Roses are Red

A/N: Thanks so much for reviewing! It does wonders for one's self esteem, and it's cheaper than therapy. Lol :) anyway, I think this will be around a 3 to 4 chapter fic. I don't wanna drag it out *too* much but I don't wanna rush either.

Sorry so long between updates, school is really busy these days and my AP History teacher especially has been dishing out the busy work.

A couple things here: I've never written from Rick's POV before, so cut me a little slack as some of this words may sound OOC. Also, I'm aware that Rick probably handles his alcohol pretty well, but I needed a little extra plot twist to my story, so bare with me.

Enjoy! :)

Chapter Two

I really need to learn to keep my mouth shut. You'd think after all the times I've been punched for saying stuff when I should know better I might be a believer in the whole "silent and deadly" persona.

But no, I'm me. The loud, brash, "violence isn't an answer it's a quicker way to get one" American. And yet, I fell for her.

She's not exactly quiet either. Her parents must not have believed in the whole "children should be seen and not heard" philosophy. Hell, she even talks in her sleep. But her talk is different. It's not about drinking or swearing in six different languages. It's about philosophers with names I can't pronounce, ancient places no human eye will ever see again. She's smart. Smarter than I'll ever be. Not to mention beautiful, and stubborn, and a disaster on two legs-with attitude. But somehow, along the way, quite against my will, I fell in love. And strangely, when I'm with her...it's just right.

"And?" Jonathan's persistent voice is bringing me back to reality, and the bar, and the fact that I'm making the biggest dumbass out of myself. Ever. Not even that whole "just looking for a good time" incident made me look this pathetic.

"That's all I...have?" I respond dumbly. God, I'm such an idiot. What kind of guy goes to his girl's degenerate brother for help writing a love poem?

He takes another gulp of his drink. From the look on his face, it appears he's going to need it.

He clunks the glass on the dirty countertop and signals the bartender for another, "So let me get this straight. You want me to help you write a love poem to my lovely sister, expressing all of her charms and sweet demeanor?"

Note to self: Kill Jonathan when this is all over.

"Well, when you put it like that..." I said slowly.

"Yes or no?" He whines.

The man is like a little knat, buzzing incessantly. Did I just use a four syllable word? Evie must be rubbing off on me.

"Fine, dammit!" I slam my fists down on the table, to no avail. He just looks at me with that knowing smile. The "I know you're a complete idiot and I'm going to take full advantage of it" look. I know, because I've done it.

"Well, then." He says, clearly pleased. "You could start maybe with...um...describe a feature of her that you, um...like."

I take a gulp of the drink sitting in front of me. Sure, I like-love, a lot of things about Evie. Her courage, her stubborness, the way she smiles, that crooked little smile...but when it comes to putting stuff into words, I trip over my own feet.

I position the pen over the paper. This could take awhile.

**************

Someone was knocking.

How the-?

My head hurt like hell, and I'm not really sure why. Could've been the rough wood panel my forehead was crushed against, but in the back of my mind, I knew there was something important I was forgetting. I grimaced horribly and reached for the dirty glass on the bar, but a hand assailed me from the sky and smacked mine with a stinging blow.

I sat up immediately. The world swayed a little as I steadied myself on the tippy barstool.

"Hello, Sunshine."

It was Jonathan. Even though my vision was blurry and not a little double, I'd recognize that whiny British twang anywhere. He hit the table again with a force I didn't know he had.

Now I know what that knocking sound was.

"Why are you hitting the table?" I asked thickly.

"Trying to wake up my hand, dear boy." He said, in a particularly chipper tone. "Fell asleep a long time ago and it won't wake back up." He gave me one of his famous grins. "Kind of like you just now."

"Um...." I stalled. I'll kill him later. When my stomach stops heaving. "Hope you don't take this the wrong way, but where the hell was I last night?"

His face visibly twitched, but he kept a straight-on glance just the same. "You were chugging down repeated doses of Glenlivet with a rather surly, overweight fellow by the name of Karim."

Oh. That Karim.

Little snippets were returning to my memory. Something about a bet and a contest, and a little fat man who looked a hell of a lot like the warden who'd held me imprisoned for "just having a good time." And Jonathan, cheering me on with the aid of half a dozen disreputable women at his side. And something about a poem...

"Oh, shit."

"What?" He asked me, startled.

I got up suddenly. Way too suddenly. I got my bearings in time, but the sun seemed unusually bright.

"What time is it?" I asked, gathering up my coat from the floor.

Jonathan glanced at his watch, "Six fifty-three AM."

"Oh, shit."

"What? What? What'd I do?" He stammered, trying to catch up with me as I headed, only somewhat intact, towards the door.

I stopped in mid-track and turned to face him.

"Evie. I forgot her. I was gonna pick her up from the Museum last night and take her dancing."

His eyes widened, I could tell he was remembering too.

"Oh...that."

"Yeah, that." I started towards my car, parked...somewhere.

He continued to follow me. "Well, look on the bright side, old man. You didn't have to take her dancing."

"That's not the point!" I yelled back. "I came to you to write her a poem, telling her I LOVE HER! And what did I do? I got DRUNK OFF MY ASS. And left her there."

"Well...that is something of a pickle."