Ugh, been dying to contribute to this fandom and to these two baes.

Not sure yet how long this will be, but it won't be too long. I think.

oOo

"It's your fault Carl's like this."

Rick brought a hand to his face, pinching down hard on the bridge of his nose.

"If you could just keep your voice down when you talk to me," Lori pressed, "If you could just—"

"If I could just what, Lori? What else could I possibly do by myself to put things right? Disappear? Grow wings and fly off? What?"

Lori sighed, a tremble in her breath. She spun on her heel and crossed her arms with her back towards Rick. Her eyes had gone damp. Rick had seen it. He reached for her, to apologize and to maybe forget, but she immediately flinched a cold shoulder at him.

"Nothing, Rick," she told him. "You can't do anything, not anymore."

Rick didn't know what to say. Not when he could see Lori's shoulders begin to shake like they always did right before she started sobbing.

It was dark out. Moon was high up. The argument had stretched for a good two solid hours into the nick of midnight, and all along Rick knew Carl was right behind the door of the bedroom the entire time.

"Lori, I—"

"I think you should leave for the night, Rick," she clipped. "I'll take Carl to school in the morning."

"How will that solve anything?" Rick shot, approaching her. "Why don't we just sit down and talk this out like two grown adults?"

"We've tried!" Lori shouted. She turned towards him, all anger and tears. "We've tried everything, Rick!"

Rick knew that once Lori started screaming, there was no calming her. The neighbors would listen in, think the worst of it, and call the cops. And the last thing Rick needed was Shane at his door in the middle of a Thursday night. Again.

He nodded. "Okay," he said, grabbing his coat. "I'll go."

He could feel Lori's eyes on his back, the tapping of her foot.

"You have fun with her, Rick," Lori called after him. "Whoever the hell she is!"

It took a hell of a lot for Rick not to end up going right back into that room.

A lot.

Taking a steady breath, he snatched his keys, his coffee mug, and went straight out the door.

Last thing he heard before he felt the rain at his face was Carl's sniffling coming from up the stairs.

oOo

Amazingly enough, the station seemed empty.

Strange, since Shane usually hung around till three in the morning doing a whole lot of nothing.

Pocketing his keys, Rick decided to count his blessings for the night and settle in for a while at his desk for some paperwork and a cup of steaming hot caffeine. His head hurt from all the screaming, and his eyes felt heavy from fatigue. But he decided he'd pulled through worse.

He went to his desk. Organized like always. The pencil he never used sat calm at the corner of it, along with a small 4x4 photograph of a 5-month old Carl. Drawers clean, clipboards neatly piled.

He liked it this way.

Alone in the dark with the woes of his failing marriage dulled numb in mind.

Away from Lori's screams and the drama that came with their nightly sleeping arrangements. He was either too close or too far from her. Too distant or too touchy. Rick couldn't understand her anymore. He wished he could, really did. But to Lori, it almost seemed like if it were all a game she could always win.

He sunk into his chair, staring at the golden ring around his finger. Eighteen years of marriage, of complete devotion on his part, only to come right down to this: the imaginary blond woman in Lori's head.

Ironic, too, since he was the one who'd forgiven her for her affair not two years back. Never told him who the guy was or how it happened, but he'd forgiven her, no less. Loved her through it. Like a real husband does.

Letting out a breath, Rick pulled off the ring, placing it neat under a pile of papers. He ran a hand through the black roots of his hair and sat up, un-capping the pen that hung always at the hem of his shirt pocket. He told himself he'd fill ten more reports before he found someplace to sleep.

After that, he'd go and make sure Carl was safe at school before running back home for a quick shower. Then he'd come right back, punch in, make himself a sandwich, grab Shane, and start his patrols down all ten avenues 'till five.

Nothing could go wrong.

Assured, he wiped his eyes open, going straight to work.

oOo

Rain came down hard all through the night, the sleet of it hugging tight against the walls.

Rick had no clue how long he'd gone knocked out on his desk, pen still in hand. All he did know was that there was a man right in front of him now, demanding he get out of the way.

"Oh, sorry," he said, dozed out. "Didn't even know you were here."

Rick stood quick, giving the man space enough to mop the floor underneath his desk. First thing he felt was the freezing rush of cold air snake straight into his skin. He hugged into himself, his vision still blurry from sleep. That's when he noticed that the man who'd appeared out of nowhere wore nothing but a thin tank top and a pair of torn up jeans. Brown hair tussled this way and that, eyes low to the ground, and looking awfully pissed off, too.

"Aren't you cold in that?" was all Rick could think to say. "Pretty cold in here."

"No."

Rick nodded, looking away. He thought maybe he'd said the wrong thing. Silence ensued, and it didn't feel right just leaving it like that. He was in the guy's way of work, after all.

"Real sorry about that. Haven't seen you around before. You new?"

"Yeah, what's it to you?"

The man stopped in his mopping to face Rick.

..And damn that was some face to have in the middle of nowhere Georgia.

White skin toiled rough on the edges with the seldom tattoo. Hair swept crazy on his head, looking like a cow had gone and licked it. Looked good, though. Someway. Rick could smell him from there, like earth and trees. He thought of the woods down at Greenvein Avenue, the cool rush of the wind from there. Deer and elk. Warm fires.

"What? Got a problem?"

Rick shook his head. "No—no. Tired, is all."

"Actin' like you ain't ever seen a guy with a mop cleanin' up after ya'll shit before," the man said, spitting promptly on the floor.

"I meant no disrespect—"

"And I ain't no 'Mr. Sanchez', so don't even think," he accused. "It's Daryl. Get it straight."

"Daryl, then," Rick repeated. "Nice to meet you."

He gave his hand in mostly reflex like he did before a questioning. Worked most times, too, but this time he got no response.

Instead, the man left with a scowl on his face, mop in hand, mumbling a string of curses from under his breath.

Rick just stood there, dumbfounded.

oOo

The rain settled in the morning. The sun even managed its way out of the clouds.

Rick knew Shane's eyes had been on him since eight lanes down.

He knew that Shane knew. Shane knew that Rick knew.

It was only a matter of when before Shane would start nosing around.

"Let me guess," he started, that big stupid smile on his face that Rick could never have it in him to ever actually hate. "Lori, ain't it?"

"Yup," Rick said, taking a perfect turn.

He hoped Shane would just leave it there and put it to rest. But that was just wishful thinking.

"Man, must suck to be you," Shane chuckled. He took out a cigarette and lit it, lips pressed tight against the filter. "Those bags under your eyes couldn't get any worse."

"Maybe."

"So what? Gonna lay it down soon? Or are ya just gonna let her tell it to ya?"

Rick's lip went up a little. "If you're asking whether or not I'm gonna head on home and divorce my wife, the answer is no, Shane."

"Didn't say it had to go that way." A thick fog of tobacco smoke filled the car. Rick swayed away what he could with his hand. "Just sayin' there's still a pretty big world out there, Rick. Nice girls and casinos all around."

"Yeah?" Rick grinned. "Wouldn't have guessed it if I tried."

They both laughed, rushing quick through a yellow light. The streets were busy, typical of a Friday afternoon. Picking up kids, families going this way and that. Rick thought back a few years, when Lori still kept calm and Carl didn't always look so glum.

Those were the days.

Good months and good years.

Rick wished he could have them back, wished Lori hadn't done what she did. Things would still be alright otherwise, things would have still fixed themselves with a little time.

"Swear, I'm gonna drag you down to one of'em casinos by them curls on your head," Shane quipped with a smirk, shaking the ash from his cigarette from out the open window. "Make a few bucks and take some of the guys. It'd be fun, Rick. Get a hooker or two to dance real slow for us. Man, and those city lights. What I wouldn't give."

Rick shook his head. "You're crazy."

"A little."

A red light stopped them at the woods by Greenvein Avenue. The wet smell of trees flooded into the car, blowing the stench of Shane's cigarette away. Rick took a breath, letting the smell of living bark and growing things take him right back to earlier that day.

Deer. Elk.

Warm fires.

"Hey, you know anything about that new guy at the station?"

"What new guy?" Shane asked, turning towards Rick. "There hasn't been a 'new guy' since Christmas."

Rick stayed quiet, feeling a little dumb.

Bad move.

"Ohh," Shane drawled, his lips pursed out into an actual 'o'. "You mean janitor boy with the figure eight cow lick?"

Rick didn't say anything, just did what the green light told him to.

"Saw him just last night sweeping out the lunchroom," Shane said almost proudly. "Grumpy little sonuvabitch. Likes it hard in the ass, too, if you ask me."

Rick bit the inside of his cheek before raking a hand deep through the dark coils of his hair.

No victory in even trying. Shane was impossible. Ignore him enough, though, and he shut himself right up.

"And with that twang of his. Least he could do is wear something decent," Shane continued, a big cheery smile on his face. "Probably came straying from those hillbillies down at Greenvein, like no one knows they do their tweaker shit from a mile down. Cuffed at least a dozen of'em in the past year." He laughed, flicking the butt of his cigarette onto the granite of the road. "Why, man? Hick giving you trouble?"

Rick shook his head with a casual scratch to the chin.

"You know, Shane," he said, a stretched smile on his face. "Been thinking, maybe I will take you up on that offer. The casino, I mean."

Shane agreed immediately.

Rick never brought up the subject again.

oOo

By the time the final shift of the day ended, the rain had started up all over again.

Rick went straight to the lockers, uniform drenched heavy in rain, always careful in unloading his gun before placing it in the very back where he kept an extra mag of bullets.

Wasn't long until Shane came running right behind him.

"Heading home this early? It's Friday night!"

"That's right," Rick said, shrugging of his jacket. "Lori's at home. Promised her I'd be there on time. Said she was gonna make dinner."

Shane shook his head twice, arms crossed all casual with his shoulder firm against the wall.

"Damn, Rick," he said, "never thought I'd see the day."

Rick turned towards him. "Once you settle down, you'll see it real clear, Shane. It ain't easy, but you won't ever want it any other way."

Shane just stood there, a grin on his face.

oOo

Once Rick made it to the neighborhood, he could already sense something had gone wrong since way before he had made it to the front porch.

When he stepped inside, sure enough, the house didn't smell like any food had been cooking.

Instead, it was quiet as death, with only the kitchen light on and the livingroom in the same mess it had been in since the past several days.

He hung his keys, wiped his feet, took a deep breath, and expected the worst.

Lori was in the kitchen, red in the face with a piece of crumpled paper in her hand. Carl was sitting at the table with his head in his arms, staring out blankly towards the window. His eyes were wet. Rick looked away, rubbing hard at his temples.

"What happened now, Lori?"

He almost wished he hadn't asked.

"What happened?" she repeated in a sharp hiss. "This happened!"

She went over to Rick, slamming the paper into his chest a little harder than necessary. At that moment, Carl hid his face in his arms again. Rick looked down. A lot of ones and zeroes and not enough threes and fours. He turned it over, and sure enough the teacher had a whole lot to say about Carl's 'attitude' and 'lack of respect'.

"Says he hit a kid over a ball yesterday. Carl, why? Didn't this happen just last week?"

"I already asked him why, Rick, believe me," Lori shot, "more than ten times since before you managed to get here. Same excuse as always. I've gone over this with him a million times." She turned towards Carl, her hands deep inside the roots of her long hair. "His teacher told me they'll kick him out of the damn school at this rate. I can't believe this!"

"I know, it's hard, Lori," Rick tried, approaching her. "But you've gotta calm down. Screaming and yelling at him won't make him listen to you—"

"Then what will?" she shouted. "'Cause you sure as hell ain't ever here to help me!"

"Lori—"

"I've seen how you sneak out in the middle of the night! You think I don't notice? Must be that ditz woman from down the street, ain't it! Heavens, Rick!"

"Lo—"

She approached, pressing her finger hard against Rick's chest.

"So don't you dare come into my kitchen and dictate to me that I don't know how to raise my child!"

Before Rick could say much, Carl got up. The chair fell loudly behind him. Tears rolled down his eyes like a loose faucet. Rick saw it. And before he could calm Lori down or say anything of real value to his only son, Carl rushed up the stairs without another word.

Rick never was a man keen to lose his cool. But with Lori shouting so close to his face, and with her finger constantly punching down on his chest, and with the problems at work and the crime on the streets rising, Rick whipped her wrist away with one hand hard enough to make her cry out.

And no, he'd never touched her before.

Not this way or that.

And he knew for damn sure that she'd probably use this against him for the rest of their lives until the day they both died, but his temper was tipping over, and Carl just looked so helpless and sad—

He lent towards her close enough to share the same air, his voice low and rough.

"I've never once been unfaithful to you," he said, firm and done. "Never even crossed my mind. Now, I can't say the same for both our parts, but if your crazy imagination is more important than the issues at hand with our son, I don't think I can take much more, Lori. I can't."

Lori froze frigid, her breathing gone shallow. Rick could see the dam breaking in her eyes.

"I'll go and talk to Carl and his teacher tomorrow, that's for damn sure. And I'll make things right, I promise you. But this," he said, letting go of her wrist and motioning towards the space between them, "this, is a problem involving only you and me. Not Carl."

Saying nothing further, Rick took his keys and went right out the door.

oOo

The moon had gone and hid behind the purple shroud of clouds in the sky by the time Rick had gotten to the station.

It was pitch dark with rain pouring nonstop.

Hadn't rained this hard in King County since four seasons back.

Rick chucked out his keys and unlocked the door to the station, trying his best not to think about what had just happened.

But it was hard, and Rick just couldn't anymore by the time he got to his desk.

He kicked at the chair and then at the mountain of papers he had neatly piled next to it, making them fly everywhere like some sort of angry holiday.

Next was the desk, which wasn't such a great idea at the end of the day, because the framed photograph he'd kept at the corner of it fell and shattered into a sharp explosion made up of one thousand little regrets. You'd think lady luck would just shoot herself dead then, but then an open can of soda Shane had probably left there from earlier fell right onto it, destroying the picture Rick had kept of a smiling baby Carl since way back when.

Nothing could ever go right.

He was a wounded man, meant for ruins.

He growled a curse and punched the desk before feeling outright stupid.

Rick looked around him with his hands on his waist, breath loud and livid. When he found some level of peace in the mess he'd made, he reached for the chair he'd brutalized and sat down, staring directly at nothing.

He was only thankful that Lori (or anyone, really) wasn't around to see him like this.

"Damn, yer nuts," came a voice from somewhere behind him.

Yep, today was just not the day.

Rick swallowed the embarrassment and swiveled calmly in his chair, meeting eyes with the man from yesterday. Except this time, the man had a broom on him instead of a mop.

"That's what life does to you," Rick sighed. "Sorry you had to see that."

"Don't go sorryin' around for that shit," Daryl clipped, kicking away some of the papers. "It's this mess that I sure as hell ain't cleanin' again."

Rick chuckled an honest chuckle before standing up.

"No worries. I'll take care of it. Got all night."

Daryl's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Daryl's eyes were blue.

"Damn cops," he muttered, turning to leave.

"Wait," Rick said for a reason he did not entirely know.

So Daryl did, brow quirked up low in a way that was either out of curiosity or annoyance.

"Name's Rick, by the way," Rick managed after a moment. "Rick Grimes."

And to his surprise, Daryl actually seemed fine with the formality without cursing him out like he'd thought.

"Dixon."

Again, Rick offered his hand. And this time, Daryl accepted it with his eyes low towards the ground.

That's when Rick saw it, this up close and under the clear light, he could see traces of scars and yellowing bruises all along Daryl's arm. Burns, too, or Rick wasn't a cop.

Daryl felt to have noticed Rick noticing, though, because he broke the handshake a little too soon after that and recoiled almost like he'd been stung.

"You know," Rick huffed out, pretending he hadn't seen a thing. "I was actually just thinking about going out for a drink. Friday night and all. Nice game of pool. Or cards, if it ain't your thing."

Daryl looked to have thought about it, but then he shook his head.

"I ain't one to get paid for nothin," he said simply, going to pick up the broom. "Only job I could get and I ain't losin it this time."

"It's on me. The blame and the drink, I mean."

That must have done it, because Daryl seemed to have forgotten about the broom.

"Fine," he said, eyeing Rick carefully. "But I ain't got no car."

"That won't be a problem."

It was faint, real faint, but Rick swore he'd seen a glint of genuine shock in those quiet blue eyes of his.

oOo

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