Detective Grimes IV
"all i wanna know
is a goddamned thing
not what's in the medicine"
Rick awoke on Sunday morning confused and disoriented. It was, however, the most peaceful awakening he'd had since falling into a coma. This time, there were no nurses crowded around him and yelling, and there was no Dr. Edwards or Lori or Carl waiting at his bedside to lecture him on healing. There was just the sterile white room, the tacky Halloween decorations, and the chorus of beeping monitors and machines. Still no damn clock in sight. And of course, Vegetable Jim on the other side of the navy blue curtain, his presence made known by the rhythmic sounds of his breathing machine inhaling… exhaling… inhaling…
At first, Rick looked around almost frantically. His eyes searched every corner and shadow of the room, looking for any sign that Shane had been there. It had felt so real, and it had been so vivid. He'd been standing right behind Dr. Edwards. Rick stared at the wall, part of him trying to will Shane to appear again. It was one thing to have seen him, but he'd spoken. He'd said something aloud – sounded healthy, alive, real.
Fuck, Rick thought. Maybe I am losing my fuckin' mind. Shane's dead. I know that… It musta just been whatever Edwards stuck into my IV. That fucker.
He couldn't be too angry, though, because he had slept really well. Dreamlessly, which was ideal – made it easier to decipher from the nightmares and the actual memories. And as much as he hated to admit it, he felt considerably better than the day before. His head still throbbed, but his muscles didn't feel quite as weak. He managed to stand up and walk to the bathroom at his quickest pace yet. Although his head was throbbing painfully by the time he crawled back into bed. Once he got situated, he pressed the Call button and waited for a nurse.
When the door opened, he expected to see Nurse Phyllis walk through. But as soon as a male nurse that Rick didn't recognize entered the room, he remembered that she'd said she was off on Sundays. He wondered if she was in church right now. This new nurse was a little shorter than Phyllis, and he had pale skin, curly blond hair, and a short beard of the same color. He looked like he was young enough to be her son, too, probably Rick's age or younger. He approached the bedside and Rick spotted a name badge that read: Alden – RN.
"Well, good mornin', Mr. Grimes. How ya doin' today?" He asked in a fake cheery tone, leaning down and checking all of the monitors, then reaching out to gingerly check the tubes and wires still connected to Rick's arm and head.
"Better," Rick replied, voice raspy as he watched this new nurse's every movement. He licked his lips and continued, "What time is it? An' what'd Edwards give me last night? I told 'im I didn't wanna go back ta sleep so soon, but he – "
"It was probably just a sedative," Alden interjected. "Relax – it's only nine-thirty. You must've needed the good night's sleep or else he wouldn't've given you something. He knows what he's doing – he's a neurosurgeon. You know how much schooling that specialty takes?"
Rick pressed lips tightly together and decided that this kid was no better than that shithead of a doctor. He watched the nurse move around his bedside, jotting down notes on a clipboard and double-checking the wires. Rick thought about Lori and Carl, and how he wished they were here. But he knew they were in church. Their church, where everyone had probably been praying for him every Sunday for the last month. He couldn't wait to get out of this damned hospital and back to his usual routine, including church on Sunday mornings.
"How's your head feel?" Alden asked, tucking the clipboard away into a slip that hung from the end of Rick's bed.
Rick grimaced and replied dryly, "Like it's in a goddamn vice."
Alden pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows, as if he hadn't expected any answer other than "better." He glanced at the monitors again and shoved his hands into the front pockets of his scrubs. "Alright. I'll let Edwards know. He's in surgery right now, but he should be out in the next hour or two."
"Hour or two?" Rick looked at the nurse quizzically. "Why can't you give me somethin' for the pain? Phyllis was givin' me somethin' that – "
But Alden quickly shook his head and put his hands up defensively, cutting Rick off, "Oh, no no – I don't have the kinda clearance Phyllis has. Edwards specifically told me not to administer anything t'you without his direct permission. I can uh, get you some breakfast? You want some biscuits an' gravy or somethin'?"
Rick sighed and rolled his eyes in exasperation. Dr. Edwards really was a control freak – probably one of those paranoid doctors who thought every patient was going to get addicted to the pain meds. Or maybe he just wanted to make Rick suffer a little. Either way, what a prick.
But he wasn't going to turn down an offer of food. His appetite was returning to normal, and at the mention of biscuits and gravy, his mouth watered a little. He shrugged, still frowning.
"Sure. Whatever," he muttered, looking around for the remote to the TV and ignoring Alden.
"Um – okay. I'll get that in here for ya," the nurse agreed, quickly turning and leaving the room.
Rick was glad to see him gone. He found the remote and managed to turn the TV on. He thought he might've been hearing things, but it sounded like Vegetable Jim's heart monitor sped up very briefly when the sound of the TV began to fill the room. Rick shook his head and turned the volume up.
Fuck. How many more days in here? If I ain't there already, this place is gonna drive me insane, he thought, flipping through Sunday morning football, Oprah reruns, kids' morning cartoons, and televised evangelicals.
"Hope ya got some sleep, Jim," Rick called across the room, relaxing back into his pillows. "I gotta keep some kinda sounds in here – I'm gonna go stir crazy. Family's s'posed ta visit later. But who knows how long for this time…"
But Vegetable Jim didn't give a shit about Rick's mental state. Nor did he care that Rick's wife had better things to do than sit by her husband's side in the hospital…. And so did his son, for that matter.
She was right – can't keep Carl from being a normal kid because of my job, Rick lamented silently, staring blankly at the screen of the TV as it played a car commercial. He doesn't need to be sittin' in a hospital, around all this shit, listenin' to assholes like Edwards. He needs ta go be a kid. Then we can really spend time together once I get outta here.
He admitted to himself that he'd been kind of a dick to Lori the day before. He felt bad. She was only doing what she thought was best. She was working so hard to take care of Carl and keep their household running while he was laid up in the hospital, and he felt like a real asshole for letting himself forget it so quickly. He silently vowed to apologize to her as soon as she arrived with Carl. She deserved that much. Hell, she deserved more than that for being willing to drive all the way to Slabtown just to visit Rick's sorry ass. And from the way Carl talked, she hadn't been handling the grief well. Rick felt guilty for worrying her so badly. She'd probably been close to writing him off as dead, and he couldn't blame her for that. His chest ached at the thought of how much she had to deal with on her own – Carl, their family, the media, Shane's death. It was no wonder she'd been doing nothing but crying and vomiting.
Alden sent another nurse to deliver Rick's breakfast – a skinny black girl with puffy hair and big, russet-colored eyes. She didn't utter a word as she placed the tray down and spun the swivel table around so it was sitting above Rick's lap. He thanked her, but she merely nodded and rushed back out the door. The biscuits from the hospital cafeteria were soggy and dry at the same time, and there was way too much salt and not enough pepper in the gravy. Rick scarfed it down regardless, swigging down his small cup of orange juice between bites. There wasn't a single part of him that was thinking about Edwards' warning to "take it easy."
When Edwards entered the room about an hour later, Rick was watching a rerun of The Office, chuckling quietly to himself as Ed Helms talked into a camera with a comically upset expression on his face: "…for those of you unfamiliar with William Shakespeare, a cuckold is a man whose woman is cheating on him. I've lived the part!" Rick's light laughter faded away and his smile immediately disappeared when he saw the door opening from the corner of his eye and Edwards briskly crossing the room. He turned his attention back to the TV screen, but then the doctor was approaching the end of his bed and talking over Steve Carrell's hilariously awkward monologue.
"Good morning, Mr. Grimes. I see you had breakfast – and you're feeling better?" Dr. Edwards proclaimed, a smug smile on his face as he pulled the clipboard from the slip at the end of Rick's bed and began looking over the pages. "You think a healthy night of sleep might've contributed to that, or…?" His tone came off slightly smug, too, but Rick was trying to ignore it, eyes still trained on the TV.
"I dunno. Prob'ly," Rick muttered, staring blankly as commercials began to play. He made a point of keeping the remote in his hand without turning the volume down. "You gonna gimme somethin' fer this headache or what?"
Edwards sighed and Rick finally flitted his gaze over to settle on the doctor as he scribbled notes onto the clipboard, glancing at the monitors while he wrote. "Sure, if that's what you want. But you know too many pain meds cause constipation – "
"I ain't askin' you ta pump me full a morphine. Shit, I'd settle fer a damn Aspirin at this point," Rick said, agitation growing in his voice. "'Sides, what d'you care how my shits come out? Yer a head doctor – worry about my head."
Edwards arched an eyebrow, unfazed. Then he finished his notes and shrugged, tucking the clipboard back into its slip before stepping around to the side of the bed. He reached into the pocket of his white lab coat – a different lab coat today, free of food stains – and Rick expected him to pull out a syringe, but it was a penlight. Edwards leaned in and shined the light into Rick's open eyes without warning, leaning in to study the pupils closely.
Rick blinked and tried to look away, but the doctor cleared his throat loudly and said, "Follow the light, please."
Begrudgingly, Rick looked into the bright penlight and followed it with his gaze as Edwards moved it from side to side. His head throbbed from the shock of the light, and as soon as the penlight clicked off, he shut his eyes tightly and turned his head away for a moment, face set in a hard scowl.
Edwards stepped back and glanced at the monitors again, then reached out and fiddled with the IV in Rick's arm, inspecting it. Without another word, or even a sigh of contempt, he pulled a syringe from his pocket and uncapped it, then injected it into Rick's IV. He disposed of the needle in the plastic red bin on the wall and stepped away, grabbing the clipboard again and jotting something down.
The scowl faded from Rick's face as the medicine coursed through his veins and he felt immediate relief. The throbbing in his head didn't disappear by any means, but it was slowly ebbing away, becoming more manageable. His muscles relaxed and he watched Edwards slip the clipboard back into its slip before stepping away, moving toward the door.
"That it?" Rick asked.
The doctor stopped just short of the hanging curtain that kept Vegetable Jim out of sight and turned back. "Something else you wanted?"
Rick shrugged, hesitating momentarily. Then he asked, "My wife an' kid are comin' by soon – anybody else call about me?"
Edwards paused, visibly restraining himself from rolling his eyes in annoyance. He replied stiffly, "I – don't know. I'm not a receptionist, so…"
The muscles in Rick's arms tensed and flexed, and he wanted nothing more than to punch that smug look off the doctor's face. Why did he always have to be such a dickhead? But he bit back his agitation for now. If he lashed out, he was less likely to get what he wanted.
Grabbing at his chance, Rick asked, "So – can I get my phone now?"
Edwards waved his hand dismissively and quickly turned toward the door, answering as he walked away, "I don't care, whatever. You woke up like, three times now, so whatever happens after this is yer own doing."
Rick furrowed his brow, watching as the doctor pulled the door open. He called out after him, "Is that a yes?!"
He couldn't hear Edwards' answer clearly because the door fell shut, but the muffled bit he'd caught had sounded something like, "Sure! Yes, okay – !"
Rick let out a sigh of relief and relaxed back into his bed as the room returned to a comfortable lull of monitor beeps and TV noises. He decided that he would wait fifteen minutes, and if a nurse didn't bring his phone in, then he'd start pressing the Call button and bugging them. Edwards had agreed, after all. He wasn't the most optimistic doctor, but from the way he said "woke up three times now," Rick felt he could safely deduce that he was making a miraculous recovery through and through. And a little screen time wasn't going to be the thing to kill him – at least not today.
He tried to distract himself by watching TV, but he was only thinking of getting his phone and seeing Lori and Carl again. He wondered if they would head over right after church or if they'd stop and have lunch first. He hoped they'd wait and have lunch with him, but he couldn't blame them if they wanted to eat something besides hospital cafeteria food. Then he started thinking about all the stories Carl would have to tell him from church, and a smile ghosted across his mouth.
Rick found a clock on The Weather Channel and when he saw that twenty minutes had passed since Edwards visited, he pressed the Call button for a nurse. Within thirty seconds, the door was opening and Alden was entering the room. He walked briskly, passing Vegetable Jim without so much as a glance before reaching Rick's bedside.
"You rang?" Alden asked, a hint of irritation in his voice.
"My phone? Edwards said I could have it," Rick said.
"Oh – right," Alden said, like it was something that had slipped his mind. And apparently, it was, because he reached into the front pocket of his celadon scrubs and pulled out a large Ziploc bag.
As soon as the nurse held it out, Rick recognized his phone and wallet inside the plastic. They looked exactly the same as the last day he'd been holding them in his pockets. He reached out and quickly took the bag, opening it and reaching inside to fish his things out.
"Charger?" He asked, giving Alden an expectant look.
Alden frowned and shrugged. "That's all they gave me."
Rick sighed, pressing all the buttons on his phone and getting nothing more than a black screen with a red, empty battery sign flashing in the middle. He looked at Alden again, who was picking up Rick's breakfast tray and turning to leave. "You tellin' me you ain't got a charger? Bet there's twenty different kinds behind the desk a that nurses' station."
Alden paused and glanced back, and Rick could see his jaw briefly clenching. "Fine – iPhone or Android?"
Thirty minutes later, Rick was leaning back against his bed, the top half raised so he was close to a sitting position, with his phone in his hands. It had taken a while to charge before it would power up, and while he waited, he sorted through his wallet and accounted for everything that was supposed to be there. All his cards were present, his driver's license, the twenty-seven dollars in cash that was left over from a breakfast or a transaction or something he couldn't remember. And the family photo of him and Lori and Carl. It used to sit in the visor of his sheriff's department car, but after his promotion, he felt better having them with him at all times. Now he was grateful for it.
He stuck the photo into a small crevice in the side rails of the bed, so he could see it from where he sat by glancing down toward his knees. His phone finally came to life – the bright, white light of the screen caught his attention, and then he was staring at a picture of Carl on the diving board at the public pool, overlaid with the current time and date displayed in white, block letters: 11:13 Sunday, October 1.
Shit, that picture's from June – he's definitely grown since then, Rick thought, smiling faintly to himself as he picked up the phone in his hands and unlocked it for the first time in over a month.
As expected, there were tons of notifications waiting for him. Hundreds of missed calls and texts, dozens of voicemails. Scrolling through, he found that the majority were from the night of August 26th, or the day after. His chest ached when he saw how many times Lori had tried to call him, just minutes after he lost consciousness, and tears pooled in his eyes as he read through her increasingly frantic text messages. It was like a terrifying chronicle of all the panic and chaos he'd caused after being bashed over the head.
His heart felt like it was dropping down to his stomach when he eventually scrolled far enough down to find the last calls ingoing and outgoing on August 26th – two from Shane and two to Shane. Rick could still remember the quick phone conversations like they were yesterday. How was it that he could remember every detail of that normal Saturday, before the bust, but he couldn't remember seeing a weapon during those last moments of consciousness? How was it possible for someone to have pulled a gun out and fired it like that? Surely, he would've heard the hammer cocking back, would've heard the faint sounds of heavy steel clicking and shaking in the small, trembling hands of a teenager.
But her hands couldn't have been trembling, because she got her shot. Dead-on. She ended Shane's life with one, perfectly-aimed bullet. That didn't happen by luck. Most people didn't even know how to hit someone's heart through the back like that. Was she signaled by Hershel? Had Rick missed that, too? What if he'd trained his daughters for that very moment, waiting for some hapless officers to step across enemy lines?
Rick began racking his brain, trying to think back and scrutinize every single tiny movement or facial expression that the old man Greene had made. But nothing had been out of the ordinary. If anything, the old farmer had seemed… scared. Like maybe he hadn't expected these two men to show up on his door. Like maybe he knew the jig was finally up, and there was no hiding anymore.
Or did he plan the entire thing? Had Rick been meant to die right alongside Shane?
His head was starting to throb again and he scolded himself, setting the phone down in his lap and closing his eyes for a long moment. He focused on breathing in through his nose, out through his mouth. Slowly. Steadily. He pictured Carl and Lori, thought about how they'd be arriving any minute now. The throbbing lessened, but only barely. Was the medicine wearing off already? Fuck, he really didn't wanna have to ask any of these assholes for more relief. Why couldn't Phyllis just be back already? So far, she seemed to be the only staff member in the entire ICU who actually gave a shit about Rick.
When he opened his eyes again, he grabbed the remote and changed the channel on the TV. Some awful sitcom had come on and the incessant laugh track was making his head hurt worse. He flipped through the channels, pausing on a local Atlanta station. He'd just happened to be flipping through while a commercial for the five o'clock news was on, and of course, his name was one of the headlines.
"…and also tonight at five, Detective Rick Grimes has reportedly woken up from a thirty-four day coma. As court proceedings continue moving behind the doors of confidentiality, will this miraculous recovery have an effect on the charges being pressed against the Greene Family? Tune in tonight and find out, five o'clock right here on WAGA."
His heart did a little leap and he quickly changed the channel again. But even as he flicked through football and cartoons and commercials, he wasn't thinking about anything else except the news reports. What had they been saying about him and Shane while he was asleep? Were they treading dangerously close to the line of what was safe to report about the case? Anger bubbled up inside him at the mere thought of the media overstepping their boundaries and tarnishing the D.A.'s case against the Greene's. He'd seen it happen before, he was fully aware of the very real possibility of seeing it happen again.
Yet another reason he needed to get out and do everything in his power to make sure that family paid for what they did.
After another ten or fifteen minutes of trying to ignore his headache, as well as the urge to look up exactly what the media had been saying about the case, Rick finally set the remote aside with a sigh, turning the volume down and leaving it on a rerun of That 70s Show. He checked the time, wondering when Carl and Lori would be showing up and if he should try giving them a call. He decided he should probably call the rest of his family, too – since, obviously, the staff at Grady had no intention of passing messages or letting him know if people were inquiring about him. Then again, if the reporters were really getting as bad as Lori, Phyllis, and Edwards had said, then maybe there was good reason for that.
His finger hovered over the phone screen, debating on tapping down and calling his brother, Jeff. He'd probably already heard that Rick had woken up. Lori probably went home and called the whole family the night before. But he was a busy guy with an important job, so Rick thought maybe he should wait until later. He couldn't think clearly enough to remember what time zone Jeff was in, or if he might still be in church at this moment, or in bed. Rick decided to wait until later.
Part of him wanted to call the home where his mother lived, but the dementia had hit early and devastatingly hard, and the last time he'd gone to visit her – a week before the bust – she hadn't recognized him at all. Not even for a brief moment. She kept asking for Rick and Jeff's father. But Donald Grimes had died of an aneurysm in his sleep nine years ago. A small, ashamed part of Rick was grateful that she couldn't remember. At least then, he knew she didn't remember the pain. And he knew she hadn't been worrying herself sick for the last month, or waiting on the edge of her seat for a phone call. He told himself that he would make a visit to her once he was out of the hospital and back to his normal routine.
And that was everyone he could think of that would give a damn about receiving a call or text message from him. Besides Lerner, of course. But Rick was planning on giving her a call after Lori and Carl left. Honestly, he was expecting her to show up randomly. From what Phyllis had said, Dawn had been calling the hospital and checking on his status regularly. Which could mean she had something to important to tell him. But then again, maybe she had no intentions of coming to see him. Maybe she just wanted to make sure he survived. Either way, he figured it wouldn't hurt to reach out. He needed to speak with her anyway. He needed clarification on so many details.
With a thoughtful glance at the photo beside his knees, Rick gave up on the entire idea of calling or texting anyone. First things first: he had a lot of catching up to do on the Greene case. And if Lori didn't want to give him answers, then he'd find them on his own. He opened up the web browser on his phone and focused in on the small screen in front of him, ignoring the gradually intensifying ache in the right side of his head as he typed in a search and scrolled through Google search results.
It seemed that most of the news stations in Georgia had reported on the case, even a few in other states. The majority of the articles were about searching for Beth Greene or asking the public for help in locating her, though he only found two news stations that had been reporting on the case somewhat regularly. His eyes skimmed through multiple articles, his finger tapping and scrolling on the touchscreen as he sorted through website after website, following headlines and links and recommended articles. He didn't see anyone like CNN or Fox reporting on the case, though he hadn't really expected to. It was big news in a small town like Senoia, and even in Atlanta. But in general, why would the rest of the nation give a damn about some southern farm family that got busted for making meth? Cops died every day and no one made a big fuss about it. Most had no idea. Rick expected nothing different for his and Shane's story. Especially when there were so many other things to report on – like the goofball president in office and all the atrocities multiplying on the streets every week, or the rising fear of North Korea and nuclear missiles. And if there wasn't one national tragedy happening, it was another. He figured that the Greene case was just another tragedy. Not quite tragic enough to make a good story, though. It wouldn't sell books or anything like that, so why would the sensationalists bother with it?
He scrolled through and found an older article reporting on something related to the Greene case. He tapped the link and skimmed through the words, taking in the gist of the paragraphs. His stomach quickly knotted up as he read:
…James "Jimmy" Cline of Senoia, 19… passed away while being held for recent charges… apparently self-inflicted… former boyfriend of Beth Greene… arrested on the night of August 25th… $200,000 bail set, no bond placed… refused the deal being offered by police… took his own life on the night of the 30th… it was Cline's information that ultimately led to Detective Shane Walsh and Detective Rick Grimes being sent inside the Greene Family home on the evening of August 26th, armed with a judge-granted warrant…
Fuck, Rick thought, his heart picking up speed as he quickly exited the article and searched for any others similar to it. No shit his information took us to the Greene's house - me an' Shane put him in that fuckin' interrogation room. We questioned him. What the hell happened? He wanted to take a deal. When did he change his mind? When his little girlfriend shot a cop and went on the run? Was he supposed to have gone with her?
His head was starting to throb again. He squeezed his eyes shut and lowered the phone in his hands for a minute, willing the pain to go away. He was really hoping for a nurse to walk in and offer him some more pain meds, though. The sounds of his beeping monitors, Vegetable Jim's respirator, and the quiet TV bounced around in his head, making it harder to get rid of the aching. He fought back the bile that was threatening to rise in his throat.
He took a break from the phone and went to the bathroom, wobbling on weak legs as he leaned against the metal pole holding his IV bags for support. Once he'd relieved himself and washed his hands, he splashed some cold water on his face, stared at his reflection in the mirror. Despite the month's worth of beauty rest, he looked shittier than ever. Greasy, messy hair, unshaven face, sallow cheeks, heavy bags under his eyes. He grimaced and looked away from the mirror to splash more water on his face. The throbbing was gradually receding. For now.
Rick returned to his bed and got comfortable again, picking his phone back up and returning to the page of search results he'd been scrolling through. He clicked an article that appeared to have nothing to do with Jimmy's death – because he didn't seem capable of thinking about that mess at the moment – and read another description of the events that took place on the Greene Farm. When he found nothing that he didn't already know, he went back to the results and looked for any updates on the court proceedings. He found headlines about them being in custody, about searching for Beth Greene. He didn't click any of the links until he found, what appeared to be, the most recent update on the actual court proceedings of the Greene case. He knew there wouldn't be much to tell this early on, but he had to at least know that someone was being charged for Shane's death.
The article was about two-and-a-half weeks old, and it wasn't very long or detailed. At first, Rick's eyes skimmed through the paragraphs, taking in the important bits. Hershel and his evil kin had already had their first appearances, and they were all facing a hailstorm of felony charges. Of course, they had an attorney. But that didn't really mean much when it was the D.A. prosecuting you, and the entire state of Georgia. He let out a small breath of relief when he saw that Hershel Greene would be facing multiple life sentences.
Good, he thought. Rot in prison, fucker. If ya even last that long.
Rick scrolled back up and moved his finger to click the Back button, but he stopped. A word in the article caught his eye – one that he'd missed the first time skimming through. He read the sentence to see why that word was even present in an article about a meth family's legal case:
…Det. Grimes was recently moved from Harrison Memorial Hospital to Grady Memorial Hospital in Atlanta for more intensive care, where his pregnant wife remains by his side almost daily…
He blinked. Rubbed his eyes. Pulled the screen in a little closer and squinted down at it. Reread the sentence ten times over. Was it a misprint?
His heart skipped. His stomach was tangling into knots again, but for much different reasons than before.
Pregnant? He thought, closing his eyes and visualizing what Lori had looked like the day before. What she'd felt like in his arms. Was it possible…? When was the last time they'd had sex? He was trying to remember, but for reasons he couldn't explain, that only made his head start throbbing again.
All he could picture was Shane sitting in the passenger seat that Saturday morning.
Lerner's stoic expression as she stood in her dimly lit office and explained the plan to them.
Carl's tight hug right before Rick headed off to work.
The poison-drenched words that had expelled from Lori's mouth on his way out of the house.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. C'mon, Rick, get it together, he told himself, eyes squeezed shut, phone laying neglected in his lap, hands pressed to his forehead.
A small commotion at the door caught his attention, and he quickly opened his eyes and looked over to see what was happening. The door had opened, but only enough for him to see Edwards' arm sticking through. Rick caught a flash of someone with dark skin and bright yellow clothing, but that was all he could see before Edwards used his body as a physical shield to force the person farther away from the door, out of eyesight.
His voice was raised, agitated, and being directed at this mysterious person. But Rick could only hear Edwards' side of the heated argument. The other person's voice was no more than a feminine sound barely drifting in through the door, indiscernible over the doctor's rising tone. Rick could tell it was a woman, and she was angry. He guessed it must've been a reporter.
" – and how many times do I have t'tell you that I make the rules here?!" Edwards argued. "Just because Phyllis isn't here does not mean you get to walk around this fucking floor, sticking your nose in – hey hey, no, why don't you listen?! His wife will be here any minute, you really wanna deal with her wrath again? Oh – okay, uh-huh – YEAH! That's right, walk away!"
Rick stared quizzically, watching Edwards make a motion with his arm behind the door that vaguely looked like he was flipping someone the bird. Then he slipped inside the room and shut the door tightly behind him, peering out through the rectangular window for nearly a full minute before he turned around. Rick's head was still pounding, but he was more concerned with what the hell had just been going on outside his hospital room.
Dr. Edwards heaved an exasperated sigh and crossed the room with long, brisk strides. He approached Rick's bedside and gave the monitors a brief glance before pulling a syringe from the pocket of his lab coat and uncapping it, grabbing Rick's IV with the other hand.
Rick was still staring at him with confusion, and he finally asked, "Who – what the hell was – "
Edwards stopped him, quickly injecting the syringe into Rick's IV and disposing of the needle. "Don't worry about it. I've got it under control. Your wife wanted me t'let you know she's on her way, and I guess your boss is gonna stop by later."
Rick furrowed his brow, watching the doctor step around and pull the clipboard from its slip at the end of the bed to jot down a quick note. "Thought you wasn't a receptionist?"
Edwards rolled his eyes and met Rick's scrutinizing gaze. "I'm taking a little pity on you, Mr. Grimes. You'll be glad I did. There's a reason I'm married to surgery, and women like those two are part of that reason."
Rick bit back a retort, resisting the urge to tell Edwards not to ever talk about Lori like that. But shit… if he didn't make a hell of a good point…
Rick could only guess that Edwards had already had the misfortune of meeting Dawn Lerner. From the way the doctor talked, it seemed like the most probable explanation.
A light scowl playing on his lips, Rick watched Edwards leave again without so much as a "goodbye" or "need anything else?". He made a point not to thank the doctor. And as much as he hated being called Mr. Grimes, he wasn't going to correct that either. It was the only ounce of respect Edwards had shown thus far.
A few minutes of silence with his eyes closed and head resting back against the pillows helped to ease the pain in Rick's head. Or it could've been the meds he'd just been given. He half-listened to the low sounds of the TV against the methodic breathing of Vegetable Jim's respirator and all of their various monitors. Was this what being lucky felt like? When was the good part going to show up? When would Rick feel the triumph or the justice or the closure?
And when the fuck would his wife and kid be here? He was already starting to lose his sanity from the lack of decent social interaction.
The room became too quiet. Rick spoke aloud, turning his head toward the navy blue curtain. "Guess I'll be havin' more visitors than I thought today, Jim. Hope ya don't mind. Lerner might get loud – she ain't quite figured out how ta utilize her indoor voice when she gets emotional. An' I got a feelin' she's gonna get emotional."
He was partially dreading Lerner's visit. He had high hopes for more conclusive answers than he could get from Lori or the internet, but other than that, he knew it would be a tense conversation full of teary eyes and choked-up statements. Lerner didn't take loss well – she never had. He'd seen how she dealt with losing officers before. Detectives. Colleagues. Particularly her mentor, who'd been killed in the line of duty three years ago. She stopped crying about it, but he still saw how it affected her. Still saw how the "grief counseling" hadn't done her a damn bit of good. And how her usually stoic persona was permanently faltered. She wasn't nearly as tough as she pretended to be.
Rick wasn't sure if Edwards had given him a little more than usual or if it was just severely needed relief, but the meds were really starting to kick in. His head felt numb if he kept it completely still, which he did, and he lay motionless in the bed, not even daring to open his eyes and look at the TV screen for fear of losing this brief pain-free moment. He could hear a rerun of Scrubs playing, Zach Braff's voice drifting in and settling over his hazy brain.
When he found himself on the brink of drifting to sleep, he finally opened his eyes and pushed back against it. He glanced down at the picture beside his knees, remembering that Lori and Carl were on their way. They'd be here any time now. And there was another thought drifting around, foggy and unclear, but very real in its sudden urge. Rick reached out and picked up his phone, unlocking the screen and tapping one of the colorful icons. It opened on his list of favorite contacts, and he tapped the second number on the list: Shane.
He put the phone to his ear and listened. There was no ringing, only silence. But after a few long seconds, a voice was filling Rick's ear. A familiar voice, one he'd heard over the phone thousands of times.
"This is Shane. Leave yer message an' if I think it's worth my time, I might call ya back. If I don't answer yer texts – take the fuckin' hint."
A smirk tugged at the corner of Rick's mouth, but it quickly faded when the recording ended and an automated voice announced, "Voice mailbox is full. Please try again later."
He quickly pulled the phone away from his ear and pressed the End Call button. His stomach might've knotted up, but he was too numb from the meds to notice. All he could think about was how odd it was; that the way he'd heard Shane's voice last night had sounded even more real than an actual recording of his voice. Was Rick's mind playing tricks on him? Accessing all his memories and replicating his best friend's voice just to taunt him? Was this a symptom of PTSD? Or something more? Maybe it was just a one-off thing.
He couldn't let it get to him. If he did, it wouldn't go away. Even if he did have PTSD or whatever the hell else, he couldn't let it bother him, or even acknowledge its presence, because then it would slow him down. It would cause more worry and stress for his family. Most importantly, it would bring more medical treatments, which meant medical bills and time wasted inside sterile rooms. He needed to focus on getting better and getting out of Grady. Just like Lori had said.
Lori. Pregnant? Fuck – he needed to deal with that, too. Once again, his stomach wasn't responding in the usual painful way. He could only hope that these pain meds didn't wear completely off by the time Lori and Carl arrived. He wanted to enjoy the brief visits with his family. Not argue with his wife. There was more than enough time for that after he was home. Besides, his memory was shit. His brain was damaged, no matter what he tried to tell himself or what Dr. Edwards said. He had to be misremembering things. Lori being pregnant was good news. If it was actually true, if the reporters got that part right, then Rick should be ecstatic. Instead, he was just numb.
But when there wasn't pain, there also wasn't happiness. He didn't feel much at all right now. So he closed his eyes and decided to think about all the things he wanted to do with Carl once the hospital released him. It kept him from falling asleep, and it also kept him from thinking about Shane, or the news, or Lerner, or the Greene case in general. Or Lori and the state of their marriage.
When the numbness began to wear off, Rick opened his eyes and half-heartedly watched TV. He switched the channel over to watch the Atlanta Falcons play against the Buffalo Bills, but three quarters in, it was looking like the Falcons would be taking another L. Not that he'd had high hopes for them anyway. He'd be surprised if they made it to the playoffs this season. But the familiar sounds of a huge crowd cheering, the referees' whistles, the angry yells of men in padded uniforms… it reminded Rick of watching Sunday night football at Shane's house. Watching Shane jump up out of his seat whenever the Falcons got the ball. Seeing Lori rolling her eyes whenever the Falcons got a touchdown and Rick would celebrate by doing a goofy chest bump with his best friend, sloshing a little beer out of the cans in their hands.
All those memories felt like a lifetime ago.
It was nearly three in the afternoon when Lori and Carl finally arrived. They arrived with warm "good morning"s and "Dad, we're back"s, still wearing their church clothes, Lori's long, dark hair flowing down her shoulders and back, dressed in another loose-fitting, flowy dress and flats. Carl's short brown hair looked like it had been combed nicely when the morning began, but that wasn't the case anymore, and there was an orange stain that looked like thousand island dressing on the collar of his white button-up, but Lori had dressed him in new jeans and his shiny, black dress shoes. His eyes lit up all over again when he entered the room and spotted Rick, and he rushed over to his dad's bedside to wrap him in a tight hug.
Lori was carrying two Starbucks cups in her hands, her purse slung over her shoulder, and she approached Rick's bedside with a smile on her face, holding one of the cups out for him to take. As soon as he finished hugging Carl, he reached out and took the warm cup carefully, returning her smile. His chest suddenly felt lighter at the sight of his wife and son, and Carl was quickly climbing up to join Rick on the bed. Rick scooted over, grunting and focusing on not spilling his hot drink.
"One good thing about wakin' up when you did – your favorite Starbucks drink is back," Lori joked, pulling a chair over and taking a seat beside Rick's bed.
Rick turned the cup in his hands and checked the Sharpie scribbles to find that it was, in fact, his favorite drink: the Peppermint Mocha. He would be happier, but momentarily, it had felt like a harsh reminder of how much time he'd missed out on.
"Oh, nice," he commented, putting on a smile and looking over at Lori. "So you got yer Pumpkin Spice, right?"
Lori chuckled and nodded, raising her cup briefly and answering, "You already know it, baby."
He glanced at the Sharpie scribbles on her Starbucks cup and saw the familiar "PSL" written there, partially covered by her fingers. But there was another box checked beneath it – the Decaf box. He furrowed his brow but didn't say anything as he watched her take a long drink.
He raised his own cup to his lips and carefully sipped. It was his first taste of caffeine in over a month and he could definitely tell. The warmth slid easily down his throat and spread all throughout his body. There were so many things he loved about life that he didn't appreciate nearly enough, and this sensation was certainly one of them.
Lori pulled her purse off her shoulder and reached inside to pull out a smaller black bag. She set it on the small table beside Rick's bed and explained, "Brought yer shower an' shaving stuff."
He glanced at the bag and gave her a grateful smile. "Thanks, babe."
"Dad, I um, I went an' slept over at Cody's house last night! And then today, church was awesome! The whole church talked about you," Carl said excitedly, grinning as he got comfortable beside Rick on the bed.
"Oh yeah? Tell me everything," Rick urged him, leaning back and exchanging a look with Lori as his son went on to tell him all about their Saturday night and Sunday morning.
Carl talked all about his sleepover with his friend for several minutes. And then he talked about what he'd learned in Sunday School and some of the things Pastor Craig had said during the last half of services, including how the pastor had been very happy to hear about Rick's recovery and had announced it to the whole congregation so they could all pray to have him back in church soon. Hearing this made Rick's heart soar, and he smiled and asked for more details about Carl's day. Carl went on to tell him about talking to Craig after services, and how almost everyone in the church had come over to give Carl a hug and tell him how good of a boy he was, how strong and "like his father" he was growing up to be. Rick beamed proudly when he heard this, and glanced over to share a smile with Lori.
Carl finally ended his story with telling about how he and Lori had gone to lunch at Waffle House with their neighbors, Fred and Cindy, before coming to the hospital. Rick raised his eyebrows and turned to ask Lori how the Drake's were doing, since the last time he'd seen them had been nearly two months ago. She told him a few small stories about what was new with them, and Rick nodded, eyes drifting down to gaze at her belly curiously before quickly flitting back to Carl, who had turned to pay his attention to the muted football game on TV. But she didn't seem to notice as she went on about more neighborhood gossip and Rick listened, sipping his mocha thoughtfully.
Once he was caught up on all the latest gossip and news about their friends and neighbors, Rick glanced over to make sure that Carl was still watching the game on TV. He was, his small head tilted back as he stared at the screen silently, watching the players trying to run the ball and getting tackled. Rick sat up a little straighter in bed, clutching his warm cup between both hands and leaning in slightly closer to Lori.
"Saw Edwards gettin' into it with somebody earlier – think it mighta been a reporter," he explained, giving her a slightly confused look.
Lori's face fell and she rolled her eyes in exasperation, taking a long swig of her latte before responding. "Great. Sounds like I'll have ta have another talk with him – "
"No," Rick stopped her. "He said he's got it under control. 'S just – I didn't think it was that bad. With the media. I didn't find a whole lotta articles about what happened, but it don't seem like they've got journalists waitin' outside for me or nothin'. Is it one in particular? Is somebody harassing you an' Carl? I keep hearin' people mention some reporter lady, but I dunno if it's the same one or…"
Lori's face had become concerned as he spoke, and slightly angry, and by the time his voice had trailed off, she was leaning forward in her chair and chewing on her lower lip. Then she said, "You were lookin' up news articles? What for?"
He paused, narrowing his eyes as he studied her expression and replied, "Why wouldn't I? The last thing I remember is seein' Shane laying on the ground next to me – I didn't even know I'd been hit over the head. I wanna find out as much as I can about what happened, I gotta make sense of this thing."
"The media doesn't report the facts, they just publish the shit they think will draw people in," she said bitterly. "I already told you what happened, what d'you think yer gonna find out from a third party that you couldn't find out from me? Or Lerner? Haven't you talked to her yet?"
He shook his head. "No – they said she called every day when I was asleep, but she ain't been by yet. An' I keep hearin' that she ain't even my boss anymore. What's all that about?"
Lori sighed and sipped her latte before replying, "I don't know, Rick. I mean, we both know how she handles high-stress situations. But she should've already come by t'talk to you. I'm sure she'll visit soon – and she wasn't the only one worrying about you every day. Just so you know." There was an edge of resentment in her tone that made Rick's stomach clench.
"Right," he muttered, hand tightening around his soft Starbucks cup. "But you weren't callin' every day ta check up on me, or stoppin' by…"
Lori scowled and said, "You don't know that. I was worried sick – we both were," she gestured to Carl, who was still zoned in on the TV. She lowered her voice to add, "How many times do I have to apologize for not being here when you woke up? Is this gonna be your new reason not to trust me?"
Rick furrowed his brow and hesitated. Then he said quietly, "It's not about that, Lori – you realize what I read in one a those articles?"
She paused, lips parted like she had a retaliation prepared but had been caught off-guard. She raised her eyebrows expectantly, mouth forming a thin line.
"That kid we interrogated – the one that dated the Beth girl – he died in jail a few nights after the bust," Rick said. "How come you didn't tell me? You knew me an' Shane questioned that kid."
Something that resembled relief crossed Lori's face, but Rick was almost sure that he was misinterpreting the expression. She looked down at her feet, clutching her drink between her hands, and shook her head. "I – didn't wanna worry you, baby. All that stuff, everything about the bust and the Greene case, it's all work related. It's just more stress for you… It wasn't on my list of priorities when you woke up." She raised her head and met his eyes again with an apologetic expression. "I thought it'd be better if you heard it from Lerner. It's not like you can do anything about it right now, anyway."
He let his defenses lower, silently scolding himself for jumping at the chance to get defensive. He knew she was right. It made him wonder if he was half the reason for most of their arguments – maybe he'd picked up Shane's bad habit of growing aggressive and defensive at the slightest hint of conflict. He made a mental note to work on that, reminding himself that Lori deserved the benefit of the doubt. She was his wife, after all, and the mother of his child… Children. Or could that possibly be a lie from the media? One of these exaggerations she'd mentioned? Maybe he was assuming the worst without probable cause.
He licked his lips and looked away from her for a moment, a pang of guilt ringing through his bones. He took another sip of mocha, letting the mint spark to life on his tongue and tingle all the way down his throat. Like a long forgotten sensation. Waking from a coma was one hell of an experience.
"I – I'm sorry. I understand that," he said softly, still not meeting her eyes. "But I found out somethin' else, too – and I understand why you wouldn't wanna tell me right away. Jus' know that I ain't – upset. I get it. But – "
Lori interjected before he could finish, her voice still hushed as if Carl were across the room and not sitting feet away, "You found out about the pregnancy."
So it was true. And she hadn't been trying to hide it. In a way, that relieved him. Well, she'd been hiding it – but he could actually see and understand the reasons right in front of him. The day after waking from a coma was definitely up there with the top ten worst times to tell a man that he had another child on the way.
Rick nodded weakly, locking eyes with her and gauging her reaction. He muttered quietly, "A baby? Lori, I don't…" He couldn't suppress the smile that was tugging at the corners of his mouth, tears pushing up to pool in his eyes. "That's fantastic – it's the best news I coulda gotten, sweetheart. How – how far along are you…?"
He was waiting for the smile to appear on her face, anxiously anticipating it. But her eyes dulled and her gaze drifted away from his, down to the cup grasped between her hands. He saw her chewing on her bottom lip. He kept waiting for her to speak, to sit up straight and look him in the eye.
And then he saw it: the dread perched on her shoulders, hunching her over with uncertainty and fear. The familiar expression that creased her forehead and set her mouth in a hard, thin line. That look that suddenly clicked in his head.
And his stomach felt like it was dropping down to his feet. A knot was forming in his throat and the tears that had pooled in his eyes were quickly drying.
Shit, he thought. Goddammit. No. She's barely showing. Had morning sickness for the last month. She can't be more than four months along, five at the most. When was the last time we had sex? I don't… Well, when was the last time we so much as cuddled, or kissed more than a quick peck? Maybe… April… early April. It was spring time, we had a good Easter together… But we didn't make love. The last time we did that was…
"Carl, I think we uh – well, c'mere, honey," Lori's voice interrupted Rick's train of thought and he watched her quickly stand up, stepping over and reaching out to grab Carl's arm.
"Mom, what – we're not leaving, are we?" Carl asked quizzically, glancing back at his dad as he allowed his mom to help him climb down off the bed.
"No, I just – me an' yer dad need ta have a grown-up conversation," she explained, turning away from Rick so he couldn't see the expression on her face, though he heard the tense clip to her voice. "C'mon, I brought your Nintendo DS, you can sit in the waiting room an' play for a little bit."
Rick could hear Carl faintly arguing as he held Lori's hand and crossed the hospital room, slipping out into the hallway and disappearing from sight together. The door fell shut and Rick closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath and trying to steady his pounding heart. The only thing he had to be grateful for at the moment was the lack of pain in his head. It seemed Dr. Edwards' timing had been impeccable.
But his mind was still racing. He didn't want to think about this right now. He didn't want to have to face it or deal with it. This is why he'd felt that dread, why he'd found himself numb rather than ecstatic. Because deep down, he knew. Even if he didn't specifically remember at first, it was hitting him like a ton of bricks now. The look on Lori's face had told him everything he needed to know. The way she'd nervously worried her lip had been the signal that snapped him into realization. Something clicked between his head and his memory, and the final remnants of his foggy coma brain were fading away.
He remembered. How could he not? His brain wasn't that fucked up.
The last time we had sex was Valentine's Day… seven months ago, Rick thought, his stomach twisting and clenching painfully. He stared down blankly at the Starbucks cup still clutched in his hand, lukewarm and half-empty. That baby isn't mine.
Lori returned and as soon as she stepped into the room, Rick's entire body tensed. He reflexively clenched his jaw and locked his eyes on her face, though she was staring down at her feet as she crossed the room and took her seat again. He inhaled deeply through his nose and willed himself to relax, to contain his emotions and bite back the first twenty things he wanted to say.
Maybe there was an explanation. Maybe… there was something. Could they fix this? Or was this it? Was their marriage ending in a hospital room?
She shifted in her seat and wrung her hands together in her lap. He could see her bottom lip tremble for a brief second, but then she was forcing her face into a stern and stoic expression and lifting her head to meet his gaze. He stared back expectantly, watching the tears brimming in her brown eyes, glistening and watery. Her nostrils flared and then she was leaning back and placing a hand over her stomach.
Her fingers pulled the fabric of her dress taut over the visible bump. It was like a flashback from eleven years ago for Rick, seeing the familiar roundness on his wife. His heart leapt and his stomach twisted harder as he glanced at her belly, suddenly noticing all the changes in her body at once. The wider waistline, the swollen breasts, the fuller cheeks and slight glow to her porcelain skin. Even her hair seemed to be shinier and thicker. The right side of his head throbbed lightly. How had he missed it? He'd been so utterly oblivious all those weeks before the bust.
"It's… Rick, I love you, and this isn't how I wanted to tell you," Lori's voice came out shaky and hesitant. Her hand slipped away, letting the dress fall back into place and hide her small bump. "I-I can't even begin to explain to you… how terrified I was to tell you. To try to explain how – why this happened. But then the bust went horribly wrong and I… Jesus, baby, I'm so sorry. I understand if you don't ever wanna see me again, I know that I – "
"Whose is it?" Rick stopped her abruptly, his voice deep and stern. He couldn't break away from their intense eye contact long enough to glance at his heart monitor, but he was almost positive that his blood pressure was through the roof right now. The throbbing in his head was getting worse every second, but it was nothing compared to the twisting pain in his gut, or the hollow chill inside his chest.
She stared back with wide eyes, lips barely parted, fingers fidgeting together in her lap. Every second of silence made Rick angrier, and he began to wonder if he'd ever known this woman sitting before him. This complete stranger disguised as his wife.
"Answer me," he said flatly. "Whose is it?"
He could see her swallowing hard, and her eyes flicked away from his momentarily. She licked her lips and met his gaze again. Then she finally answered, with a tone far too soft for the solid punch to the gut that her words delivered.
"Shane's. I'm th-thirteen weeks along."
It was like someone had stolen all the air from Rick's lungs. A deep ache echoed through his chest and he thought he might have a heart attack right here, right now. He'd never realized just how many thoughts could race through your head at one time until now – every little piece was falling into place, all the clues, the little signs, every single thing he'd ever second-guessed or slightly questioned. There were dozens of memories flashing through his mind, all at once. At first, he thought, Shane who? But he knew. In his bones, he fucking knew. He didn't have to ask.
His head began to throb so hard, he thought his eyesight might give out. There were black spots around the edges of his vision, and he blinked rapidly, shaking his head and looking away from Lori's cold, empty gaze. He'd never known a pain so intense. His lungs were still struggling to fill with oxygen. His hands began to tremble until the cup in his hand was visibly shaking, the liquid inside sloshing around. Nausea was building in his throat and he felt the bile beginning to rise.
"You were fucking my best friend for the last two months he was alive?" His voice was nearly a growl, ground out through gritted teeth as he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to will away the pain overwhelming his body, forcing back the rising bile. It felt like every single one of his major organs was on fire, or in severe distress. He'd never, in his entire life, experienced a sensation like this. Being betrayed by the two people he trusted most in the world…
Briefly, he wondered if this was the kind of thing that made a man snap and tumble over the edge, into insanity.
Whatever thoughts had been in his head about fixing this, or fixing their marriage, were quickly flying out the window. He couldn't even fathom a way to fix himself right now. He began to think that he'd much rather have been literally bashed over the skull again than to have this dropped on him.
Lori hesitated again, and she spoke quieter than before, weakly answering, "The last four months… We-we were gonna tell you. After the Greene bust, after things calmed down – "
Rick felt his blood pressure spiking all over again. Even if his machines were beeping in warning, he couldn't hear it over the pounding in his ears, or the throbbing in his head. Her voice was making it worse, and her words – why would she tell him this? Was it supposed to make things better? He wanted to throw up. It was taking everything he had to force back the vomit.
He sat up in his bed, eyes opening and anger overtaking him, and let out a yell of frustration, "AGGHH!" He pulled his arm back and chucked the half-empty cup in his hand across the room. It hit the white wall with a plunk-splash as the cup broke apart and the Peppermint Mocha spilled everywhere. Lori jolted in surprise, eyes widening in fear as she shrunk in her seat. Coffee and chocolate dribbled down the white walls, soaking a few of the Halloween paper cut-outs.
Rick let out another angry yell, "FUCK!" It echoed off the walls and he turned his head to glare at Lori. She was trembling, tears sliding down her cheeks and bottom lip quivering. Her hands were wringing together frantically in her lap.
"Fucking Shane?! Are you kidding me?! FOUR MONTHS?! How the FUCK did you plan on tellin' me that shit?!" He was no longer in control of his words. They poured from his mouth in bursts of anger, and he slammed his hand against the railing of his bed in a fit of rage. He'd never known a fury quite like this. He'd never felt it burn so purely, so intensely, throughout his entire core. Lori jumped again, but it only made him angrier. "You fucking whore! You fucked him, you let him come inside you?! How could you fucking do this to us?! Of all the fucking men in the world that you could've – "
"We were in love, Rick," Lori cut him off, sitting up straighter and mustering the strength to stare back at him with defiance, despite the tears pouring down her cheeks. Her words sent an icy chill through his veins and a whole new pain blossomed in his chest and his head simultaneously. He froze, mouth gaping as he stared at her indignantly. She swallowed and added, "I – I'm so sorry. I didn't wanna tell you like this, I never meant for – "
"You're evil," Rick spat, and her mouth snapped shut as a fresh batch of tears pooled in her eyes. "You are the most horrendous fucking person I've ever had the misfortune of knowing, and you wasted eleven years of my fucking life – I'm leaving. This is over, you need t'pack yer shit, get the fuck out of my house an' stay away from me an' Carl – yer never gonna fucking see him again, you realize that?!"
He didn't wait for her reaction. He could barely stand to look at her. He wanted to wrap his hands around her neck and squeeze until she stopped breathing – until she stopped lying. Which was a scary urge in itself, because he'd never had such violent thoughts about another person, let alone his wife. But now they were flooding his brain like maggots.
He began yanking the tubes and wires from his body, pulling out the IV in a frantic rage. He was panting, black spots still fading in and out of his vision. Lori jumped to her feet and leaned over to grab him, trying to stop him from what he was doing.
"Rick, STOP! I didn't – I knew you'd react this way, that's why I couldn't tell you!" She cried, grabbing desperately for his arms and hands, fighting with him to stop him from pulling out the rest of the wires. "Jesus – Nurse! NURSE! Somebody HELP!"
Rick elbowed Lori away from him, turning his body so she couldn't stop his hands from yanking at the tubes and wires. When he was successfully disconnected, heart monitor beeping long and loud, he shoved the blanket off himself and threw his legs over the edge, pushing Lori away the whole time as he fought to climb out of bed. But then he heard the door opening and looked to see Nurse Alden entering with a curious expression on his face.
"Hey, what's goin' – oh shit, what're you doin', dude?!" He cried, throwing the door wide open and rushing inside, yelling over his shoulder on his way in. "PAGE EDWARDS!"
Rick's feet had barely touched the cool floor when Alden reached him, grabbing his arms and struggling to keep him from standing up. "Get the fuck outta my way!" Rick yelled, anger rising as he realized how weak he'd become. "I want my son – Carl! Where's Carl? Get my son, I don't want this fucking woman anywhere near us!"
The anger was blinding, overwhelming – it was encompassing every inch of Rick's body. He couldn't fight it, he could only fight the enemies in front of him, struggling to swing wildly at a blurry group of adversaries. Alden struggled but he proved to be stronger than Rick for the time being, fighting to keep him on the bed and contained until back-up could arrive. The door opened and a couple of other nurses rushed in, and Lori stepped back, hand covering her mouth as she watched with teary eyes, her chest shuddering with sobs.
"What the hell happened?!" Alden asked, turning to Lori briefly as he allowed the other nurses to help him contain Rick.
Lori lowered her hand and tried to explain, "I – "
Rick cut her off, "She's a fucking WHORE, is what happened! This lying slut fucking betrayed me, she lied to my face an' single-handedly destroyed our family!" The words burst from his mouth in a fit of uncontrollable rage, his arms still struggling against Alden and the other nurses.
Lori began sobbing again, turning away from Rick and shaking her head. Alden grunted as he struggled to fight back against Rick's newest outburst, and the other nurses were clamoring to find all the wires and tubes that had been pulled out to replace them.
Then Dr. Edwards entered the room. He stopped just inside the door, taking in the scene before him. His eyes drifted from the coffee thrown against the wall, to Rick fighting and struggling with the nurses in his bed, and finally to Lori.
"What the hell is going on in here?!" Edwards asked, stunned.
Lori choked out another sob and rushed from the room, slipping out the door before it fell shut.
"Wife just revealed her affair," Alden grunted, holding down one of Rick's arms while the nurses struggled to maintain control over his other limbs. "Havin' a little tantrum, I think."
Rick yelled out angrily, "AGGHH! Get the fuck off me! I need outta here, NOW!"
"God dammit, I really wish these people would keep their Jerry Springer shit outta my hospital," Edwards remarked bitterly, rushing over to Rick's bedside to help the nurses get him under control and reinsert his IV. "Mr. Grimes, can you calm the hell down, please? This kinda stress is really not good for brain trauma like yours – "
"FUCK YOU!" Rick spat, glaring up at Edwards and continuing to fight the nurses, even though it was a losing battle. He was letting his pure rage take the wheel, directing his every action and word, letting out all the hateful, bitter thoughts he'd been holding in. "Yer a fuckin' JOKE! Get the hell away from me, you ain't ever touchin' me again, you crock fuckin' hack of a doctor!"
But Edwards didn't return his anger. He simply sighed and helped one of the nurses to keep Rick's arm steady while he pulled out a syringe from his pocket and uncapped it.
"Looks like you get another nap. You're cranky," Edwards said simply, injecting something into Rick's IV.
Rick growled in anger and tried to lash out again, but every last ounce of strength in his body suddenly disappeared. Momentarily, he wondered why he'd ever been so upset in the first place.
The last thing he remembered was the smug smile of satisfaction on Dr. Edwards' face, and hearing him comment snidely to Nurse Alden, "And that's how we deal with that. Let's get 'im fixed up again, another dose of sedatives and antipsychotics just ta be safe – get that wife outta here, too…"
Rick's eyelids grew impossibly heavy and the next thing he knew, the deep, black numbness of dreamless sleep was swallowing him up again. As he fell down, deep into the pit of unconsciousness, he heard an echo of a familiar voice ringing in his ears.
Was he standing there again, at Rick's bedside? Or was Rick recalling a conversation from a long-forgotten memory? It was Shane's voice. Almost taunting in its confidence. So conversant, so callous.
"C'mon, man, don't act like you didn't see this comin'."
Rick's eyelids fluttered open and he looked around without moving his head. His entire body felt droopy and melted, and he was almost sure he could drift right back to sleep if he simply closed his eyes again. But he didn't want to. Too many hours had already passed, and he'd lost more time to unwilling unconsciousness. The TV was turned off and the room was silent except for the steady, constant sounds of all the monitors alongside Vegetable Jim's respirator. There was no longer afternoon sunlight shining in through the window. The curtain was still pulled back, but outside, the sky was dark and speckled with stars, and Rick could see the bright lights of the blurry Atlanta skyline. He couldn't tell if it was eight at night or three in the morning. The hallway outside his door seemed quieter, but he could never tell for sure from his limited view through the rectangular window and the indiscernible sounds that drifted in through the thick door.
His head ached lightly, and it grew more intense as all the memories flooded back to him. He could remember the blackness clouding his vision – it was gone now, but it felt like it could return at any moment if he let himself think about Lori for too long. He'd always heard people describe that kind of rage as "seeing red," yet he hadn't seen any colors. Only black. Deep, dark, endless black. The same black that threatened to swallow him up whole for all of eternity, threatened to consume everything he'd ever thought he was. It nearly blinded him, nearly stole his breath as well as every last trace of logical thinking left in his brain. He'd never felt such an uncontrollable burst of emotion in his life. In a way, it terrified him.
His pulse quickened and he focused on steadying his breathing and remaining calm. But the anger was returning without much provocation, and Rick thought he might actually vomit this time. He swallowed back the bile and shook his head, flexing his fingers and toes and trying to concentrate on reactivating all his tired muscles. His throat burned and he lifted his head to look around, only to find that the nurses had cleared away all of his remaining dinner while he was sleeping. They hadn't even left his extra juice carton. And now that he was becoming fully conscious, he could feel the heaviness of his bladder.
He gathered up all his strength and managed to climb out of bed, dragging along the IV stand in his still-hazy fog. Of course, they'd reconnected him to all his tubes and wires, and now that he was thinking back on it, he felt a little ridiculous for reacting the way he had. But he'd been completely unable to control it. When had that ever happened before? One of the things Rick prided himself on was his ability to maintain a calm attitude under pressure – to contain his anger, control his outbursts. He'd never been one to throw things or break stuff during angry outbursts. He'd always been vocal, and he could argue for days, especially when it came to Lori. But lashing out like that? Never. And he'd always been the voice of reason when it came to him and Shane. Rick was the level-headed, well-maintained cop, while Shane had been something closer to what might be described as a "loose cannon."
Had Rick picked up on Shane's worst traits? Had Lori finally pushed him over the edge, into a mindset of uncontrollable emotional outbursts and unbridled rage? Was Rick going to find himself ending up just like all those men who destroyed property and hurt people just because they were upset? Or was his brain damaged from the lamp that Maggie Greene had slammed into his skull? And if it was… what if Edwards saw the outburst and recognized it as brain damage? What if he decided that Rick needed to stay in the hospital longer? Or endure more intense treatment of some sort?
No matter what any of it meant, Rick knew one thing for sure: he'd have to hold it in. All of it. He had no choice but to stow it away deep down and lock it up. He could keep it under control, he'd just have to put extra effort into maintaining his composure, and then covering it up when it grew uncontrollable. He knew that if he let all this shit come out, it could impede his progress. It could prevent him from getting out, from getting back to work and helping bring justice to the Greene Family. To Shane.
Fucking Shane, he thought. Should I even give a shit about justice for that lyin' asshole anymore?
There was a prevalent throb in the right side of his head as he left the bathroom – having avoided looking in the mirror – and walked to the sink to get himself a small cup of water. He hated thinking about this new revelation that had been dropped on him. Finding out that Lori had betrayed him was one thing. But finding out that Shane had betrayed him, too? What was Rick supposed to fight for anymore? Carl was his only remaining purpose at this point. Could he keep it together long enough for his son? Or would everything overwhelm Rick and force him to succumb to his weaknesses? To his inevitable madness? Would Lori try to take Carl away? Surely no court would allow her to do such a thing. But then again, he knew from years of observation that courts tended to favor the mothers. So maybe he could somehow try to get past it? Maybe they could possibly work through Lori's huge mistake and find a way to be a happily married couple again?
But no sooner than those thoughts had entered Rick's head, he scowled and thought to himself, 'S more likely that Hell will freeze over.
He ignored the aching in his head and walked back to bed, finding the photo of Lori and Carl lying in the middle of the white sheets. It had been moved during his struggle earlier, and he quickly snatched it up and shoved it under the pillow. Just catching a glance of it had made his stomach turn. Then he climbed carefully back into bed and lay down, still fighting the foggy feeling that wouldn't leave his mind. He suddenly remembered that his cell phone was nearby and looked around for it, wondering what Edwards had given him to make his brain feel so similar to scrambled eggs.
Rick finally found his phone sitting on the bedside table, pushed behind the black shower bag that Lori had brought. As he leaned over the bed railing to reach out and grab his phone, he saw something from the corner of his eye. He turned his head, arm still outreached, to look across the room at the wall that was still stained with coffee. For the briefest moment – almost too brief to even notice – Rick saw Shane leaning against the wall. He was wearing the same clothes as when he'd appeared the night before, but the expression on his face seemed different. However, he disappeared before Rick could focus or take in every feature, and it was so quick that he was sure it had been a trick of the light. Or, more likely, another side effect of his disorientation. He told himself it was delirium, from all the sedatives and the emotional exhaustion he'd experienced already.
With his phone in his hands, lying back against the slightly raised top half of his bed, Rick unlocked the screen and discovered that it was nearly eleven p.m. His jaw clenched at the realization of how many hours he'd lost. It was too late to try calling and talking to Carl on the phone, which was all he really wanted to do. Then he found notifications waiting for him. None of them were from Lori, which made him both disappointed and thankful at the same time. However, his brother, Jeff, had tried to call around seven p.m., and there was a text message from Dawn Lerner. Rick knew it was too late to call Jeff back tonight, but Dawn's text had arrived less than two hours ago. He quickly opened it and read:
Feeling up to talking? I can stop by the hospital tonight. If not, let me know when.
His heartbeat picked up as he recalled what Edwards had told him hours before, about Dawn stopping by. Rick quickly typed out a response, struggling to squint down at the tiny letters on the screen and tap the correct spots. It made his head throb even harder. But he finally managed to send a response that said, "Is it too late? Just woke up from nap."
He set his phone down and closed his eyes, focusing on breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth, trying to will away the pain in his head. But the beeps of the machines and Vegetable Jim's incessant respirator were beginning to sound annoying in his ears and grate on his nerves. He gritted his teeth and opened his eyes, searching around the for the remote. When he found it, he quickly turned on the TV and turned up the volume until the sounds of an infomercial were drowning out the beeps and mechanical breathing. Then he flipped through the channels until he found something that wasn't screaming at him to buy, buy, buy.
But Rick hadn't settled in and focused on the television for more than five minutes when he heard the door opening. He expected a nurse, maybe that Alden guy or someone new. But he was surprised to see Dr. Edwards enter the room, walking slower than Rick was used to. The doctor appeared tired and worn-down, and when the men looked and met each other's eyes, Rick could see the exhaustion in his face. Nevertheless, Rick's jaw clenched, and he was already studying Edwards' lab coat, trying to figure out which pocket the syringe would emerge from.
"So – are those outbursts normal for you? Have you always had anger management issues, or is this new?" Dr. Edwards asked, speaking loud enough that Rick could hear him over the TV.
Rick remembered how he'd lashed out at the doctor before – and he wasn't about to apologize for it. It wasn't like he regretted what he'd said. It was just something that he wouldn't normally let slip out. His nostrils flared and despite his quickly growing aggravation, he turned down the TV. But only because Edwards' voice was even more annoying when it was loud. Rick followed the doctor with his eyes, watching him move to check the chart at the end of the bed before bringing it with him over to the bedside.
"'Course they ain't normal fer me," Rick snapped, unable to suppress the scowl on his face. "Ain't ever been told that my wife's pregnant with my dead best friend's baby. How d'you think you'd react?"
Edwards' eyes briefly widened and he quickly cleared his throat nervously, avoiding Rick's eyes and looking around at the monitors and the chart in his hands instead, jotting down notes. He replied uneasily, "Right, well… I suppose there are exceptions." He paused and scribbled something else down, then flicked his eyes up to meet Rick's glare through his glasses. He cleared his throat again. "However, if you find yourself feeling rage, or experiencing inexplicable outbursts that don't have anything t'do with your failing marriage, you need ta let me know. It could be a sign – "
"Why?" Rick interrupted. "So you can keep me here longer? Pump me full a more mystery drugs an' rack up my medical bills even higher?"
Edwards frowned and sighed lightly, glancing down and making another note on the chart. He raised his eyebrows and shook his head. "No, Mr. Grimes. So I can make sure you don't end up killing someone – or yourself – due to untreated brain damage. I don't work on commission, by the way. Having you here longer than you need t'be isn't my goal. You're not exactly the most enjoyable patient I've ever had."
Rick tried to ignore the surge of panic that briefly washed over him. Kill someone? He would never. He'd thrown a coffee – it wasn't like he'd hit Lori or something. What the hell kind of brain damage had this doctor seen during his career, anyway? The kind that turned a mild-mannered, level-headed family man into an enraged murderer? Rick was having a hard time believing that was even possible.
His scowl deepened. "Right. So, what – you think that lamp did enough damage ta make me inta some kinda mad man? Like I could snap at any moment?" He bit back the taunting tone that wanted to emerge in his words. As much as he hated Edwards, he also needed answers. Real answers. He needed to know what he should be prepared for… and what he should keep to himself when it came to symptoms or side effects.
Edwards shrugged and tucked his pen back into the pocket of his lab coat, stepping over and returning the chart to its slip at the end of the bed. He talked as he moved about and double-checked the monitors and Rick's IV. "Not necessarily. Sometimes it's a slow build-up. I've seen people wake up from brain trauma with completely opposite temperaments – sweet, kind, adventurous people who became anger monsters, or depressed hermits. I've also seen people recover and leave the hospital, smiling and happy and completely healthy. Only t'find out that they went home and killed their families a month later, or hung themselves in their kids' closet… The brain is a fickle organ, Mr. Grimes. Even the slightest amount of damage can have life-altering consequences."
A chill ran down Rick's spine and he fought the urge to visibly wince. There was a fear forming in his core, slowly growing and spreading through his body. Could Edwards be right? What if Rick was going to end up as one of those cases? What if that edging blackness eventually won and swallowed him up whole, leaving only a shell of the man that Rick Grimes used to be? He would have to do everything in his power to fight it.
"Either way – you shouldn't be trying t'deal with so much emotional and mental stress this early in your recovery," Dr. Edwards continued simply, reaching a hand into one of the pockets of his lab coat and rummaging around for something. "It's not gonna help you any. And as far as mystery drugs go – they're just sedatives. You can relax. I gave you the same thing today that I gave you last night, just different doses. Trust me, you needed them." He arched an eyebrow smugly. "Now, how's yer head feel? I'm about t'head home, so if you want something for the pain, it's yer last chance for the next eight hours."
Rick swallowed back the angry retort that wanted to pour from his mouth, clenching his jaw and watching the doctor pull a syringe from his pocket. He was waiting for a response before uncapping it. Rick shrugged and looked away, gazing blankly at the TV mounted on the opposite wall. "Might as well. Long as it ain't any more a those sedatives."
Edwards made a sound in his throat that might've resembled a half-chuckle if he hadn't nervously cleared his throat halfway through to cover it. Then he shook his head lightly and uncapped the syringe, focusing on Rick's IV as he carefully injected the medicine. "No – it's not. But you'll probably get drowsy in the next hour. Morphine tends to have that effect. And I can't really give you anything else besides acetaminophen, which won't do much for that headache I know you have."
Well, at least this guy knew about the pain without having to be told, and was acknowledging it. Rick stared up at the TV and pursed his lips as he felt the injection enter his bloodstream and course through his veins. Almost instantly, a wave of relief was washing over him and the pain in his head was gradually subsiding, as were all the sour retorts he'd wanted to make. He took in a deep breath and felt his jaw unclench, muscles relaxing. Edwards disposed of the used syringe, then checked the monitors once more before stepping away.
"Phyllis comes back tomorrow and, as much as this might upset you, I'm barring your wife from visiting for the time being," the doctor said simply. "You need to rest, and I don't just mean physically. As far as any other visitors go, especially Lerner – the first sign of heightened stress, and I'll have a nurse in here ta escort them out. It's gonna be the epitome of zen in here, Mr. Grimes. See you tomorrow."
And with that, Edwards was briskly striding across the room and leaving, before Rick even had the chance to process what he'd said and form a response, let alone get upset about it. The morphine injection had already relaxed him to the point of slightly delayed reaction, and by the time he found the willpower to open his mouth, the door was falling shut and Dr. Edwards had disappeared out into the hall.
And he was right – that news did upset Rick. But for the time being, there was no attainable motivation to help him voice his grievances. Besides, the doctor was already gone, on his way home for the night. So Rick would only be bitching to Vegetable Jim. And understandably, Jim didn't give a shit about Rick's problems. He had more than enough of his own.
With his newfound relief from the throbbing in his head, Rick picked up the remote and began flipping through the channels on the TV. He searched for news reports, and when he didn't find any, he searched for football scores. Once he'd grown bored with that, and once the residual aching in his head had become practically non-existent thanks to the morphine, he turned the TV off and reached over to grab his phone, unlocking the screen and checking for notifications.
There was a new text from Lerner waiting for him. He hadn't heard the vibration of his phone over the sound of the TV and Edwards' annoying voice. Rick quickly opened it and read:
Be there in thirty minutes.
His heart sped up momentarily and he double-checked the time stamp. If Dawn's estimate was correct, and she didn't get held up by traffic or whatever else, then she'd be arriving in about fifteen minutes or less. He quickly typed out a response, "See you soon." And pressed Send.
The next twenty minutes were spent in giddy anticipation. Rick was eager to see Dawn, to hear what she had to say, to get some real fucking answers for once. He was also eager for a distraction from his "failing marriage," as Edwards had so eloquently put it. The way Rick saw it, once Dawn visited and gave him more information, he could get back to focusing on work; focusing on the things that really mattered, like the Greene case and what part he would have to play in the upcoming trial. And maybe he could get some clarity on what happened that night, and start searching for clues as to where that horrid Beth girl could have run off to.
He'd already decided that if she wasn't caught by the time he was released, he'd just do it his damn self. He'd never been able to rely on his fellow members of law enforcement to really get things done, anyway. They couldn't even find a missing kid most of the time, let alone a runaway fugitive wanted for murder.
If you want something done right, you gotta do it yourself, Rick thought.
The age-old adage that his father had always preached. It was one of those things that ingrained itself into Rick's mind at an early age, made him want to be a leader of other men and a guiding light for the lost. It affirmed his silent assumptions that no one really got it like he did, and that if he wanted real answers and real solutions, he would have to pursue them himself. Because not everyone cared the way he cared. And not everyone saw what he saw. It was one of the things that made him such a good cop, as well as a good father. He'd thought it made him a good husband, too. But apparently, he'd been wrong about that part.
While Rick waited for Dawn to arrive, he occupied himself with looking up the scores for the football games he'd missed while he was sleeping. He was disappointed, but not surprised, to find that the Falcons had indeed lost to the Bills. But he told himself it was still early in the season and there were plenty more games to see. There were also a few months left for them to make the play-offs. It wasn't entirely impossible. But damn, what he wouldn't give to be sitting in a bar and watching a football game with Shane again.
Fucking Shane, he thought bitterly. The bursts of emotion swirling in his chest were so confusing, because he couldn't stop himself from reminiscing and missing his best friend and partner. But at the same time, he wanted to hate Shane for what he'd done. Rick felt impossibly betrayed and wronged. Yet he couldn't push back the aching that formed in his chest when he thought about Shane lying on that floor, cold and lifeless. He was dead. And the worst part was that Rick couldn't even confront him about having an affair with Lori. He was gone forever, never coming back. And all the secrets he'd been keeping were gone with him. No explanation, no reasoning, nothing. Just gone.
At the same time, Rick felt that he should probably be more angry at Lori. She was the one that had taken the vows, after all. She was the one that had stepped out of their marriage, gone searching for solace in the arms of another man. And his best friend, no less. Who was this woman? Rick was officially shaken to his core by the realization that he didn't know Lori at all anymore. She definitely wasn't the woman he'd married. But then again, Shane was his best friend. His partner. Shane had been the best man at Rick and Lori's wedding. Maybe Rick hadn't really known him, either.
Had he really been surrounded by strangers this whole time? Had he been sleeping next to, riding next to, confiding in a bunch of wolves dressed in sheep's clothing?
He couldn't help but begin to wonder who else could be betraying him. What if Lori's infidelity was only the beginning? What if Rick had the wool pulled over his eyes for so long, remaining oblivious to what was going on around him, that everyone else had found ways to take advantage of him, too? Of his trusting nature? Of his natural penchant for giving people the benefit of the doubt?
No fucking more, he thought to himself, a slight scowl tugging at his upper lip from the foul ideas forming in his head.
Rick had just begun scrolling through more Google search results for news articles on the Greene case when his door opened. He quickly looked up and set his phone aside, watching Dawn Lerner cross the hospital room and approach his bedside silently. She glanced at Vegetable Jim in passing, frowning lightly at the sight, but her face went back to its usual stoic expression by the time she reached Rick's bedside.
She looked exactly as she always did – dark brown hair pulled back in a tight bun, moderate but flawless makeup, and an impeccably cleaned and ironed pantsuit in a dark shade of gray. Despite her mild OCD, Lerner couldn't hide the heavy bags under her eyes, or the light pink rash on the top of her left hand that meant she was under extreme stress. Rick immediately spotted all the little details he'd grown used to searching for to give him a clue as to how Dawn was feeling, or what she was thinking. She had a terrible habit of letting her frustration or aggravation affect her work performance, and he'd always tried to be a step ahead. This time, he hoped it would give him a clue as to what kind of things she might be about to tell him.
Or what kinds of things she wasn't telling him.
"Wow. You're really awake," Dawn marveled, staring at Rick as if transfixed. She was one of the only people close to Rick who didn't have a southern accent due to the fact that she'd grown up in a small town in Colorado, and sometimes, it still sounded slightly foreign to his ears. Her voice was clear and steady, despite the fact that he knew she was still trying to process the fact that he'd actually survived, and Shane hadn't. She crossed her arms over her chest and rested her weight on one foot, refusing to tear her eyes away from him. Wide, slightly bloodshot, azure eyes.
It was exactly the reaction he'd expected from her. She wasn't one to get emotional or openly express herself. But he could see the shock in her face. And the relief. He also saw the tension in her shoulders. The exhaustion in her stance.
Rick shrugged. "Kinda wish I wasn't."
Dawn furrowed her brow but then she glanced over at Vegetable Jim's bed behind the navy curtain pointedly and asked, "I see they gave you a roommate. Doesn't look like he's much company, though."
Rick shook his head. "Persistive vegetative state. Family's workin' on pullin' the plug, I guess."
She shook her head and tsked, eyes lingering for a moment on the bed across the room as she muttered flatly, "Damn shame."
"Coulda been me," Rick said casually. "Hope you got some kinda good news for me. 'S been a rough day."
She creased her brow and asked, "Rough day in the hospital? What, they wouldn't let you sleep?"
He smirked weakly and shook his head, muttering, "If only it was that simple." Then he gestured toward the chair sitting nearby. "Get comfortable. Stay awhile. We got a lot ta catch up on."
Dawn glanced at the chair and shrugged, then looked over her shoulder toward the door before meeting Rick's gaze again. "I dunno. Nurse didn't seem too happy that I was here after visiting hours. I think flashing the badge only bought me about ten minutes."
Rick frowned. "Yeah. Asshole doctor ain't lettin' me have many visitors. Said he doesn't want me havin' so much emotional and mental stress. Whatever the hell that means…"
Dawn scoffed and shook her head. "I think asshole is the nicest word I'd use to describe Edwards. But I can't say that I don't agree… You took some serious damage that night. I wasn't even sure you'd wake up."
Rick blinked and swallowed, watching a shadow of fear cross Lerner's face. She really had been worried that he wouldn't wake up. He understood, though. She didn't handle loss well. As was evident in her appearance, even now. "Yeah, well – I did. I'm here, an' I'm alright. But I don't remember anything useful. An' I feel like I'm bein' kept in the dark."
She arched an eyebrow and asked, "About what?"
"Everything. Lori barely told me shit about what's goin' on with the case, an' I couldn't find hardly any information in the news reports. Like – that Jimmy kid died. The one me an' Shane questioned. What the hell's goin' on with that? And do we even have anybody on Beth Greene's trail? Are they doin' anything to find the girl that killed my partner?"
Dawn pressed her lips tightly together and glanced down at her shoes for a moment, appearing to be thinking about what she wanted to say. Then she met Rick's gaze again and sighed. Her voice matched the exhaustion on her face. "It doesn't matter, really. None of it matters anymore. We're off the case entirely. The DEA and FBI swooped in and took it out of our hands as soon as we got the cuffs on."
"I figured," Rick said. "But that don't mean we can't do somethin'. We were the ones workin' this case fer all those months, we're the ones that investigated the murders and got all the leads. Shit, I could prob'ly track that Beth girl on my own faster than all those government goons combined."
Dawn shook her head and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "It doesn't matter, Grimes. It's out of our hands. It's not my case anymore, and it's definitely not yours. You know there's nothing we can do."
The morphine coursing through his system was the only thing keeping him calm at the moment. He wanted to argue and get defensive, he wanted to call Lerner out for being a spineless bootlicker. But he didn't. The blaze of anger that would normally be coming to life in his belly just wasn't burning tonight. He was frustrated, but he could tell that he wasn't going to get any help from Dawn. She'd always been a strictly by-the-book type of officer. He respected her for it. But he also knew that it wouldn't get results, especially in a situation like this.
He should've known better than to expect any kind of support from her. He still wasn't sure that she wasn't keeping something important from him, or lying about something.
She sighed and spoke softer, "I'm not happy about it, either. Believe me. As soon as the feds rolled up, I knew it'd be a disaster. But I didn't expect all this." She glanced away almost nervously and licked her lips, hesitating. Then she met his eyes again and explained, "They took the case from us, all the suspects, they even took our clearance. And they shut the crime scene down way too early. There's no way they got every piece of evidence. They didn't even look into the connections with the Greene murders – I haven't seen Simon since he was bailed out. No one has. Still absolutely zero trace of Randall. The feds don't give a shit about the murder case. They cleared out the drugs and the paraphernalia, all the money, and whatever paperwork they could find. Everything else is just sitting there. Waiting t'be picked over by all the media vultures. Those government assholes have no idea what they're in for with this case. And they won't let us near it… I've been transferred. So has Nelson, Chavez, Bellman – anybody with so much as half a horse in the race."
Rick sat back, stunned, trying to absorb all the information. Finally getting some answers was both relieving and upsetting. It was also a bit overwhelming. He furrowed his brow and studied Dawn's expression, saw the frustration and anger in the faint lines on her face. Transferred? So it had been true – she really was his former boss. They would no longer be working together. "Transferred? Where?"
Dawn's arms tightened across her chest and she cleared her throat before answering, "Savannah."
Rick's eyes widened. "Savannah? Jesus – are you at least gonna be Sergeant down there?"
"No. It's just a transfer."
"What – I thought you were s'posed ta get Sergeant once we had the Greene's in custody. What happened ta that?"
Dawn pursed her lips and glanced down at her shoes for a long moment, mumbling a reply, "Yeah, well… guess there's a lot more red tape than we thought."
Rick's head was racing with a hundred different thoughts at once. He had so many more questions now. And it was frustrating because he'd wanted answers, but now that he had them, it only left him wanting more. And he could tell she wasn't up to explaining much else. He'd worked with her long enough that he could nearly read her like a book. He'd also worked with her long enough to know that there was absolutely no use in pushing Dawn Lerner to do what she didn't want to do, or to discuss what she didn't want to discuss, because she was stubborn as a damn mule. Worse, even. Especially since she'd been gipped out of the promotion that he knew she'd poured endless hours of work into attaining. Understandably, she was upset, maybe even hurt. So he would have to choose what was most important to him for the time being, while he could still get anything out of her.
"They shut the crime scene down? How? It's only been a month – that farm's huge. Did they even search the church? Or the woods north a the farmhouse?" He asked, unable to stop the stream of questions pouring from his mouth in his slight morphine haze.
Dawn pressed her lips together tightly and exhaled through her nose. One of her hands fidgeted with the seam of her shirt sleeve as she replied, "The farm, the church, the whole property – they left it. Said they got everything they needed. I dunno. Eastman told me he wanted to take more samples for forensic testing, but his team could only get so much done in the little bit of time the feds gave them." Eastman: the lead forensic investigator on the Greene case. Rick briefly wondered if he was being transferred, too. Dawn continued, "And we don't have any access to whatever they collected. Not that it's much – Eastman also said he wanted to inspect all the barns and stables, but he didn't have time, and from what he told me, the feds didn't even touch anything outside of the farmhouse."
Rick chewed thoughtfully on the inside of his cheek. His blood pressure would probably be through the roof right now if it weren't for the morphine in his system. It didn't allow him to become heavy with emotions just yet. All he could do was think and think and think. His mind was racing. He wanted to talk to Eastman himself, but in all honesty, Rick barely knew the guy.
"So, what – they closed the Greene murder case? Completely? An' Simon's disappeared now, too?" Rick asked, blinking in bewilderment as he tried to comprehend everything that was being pieced together in his head. "So they could be out there, together, killin' more people? An' the feds don't care, as long as we got the Greene operation shut down…"
Dawn glanced down at her shoes and nodded grimly. "That's the government for you. The War On Drugs and all that. You know how it is, Grimes."
Rick scoffed and shook his head, waiting for Lerner to meet his eyes again before he asked, "An' you don't think that's strange? A little more'an suspicious? With everything we know, everythin' we found out over the last six months – you really think that's just how the system works?"
He saw the flicker of recognition in her gaze, but as soon as it appeared, it faded away. Her jaw clenched slightly and she replied stiffly, "Maybe not. But there's nothing we can do about it now. Whatever theories we might've had are irrelevant. Let's just be grateful that the Greene's will be locked up."
Rick furrowed his brow, his frustration growing so intense that even his morphine haze couldn't keep it numbed. "What – you an' I both know those Greene's are guilty of a helluva lot more than they're bein' charged. After all the goddamn work we put into that case, after all the incriminating evidence we collected, you really think nobody's gonna care? If Simon disappeared like that Randall kid, then maybe he was killed for gettin' caught. Maybe Hershel caught 'im an' killed him! Or maybe it was whoever sent 'em to the Greene house in the first place, and – "
"Rick, stop," Lerner cut him off abruptly, voice rising to an almost strict-mother-like tone. He stopped and stared back at her indignantly to see her lips pressed into a thin line, jaw muscles tensing, eyebrows raised. "There's no one else out there… Look, you've got way too much time on your hands to be sitting here in bed, thinking about all those crazy theories you had before the bust. It's not healthy. You need to move on."
Rick gritted his teeth. The morphine prevented him from raising his voice angrily, though his tone was sounding more agitated as he argued, "That's bullshit. Y'all knew I was onto somethin'. Why the hell wouldn't the feds wanna track down the guy Hershel was workin' for? What if it's a-a whole other operation? What if Hershel was just – "
"I am not discussing this! I told you to stop, and I've been telling you to stop since we arrested Simon," Dawn snapped. "You have to let it go. Even Walsh tried to tell you to stop – why would you keep reaching for something that none of your colleagues think is credible? It's reckless and foolish."
He bit his tongue and glared back at her. That's right, Shane didn't believe me either. Told me my instincts were off, Rick thought sourly. An' he was sleeping with my wife behind my back. So what are you coverin' up? Why are you suddenly acting like you never believed me, when I know you did? When I know you do. But you won't do nothin'. 'Cause yer spineless.
She continued, voice heavy with exhaustion, "There's no one else, Grimes. Hershel Greene is a greedy, evil, old man who used his family, friends, and resources to operate a multi-million dollar meth operation. He was a kingpin, and we got him. Our work is done. It might not feel satisfying now, but maybe that will change once the family is sentenced – or maybe not. Whatever happens, you need to learn to live with the outcome. Just like the rest of us have."
"You sound just as vague as all the goddamn news reports – spewin' that line like you been rehearsin' it fer the last month," Rick said, scowling. "Like you actually believe it. You're nothin' more than an enabler if yer really pretendin' not ta see it, Lerner. I know you got better instincts than that."
And to think… I used ta respect you, he thought.
Lerner glanced away briefly and cleared her throat, and Rick wasn't sure, but he thought he could see her blinking back a tear or two. Yet her voice came out flat and bitter, "'Enabler'? You must not have had time to read much news, because you sound like that reporter bitch who can't keep her nose out of confidential business. What's next? Are you gonna try to tell me that the Greene girls were just sad, defenseless kids who had no choice but to kill one officer and assault another?"
He furrowed his brow, thinking back to the news articles he'd read. But he couldn't figure out what she was referring to. He stared back with a quizzical expression, his frustration disappearing momentarily. "What – what 'reporter bitch'? Why the hell would I ever think somethin' like that? I want that whole Greene family behind bars, I jus' think there's somebody above them that we need ta be goin' after, too. All that shit didn't add up, an' you know it. What if there's somebody else that could lead us ta findin' Beth?"
Dawn sighed and rolled her eyes, arms tightening across her chest and weight shifting from one foot to the other. She shook her head and said, "It's not likely. But all I know is that you're wrong. Don't waste your energy or talents on something that's just gonna turn into a dead-end. You can't even get back to work anytime soon, anyway, so there's no point in worrying about it."
"I'm only gonna be in here fer a week," Rick said, assuming she was referring to the fact that he was laid up in the hospital.
"That's great," she said, arching an eyebrow. "But I already recommended that my replacement put you on paid leave. Indefinitely. Once the Greene case wraps up and you have the proper medical clearance, you can get back to work. You can start putting your efforts toward a new case. Until then, you need to stay out of it. Sit at home and wait for a subpoena. It's all you can do."
You fucking cunt, he immediately thought. But, admittedly, he didn't have the energy to fully express his discontent.
The scowl remained heavy on his lips, and he grumbled in response, "'S a lot more I can do. Paid leave ain't gonna stop me."
Dawn's frown deepened and she gave him a stern look. "Don't. The paid leave is purely for your own good – don't endanger yourself or your family by going rogue or trying to be some kind of vigilante. Edwards might be a prick, but he's a good doctor. Follow his orders and take some time for yourself. Maybe look into some grief counseling or something."
A wave of morphine washed over him and he swallowed back the sudden rise of bile in his throat. His head swam momentarily and he blinked away the edging blackness in the corners of his vision. Then he quickly shook his head and looked away, toward the window. "Counseling? Didn't help you none. Why would I bother."
She sighed in frustration. "Then don't. Whatever. I was hoping our first conversation in over a month would be a little more pleasant than this, but I really don't know what else you expect me to tell you, Grimes."
Rick scoffed and continued gazing blankly at the open window and the blurry city lights behind it. "Shane's dead an' I was almost right there with him. What part a this coulda possibly been pleasant? Nobody wants ta give me a straight goddamn answer about nothin'. That's all I'm fuckin' asking for."
"Like what? I just told you everything I know," Dawn said. "I've been off the case for weeks, Grimes. What else do you expect you're gonna find out? From any of us?"
"How the fuck did a teenaged girl kill my partner and then disappear?!" Rick burst, sitting up in bed and turning to see Dawn's surprised expression, caught off-guard by his raised voice. "Why the hell ain't that shit all over the goddamn news? Why aren't we out there lookin' for her? Why aren't we usin' every fuckin' thing we found out about that family to find that evil little bitch?! Why doesn't anybody CARE?!"
Lerner's mouth fell open and she took half a step back, clearly taken aback by his angry outburst. Rick took in a deep breath and realized his hands had balled into fists at his sides. He made a conscious effort to relax his muscles, tried to will the morphine to wash over him again and still the rage that was blazing to life in his belly. But he was at the end of his rope. He was sick and tired of the mind games and the vague answers, the excuses everyone was making about the entire situation. He was fed up with talking in circles and coming back to the same questions over and over and over again.
"They do care," her voice was shaky but she quickly retained her composure as her back stiffened, gaze unflinching from his. "They're looking for her. It takes time, Grimes. She's smart – she was bred for this kind of thing. Remember what we saw and what we learned; we know that family is cunning. So is Beth Greene. Her father raised her that way. They trained her to be lethal. But we will find her. She's just like them – she'll slip up. She'll make a mistake. There's no way she's escaped the country yet. There's still time. Once it goes national, and her face starts showing up on people's TVs and Facebook feeds, it's only a matter of days until she's caught. But it's not your problem to worry about. I know Walsh was your partner and your best friend, but it's out of our hands. All of our hands."
A knot formed in Rick's throat and he saw a flash of movement outside the small rectangular window of his door from the corner of his eye. A sense of panic struck him and he realized the nurses would probably be entering any moment, prepared to make Lerner leave after hearing his little outburst. Fuck, why couldn't he contain his anger anymore? He still had so many goddamn questions.
Dawn glanced toward the door and shifted uncomfortably where she stood, but before she could say anything, Rick asked, "An' how do you know it'll happen that way? It's been a month. If it ain't caught onto national news yet, what makes you think it will? How're they gonna spread out their search wide enough ta find her before she's gone fer good?"
Lerner shook her head. "Trust me, it will. Sometimes these cases don't pick up attention until months into the court proceedings, once people have a trial to watch and a recognizable face to put on the front of it. And now that you're awake, you're gonna wanna prepare yourself. They can keep the media out of the hospital, but once you're home, the journalists and paparazzi will start swarming you like buzzards, trying to dig up every little ounce of dirt they can get their hands on. Whether it pertains to the Greene's sentencing or not."
Rick's head swam with this information, confused by the ominous assurance in her voice. How could she be so confident about it? What did she know that he didn't? He still wasn't convinced that the case would pick up steam, let alone enough to constitute swarms of journalists and paparazzi. Honestly, he never had been. Shane had been so sure that the Greene bust would end up being some kind of media sensation, and every news station in the state of Georgia would want interviews with the two detectives who so bravely crossed enemy lines in the name of justice. But Rick had just never been convinced. He knew that, without a scandal of some kind, the general public usually didn't give a shit. And so far, he was being proven right. Because a cop getting killed and another cop being assaulted wasn't so much a scandal as it was an everyday occurrence.
"An' that reporter bitch? Who's that?" He asked, the sounds of voices outside his door drifting into the room.
Dawn heard them, too, as she glanced toward the door again. She quickly replied with an arched eyebrow, "Jenny Jones? You didn't read her articles yet?"
Rick furrowed his brow. "Nah – ain't had much of a chance ta read everythin'. What's the big deal? Why's everybody talk like she's harassin' my family? She the one that's been showin' up outside my door every day?"
Dawn appeared surprised at this news, but then her face fell with slight disappointment and she shrugged, frowning. "She probably is. She's already making all of us look bad with the bullshit she's said about that Cline kid. She's trying to drag all of us through the mud, Grimes. Don't give her the time of day if she corners you. She's bad news, and she's got a shady record to prove it."
Rick opened his mouth to ask her to elaborate, but then the door opened and a nurse entered the room, interrupting. "Okay, time ta go! It's very late, an' Mr. Grimes doesn't need whatever kinda nonsense is goin' on in here."
He ignored the nurse approaching Lerner as he asked, "What does that even mean? What the hell happened with that Cline kid? I need more ta go on than this, Lerner. Me an' Shane questioned that kid!"
Dawn shook her head and held a hand out when the nurse approached and tried to reach out to grab her arm. She turned to Rick and told him, "Don't worry about it right now. Just prepare yourself for when you get outta the hospital, okay? This case is gonna bring a lot of pressure with it, and some people are not in it for the greater good, they're just trying to benefit themselves."
The nurse stepped in between Lerner and Rick's bed, interrupting, "Okay! Time to go, Detective. Whatever y'all have ta talk about can wait until after he's released."
Lerner rolled her eyes and stepped away from the nurse, flashing a look of disgust. The nurse reached out and gently took her arm, but Dawn quickly shook it from the nurse's grasp with a scowl. "I'm going. Don't touch me."
Rick tried to protest but he was ignored as the nurse led Dawn to the door, urging her to leave. He felt like a child by the way he was being silenced and overruled.
"I'm leaving in the morning, Grimes," Dawn called over her shoulder. "I don't know when I'll see you again, but call me when you get released. Just listen to Edwards and don't endanger yourself over something you have no control over!"
Rick tried to respond, but he was cut off by the door falling shut as the two women left the room. And then he was alone again, with a million more questions forming in his head and a deep pit of dissatisfaction opening up at the bottom of his stomach. The pain in the right side of his head was making a reappearance, starting out as a dull ache and slowly progressing into its usual throbbing.
He reached over and grabbed his phone, immediately opening up the browser app and returning to the list of news reports about the Greene case. He entered a new term into the search bar: Jenny Jones Greene family.
His heart sped up as the results produced a list, and the first listed were articles specifically about Beth Greene and the case that had taken the life of Rick's partner and best friend. But before he could press his finger down on one of the links, he heard the door to his room opening again, and he looked up. A different nurse entered, a blonde woman he'd never seen before. She crossed the room briskly and silently, reaching his bedside before he could so much as blink.
"No more of that tonight, Mr. Grimes," the nurse told him sternly, reaching out and grabbing his hand to pull it closer so she could access his IV. "I knew I shouldn't've let her in here. Edwards told me ta make sure you rest - an' that's exactly what I'm gonna do."
Before Rick could protest or fully comprehend what the nurse was doing, he saw her pull out a syringe and swiftly inject it into his IV. He immediately panicked and jerked his hand away, but it was too late. She was finished, and though she gave him a disgruntled look when he pulled away, she didn't seem to care since she was pulling the syringe out anyway. Then she disposed of the used needle and stepped away.
"Get some damn sleep already," she muttered, leaving the room just as suddenly as she'd entered.
Rick wanted to protest, wanted to yell at her or call after her. But she was gone before he had the chance, and he was already feeling the injection coursing through his system. He could only guess it was another dose of sedatives. Which would've sent him into a whole other fit of panic and rage if it weren't for the fact that all his muscles were suddenly very weak, and just keeping his eyelids raised was exerting more energy than he possessed.
He looked down at the phone still resting in his hands, the screen displaying the Jenny Jones news articles that he'd searched for, and possibly the answers he so desperately craved. But his hand was lying useless and numb in his lap, phone loosely clutched in his palm, and his vision was quickly growing blurry. As was any sense of motivation to find answers. Or even to be upset.
What had he been so upset about, anyway? He suddenly couldn't remember.
His eyelids were drooping, growing heavier and heavier by the second, and he struggled to grasp onto consciousness. He was also struggling to grasp reality, his mind filling with fog and confusion. But then a sound filled his ears – a familiar laugh, low and chuckling. He found just enough energy to turn his head and look toward the direction that the sound seemed to be coming from.
Despite his blurry vision, and the familiar blackness that was slowly creeping up around the edges of his sight, Rick could see Shane leaning against the wall. Standing in the same place he'd been the night before. But he was dressed differently this time: dark jeans, Nike sneakers, and an Atlanta Falcons jersey. Rick immediately recognized it as Shane's "lucky" jersey that he wore every Sunday during football season.
"What'd I tell ya, Rick? If I've said it once, I've said it a million times: Don't be an overachiever. Jus' stay in yer lane, man."
Rick furrowed his brow, eyelids falling shut. His mouth made a vague mumbling sound that resembled something like, "Why would I ever listen ta you, ya lyin' sack a shit?"
Shane's voice filled his ears again, so palpable and real that Rick was sure his dead best friend was standing right next to him. "Because – where the hell would you be if it wasn't fer me?"
His smug laugh echoed out in the wake of his statement.
Before Rick could argue, or even feel an ounce of anger in response, he lost his final grasp on consciousness and slipped into the warm, comforting embrace of sedative-induced sleep. He was no longer able to fight it. The blackness swallowed him up once more.
to be continued…
A/N: Sorry for the late update, but I participated in Bethyl Smut Week 2k18, so if you didn't see, I posted a Bethyl one-shot for the day one prompt "Breathe." Also, this chapter ended up super long, so hopefully those make up for the lack of an update last week.
Next week will be back to Beth and the camping trip. I also have another Bethyl one-shot (maybe two) coming up for Bethyl Smut Week. Because I'm awful with deadlines. As always, this chapter includes a photo that you can find on AO3 or the comprehensive Most Wanted pinterest board.
So Lori is an awful person, but she DID tell Rick the truth when he asked instead of beating around the bush, so how does that make you feel? Also, what do you think of Rick and Lerner's conversation? And what do y'all think of Edwards?
RIP Scott Wilson. The news of our very own beloved Hershel passing has broken my heart.