Amanda wakes slowly, pain flickering along her senses even as she registers she's in an unfamiliar bed. The warm - and unmistakably naked - body next to her pings as Rick easily enough when she takes in a deep breath. Memories of yesterday return with a rush: getting shot on the job, Rick pleading with her to stay, and being pressed against the window.
Oh Christ, that memory wars for dominance even over the unending ache in her ribs, heat rushing to her groin. Reaching out with her left arm, she bites her lip to keep from making any noise at the stretch. Her fingers make contact with the base of the touch lamp on the bedside table, bringing it to the lowest level of dim lighting.
That reveals that there's a bottle of water sitting next to her pain meds, but to take them, she needs to sit up a little. While her ribs forced her to sleep on her back, Rick curled on his left side, arm resting right across her hips as he sleeps. His forehead is against her shoulder. Reaching down to ease his hand back, the adjustment makes him sigh softly and roll to his back.
The sheet slides away to show that she wasn't mistaken about him being completely nude, because he's gloriously on display now. That flickers more memories into place, less clear than having her legs around him against that window. She blushes, thinking about how drunkenly silly she'd gotten with the pain meds and Rick sprawled beneath her hands, letting her explore his contours. It explains why she's wearing Rick's t-shirt, but no panties.
Eyeing the medication bottle with a little suspicion, she wonders just if something over the counter might be better. There's not a lot of medication, actually, just a bare minimum number of pills to give her pain relief for forty-eight hours or so. Deciding to save it for sleeping, she slips out of bed, figuring she can raid Rick's bathroom for some ibuprofen or something.
Rick's bathroom counter is actually fairly clean and organized for a bachelor, something she's noticed before. Everything on the counter is either placed in an organizer caddy or neatly in place by the sink, like his toothbrush in its holder, which also holds the toothpaste and bottle of hand soap. Even his old-fashioned safety razor is in a stand instead of tossed on the counter.
It feels a bit nosy, opening drawers at the double sink, but like most modern apartments, there's no medicine cabinet. The first drawer holds his hairbrush and miscellaneous grooming items like some sort of hair gel. She gets lucky on the top drawer in the middle, finding a first aid kit and a few bottles of over the counter meds. Snagging the ibuprofen, she takes a dose and returns the bottle to the drawer.
Last time she stayed the night, she brought her bag with her, but last night caught her off guard. Checking another drawer, she's right that Rick would have spare toothbrushes. Scrubbing away the cottony feel in her mouth with a cinnamon flavored toothpaste instead of mint doesn't surprise her. Dropping the toothbrush into the holder next to his seems to say something that even sharing his bed didn't, and she eyes the inoffensive piece of green plastic a little warily as it nestles near Rick's orange toothbrush.
Her bladder thinks being in the bathroom is a great idea, so she takes care of that issue and washes her hands. Rick still seems to be sleeping when she returns to the bedroom, but she's restless, probably because she went to sleep hours earlier than usual. Deciding she's been given free reign here more than once, she finds her missing shorts and dons them before heading to the kitchen. With neither Carl nor Beth here, she won't be disturbing anyone, and Rick could use the sleep.
Just after four in the morning isn't too early to eat, she thinks, eying the contents of the fridge. Knowing that Rick cooks makes the stocked fridge logical, but it gives her a lot of choices. There's leftovers from their supper, and she knows he cooked just for her. The idea makes her feel content in a way she's not used to, but a pasta dish is not what she wants to eat this early. Not feeling like cooking, she settles for yogurt and fresh berries, taking the container and her water bottle to the couch. Luckily the television is the same model as hers, and she decides to peek at his recorded shows on the DVR. It's snooping at its finest, but she doesn't think he'll care.
"Cooking shows. Not surprising," she mutters. Knowing he has a history degree, the documentaries aren't either. The Dirty Jobs episodes make her grin, as do the recorded baseball games. She doesn't want to accidentally mess up any of his recordings, so she flicks the TV back to the channel list, but it's too early for anything to be on that she wants to watch. The types of movies that air at this time of day aren't appealing either, so she turns the TV off and finishes her snack as she wanders the living room, peeking at his bookshelves.
Unlike the well read paperbacks in his bedroom, and the nonfiction books in the study, the books out here look old and expensive. They're the sort of books someone collects more than reads. She wonders if they're inherited, knowing what she knows now about his family.
The ibuprofen is starting to take effect, so that her ribs and where she hit her face feel more dull ache than throbbing pain. She rinses her bowl and spoon and debates if she can get back into bed without waking him. Apparently not, because when she gets back to the bedroom, she hears the toilet flush.
Peeking into the bathroom, she sees Rick drying his hands before reaching for his own toothbrush. He hasn't spotted her yet, since the angle doesn't show her in the mirror, so she gets to admire the fact that he's standing unabashedly naked in front of the mirror as he brushes his teeth. As he turns, he does see her and smiles brightly.
"How are you feeling?"
"A bit like mincemeat." After seeing her face in the mirror, she doesn't really want to peek at her chest. "But I'll live."
He comes close, brushing the tips of his fingers gently along her face where the bruising is. There's affection in the gesture, and it makes her realize just how much Rick touches the people around him. A casual arm thrown around Carl's shoulders, the teasing way he catches Beth's hand at times that Amanda doesn't think is part of his sugar daddy role, and how he always edges toward her when he thinks she won't chase him off - it's all part of his need for contact. "How many days off did they give you?"
"Three for the initial injury, officially, and light duty for a month after that." No sense in stating the obvious, that she's on administrative leave while the shooting is reviewed, regardless. He knows the procedure better than she does.
Rick hesitates, glancing toward the rumpled bed. "Would you stay the weekend?"
She knows why he's wary of asking. The last time anything sexual happened between them, she fled while he was in the shower. She bets the first thing he did on waking was look for the clothes they discarded last night. But she made her decision to take the plunge last night. "You gonna cook for me?" she asks teasingly.
"Sure." The grin that he gives her is quite the reward, but then his gaze slides along her body. His expression shifts from simply happy to heated, and she notes that he's definitely got a thing for her being dressed in his clothes.
Some devilish impulse leads her to tug the shirt off, and he closes the gap quickly, kissing her as he guides her backward to the bed. There's a pause to shed her borrowed boxer shorts. She whines just a little as he helps her shift her weight onto the bed, but he doesn't seem to be in any particular hurry once he's lying alongside her.
Kissing him is different in the morning, because he hasn't shaved yet, and the scruff changes the texture of his jaw as she slides her hand along it. He also likes her touching his face, and the flash of memory from him relaxing while she explored his body resurfaces. "Lay back."
He arches a brow, but rolls to his back. As soon as she slides a palm onto his chest, he smiles and tucks his arms behind his head again. "Gonna pet me again?" he asks huskily.
"Maybe." This time, she's going to make sure he enjoys it as much as she did last night. They aren't rushed, and she can take her time. With both bedside lamps brightening the room, she catches glints of silver among the dark hair on his chest. He doesn't have the heavier build of a man that does weight training, but he's in good shape. She'd just about bet he's a runner or maybe a swimmer.
Resting astride his thighs, she smiles down at him, knowing it's a tease for both of them, especially when his cock twitches and he swallows hard. But those hands stay put, blue eyes watching her with an intentness that makes her own body respond. Trailing her fingers down from the coarser hair of his chest, she strokes the narrow trail of silkier hair that leads past his navel.
"You're ticklish here," she muses, flicking her thumb close to the spot in question. Not far below it is a set of scars, about a half inch in size on each, that remind her of the scar Merle has from a hernia surgery a few years ago.
"Yeah, and a few other places. You seemed fascinated with that one last night." He's content and amused, though.
Considering she's never known anyone ticklish there, she can only imagine what her medication-drunk mind thought of it. Glancing up at him, feeling a little uncharacteristically shy about it, she admits, "I like it when you laugh."
"Oh." His smile widens, and damn, it makes him look far younger than a grown man of almost forty.
She trails her hands lower, past where the hair texture changes again. Part of her wants to finish him just like this, watching him fall apart under her touch, but she's aching as her body remembers how good it was last night. With most of the work in her hips and thighs, it shouldn't hurt her ribs, so she starts to ease forward, only to have him finally move, dropping a warm hand to one of her hips. "Wait a minute," he manages.
His other hand is fumbling with a box in the headboard that she had thought looked decorative, fishing out a condom as he lets her hip go. Watching as he opens it and drips a splash of lube into the tip from a tiny bottle in the same box, she can't believe she almost forgot they'd skipped a condom last night. Christ, it's like she wants to screw this up.
When Amanda moves from her spot across his thighs, Rick remembers with an uneasy feeling that he forgot something important to them both last night. He knows they're both clean, too many physicals done for work, and she's not the type to hide something like that. But they haven't discussed birth control, and he's not immature enough to just assume she's covered. The odds are against an accidental conception on his part, but why take chances? She stills when he touches her hip, her expression turning confused until he gets the condom out of the box and prepped.
He thought watching her in the glass last night was erotic, but this is so fucking much better. She takes her time, teasing him, that smirk from earlier sticking around with each time she makes him vocalize. He can almost ignore the livid bruising, keeping his hands on her hips instead of reaching for temptation. Bruising will fade, and if he's lucky, feeling like this - having her pull him closer and closer to the edge with her - won't.
The teasing is having its own effect on her, with sweat glistening across her skin even as the sun begins to filter into the room. It makes her skin glow like some old world goddess, and he begs, because he needs more than this slow pace designed to drive him right out of his mind wanting her. "Faster, please, dammit."
She picks up the pace, but there's a flash of pain in her expression that tells him it's not a pace she can set right now, not under her own power. "Amanda, stop. It's hurting you."
Disappointment flashes across her features, but she stills instantly. He levers himself up, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her slowly, willing his body under control just a while longer. She'd been okay for the most part last night, but the day after an injury is always worse. Guilt flickers in his mind, because they hadn't had to go this far to enjoy each other.
When she ducks her head against his shoulder, making a frustrated groan, he slips his hand between them. It doesn't take long for her to be panting, soft cries against his shoulder as she wraps her arms around his shoulders.
The kiss after is worth it, making him groan against her, but he doesn't expect the little push she gives him. There's a rush of cold that doesn't last long as she strips away the condom and begins a firm stroke that makes him wonder if she memorized him from doing that just once. She looks fierce and in control, and suddenly he doesn't care that it's ending differently than he craved at first when it rushes over him.
By the time he can open his eyes, she's wearing a sly grin, still sitting astride his thighs. He grins in return, catching her closest hand and kissing the palm. "Damned magic fingers," he growls softly. He can't wait for her to heal, because that creative determination is going to drive him insane in all the best ways.
"I think we need a shower."
Grinning, Rick agrees. Last night she'd lounged in the tub, but today, he wants to spend that time together. "And breakfast. How's an omelette sound?"
He's smart enough not to say it, but having Amanda with him in the oversized shower is a great way to start off a Saturday morning. They move easily in getting clean, and she accepts his affectionate kisses and returns a few of her own. He hasn't forgotten the sight of that extra toothbrush settled in the holder. It doesn't mean anything, not really, but dammit, he likes the sight of it next to his.
Loaning her one of his short sleeved button up shirts is a bit of a tease to him, but much easier for her to put on than the t-shirt would be. Paired with his boxers again, she glances at them once they're in the kitchen while he's getting everything out of the fridge for their breakfast after she tells him to surprise her on the filling. "I'm guessing these were some sort of gag gift?"
Rick laughs, separating the eggs and putting the yolks in a container to use for something he'll take to work for his detectives. He stuck to his regular boxer briefs when he got dressed, although he slipped on a plain blue t-shirt, because cooking shirtless is definitely not in the cards. "Carl gave them to me for Father's Day right after I got the car. He calls the color rubber duck yellow."
"I think these ducks are a few shades brighter than the Mustang." She winces as she slides onto a barstool, and he pauses to fetch an ice pack from the freezer. "I should have remembered this last night."
"Me, too. Not the first time I've dealt with busted ribs." Amanda holds the icepack in place, using the dish towel he passes her to keep her hand from getting chilled. When he darts a worried look at her, she just smiles. "Car accident when I was twenty in college and dumb enough not to have my seat belt."
Cooking the tomatoes and spinach takes just a few minutes, and he stirs while he speaks. "I've only ever broken a bone once. Fell out of a tree when I was nine. Shane was the one who collected a variety. Most from football, but once same as you. Another time…" It's been ten years, and he still feels that icy fear. "Got tagged in the leg."
She looks thoughtful as he eases the veggies into a bowl, covering it, and prepping the omelette pan for the egg whites, two whole eggs, and milk he beats together. "They saw him as the bigger threat, didn't they? Especially the ones willing to actually shoot." When he glances up from tending the first omelette, she's looking solemn as she continues. "Seen it before. They always aimed at Bob, when he and I were partnered, whether they shot or not."
Rick nods, glad she gets it. It's something he and Shane never openly acknowledged, and he's glad, because his brother never wanted to be a cop at all. Ironic that once he discovered he was good at it, Shane aimed for the top, where Rick would have been happy on patrol for his entire career.
"Yesterday, it surprised me." She sighs, the sound deep and heavy. "That he took the gun off Jeffries to aim for me. I think he was trying to provoke us, because he talked for a minute. Wasn't startled. Jesus." When he starts toward her, she waves him back to their breakfast. "Hug later. Feed me first, because that smells heavenly."
He can handle later, and hers is just about done. He spoons half the tomato and spinach mixture onto half the omelette, topping it with basil and feta. Folding it over, he slide it onto a plate and places it and a fork in front of her. "As requested."
It makes her smile, chasing away the shadowed, haunted look. It doesn't take long to finish his own food, and he isn't surprised to see hers is half gone before he's seated. Amanda definitely isn't shy about enjoying her food, and it's something he likes about her. She's considering their plates with more than just good appetite, though.
"Something wrong?" he asks, taking a bite. Everything tastes fine, as far as he can tell.
"I was just wondering about how you eat," she admits. "Someone like me or Shane, we eat a certain way because of our exercise regimens. I'm just curious, because you seem a little more laid back than either of us."
It's a reasonable curiosity, all things considered. "My father, both grandfathers, and multiple uncles all had heart attacks before they were fifty," he admits quietly. "None of the ones who had that happen lived past sixty. When my dad died six years ago, it scared the hell out of Lori. He was the fifth of his siblings to die of something heart related."
In the wake of the funeral, their house looked like an explosion of everything his ex-wife could lay hands on regarding heart health, and as much as he'd initially hated the changes she'd instituted, it was done out of love. He did cheat on the diet regularly enough before the divorce, but ironically, guilt about that lingered, too. Now it's just second nature that ninety percent of his meals look awfully similar to the meal plans his father's expensive nutritionist formulated, only for Joseph Grimes to ignore them.
Rick motions toward a rack of cookbooks on the counter. "Lori still buys me cookbooks every year for my birthday."
"Huh. Makes sense." She finishes her last bite and sighs happily. "If everything you cook is like what I've tried so far, you certainly figured out how to make it enjoyable."
"Ah. Keep you fed and happy, and you'll stick around."
It's meant as a joke, and she takes it that way, but it's too close to the truth of what he wants. She just smiles and slides off her stool, going to put her ice pack back in the freezer and hanging the towel up. "My phone's battery is dead. You got a charger I can borrow?"
"Of course. Probably got a half dozen hidden around. I'll go get it. You can take over the couch and claim the remote." He takes the last bite of his food and stands, heading for the study to get the spare he keeps in there.
Amanda is tidying up the kitchen when he returns, settling the dishes he used into the dishwasher alongside last nights. "Want me to start it?" she asks, glancing up and smiling.
He draws her in for a sweet, chaste kiss. "Nah. I'll do that. You rescue your phone. Need to touch base with anyone?" Rick asks, curious, because he's a little ashamed that he didn't verify with her that she'd talked to her brothers yesterday.
Amanda switches the phone on once she's got it plugged into one of the kitchen outlets, shaking her head. "I talked to Daryl and Merle before I left the hospital, and then I texted Daryl I was on the way over here when I was in the cab."
The pings of message alert her, but she only scrolls through. "Got a meeting with the department shrink at one on Monday, Carol had a false alarm with the baby changing it's mind about arriving, and Daryl apparently guessed I didn't go home." She's blushing, just a little, as she replies to the texts, and he decides he might not want to know.
After thunking the phone on the counter, she pulls him in for a kiss. "All done. I believe I was promised control of the remote."
Rick can't help grinning as they settle on the couch, especially when she leans up against him like they've been spending lazy Saturday mornings together forever. After how many times she's opened up briefly only to return to her uptight persona, he's reveling in being let inside her guard at last. Handing over the remote, he's curious as to what she likes to watch. She flicks idly through the onscreen guide before humming to herself.
"Anything good in your recordings?" she asks after ascertaining that they're definitely up too early for anything interesting on live TV this morning. "I took a peek when I first woke up."
"I won't suggest baseball," he teases, stealing the remote and activating an app on the TV. "And I do have Netflix."
"Movies. Yes." Although she quips a few times about his viewing history, it doesn't take her long to find something from the suggestions in the list.
Rick tugs the blanket off the back of the couch, draping the soft fabric over her bare legs. When she makes a contented sound and cuddles into him even further, he wouldn't be able to hide the besotted expression on his face if he tried. Luckily, she isn't looking, but a kiss pressed to her temple distracts her enough to smile up at him.
Last night, her willingness to snuggle close was something he had to attribute to the painkillers. Today? He knows she's avoided the prescription. This is all her, and despite all his cautions to himself, he allows himself to hope.
A/N: Edited chapter (E-rated chapter available on Ao3 under DarkTidings).