Disclaimer: I don't own The Walking Dead. Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

Authors Note #1: For onedayyoujustchange who asked for: "How about one where Tobin pursues Rick :)" – Naturally this is a Rick Grimes/Tobin story.

Disclaimer:adult language, canon appropriate violence, blood and gore, slow burn, mild sexual content, roughly follows canon season 5-6 events, au where Rick and Michonne don't hook up but instead- Tobin bags himself Rick Grimes with a lot of innocent low-key trying.

Eumoirous

Chapter Four

"We do what we need to do, and then we get to live," he murmured, repeating the same words he'd uttered to the others not that long ago. Back when Washington, D.C was still a thing. Back before Aaron and Eric and Alexandria and the unexpected hope this place had given them.

The leather chair across from him creaked as Tobin leaned forward, setting his empty glass on the coffee table. Missing the coaster by a mile and looking absolutely unrepentant about it as static crackled from the baby monitor that was propped up on the foot rest between them.

"It's not a bad thing, you know?" Tobin countered, looking at him in that way he had, the one that was complacent, easy, self-serving and maybe even a bit stuck in the past as far as what it took to survive these days. "To celebrate the simple things in life? Last time I checked, we only get one. And lately it seems like it's sell by date keeps getting bumped up."

He closed his eyes, then opened them again.

The action exaggerated and tense.

Giving him time to think.

He'd been so sure when he'd said it, but now-

Now maybe not.

Maybe it was more about the meaning behind the words rather than the flippant way they came out. Maybe it was about seeing different views on the same window ledge. Maybe Tobin was right just as much as he was wrong. Maybe it was possible they were both right – just in different ways. Maybe the way he'd figured things out – the way he'd made sense of it in his head – wasn't the only way.

The silence that aired out afterwards was comfortable. Even if the sting of overthinking stuck to it like glue. Just present enough to be mired in agreeable discomfort. Just enough to make him want to move on from it. To cover it over and bury it as Tobin watched him quietly. Expression remarkably empty of judgement. It made him uncomfortable. It didn't want to linger on why.

He shook his head, feeling the words come up on him again.

Wondering, not for the first time, why he felt compelled to share them.

There was just something about Tobin that made him want to-

"When we were out there, alone, I told everyone that. That we had to do what we needed to, and then maybe, just maybe, we'd get to live. That we'd make it. I don't know. Being out there? You never really sleep, you know? You're always waiting – waiting for the other shoe to drop. For the walkers to come at you out of nowhere. For people to come across you and-"

A small furrow took up residence between Tobin's eyes, but he didn't interrupt.

Instead, he just listened.

"It's dark out there, and yeah- we're still adjusting. Still trying to remember how this whole day to day works when the world is like it is out there. But that doesn't mean we aren't right. You know that- you've seen some of it. You've fought for this place. But you don't really know. None of you do. You were lucky- or maybe not, depending how you look at it. We've been out there since the beginning, all of us. We've had places, good places, places like this-" he gestured, crooked hands flicking up at the scraped smooth ceiling and the spotless white vents that hushed air-conditioning – a luxury of all things - down on them. "-taken from us."

"Spencer told me you guys were at a prison? Glenn said something about the crops you were growing there," Tobin interjected, fingers laced together in front of him. Quiet but earnest. "What was that like?"

He ran his hands through his hair. Remembering the echoing walls and the phone that only rang when he was around. He remembered Lori's ghost and the empty grave. But then he remembered how laughter seemed to spread its way through the drafty place as more and more people came to call it home. Grateful people. Good people.

"It was the closest thing to home since we got run off Maggie's farm," he answered honestly. "We spent the winter going from house to house, place to place, half starved. It seemed like no matter how long we walked, no matter how quiet we were, the walkers always found us. Back then it was better to move on then waste bullets. When we found it, it was overrun. Full of walkers. Something must have happened inside, someone died or got bit. Anyway, they all turned. The prisoners, the guards, all of them. They were all there inside, milling inside the fence. Contained," he shared, taking a long drink as the burning hum of the potent liquor warmed his insides on the way down.

"We needed a place. Lori- my wife – she was already late term with Judith. She couldn't run anymore. The baby was due any day so I made the call. We all decided. We were gonna take the place. And we did. We cleared it," he continued, experiencing the moment second-hand through his own memories as he spoke.

"There were a couple convicts still inside, they'd held up in the galley, worked their way through the food stores ever since everything went downhill. They had no idea what'd happened on the outside. Thought the phones were still working and everything. They thought we were there to save them," he remembered, chuckling dryly. "A couple of them were good enough people, but the other two…well-"

"Weren't," Tobin responded archly, understanding.

"Yeah," he echoed, tipping back the last of his glass as he kept the warm amber liquid in his mouth for a handful of seconds. Soaking in the flavor. "Seems like that's the way the world is these days."

"It's the way the world always was," Tobin negated, surprising him by shaking his head. "There's just less in the way now. Less distractions. Less structure. The world might not be the same, but it isn't different."

An echo of Hershel's kind eyes flashed in his mind's eye like a reminder as he shifted.

"Never thought about it like that," he mused. Settling on honesty as he leaned forward to match him. "Figured all this time we were better than that. More. Maybe we were all kidding ourselves."

A thoughtful look twitched across Tobin's features, adding dimples and weight to the lines of his mouth before smoothing away again.

"No, not kidding ourselves," Tobin answered, black t-shirt tight around his arms and shoulders like it was just a half-size too small. "Most people, the good ones, aren't meant to see it that way. That's why you had your job, at the Police Station, right? You protected people from themselves, from the world. From the bad things that try to wriggle their way into places they shouldn't."

"I may not have been out there like you were," Tobin started, looking up at him through surprisingly thick lashes. Capturing him in place. "But I know people. And I like to think I know the bad from the good. And no matter what you might think, no matter what you've done or what you might think of yourself when the lights go out- I want you to know that I know where I stand. And that's with you – all of you. If you'll have me."

His mouth was dry. Parched and collapsing in on itself as he floundered.

He opened his mouth, rasping air, only to have the man himself save him from answering.

"Heavy thoughts deserve heavy liquor," Tobin thrummed with a grin. Eyes laughing, flashing bright despite the low light, as he levered himself to his feet and walked over to the counter for the bottle. Determined and loose. Like what he'd said only a moment ago had been honest and free of commitment. "What do you say, deputy?"

He took a deep breath.

Refusing to choke on it when he looked up and caught the man staring.

"Can't argue with that," he replied. Smiling back fully, regardless of the brittle-thin breaks the expression left behind.


He didn't sleep that night, or the one after.


He wasn't sure exactly how, but soon enough it became a thing they did together. Ending the day with a glass of something and some company. Most times it was out on the porch watching Judith muck about on the lawn. But sometimes it ended up gravitating into the relative quiet of one of their living rooms. Soaking in the normalcy and the low talk along with the throw blankets and stupid decorative pillows he swore seemed to multiply every time he looked away.

It was how Tobin fit - seamless and easy - that got to him first. How it was effortless. How he enjoyed it - him. How nothing about it was hard. Bad. Or wrong. How the odd day neither of their schedules matched up seemed to drag on for half of forever and how he'd find himself looking forward to the next day more than the end of the first.

It felt like being a jerky, awkward teenager all over again. And while half of him was cautious, the other half couldn't help but start getting hopeful about things. About all the other possible reasons for the man's open smile and the way he leaned in sometimes, just an inch too close.

Then, one day, while out with Heath and Spencer inspecting the eastern point of the wall, Tobin went missing.


A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – There will be more to come, stay tuned.