A/N: Beta'd by the lovely and always supportive Siancore. The heart and soul of the Richonne fandom we don't deserve.

3. Worse

Rick abandoned his fruitless teddy bear rescue mission pretty soon after it began. All it took first was an unexpected phone call from his own son to put him to shame. Made impatient by his excitement and wanting to share a piece of news his mother had insisted could wait, Carl Grimes' determined dialling unwittingly drew his delusional dad back to the real world of professional boundaries and paternal promises.

"Carl what did I tell you about bothering your father at work?"

"But mom! I just wanna know when he'll be back!"

"In his own time."

In his own time.

Rick felt the slight from miles away. An attack on his fatherhood, his commitment to his duties. It was the first time Lori had brought their battle to the 'Carl front'. The humiliation of listening helplessly over the line was unbearable to Rick, a man who prided himself in his relationship with his boy, his entire world – the center of the universe

Propelled into action by his hurt and in a desperate bid to prevent any further sullying of his good name, Rick raced all the way home – driving with very little regard to the traffic laws he was charged with reinforcing daily. Halfway into his journey, the righteous anger he felt dissipated, and he was left with an uncomfortable truth – Lori wasn't wrong.

He had a son, a little boy of his own, and whilst Michonne was out there, earning her points as a parent, he had to be dragged back to his. It wasn't right, Rick thought angrily, cursing himself, and not Lori this time, for the situation he had gotten himself into. What was he going to do anyway? Kick down his front door in a fit of rage and proceed to throw down with the mother of his child in front of said child? Over what? A comment that may have been just that – a comment. Entirely harmless, except against his ego, thus rousing his defensiveness.

Rick was exhausted; he hadn't even walked through the door yet and he was already done with this. He thought back to little Sophia, caught up in a world of hurt by the state of her parents' marriage, and he shivered at the thought of ever inflicting a different kind of damage onto his own child.

As inexcusable as it was, sooner rather than later, the tension between him and his wife would overflow and impact Carl's blissful childhood existence. Rick could feel it in his bones, the breaking point approaching. The day he would slip up as a Christian and disrespect his once beloved bride by calling her a fucking spiteful bitch. And Carl would hear him and be forever changed by it.

Unless he put a stop to it first.

There it was again, slithering across his mind. A shameful snake of a thought telling him to go against all he promised before God and a congregation of witnesses.

Divorce.

Rick shuddered at the thought, at losing his family, at bailing on them when things got tough. At ever seeing his son look back at him with weary, world worn eyes instead of the innocent, twinkling blue ones that lit up every time Rick walked through the door.

"Dad!"

"Hey there, champ," Rick yelled back, the cheer in his voice overcompensating for a guilt that sought to choke him. "Heard you had a story for me?"

Carl was twelve, but that didn't stop him from jumping into Rick's arms with a jubilant smile on his young face. He was overjoyed to see his father back so soon after his phone call; not bearing an ounce of ill will for Rick being away for so long in the first place. Rick clung to his son, his perfect little boy, grateful for the hero's welcome he knew he didn't deserve and knowing to cherish it whilst it lasted. Over Carl's shoulder, loomed Lori looking less than thrilled by her husband's return.

"Sorry I'm late," Rick mouthed to her, half expecting the apology not to take, but it did.

Lori Grimes simply shrugged her thin shoulders before leaving for their kitchen. A begrudging acceptance of the situation was all she could muster for him, and Rick immediately knew why: She had been hoping for another hour without him. Rick sighed mournfully.

How did they get here and how does it end?

"Okay dad, you can let go now," Carl said, interrupting Rick's thoughts regarding the dark state of his marriage. The not-quite teen playfully squirmed free from the man who continued to cling onto him, completely unaware of his new existence as a sad relic of a once happy marriage. Embarrassed, Rick quickly apologized and ushered his son to tell his tale.

"My piece got picked for the gallery! Everyone's coming to see it and I need you guys to be free on Thursday. This coming one not the next. At seven."

That was all Carl said but Rick was already lost.

"The what now?"

"At school," Carl said, sounding frustrated with his father's inability to extract the relevant details that made up this supposed good news from the excitable ramblings. Rolling his eyes impatiently, Carl started from the beginning.

"We have a new art teacher. Ms. Anthony."

"Yes, son, that I'm aware of," Rick said, unable to help himself but careful not to betray anything further regarding Michonne.

"Yeah she's from New York and so cool and different. Like waaay more interesting than Mrs. Randal. Man was she a pain! Dad, we were painting bowls of fruit over and over and over again. Things were that bad."

"Hey now, don't be so harsh on old Mrs. Randal, Carl. She's a kindly old woman."

"Yeah, but I'm glad she retired, because if I had to paint one more apple – I would've gladly had a stroke too!"

Rick shamefully chuckled at Mrs. Randal's expense. His son's declaration was undoubtedly dramatic as old Testament damnation. But he was glad to hear Michonne brought some much needed vigor to her new role and ditched the cumbersome curriculum of her predecessor. Back at school, he was never a fan of art and he had a sneaking suspicion the blame lay at Old Lady Randal's feet then too.

"Anyway, Ms. Anthony is awesome. We started a new art project two months ago and she promised if all do great job we'd get to display our work in our own gallery – like the Metropolitan, but right here at Henry Ellis!"

Rick clapped his hands right on cue, signalling to his son how incredibly impressed he was. And in all honesty, he was, especially with how fast Michonne was working to make her stamp on this town. She really was something special.

"And when did your school get a swanky new space for the display of art?"

Carl laughed heartily at the way his father continued to feign ignorance just for his amusement, and Rick grinned back, pleased to make his son's face beam.

"It'll only be for one evening. We get to turn the gym into one with movable screens to divide it up, and then lights on like stands, so people can really see the art. Oh and there will be snacks, for the guests – the moms and dads."

"Wow! And you're saying your piece got picked for this event? That's amazing."

Carl's body shifted uncomfortably at Rick's praise. "Well – we all get to display our work because it's a class thing," he confessed finally, for a moment looking slightly embarrassed at exaggerating his own importance.

"I'm sure your piece will be the best one there," Rick said, reassuring his son, as a parent would, but acutely aware that knowing Carl, he would be proven right. The kid had talent; he had been drawing on any and all surfaces since the day he was big enough to pick up his first crayon. It used to drive Rick and Lori nuts, trying to keep Carl's artistic sensibilities within the confines of a sketchpad, but as the years went on, Rick was glad they never did anything to stop him.

His father's praise had a reinvigorating effect on the boy, and Carl returned to gushing about the upcoming event.

"Ms. Anthony did say mine had real potential. She said I get to put my piece in the center spot because she was so impressed with it."

"That's my boy! Up top!"

Lori walked back into the hallway just in time to witness the celebratory high five between the Grimes men, and Rick was pleased to see her approval. They shared a quiet moment of pure parental pride, glad to shower their son with love, for he was a tribute to the heights they could achieve when their partnership worked.

"We're all so proud of you, sweety," said Lori.

Carl thanked his mother with a hug and it was just as welcoming a sight to Rick as his high-five had been to her. This was worth fighting for, Rick reminded himself, determined to etch this image into his mind for the next time he would be overcome with doubt.

"Mom?"

"Yes?"

"Can I call Shane now that dad knows? You said I could tell him once I told dad."

Lori's face changed at Carl's request. There was an awkward pause before she answered with a tense smile on her face. "Sure baby."

"You know the number still?"

"Duh," Carl said sarcastically before correcting himself for fear of repercussions for his tone. "I mean yes, mom."

Lori sighed before laying out her terms. "Are you going to make sure to head straight up afterwards? Because I need you in your bed in fifteen minutes."

Carl happily agreed with his mother's request.

"Okay then, you can go call Shane," Lori said finally, dismissing Carl who dashed out the room the moment right after the first word and nod.

Left behind with his wife, Rick could feel the stillness in the air.

The mention of his best friend's name shouldn't have had this effect on them, and yet, Rick could feel something was hideously off. Lori looked back at him with brown uncertain eyes and Rick couldn't make sense of why. Or he didn't want to. He wanted to go back to the glorious picture of domestic bliss from mere moments ago.

"He expects us to attend this event. The both of us, together."

She spoke to him with none of that artificial sweetness she saved for him whenever Carl was in their presence.

"And Shane?" Rick regretted it as soon as he asked. His distressed heart cried out for him to stop pursuing this line of questioning.

"He said he'd ask him. I told him not to bother him," Lori said, arms folded over her chest a little too defensive to be casual.

Rick let out a small laugh. There was nothing funny about it. "Why Lori? He's family. Why shouldn't he attend his godson's art exhibition."

"Oh, don't Rick. Don't."

Lori turned on her heel, ready to retreat to the kitchen and leave the start of another argument. But Rick Grimes refused to be left behind.

"What, Lori? What is it that I am doing?" He demanded, following his wife into the kitchen and making sure to shut the door behind him.

Lori swung back around to face her husband, confronting him in a low angry whisper so as to not attract their son's attention. They were so well rehearsed in their bouts, they had specific modes. This was not to be one of their earth shattering "To hell with the neighbors, Carl is at school so bring your worst darling" clashes.

"This!" Lori hissed in a tactically low voice, carrying all the irritation or a much louder one. "You're making me feel bad for trying to spare you your feelings."

Rick let out an empty gasp to convey his utter surprise. "Since when? Also, what feelings?"

"It's not my fault that your son loves your best friend. You shouldn't have a problem with that!" Lori continued, serving up the outrage in tightly contained manner.

Again, none of this was making sense to Rick. He could barely follow the turn this conversation suddenly had taken.

"I don't have a problem with it, Lori," he said, answering honestly and somewhat calmly. "But you seem to. Why wasn't it okay for Carl to call his buddy Shane to tell him his good news? Why do you think that would bother me?"

Rick felt he made his question clear enough for his wife, and for a moment, with perhaps nowhere to hide, Lori Grimes was silenced.

He didn't relish in point scoring during arguments, especially when all he wanted was a sincere response. Lori seemed to agree with him. She ran her hands through her long, messy brown waves; her hair looking more and more frazzled these days to match the unkempt stubble on his chin. The toll of an unhappy home life was becoming apparent on their faces. Leaning against the kitchen counter, she finally answered.

"I don't know why, Rick, I don't know why anything bothers you anymore these days. It just does."

Rick bit his lip angrily at the disgraceful attempt at deflection.

"No Lori. You don't get that do that. Not this time."

The clatter of one unwashed pot against after that Rick sent it went flying into the sink shocked Lori for a moment. But then she let out a completely unironic cackle.

"Do what? Walk on eggshells?" Lori cried, barely able to contain her outrage pointing at her husband's behavior as another exhibit to enter into evidence.

Breathing heavily, Rick wiped the splash back of water droplets from his face. He wasn't angry, he told himself, knowing he was barely keeping it together.

"What's that? Missed my head?"

"Don't," Rick whispered the blood draining from his face.

She knew he would never but said it anyway.

How could she.

Needing a break after landing such a blow, Lori bowed over a little. Her hands resting on her knees and her face artfully hidden under a mess of dark hair instead of owning up to the cruelty of her comments. Rick could hear her sob a little, but was in no mood to comfort her.

"Fine. I'm the bad guy," he sighed, shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head. "What else is new?"

"No, I am. And I'll go on being the bad guy, Rick," Lori said, straightening up and staring Rick in the eye. She had a pathetic, exhausted look on her face but an iron will and a tone that matched. Lori had been done recharging her artilleries. "I'll be the bad guy. For caring about my husband. For wanting him not to be bothered at work until he's done. For making sure his son doesn't forget to tell his father news that matters first! A man he barely sees these days anyway!"

Rick took a step back, unprepared, he had been wounded by the accusation of neglect on his part.

"I know I've been busy," Rick admitted, feeling sorry for himself and his actions. This was an argument he had lost back in the car. There was no point in hiding that fact.

"You have," Lori replied, relentless in her criticism, not yet knowing she had overreached and Rick wasn't done.

"But that's not what's going on here," said Rick. He was ready to bring the argument back to his original point.

"And what is then Rick?" Lori asked.

After a pregnant pause, Rick decided to come out with it.

"You don't have to keep Carl from Shane."

Unless there is another reason.

But Rick was momentarily stunned into silence by his wife's speedy interruption. "Okay. I won't, but you don't have to keep forcing yourself to be here."

King of self-imposed amnesia, Rick Grimes ran with the subject change, no longer sure what he was getting at in the first place. Instead he decided that this would be the moment. One that called for a new kind of weapon – sincere openness.

"I'm not. Lori," he said softly, moving towards his wife slowly. "I want to be here, I want to be with my son."

Rick paused for a moment before adding the rest. "And I want to be with my wife, if she'll let me."

Lori did nothing to answer her husband's plea, flinching the moment her reached out to hold her hand. And it was enough for Rick to know that he was on his own in manning the scaffoldings that kept his marriage from falling. Lori would never leave him, but she would never stop trying to drive him out.

"I have to go check on Carl. Make sure he washed up before bed."

Both resigned to their fate for the only reason they could offer up, Lori made way towards the door.

Rick hesitated for a moment before calling out to his wife one more time.

"Lori?"

She didn't turn around to face him, but briefly stopped at the door regardless.

Never an inch.

Rick sighed and swallowed his true words for empty ones. "Tell him I'll be up in a minute to say goodn-."

She was gone before he had finished.

Rick waited until Lori returned downstairs before going up to see his son. He wolfed down the night's leftovers, unheated pasta straight from the plastic container in the fridge, before sprinting up the stairs and into Carl's room.

"Hey kiddo, you all tucked in?"

Carl groaned at his father's babying of him. Rick knew it must've looked strange having one parent enter the room, just as soon as the other left.

"You know I'm too old for tuck-ins dad."

Rick chuckled at his son's response. "Like heck you are."

"You can say hell."

Rick raised his eyebrows. "I know I can."

"But I can't," Carl grumbled, sinking further into his bed at the injustice.

"Yep and don't you forget it."

It was always a little disconcerting how quickly the boy in front of him changed. Less than an hour ago, he was flying into Rick's arms the way he always had. Here, they were embarrassing him at the mere thought of a tuck in and pushing his luck with curse words.

Rick wondered if Shane would let Carl swear around him. Maybe that's what made the kid idolize the carefree, cool cop when compared to stuffy straight and narrow old man. The thought irked him and led him down a rabbit hole he so desperately wished to avoid.

"Hey, by the way, what did Shane say when you called?"

"Not much. It was loud where he was but he said he would come."

The boy was downplaying how disappointed he was that his godfather didn't make a bigger deal about the news. But knowing his friend, Rick imagined the man was three beers in already and in the mood to do the kind of adult entertaining Carl's phone call was keeping him from.

It brought a small petty smile to his face; Carl may think the world of Shane and on the right day his godfather thought the same – but the boy only had one father and that was boring old Rick.

"Hey, proud of you son," Rick said, repeating himself but each time meaning it just the same. "Now I might not get the finer details of something as out there as art, but I know talent when I see it."

"Thanks," Carl replied with a look of genuine affection on his face for Rick's hammy, dorky dad act.

Rick looked at Carl's room, covered in a visual history of his son's artistic journey, from original comic book creations and creepy crawlers to sketches of friends, family and fellow townspeople. He had no idea where his son's artistic sensibilities had come from, it sure as hell didn't run in the Grimes family line. But unlike the men that came before him, Rick was supportive of his son's endeavour. Proud of his creative capabilities and his thoughtful, imaginative nature. As was Lori, and he was grateful to hear Michonne now too.

"So…Any hints as to what this masterpiece of yours is like?"

"You're just gonna have to wait until opening night, like everyone else."

"Wow, that's cold, son," Rick gasped, getting up from Carl's bed and stumbling to door in an exaggerated manner of a wounded soldier.

"Hey dad?" Rick heard Carl call out for him. He turned to face his son, completely serious and ready to attend to his needs. "Just don't make things weird for me at school."

Not knowing how to respond, Rick simply nodded before hitting the light switch off and leaving the room, his anxious mind wondering if Shane had received such a warning from the surly teen that was threatening to take his sweet son's place. Somehow, feeling every bit as wounded as he had pretended to be just a few moments ago, Rick Grimes knew the answer was no and all that did was make him want to take off his oldest friend's head with the dirty pot his wife thought was meant for her.