidence of their encounter from his stomach.

"You can shower in there. I'll go borrow Carl's bathroom. Should be plenty of hot water."

Before she can find any words to sooth over the actual hurt and regret that seems to hover in a cloud around the man, he's gone. She's left sitting in a bed where the sheets are scented with the combination of them together, desperately trying to tell herself that now she knows… and it can't happen again.

Cold showers are supposed to be what he needs when his body didn't get to find release, not what he does after an orgasm that was pretty damned perfect. Rick leans against the cool surface of the shower, letting it chill his back even as the shower's chilly spray turns the front of his body nearly blue. It was too good to be true, having her to ask for him, to initiate things between them when there was no show to be put on display.

He can still smell her on his skin and reaches for the harsher scented bar of soap instead of borrowing Carl's body wash. It rids him of that scent that conjures up the images of her relaxed and trusting him, but it doesn't cleanse his mind as easily. Last night felt too good, knowing someone was there beside him, someone who actually understood about early shifts, being on-call, and the need to keep doing a job that meant each day meant you might not come home.

How in the hell does he easily face Amanda, after she's pushed him away again? Especially after they've actually crossed the line they did this morning? He likes to think it isn't hurt pride, that he's not that petty. But even as he shuts the water off and fumbles for a towel, he just stands there dripping and just doesn't understand why she finds it so easy to turn away, when he can't get the way she makes him feel out of his head.

When Rick sees himself in the mirror, his haggard expression is weirdly an echo of those lost months between that last horrible fight with Lori and the day the court made everything final. That chills him worse than the shower did, so he thrusts the thought far into the dark recesses of his mind. Amanda doesn't want him. He's just a temptation that keeps fouling up the path she's on, and the sooner he stops forgetting that, the better off they'll both be.

The living room and kitchen are still in shadow when he heads back to find clothes, since he only has his bathrobe with him. Pausing to start the coffee pot, he notices the rinsed teapot and spares a moment of regret for the domesticity of Amanda helping out like that. As soon as there's enough coffee brewed, he pours a mug full and heads for his room. Just because the morning went to hell on a personal level, doesn't mean Amanda doesn't have a long day ahead of her, full of shitty precinct coffee and paperwork.

Rick really should have expected to find the bedroom empty and Amanda's things gone. He really should have, but he didn't, so it's a bit of a punch to the gut. Setting the coffee mug down on his nightstand, he goes to confirm his suspicions… the shower stall is dry as a bone. Amanda must have fled as soon as he was in the other shower. He's left staring at the rumpled bedsheets, evidence of what could have been a damn good morning for both of them.

It makes him irrationally fucking angry, especially with the scent of sex clinging to the sheets, so he drags them off the bed with erratic motions. By the time he gets them in the washing machine in the utility room, he's shaking with the force of anger and a sense of loss he just shouldn't be feeling. This is why departments either discourage or outright ban partners from romantic entanglements, because how he feels right now? It's battering his resolve to ignore what happened and concentrate on being partners. He's suddenly glad for the respite of Amanda being at work all day.

There are too many victims depending on them for this bullshit to be clouding his brain. By the time he has to see her again, he'll have his head on straight, he promises himself.