"If you watch somebody long enough, there's always this look that comes across their face when they're done smiling, and I always find it really fascinating to wonder what it is that brought them back to reality. - Hayley Williams

chapter one / hard times

There was something about Dr. Ford's office that was oddly relaxing for him. The room was always filled with the subtle smell of pine, no matter the season. Even in the warmer months, it reminded him of Christmas and his childhood- blissful and free of worry. The temperature was always just right, about 72 degrees, he would have guessed. It wasn't too cool or too warm, just comfortable enough for him to sling his coat over the arm of her couch and forget about it until his session ended. She often played soft music, usually jazz versions of popular songs. The combination of a Kenny G-like saxophonist and the melodies of the best power ballads the 80s had to offer were enough to partly calm even the most jittery minds. Her office's sage green walls, terracotta decor and abundant foliage wrapped you up, silencing your apprehensions and making you feel at home. The camel colored suede couch pushed up against the back wall had cushions so deep, they rivaled a small bed. It was homey and serene; everything you'd want in a living room and nothing you'd expect of a doctor's office.

She'd somehow created an oasis- a safe space in the heart of Boston. He had felt welcomed from the first time he stepped foot into the waiting room four months ago. Even then, as time passed, he'd yet to feel welcome enough to divulge anything. He was as tightly wrapped as he had always been, his hurt still held close to the chest.

Every Wednesday at noon, Rick Grimes would slip out of his own office. Under the guise of a long lunch, he'd spend an hour and fifteen minutes in silence. He knew he was meant to speak. He knew that it was the only way to heal, but he needed the silence.

He needed to be just Rick. Not the high level security tech developer with the stress of an ever developing industry on his shoulders. Not the almost-former husband in the midst of a bitter divorce. And damn sure not the childless father, still trying to make sense of the last seven months of his life. He just needed to be Rick, the little Georgia boy full of hope and life before the world snatched it away. So he came to Dr. Ford, the highly recommended therapist his assistant had found, and he sat in silence. He spent 75 minutes granting his mind freedom. Freedom to rest or run a mile a minute. Freedom of silence or thunderous thoughts. Whatever it needed that day.

She asked questions and sometimes she'd even get a response. But she never pushed. She never made him speak about or rehash the whirlwind his life had taken him on. She listened to what he offered and accepted that sometimes he offered nothing. And Rick appreciated that about her. He saw why she came highly recommended. Dr. Ford wasn't one of those doctors who insisted that you call her by her first name, in hopes of being less intimidating. She just was less intimidating. She wasn't a clock-watcher, trying to fit too many patients into her workday. But, now, it had been several months and she wanted healing for him.

So today was the day she'd start to push because it was time for him to say something. Anything.

"Rick?" She called out to him, her hands ready to type on the sleek, silver laptop poised on her thighs.

He didn't respond, his eyes looking past her. The large window behind Dr. Ford overlooked the harbor. He watched the boats moving smoothly in the water. His eyes followed the suit wearing men and smartly dressed women focused on their phones, juggling briefcases and bags. He saw mothers with strollers jogging along the water. There were teenagers, who should have probably been in school, puffing away at cigarettes. Dozens of people, each navigating their own traumas.

"Rick?" She tried again, grabbing his attention for only a minute before his eyes were roaming again.

This time he looked around the room. He took in the awards, diplomas, and certificates. Her desk, covered in folders and files, held a row of pictures. They seemed to form a timeline, chronicling her life from her young adult years on. His eyes flicked between Dr. Ford and the framed pictures. The first was obviously taken long before she was a Ford or a doctor. She was clad in a cap and gown, her arms wrapped around a man he assumed to be her brother. They were both sandwiched between an older couple glowing with admiration and pride. Rick smiled softly, looking on to the next frame.

She was a little older now and posing in an airport terminal. Her hair was parted down the middle with springy natural curls framing her face. It was starkly different from the pulled back French braid he was used to his therapist sporting. A big, burly redhead in a military uniform kneeled behind her, while she beamed in the forefront. The picture was perfectly timed. She posed, holding up a welcome home sign, oblivious to the opened ring box in the right hand of the man behind her. The man, intimidating in stature, held a secretive finger against his sneaky smirk while his eyes sparkled with adoration. Rick's eyes flicked to the canary diamond on her left ring finger, matching it up with the one peeking out of the box in the picture. He gawked just a bit longer, before moving on to the next frame.

The last picture was partially hidden by a haphazardly stacked pile of manilla folders. Her desk is the only area of her office that suggests Dr. Ford is even human. The rest of the room, immaculate and tidy, puts the neglected workspace to shame. He'd never had a problem with it until it hindered his wandering eye. Rick could make out the freckled arm of the man from the last frame, Mr. Ford, he presumed- but not much else. He shifted in his seat, ignoring the curious gaze of his therapist and tried to get a better look.

"I can see the wheels turning today. What are you thinking about over there?" She inquired, watching him squirm.

"Could I see that?" He questioned, finally meeting her eyes. Dr. Ford followed his line of vision, landing on the white framed photo. She pointed to it to confirm that it was what he was requesting. "Yeah...if you don't mind."

She was cautious, running her fingers along the top of the frame. Unsure of exactly what Rick's mind was conjuring up, she decided that any activity was better than none and she handed him the frame.

Finally seeing it in full, Rick saw that it was a collage style frame. There was the larger picture that he'd seen the corner, featuring the doctor and her family. She and her husband sat on the outside of a white bench, separated by three perfect replicas of them.

He took in their bright smiles and polished clothing; dresses, polos and khakis. His eyes lingered on the children, two boys and a girl- all three sporting heads full of thick curls. The boys, twins, who looked to be around seven or eight were their father reincarnated with darker skin, black hair and their mothers eyes. The girl looked to be around three, and he found himself admiring his doctor for being ballsy enough to put a child that small in the all white floral dress she was sporting. She was the opposite of her brother's- a replica of her mom, with a head of copper curls. Together they formed perfect combinations of their parents, a physical representation of love, warmth, and a full life.

Rick looked at the smaller photos in the frame, an individual capture of each child, before looking back up at his doctor. Her brow was furrowed, watching his face contorting while his eyes swept across the images.

"What are their names?" He questioned, wanting to cut her off before she could get a word in.

She chewed her lip, not knowing where this conversation would lead. "The twins are Milo and Lucas. And then there's Eden." She answered apprehensively, but unable to hide a smile as she listed off their names.

He nodded. "Easter?" He inquired, handing the photo back to her.

She looked down at the frame, studying the faces for herself. "No, the boys' First Communion. We're not the most religious, but Abe's mom is. And what Nonna wants, she gets." She explained, more to herself than to him.

Rick nodded again, suddenly saddened by the prospect of a future lost. Milestones she doesn't seem to think twice about, he'd never know. He wouldn't get to experience graduations and annual family photos. There would be no watching his son blossom, let alone having grandchildren down the line. "They're beautiful- you're kids, your family...y-you have a lovely family." He stuttered out.

She watched him curiously, trying to get a read on his emotions. "Thank you, Rick. Why don't we talk about your family? Do you want to do that?"

He stared back at her blankly.

"Why don't we talk about Carl or Judith? Maybe even Lori...how are things with her?"

Rick pinched the bridge of his nose, hanging his head for a moment. "Talkin' about Carl won't change anything. And I'm not the one who should be concerned with Judith and Lori. Nothing a few well paid lawyers can't handle."

Dr. Ford stared at him for a moment before quickly typing something on her laptop. She pursed her lips, thinking of her next few moves. "Okay, fair enough." She told him, holding her hands up in surrender. "Can we talk about you? You've suffered a lot of loss this year and it's obviously affecting you. Let's discuss that?"

She waited for an answer, watching as his eyes closed and his head fell back onto the top of the sofa. She willed him to answer. To break his pattern of silence and shutting out the world. Today, she needed him to say something. One sentence, hell, even one word. She was nearly on the edge of her seat when he sighed and opened his eyes. He didn't look at her. Rick rested his elbows on his knees, his eyes trained to his feet on the floor.

He opened his mouth a few times, trying to find a way to work his emotions into words. But he just can't seem to do it, snapping his lips together every time he can't work it out.

Dr. Ford is patient though, allowing him to work it out on his own. She waits quietly, giving him all the time he needs.

Rick licked his lips, finally locking eyes with the woman across from him. It's brief, only lasting a breath, but it happened. And then he does what he hasn't done in months. He speaks.

"It's not the worst of it yet." He croaked out. His voice is scratchy and raw, fighting against tears.

"I'm still falling. I've been falling since Carl pa-." He shakes his head, unable to finish the word, but he keeps talking. "It feels like I've been reaching out, trying to grab branches or rocks on a ledge. I want to pull myself up and get on solid ground again. And sometimes I will. I'll grab onto something and it'll keep me up for a little. But the branches break and the rocks crumble."

Rick's head falls into his hands with a sharp crack in his voice before continuing.

"So I've gotta hit rock bottom. And I know that sounds crazy..that this isn't rock bottom." He tells her, motioning to himself and she shakes her head sympathetically. "But it's not and I have to run out of branches. I have to have nowhere to go but up. Y'know sometimes when I wake up, I forget and I'll rush into his room all excited to see him?"

Dr. Ford is typing away, eyes trained on Rick. She'd fix any mistakes later. They paled in comparison to the burst of emotion. Rick had opened the floodgates and grammar would have to take a backseat.

"I don't think I've fully processed it. Maybe it's my mind playing tricks on me or maybe I just haven't wrapped my head around how something like that could happen to someone so young, but I still can't believe it sometimes. And I sure as hell haven't accepted it."

She wanted him to say it. He's saying a lot, but he won't say what's paining him the most.

"What is 'it', Rick?" She prompted softly. She, of course, knows the answer. She just wants him to verbalize it for himself.

Rick's gaze is blank. He turns the question over and over in his head. His curls sway softly as he shakes his head back and forth, as if he won't even allow the idea to enter his mind. Like he can't even let his brain think it.

He decided to forgo an answer to the question and continue on his train of thought. "I can't get better if I can still get worse. I don't know how long it'll take, but everyday I don't see him it becomes more real. And I want to be better, Doc, I do. I just need a little more time." He tells her.

Their eyes meet. His are pleading, willing her to understand his predicament. And she does. She doesn't look at him with the same pity he's so used to seeing from everyone else. A small smile plays on her lips. She knew he was trying.

He hasn't disclosed much about himself, but she had a soft spot for the man. She saw many clients and something about him appealed to her emotions. He made her remember what drew her to this profession all those years ago.

He was honest and kind. An average guy from Georgia who had found a way for himself in Boston. He'd been on top of the world, before the world handed him a rough few months. He didn't deserve them, people rarely did. But someone as good intentioned as Rick? It was almost criminal. He was doing his best to adjust and cope and she just wanted to help him.

So she nodded her head, a silent agreement to allow him the time he needs.

"You've got to hit rock bottom."

"I've got to hit rock bottom."

She closed her laptop, glancing at the large clock hanging above Rick's head. Their session had gone over by seventeen minutes, but she doesn't rush him. It's the least she can do, considering she's been taking his money for months while he had no progress.

Dr. Ford shifted her laptop to the small table in front of the couch. She doesn't want him to go backwards. Now, she's seen him open up and she knows he wants the help as much as he needs it. She understands his sentiment and she's very familiar with the idea that things have to get worse before they get better, but never for a person.

She opened and closed various folders, sifting through files, records, and receipts. Her brows furrow as she tunnels through the stacks, mumbling to herself. "Oh..duh!" She mumbled, bending and pulling open the lowest drawer on her desk.

Rick watches her curiously while she extends a pamphlet in his direction.

"It's a group for grieving parents." She tells him tentatively. He flips it over in his hands, skimming the text.

"Led by Gabriel Fairchild...7:30 PM every Thursday...Refreshments provided"

Rick shook his head, looking back up at his therapist. "I don't know about this.." His voice trailed off.

Dr. Ford was already nodding before he finished his statement. "And that's okay. You don't have to go. If you do go, you don't even have to say anything. I just think it could be good for you. Seeing you're not alone. Meeting other people going through similar situations, it might help."

He nodded slowly, mulling it over. "Don't give me an answer now. If you feel up to it, give it a shot. If you don't, that's okay. But our time is up for today."

Rick stood up, his eyes still looking over the trifold. "Thank you, Doc."

"You're welcome, Rick." She smiled warmly, standing and opening the door for him. "But you should thank yourself. This works a lot better when we talk, doesn't it?"

He took a quick step out of the door and forced a small smile. "Yeah, I guess it does."

"I'll see you next week. Take care, Mr. Grimes."

"I'll do my best."

The pamphlet, folded and stuffed into the inside pocket of his blazer, stayed on his mind for hours. He returned to work, ran logistics reports, and shuffled through resumes of potential interns. He stayed later than usual and watched his employees leave the office, more than ready to return to their home lives. Still, his mind drifted back to it. He weighed pros and cons, fighting an internal battle over it.

And now he sat bellied up to a bar, hoping he'd find the answer in the bottom of a glass.

Rick wasn't a drunk, but he had been indulging more in recent months. It was a short term cure for a much larger problem; one of those branches he'd mentioned earlier to Dr. Ford. Upon discovering a little hole-in-the-wall Irish pub, he'd spent more than a few lonely nights there. It was quiet and somehow missed out on the crowds from the various universities and tourists.

Rick quickly became a regular, meshing well with the other men who'd frequent the place. Well, men and woman. Just one. She always sat at the far right corner of the horseshoe shaped bar, sipping on water more than anything else.

Despite his best efforts, he never got a good look at her face. She spent her time tucked away into books, her hair falling and creating a veil that hid her from everyone. Rick never saw her come or leave. She was just there or she wasn't. There were times he'd go to the restroom and come out to find her gone, just that quickly.

But the universe seemed to want to add to his day of firsts when he saw her come in tonight. And he wasn't disappointed.

There was a deep side part in her hair, the bang tucked behind her ear. Her locs; which, prior to tonight, had always been contained in a high ponytail that hung in her face- cascaded around her shoulders and left her features on full display. He couldn't believe that she'd been hidden right in front of him. Doe eyes, prominent cheekbones and plump lips. Curves that should have never been hidden by her usual sweatshirt and loose jeans. She was otherworldly.

Rick had to check the ground she walked on to make sure she wasn't floating. It was a mistake. Red toenails and sleek strappy heels at the end of her shapely legs were the icing on the cake. For the first time in months, his brain was focused on something new.

She went to her usual corner of the bar and Rick stared unabashed. She wasn't alone tonight; there was no book in her hand and no hair concealing her identity. She ordered a mojito, her water a distant memory. He was enthralled.

Rick sipped his beer. He was fighting a losing battle, begging his eyes to stop swiveling in her direction. The two women who flanked her held her attention. They drank and giggled. They occupied her undivided attention. He only wanted a fraction of it.

And suddenly whispers hidden by hands led her gaze in his direction. He knew he should've looked away. It's the sane thing to do when someone catches you staring, but he didn't. He only smirked and lifted his glass up in a salut from across the bar. Rick lowered it and winked at her, feeling a confidence he thought had been lost in the fog.

Her smile was small, shy almost, but still breathtaking. Her friend whooped and hollered next to her, egging on the silent back and forth between the two.

Raised on southern values, Rick had never been a one night stand kind of guy. Now, he scoffed at the thought. Lori was raised on the same values as him and she fucked his best friend.

So he threw caution to the wind and motioned the bartender over.

"I'll take another one of these." He told her, motioning to his nearly empty stein. "And one of whatever that stunning woman in the green shirt is having...but don't give it to her. I'll take them both."

The green eyed woman behind the bar wagged an eyebrow, glancing behind her. She couldn't fight the smirk that appeared as she got to work making the beverages.

With the drinks added to his tab and the mojito sitting in front of the empty seat beside him, Rick had work to do. He was staring again. Luckily, she was looking again.

She raised an eyebrow, challenging him. But Rick's newly reinstated confidence was working overtime. He leaned back and threw an arm over the back of the seat beside him. He cocked a brow of his own and nodded toward the empty stool with his chin. Her friends nearly shouted. Rick watched as they egged her on, damn near launching her at him.

Rick didn't know who he was right now. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this brazen. He chalked it up to some weird asterisked side effect of his current place in the stages of grief and went along with it.

He turned back to face straight ahead, as if to let the woman know that the ball was in her court. He'd done his part to assist and know it was up to her to land the shot. Rick took a long swig from his stein and acted as unbothered as he could pull off. From the side of his eye, he could see her walking toward him.

The legs of the stool scraped against the tile floors and a melodic voice rang out to him.

"Did you slip something in this drink? I'd rather not wake up dazed and confused in a random bedroom."

A loud bark of a laugh escaped Rick. She was a firecracker right out of the gates. The broken man of the past few months was MIA tonight, replaced by his ballsy counterpart and he wanted everything to do with her.

"Firstly, I'm a gentleman. I'd never." Rick said, sternly. He didn't turn to face her, but he felt her eyes on him. "And secondly, I wouldn't need to break laws and violate you to get you back to my place."

"Well, while I admire your confidence, I'm not sure that's quite true. But thank you for the drink."

She scooted back, ready to leave just as quick as she'd arrived. Confident Rick still had the reins and he stuck his arm out to hold the stool in place just before she was able to stand comfortably.

"I don't even get a name?" He questioned her, finally turning to face her.

She was incredible up close. Her features were striking enough to silence him, forcing his brain to focus on nothing but her. She had skin so impossibly smooth, that he actively fought the urge to touch it. You don't know her, Rick. Her lips put every other pair he'd seen in his life to shame. Rick was acutely aware of the increase in women paying for plumped up pouts, but sitting in front of him was the blueprint. The holy grail that doctors should strive for. He focused again on her face, his eyes scanning over her round cheeks and toward her eyes. Round, doe-like, and the warmest pair of umber eyes staring back at him. They were quizzical, hesitant, and a bit...sad?

"I'm Rick." He told her, hoping his confidence didn't spill into cockiness or completely overflow into that creep who couldn't take a hint. He removed the hand from the back of her chair and held it out to her.

Cautious as ever, she took it. "I'm Mi-you can call me MiMi." She murmured, after a quick stumble over her words.

His smile widened. A name was all he needed and he knew it'd be light work from there. Rick had never had a problem with women. In fact, it was always quite the opposite. He was the worst wingman in college, because his attempts to charm women for his friends usually ended with the women wanting him instead. There had been countless nights where a college aged Rick turned women down in favor of being a loyal friend or a faithful boyfriend. However, tonight, for the first time in over a decade, he was being selfish and self indulgent. He was going to pursue her for himself.

"I can call you MiMi? I'll take it that's a nickname." Rick posed casually, swirling the beer in slow circles and watching the froth dissipate.

She raised a sharp eyebrow, giving him a defiant smirk. "Is Rick on your birth certificate?"

It took active effort for Rick to stop his jaw from dropping. She was a spitfire. A drop-dead gorgeous, siren of a woman. He sat, speechless and just held her gaze. She didn't blink once, just looked at him as if she knew she was winning their little back and forth banter. Any other night Rick would have looked away, intimidated. Tonight, however, he stared back. He allowed himself to feel any other feeling besides the grief that had gripped his body for the better part of the year. He puffed out his chest just a bit, let a grin spread across his face, and shook his head in a very late response to her question.

"I didn't think so." She bobbed her head in a quick victorious nod. "You gave me Rick, I gave you MiMi."

"Well, Mimi," Rick tried the name out for size. He quickly found he liked the way it tasted in his mouth almost as much as he liked the dizzying effect of being in her presence. "It's nice to finally put a name to a face. I've seen you here a few times."

"I know. You were never really discreet."

For the first time since she'd walked in, Rick's confidence took a hit. She probably thought he was a creepy loser. How could he be so dense to think that sitting at a bar and staring at a woman would go unnoticed. Who did that? Fucking weirdos, that's who.

"I'd never..I didn't realize..It wasn't-" He tripped over his words, incoherent thoughts fighting to be the first ones to make an apology.

Mimi was smirking now. She downed her drink and the devilish smile finally broke free on her face, but she still faced straight forward. "I guess it's a good thing you're so damn attractive."

Rick sighed in relief. Maybe creeps were her type.

a/n: i started writing this sooo long ago (i think 2017, so before carl's actual death on the show) but ended up abandoning it. but i decided to finally dust it off and give it an actual chance just to see where it goes. it's inspired by after laughter, the paramore album, so each chapter is named after/pulls from one of the songs. let me know if anyones interested. i don't watch twd anymore so idk what the famdoms like now or if theres even an audience for these stories still.