A/N Thank you so much to my wonderful reviewers! Please keep it coming. Getting down to the wire here so I really want to know what you think. I'm so happy (and humbled) that you all have stuck with me for so long. Enjoy...
Chapter Fifty-one
The morning had broken hot and muggy, the oppressive humidity slickening Rick's skin beneath the belt cinched at the waist of his faded blue jeans, and darkening his light gray tee shirt where it sticks to the center of his back. At only eight-fifteen and already broiling with sultry temps, he knows the afternoon will be unbearable, which does nothing to lighten his turbulent mood. The only saving grace will be the prospect of the late day thunderstorm that usually follows this kind of heat. With his current state of mind, he feels like a good cleansing rain is just what he himself needs to wash away the miasma that is shrouding his soul.
Standing at the fence that separates the front yard from the small pasture that surrounds the windmill, he rests his forearms on the railing that he and Daryl had just fortified. He watches the horses eating their breakfast, their heads bent to the ground as their long tails work hard to keep the flies from feasting on their hindquarters. A few days ago he would have thoroughly enjoyed the peaceful scene before him, but now it only makes him sad for all the things he will miss when they are forced to move on. Even Daryl's bad joke about the four horses of the apocalypse hadn't helped lighten his mood when they'd arrived to see the three mares with their stallion grazing in the thick morning haze. The cloying moisture that thickens the air is filling his lungs as heavily as the fate of his family is weighing on his heart, nearly suffocating him. No matter how much air he inhales, he feels like he can't get a good, deep breath.
Wiping an arm across the dampness on his forehead, he watches the stallion lift his dark head and walk toward the fence, a purpose in his gait. Rick stretches a hand out to greet the steed and then turns at the sound of footsteps behind him. He watches Hershel approach the fence about ten feet down, where the horse is now bobbing his head vigorously above the railing. The farmer extends a hand and the horse takes an apple from his flattened palm.
"Good morning, Hershel," Rick greets the man as the man greets the horse with a soothing hand on his fetlock.
"Mornin'."
The reply is friendly enough, but lacks the warmth of a truly sincere greeting. Rick can't help but think that they both woke up on the same grumpy side of the proverbial bed. "Daryl and I just replaced some of the wood that was rotting out over here," he says, watching the horse turn his nose back to the ground. "It'll do a better job of keeping the walkers out now."
"Throw some spikes on it and it'll be even better," Daryl mutters as he crouches at the pile of old weathered wood that lies in a heap at the foot of the new fencing.
"Yeah, Daryl had a great idea of adding some kind of spikes to the fences, like spears that would be aimed outward so that any walker that reaches the fence line would be skewered."
"We would need an awful lot of spears to cover them all," Hershel replies, gazing out at the mares.
"Yes, but there are plenty of trees that we cou-"
"Listen, Rick," Hershel cuts him off with a hand held out to his chest as he finally meets his eyes. "I appreciate what you're doing, but it's time for you and your people to be moving on."
Oh God. "Well, Duane is getting better but he's not ready to travel yet," Rick says quickly. "I think another-"
"I need you off my property, Rick. I'll give you today, but I want you gone in the morning."
"Wait. Hershel, you said we cou-"
"That was before my daughters were getting mixed up with your… people."
"Hey," Daryl says defensively as he rises to his full height next to Rick. "Glenn is a good guy, better than most. Way better than me."
"That's why you'll understand if I don't want you around my Beth."
"What? I never touched that kid!"
"I know," Hershel replies. "But just the same, I don't want you near her."
"Listen," Rick implores, feeling as if his feet have been kicked out from beneath him. "You don't know what it's like out there. Please, Hershel."
"I'm sorry, but you can't stay here. You guys are a strong group, you'll be okay."
"Not if Savannah isn't an option anymore!" Rick argues as his heart begins to race.
"Maybe it is," Hershel says, sounding as if he were trying to appease his own conscience as much as he is trying to mollify Rick. "Maybe those people Otis saw had it all wrong."
"I can't take my son there if it isn't safe. Please, Hershel," he begs, his heart on his sleeve and pure desperation in his eyes.
"You're a good leader, Rick. You'll be fine," Hershel says to the ground, unable to meet his eyes now.
"I'm just a man trying to protect his family."
"So am I, Rick. That's why you cannot stay here. I'm sorry," Hershel adds with tremendous sincerity before turning to walk away.
Fuck! "Okay. But can you give us two more days at least? Just so I can go and check out Savannah for myself before I bring the others along. Please. And then in two days, no matter what, we'll be gone."
"Fine." The old farmer nods his head. "Forty-eight hours."
Opening the door to the guest bedroom, Erin finds her husband lying crossways on the bed, his bare back a bronze glow in the light of a single candle. Wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs, his bare feet hang over the edge of the mattress. His muscled arms lie flat on either side of his head as his fingers curl over the mattress's other edge. His face is turned toward the pillows, giving her a view of the dark waves at his nape.
Stepping softly, she walks around the bed and sees that his eyes are closed. That's good. So terribly worried about leaving the farm, he hasn't slept well the last few nights. And after hearing about the discussion he'd had today with Hershel, she doesn't expect him to get much sleep tonight either. Which means that she is in for another restless night herself; because while he worries about everyone else, she focuses her worry on him. She watches him sleep now, finally, and fights the urge to reach out and stroke his hair; a soothing touch that says, You are not alone, I am here for you. Lay your head upon my chest and find refuge in my arms.
Clad in black capris and her blue Emory tee, she silently reaches out to grab her red shirt, along with the pillow that it rests upon, with the intention of taking them downstairs to sleep. She chokes down a gasp when a strong hand suddenly clamps onto her wrist.
"Where you goin'?" he says softly, not in the mumbly way of someone half asleep, but in the tone of a man who is just bone-tired from the weight of the world that he sets upon his shoulders.
"Oh sorry, baby," she replies softly. "I thought you were asleep and I didn't want to wake you."
He moves slightly, sliding his jaw along the sheet to adjust the position of his neck. "I'm up." He releases her hand and she moves it to the back of his skull, caressing the tension buried just beneath his scalp.
"You want a massage, honey? Help you relax?"
"Massage won't help," he grumbles sourly but drops his chin, instinctively giving her access to the back of his neck.
"It couldn't hurt, Rick." She rubs her fingers along his nape. "You're so tense and you really need to get some rest."
"What I need is to figure out what the hell we are gonna do in two days," he snaps, sounding much more alert now.
"What you need is a healthy dose of endorphins," she counters as she climbs over him to straddle the backs of his thighs. "You're not going to figure anything out unless you can get some sleep, but I can feel the tension coming off of you in waves." He mumbles something as she presses her fists into his lower back and moves them up along his spine. His attitude is so disheartening that she can feel herself being pulled into the vortex of his misery. With a deeply frustrated sigh, she shakes off the despair that is trying to pierce her heart, and makes a conscious decision to do whatever it takes to pull Rick up with her.
Ready to fight dirty if it would assure him a few hours of solid sleep, she digs her knuckles into the tender spot between his shoulder blades. "Did you know," she says softly, speaking in a peaceful soothing tone, "that during sex, that big noggin of yours releases something called oxytocin, which floods your brain along with a surge of endorphins called serotonin." She works her fingers up and out toward his shoulders. "The oxytocin is a natural tranquilizer that numbs your body to pain and stress, and serotonin is nature's morphine; it gives you that nice peaceful feeling of bliss when you are falling asleep on top of me."
"I don't need a feeling of bliss right now, Red. What I need is to know how to keep you safe."
His words come out a bit brusque still, but there is a definite softening to his tone. She goes in for the kill while his underbelly is exposed. "What you need right now is a good lay."
"And that's going to solve all our problems, is it?" he retorts, a strong degree of scorn sharpening his tongue.
Okay, so maybe his vulnerable belly wasn't completely exposed yet. But she doesn't let up. "No it won't. But it'll ease your mind and relax your body so you can sleep, and then with a clear head you'll figure something out tomorrow. You're so tense, Rick, and I know you haven't been sleeping well the last few nights. You really need to sleep." She presses her fingertips into his lower back. "You're so tight, honey, you need a blow job at the very least," she mutters under her breath as she skims her fingers just inside the waistband of his underwear.
He mumbles something that may be 'Jesus' or 'please us'. She couldn't quite hear it but from the dark tone he was probably referring to the Lord and not his lust.
"What do you say, sheriff?" She leans over his back as she slides a hand around his hip, boldly going with the fiery flow that she had started. She swallows hard and digs in. "My tongue licking the vein that runs along your shaft?" she whispers provocatively behind his ear. "Kissing the tip before I swallow you up to your balls?" Slipping her hand beneath him, she wraps her fingers around his quickly growing arousal.
"Fucking hell, Red, why do you do this to me," he groans, lifting his hips from the mattress. "It kills me that you have more control over my body than I do."
"Mmhmm," she purrs against his nape as she strokes his length through his boxer briefs. "I'm your wife now and my body is your therapy. Use it however you see fit," she murmurs in a tantalizingly soft tone. "So… will it be a quick blow or do you want to take out your frustrations between my legs?"
He chuckles with a groan as he rolls over onto his back. "God, you're twisted."
"Yup, that's me. Mrs. Twisted," she replies with a beaming smile, holding up her left hand to proudly display her wedding ring as she resituates herself on his lap after giving him room to roll. "Blow job it is then."
He laughs full on this time and Erin feels his body begin to relax beneath her. "Come here you." He pulls her down against his chest and wraps his arms securely around her back, squeezing her against him with a hearty hug. "This is all I need. Right here."
"Maybe. But we don't have to waste this," she says, gyrating against his erection.
"Mmm, do what you want with it, sweetheart."
"Ooh, don't mind if I do." She glides the tip of her tongue along the seam of his slightly parted lips as she presses her center against his thickness. He opens his mouth to deepen the kiss and she angles her head to find the best fit. Lips locked, she gets a brief taste of his tongue before a knock on the door interrupts their little rendezvous.
"Rick? It's Kelly," his sister's voice calls softly through the thin crack of the doorframe.
Erin drops her face to his neck as his chest dispels a heavy breath beneath her.
"Yeah?" he replies, lifting his chin as Erin nips at the base of his throat.
"Carl is asking for you."
Erin lifts her head to meet his eyes with a concern that is mirrored in the blue depths of his.
"Is he okay?" Rick asks, his voice loud in the quiet room.
"Yeah, just a belly ache. Last night's marshmallows are probably catching up to him."
"Okay, Kel. Tell him I'll be right there."
"Will do."
Rick gives Erin a soft grimace of apology. "I'm sorry, sweetheart."
"Go honey," she replies with a quick kiss that is filled with compassionate pity. "We can finish this later." She begins to roll off of him but his strong arms pull her back down to his chest, holding her tightly against him.
"I love you, Red."
"Love you back." She returns his hug and then slips down his body when his arms loosen their hold. "Always," she breathes with a final kiss against his belly before slipping from the bed to help him find his clothes in the dark.