When Amanda wakes up on Tuesday morning, she regrets even knowing that alcohol exists. She manages to get through her shower and morning routine by dint of pure stubbornness and a healthy dose of ibuprofen followed by enough water that she ends up having to pee again before she can leave for work. She nearly forgets her phone, cursing when she discovers the battery is dead, and jams it onto the charger in the car.
For once, she indulges by running through the smoothie place's drive through for the biggest blueberry, strawberry, and banana smoothie they sell. She suspects she'll revisit the place during her shift rather than manage lunch, since the thought of actual food makes her regret being this far from her apartment. Calling in sick is not an option.
When she parks her car, she checks the phone for any notifications. There's a voicemail, but the only missed calls are from Rick, starting hours after she left him at the restaurant. For the text messages, she just thumbs the notification away to deal with later. She isn't in the mood to figure out anything about Rick right now, not with her first day back on duty.
That particular pissy feeling carries her past roll call and all the way out to her car to work backup for her officers. Her mood is a roiling morass of disappointment and loss; about not being pregnant, about Rick not being there when she needed him, about having to return to work after the bare minimum recovery time for broken bones, and about herself for being so damned silly on both the other issues.
Finally feeling childish, since most of those feelings don't make any real sense, she sighs and checks the messages. The first is fairly generic, sent near midnight, pondering that he hopes she's asleep and not working. She scoffs at that, thinking midnight was a long fucking time to wait to send that sentiment.
The second text regenerates the pissy feeling. "I am forgetting how to sleep without you beside me. I think it's something we should talk about tomorrow," she mutters. "I'm not your damn teddy bear, Rick Grimes, to summon when you have insomnia." Shoving the phone in its holder since it's still needing to charge, she puts the car in gear and gets on with her day, not bothering to reply.
The foul mood lasts about an hour into her shift, until she's taking a report for a business owner with a smashed plate glass window in the store front. She passes her contact card over to the woman, glad the owner isn't being antagonistic about response time like a lot of non-emergency calls. At least her own bad mood is something she can funnel into the blankly polite manners the elderly lady seems to expect.
"I bet you sure are glad you're city and not county after a day like yesterday," the woman remarks as she hefts a broom to begin sweeping up glass.
"Yesterday?" Amanda asks, as she finishes her check in with dispatch.
"That school bus accident." The woman goes on to detail the semi truck that collided with a county school bus. Amanda stiffens when out of all the counties in the Atlanta metro area, of course, it's Rick's that got the horrific incident. "Those poor children, to lose their bus driver that way…"
"Those types of accidents are always bad." Amanda is saved from admitting she hasn't a clue about the accident by the radio. It takes her another hour to be able to actually retrieve her phone and check one of the local news station's websites; an accident involving children on a school bus will always merit a major story. She streams the report from the station, wincing at the mangled bus.
"Jesus Christ," she breathes, and somehow, she's not surprised to see Rick in the background of one of the frames, assisting with the children, even though Shane's acting as spokesman with the reporter. The semi truck lost control, left the pavement, overcorrected, and hit the bus head on. Twenty-four kids on the bus, nine children injured and transported to the hospital, three by helicopter. The bus driver died at the scene. The semi's driver is in critical condition. "Jesus," she repeats, fumbling for her voicemail app.
Guilt creeps over her at Rick's first brief message, left at ten minutes til seven, by which time she'd finished her pizza and her vodka and sloshed off to sleep. The second? He sounds exactly like she expected him to sound.
Exhausted. Heartbroken. Lonely.
It explains the last text, she thinks. Her reaction is still that he's crazy to suggest what sounds like living together, but at the same time, hadn't she wanted him there with her yesterday and been too proud to ask? Rick's ahead of her in that realm, at least.
Knowing she doesn't have time for a lengthy reply, she opts for a text telling him she'll see him tonight and asking what he wants for supper.
The long delay in hearing anything back from Amanda leaves Rick unsettled, a state made easier by the previous day's accident and his doctor's appointment. As much as he assured Susan McGinley that he doesn't think it will matter to Amanda, that's an educated guess until they have a discussion. He's honestly worried at this point that the intensity of their weekend together at her place is making her have second thoughts.
What he texted last night is probably guaranteed to send her in that direction, if she's already teetering that way, and her terse and bland reply definitely makes him wary. Still, he can't quite bring himself to regret it, because her not understanding his level of commitment is part of what led to their initial fight. Deciding he isn't going to work himself up until he has reason to, he confirms her text for tonight and does his best to keep his mind on work.
That's only half successful, since Shane appropriates him for lunch to discuss his appointment, something they hadn't managed yesterday due to the accident. It feels like a relief, to talk things over with someone who has already gone down through the process.
When they've exhausted the medical issues, Shane leans back in his chair at the little diner they retreated to for lunch, studying Rick closely. "Want a bit of advice about telling Amanda all this?"
Rick appreciates that he asks, not just offers, so he nods.
Shane sighs. "You need to tell her everything, not just babble about sperm counts and IVF. It's clinical and weird enough when you're a long established couple going into this sort of thing. You're in love with her, and honestly, brother, that's what you need to lead with."
The calm statement makes Rick freeze. He knows he's committed to Amanda and certainly headed towards love, but Shane states it like it's done and accomplished. Mentally reviewing the things he's said about Amanda, he knows that Shane is right. He's in love with her, and so far past the point of return that he isn't sure how to handle it if she doesn't feel the same way. "And if she doesn't believe me?"
"If she's too messed up to believe you about your own feelings, Rick, then you need to rethink pursuing anything with her. I like Amanda, and I think you two could fit together well, but the last thing you need is another mess like you and Lori."
It's true enough, because there are some similarities in how he and Amanda have miscommunicated. The only good thing about that has been that at least Rick recognizes when they go sideways in talking to each other, something he didn't manage with Lori soon enough to save the marriage. "Or to go back to dating like I'm a college frat boy," he mutters.
Shane chuckles, stealing the check from the waitress before Rick can snag it and sliding his card to the young woman. "I just figured you were following my example. At least you figured out how boring it gets faster than I did. So long as you don't spend the next decade doing it, I figure you're good."
That makes Rick laugh, too, because Shane did have a rather extended enjoyment of bachelorhood, up until he met Michonne and Andre, and everything changed like he'd hit a brick wall. Thinking of Andre reminds him of Amanda's little snake, so he relays the encounter to Shane, knowing his nephew really would love to see Tanith. They wrap their lunch and head back to work, which is mercifully mundane compared to yesterday.
By the time he arrives home, he's feeling more optimistic than pessimistic.
Amanda's arrived before him, which is to be expected since her shift ends around three and his at five. The nice surprise is that he smells something delicious, and rounding the corner into the kitchen shows him Amanda is cooking, not just bringing takeout. He drops his suit jacket over the back of one of the bar stools and tosses his tie after it.
"That smells heavenly," he tells her honestly, stepping close to peek into the pot on the stove as he rolls his sleeves up to mid forearm. It's either a stew or a chili from the ingredients he can see. To his relief, she turns her head to offer a kiss. It's brief, but that's the appeal of it. It feels like any welcome home kiss ought to.
"It's white chili. Not completely from scratch, but good enough for a weeknight," she tells him. "Got a rotisserie chicken from the market downstairs, deboned it, and shredded it for the chili. Rest is broth, white beans, corn, lime juice, onion, garlic, green chilis, jalapenos, and a bit of cumin, salt, and pepper. It's just about done."
"This one of your specialties?" he teases, glad when she manages a slightly brighter smile that the distracted, wan one she had when he first came in.
"Yeah. I don't have your variety of recipes, but different chilis? Those I can do in my sleep."
"Anything I can do to help?"
"Slice some avocado and chop some of the pickled jalapeno, if you want. Or anything else you want to go with it as a topping. There's tortilla chips. I figured you'd like those versus something heavier like cornbread."
Rick sets out to prep the suggested items, eying Amanda. She's been here long enough to make the chili, which is typically a half hour at least, plus shower, because she's in a pair of figure hugging jeans and plain blue t-shirt. "How'd your first day back on full duty go?"
She accepts the conversational opening and tells him about a luckily mundane day before beginning to ladle chili into two bowls. "That accident yesterday… I'm sorry I missed your calls."
"I should have called earlier, like when I first changed plans, so I'm sorry, too." He details the misadventure with Carl and Sophia, and she shakes her head. At least she understands the significance better than anyone else would.
"Is there a reason Carl doesn't have a car?" Amanda asks as they take a seat to eat. "Most boys either have one as a gift or are working toward one at his age."
"He had the option to work for one. I told him I'd pay half if he earned the other half, just like I did at his age. He decided he preferred to concentrate on school, and to be honest, back in King County, it wasn't as big a deal. Plenty of his friends had cars, and I suspect keeping the option to borrow my car didn't hurt, either."
Amanda laughs, already halfway through her bowl of chili. "Better you than me paying an insurance premium for a teenager on a muscle car."
"Yeah, that is not a pretty bill at all."
"It's nice, though, that you didn't just buy him a car. The number of kids I have given tickets to over the years that had no business driving some thirty thousand dollar car their parents bought for their sixteenth birthday is way too high."
"Not to mention the accidents, right?" Rick adds. He figures she's worked the excessive speed and distracted driving teenage accidents the same way he has. The year before Carl got his instructional permit, two sixteen year olds wrapped a too expensive pickup truck around a telephone pole, killing both of them.
"There are those. Merle had me ride along with Sophia all over the place when she was learning as part of her hours on top of her driver's education course."
Rick nods. It doesn't surprise him, because he and Daryl took turns with Carl's required supervised driving. Unlike Carl, Sophia does have a car of her own, having inherited Carol's old 2010 Hyundai Tucson when her mother finally conceded she had to upgrade to something even bigger as the kids got older. It's also why the girl has a part-time job, to pay for insurance and gas for the little SUV.
When supper is done and the dishes washed in quiet companionship, Rick thinks about the pamphlet he tucked into a drawer earlier, but going that far seems presumptuous. "I never got to tell you why I wasn't at work yesterday," he begins. "Before you had to go to the doctor."
She turns intent green eyes on him, and for a brief moment, he detects a flash of guilt. It confuses him a little, but he continues. "I had to go in for some test results."
"Medical?" There's a hint of alarm in her voice now, and after him telling her about Lori's panic about his family medical history, he reaches out to soothe her, taking her hand and squeezing.
"Not that kind of medical, but yes." Taking a deep breath, he tries to find the right words. "At the end of things with Lori, she was convinced we needed to see a fertility specialist. She went and got the all clear. Me? I was a stubborn asshole and figured if anything was wrong, we never would have had Carl."
"I was wrong, but going after Lori filed for divorce was too little, too late." Tugging his shirt and undershirt out of his waistband, he drops her hand to tug his waistband down and shows her the scars on his lower abdomen. "I had the surgery, but then I got frustrated and never went back for the follow up testing."
Amanda eyes his stomach warily, staring at the two small incision scars right at his until he drops his shirt. "Yesterday was that kind of visit? Why?"
"Because it was time to stop avoiding it. Not knowing something like that was fine, as long as I was single and not intending anything else." He takes her hand again and runs his thumb across her skin, because she looks unsettled in a way that makes him uneasy. "It wasn't good news, though. Surgery I had? It didn't help."
"So, you can't have kids?" she mumbles, and he's wondering if he misjudged how important this would be to her. "At all?"
"Without IVF, the doctor told me he would say only a one percent chance, but only because nothing is impossible in that field. I've got to do another test in a month." When she stays silent and her expression goes blank, worry takes root. "Amanda? I know it's presumptuous to tell you this in regard to us at this point, but it's like being a single father. I figured if we were headed somewhere serious, I needed to know, so you would know."
Amanda tugs her hand back and paces away from him into the living room. "You're already thinking about kids, between us?"
Rick can't see her face, so he can't judge how she feels about that. She'd told him during the weekend that they didn't have to worry about using condoms, so he assumed birth control. Maybe it's something more serious? Or maybe she doesn't want kids at all, but if that's it, her mother certainly didn't seem to be on the same page.
"I told you I am not fooling around with you, and that wasn't something I decided on Saturday because you needed me to decide. It's been there a while, and it made me realize I couldn't keep avoiding finding out, if I wanted to be fair to you. I didn't want to bring it up until I knew what to actually tell you."
When she turns, he's stunned to realize she's crying, and it baffles him. He crosses the room and reaches for her, but she backs away. Dropping his hands, he shoves them in his pockets, not knowing what's going on. Granted, she might be offended that he didn't tell her beforehand, but it seems an odd thing when they hadn't even confirmed they were exclusive to each other until Saturday. His heart sinks a little, because maybe it's not so odd. After Saturday, telling her on the weekend would have been appropriate, even if he didn't have an answer yet.
"Amanda?" His chest aches, not allowed to touch her when tears trickle silently down her face.
Rick's news, combined with yesterday's unexpected grief over the non-pregnancy, after two weeks of worry slowly turning to hope, is more than Amanda feels able to cope with. It's a conflict of emotions, because she hadn't truly known how much she wanted a baby until it was snatched away from her, and now Rick is telling her he can't have children without medical intervention. The fact that being tested implies he does want more children, contrary to what she thought, doesn't impact her as much as understanding that the stress of the last few weeks suddenly seems so pointless, because if she'd known what those scars meant, her mind wouldn't have gone straight to pregnancy when she was late. Just a few extra days before she tested would have given her a negative test result, once the dental medication was out of her system.
As much as she hates crying in front of anyone, she can't seem to stop despite the fact that her tears seem to be causing Rick physical pain to watch. Swallowing hard, she scrubs at her face and shakes her head.
"I needed a pregnancy test," she blurts out, any plans to keep it to herself now that the gynecologist proved to her that she'd never been pregnant. Once she knew it was a false positive, she'd figured there wasn't a real reason she had to tell Rick, not really. "That's what the doctor's visit yesterday was about." Isn't it fucking ironic that they'd been dealing with such oddly similiar types of visits, and neither of them got the news they wanted in the end.
The statement makes Rick pale, and she can see him working the puzzle in his mind. "Are you?" he asks softly.
"No."
He looks relieved, and it contrasts against her own echoing sense of loss and his own willingness to do fertility testing that she has to wonder what the hell that's about. But before she can question him, he frowns. "You said we were okay for not using condoms over the weekend. Is that why?"
Before she thinks through the answer, she responds, "I've been waiting on the appointment for almost two weeks."
Rick goes still in a way she doesn't expect, and this time it's him that turns away. He walks to the balcony doors, shoulders hunched. There's not enough reflection in the glass to make out his expression with it not being dark outside yet. "Why didn't you tell me?"
His voice has this carefully even tone, as if he's deliberately keeping all emotion out of it. She hates it, because it's so close to the icy tone he used before when they fought after the first time she stayed the night. The ice is intended to hurt. This robotic tone seems more like he's fighting not to say something more, something potentially hurtful.
"I didn't know if you would want another child."
"You thought I would abandon my own child?" He turns, his expression incredulous and hurt. "You think that little of me? Jesus. Now it all makes sense."
"What makes sense?" Amanda asks, puzzled.
"That your mother asked me to come have lunch with her Saturday. She knew, and she was seeing if I was going to be some crass asshole who ran out on you."
The identity of his lunch date being revealed at last doesn't reassure her the way she thought it would. Why he wouldn't tell her he had lunch with her own mother doesn't make sense at all. She frowns. "Why didn't you just tell me it was her?"
"She seemed pretty set on it being private, and since she wanted to see me without you, I figured she had a reason. I just didn't know it was because she thought you were pregnant." He yanks his hands out of his pockets, running one of them through his hair in a frustrated gesture.
Amanda can't understand why her mother would go behind her back. She obviously didn't tell Rick about the pregnancy, and if she just wanted to meet him and get a feel for his personality, she could have done that with Amanda there, too. It makes no sense. "Just like your test, there was no sense worrying you until it was confirmed."
"Worry?" Rick's voice actually cracks on that one. "No, what I'm worried about is that you didn't bother to tell me ahead of time, and you possibly being pregnant affects both of us a hell of a lot more right now than my test results. Hell, I could have told you the odds were against it, even without yesterday's visit."
"We weren't a couple until Saturday," she grinds out, feeling both lost and offended. How is her secret worse than his? Even if she had been pregnant, him knowing two weeks earlier didn't change a damn thing. "Why complicate things if it wasn't even true, if we were just fuck buddies?"
"Are we really a couple, Mandy?" It's stated with so much ache in his voice that she shivers. "Because I don't know how long I can keep waiting for you to fucking trust me. I love you, but you make it damned hard to remember that."
They both freeze as his words register, and she shakes her head. "You can't know that you love me. We still barely know each other!"
"It doesn't take months or years to figure out that you care for someone. It's not like taking a dislike to someone, where you can know within seconds of meeting them."
Him hinting about her moving in makes sense now. He'd been lonely and upset over the bus accident, but if he's fooled himself into believing he can fall in love with as few interactions as they've had? She understands it better, and remembering his track record of the past few years, she frowns. "How many women have you said that to since your divorce?"
"One." Rick comes toward her, and she backs away when he is obviously going for an embrace. She doesn't need the distraction of physical contact while they sort this out. He looks offended and disappointed, before sitting down on the couch. "Just you."
"You're just saying that because of the pregnancy thing," she insists. What she feels for Rick, she knows it's beyond casual, but she can't call it love, not yet. It feels nothing like how she felt with Luke.
He scoffs and shakes his head. "No, I'm saying it in spite of the fact that you didn't trust me enough to tell me you thought you were pregnant with my child."
Amanda starts to tell him she trusts him, but snaps her mouth shut when she realizes it wouldn't be entirely true. If she had trusted him completely, she would have called him the second that pregnancy test turned positive, right? "Maybe I should just go." She doesn't know how else to solve this, because she doesn't believe he can be in love with her. The idea of contributing to the idea rankles, especially when she can't return it.
"Maybe you should," he replies, and her heart sinks as she realizes some part of her was hoping he would argue. His next words make it drop through the floor. "Maybe you're right that this is all too much, too fast."
"What do you mean?" she asks, feeling ice trickle down her spine when he looks up from where he's been staring at his feet. His expression is haggard, nothing like the happy expression he'd worn when he saw her in his kitchen cooking supper.
"For someone who says she can't do casual, you sure as hell seem to want to have it that way with me, Amanda." The return to her full name, when he's only used Mandy that argument in her living room, makes her stomach lurch. There's a finality in his tone that scares her a little. "I'm done with fucking around. I want something real, something permanent, and if you're so determined that can't be you, then there's no point in making things worse between us when we have to work together."
"Are you ending things between us?" Pain throbs in her chest, a sense of loss almost as bad as the pregnancy news had been.
Blue eyes lock on hers, and the pain in them makes her want to squirm. "Yes, that's what I'm doing. I can't be part of this if you can't even trust me to know my own feelings about you."
Hurt and anger war for dominance, and as always when cornered, anger wins out for Amanda. She yanks the keycard to his apartment out and tosses it on the couch beside him. "Consider us done."
Before she can cry in front of him, she flees the apartment, slamming the door behind her.
How the hell did they go from Rick hinting at her moving in to no relationship at all? It's got to be a record for her, to make it only three days in a relationship before the breakup. She wonders spitefully if it is for him, but that way lies driving herself crazy, and no man is worth that.
Amanda was just fine before she met Rick Grimes, before she knew how his skin felt beneath her fingers and what it felt like to kiss him while he coaxed them both into more and better pleasure. She'll be just fine without him, just like she was after Luke. Next time, she's listening to her own instincts.
Being alone is always preferable to feeling like this.
A/N: So close, and then, kerthump, they implode.
Need a theme song for this chapter? Reba McEntire's 'Consider Me Gone'.