Chapter Text
PART ONE : THE PRISON
Even though there's no precise way to keep track of time any longer — batteries have better uses than running clocks — Rick can at least say it happens not long after Lori’s death. Three or four months at most. Truth be told, Rick's first reaction when Shane Walsh’s brought to him, all tied up, guns, crossbow and knives alike ready to ornate his disturbingly alive body, is not to guess whether the crisp winter breeze rather feels like a February or a March, but rather to straight out point his own Colt Python right to the man's head, as if they hadn't gone down that road not so long ago.
"Come on, Rick," Shane indeed teases in a graveling drawl, "not again."
"You shut up," Rick growls back in the hope of covering the sudden lump in his throat — swelling, swelling — tilting both head and gun to the side. "Why aren’t you dead?"
"Oh, come on, things can't always go the way you want them to, you know that."
No, they can’t. Swallowing around the raw, wet lump hurts so terribly Shane’s brown eyes fall to his throat and then, suddenly, he’s glancing around.
Counting faces. Looking for one.
"Where’s Lori?" He asks.
Considering everyone’s face goes blank with pain, the tense silence that follows should've been answer enough. Yet, when he finally spots Judith among the group, Shane can't help but turning back to Rick’s glazed eyes for confirmation. Two and two brings more pain.
"No. You're not serious, right? You can't be fucking serious! No!"
The agonized fury echoes too close to Rick's lungs; his lips pinches with misery — his mouth thinning into a slim white line. And Shane knows that look; he used to know Rick, once. So he gets it; they lost her.
His mouth drops in disbelief and he averts his wet, red-rimmed eyes to exhale shakily, "God, that can’t be. I can’t believe you'd let her fucking die!"
"I’m going to kill you!" Rick howls with a shredded voice as he lunges forward, and when the gun bumps into Shane's forehead nobody cares enough to even twitch.
"Dad," Carl calls firmly, though, and it’s enough. It’ll always be.
Earlier that day
The day had been uneventful enough: Beth, Maggie, Hershel, Carol and Carl had remained inside with Judith while Daryl and Michonne had gone patrolling outside their usual perimeter. Their level of supplies was getting rather low and, besides, Rick was seriously considering extending the garden. Hershel was right, yeah. If they could grow to be self-sufficient... Anyway, Daryl had been the obvious choice to look for seeds. As for Tyreese, Sasha and Glenn, they'd been keeping watch all day.
Around mid-afternoon, Rick paused in his task. Still panting under the harassing sun which brought exhaustion faster, he squinted his eyes and gazed towards the prison. Maggie sat there with Judith in her arms, the both of them idly playing in the grass remotely close to the blocks — but outside, still. Rick immediately worried. He cast an automatic glance above the barb-wire fence.
Obviously, considering where he was standing, Rick wouldn’t be the first person to see if anything was wrong. So he forced himself to relax when Glenn swiftly raised a thumb in his direction to let him know that everything did look safe. Relax. Take it easy. Easier said than done. The plan was for everyone to eventually feel at home here, yet Rick couldn’t help that feeling of deep unease from creeping up his spine whenever he thought about letting anyone go outside. They all had already lost so much.
Protecting his own people was a feral need — Protecting his children, an utterly bestial one. Rick was on his own now, and there were two of them — among them a baby.
Yeah, he was aware he'd refused to even acknowledge Judith’s existence for a while after she was born. And for that he still felt an acute, keen guilt. The little girl was oblivious to the pain she had caused the day she came into his life. Couldn't be held responsible for it, really. No, Judith was the epitome of innocence and the most beautiful thing in this insane world and she was his. They were both his — his responsibility, his very reason to live right now.
Staying alive meant taking care of his family, as he had pointed out to a certain someone not so long ago. Maybe Rick wouldn’t even be there if it wasn’t for them.
Rick had slowly been walking back to the prison when he heard the loud roar of a car. Daryl. He stopped in his tracks, frowning. The gates were promptly opened and closed by Sasha, who ran to the next watching point to yell something to Glenn. The boy jumped to the ground so quickly Rick was sure he must have twisted his ankle, but the next moment Glenn was sprinting back to the prison with rifles under both arms, all the while crying out something to Rick. Wh... He couldn't make out the urgent warning. So he furrowed his brow and took a step forward with a brief, mistrustful look at the car.
"Shane!" Rick heard the second time, but there was no doubt he was misunderstanding. "It’s Shane!"
Soon enough the car stopped next to the main entrance of the prison, where the others were rapidly gathering. Whatever was causing all this fuss, Rick didn’t feel good knowing he was letting his children near it. His hand hovering over the Colt Python at his hip, he scampered along as the car doors were shot open and someone was unceremoniously dragged out of it.
No.
That couldn’t be.
"Carl! Stay away!" Rick yelled, heart in his throat as he suddenly ran down the hill as fast as he could. As if their lives depended on it.
They did.
Luckily, every single one of them had already had the presence of mind to take their weapons out and push Shane in the center — far away from his boy, who kept a careful hand above his own revolver and stood quite behind, confused and gaping. Rick then realized that Carl wouldn’t be able to shoot Shane, at least not unless the man proved to be a threat. Which he was. He was.
Rick finally drew closer and slowed down to take a good look at the bulky, muddy figure kneeling on the hard concrete in front of him. Shane. It really was him. In the flesh. He was alive. Disturbingly alive. Christ. Not a walker.
God. How?
The man was facing Rick expectantly, hands tied behind his back, filthy-looking, the way people looked when they were out in the wild for too long, all dirt and sweat and dried blood. Completely unscathed.
"We bumped into him on the way back," Daryl provided loud enough for Rick to hear from the distance still separating them. "Says he was trying to find us. The Governor sent him this way."
"He didn’t put up a fight," Michonne added, analyzing their faces to grasp from their stricken expressions what she didn't know yet. She had never met Shane. "We searched him. He didn’t hide any weapons."
When Rick was finally close enough, he drew out his gun and pointed it square to Shane’s face.
"Come on, Rick," his former partner drawled like the class' most insolent brat, "not again."
Orders are barked ("Inside! Keep watch. Carl, take away Judith. In Block C. Untie him. Leave us alone." ) until at last he's facing Shane in the first empty corridor he can lay hands on in the abandoned Block C. Rick doesn’t bother going farther.
Before him, in the relative darkness of the narrow hallway, his former friend rubs his sore wrists, but otherwise doesn’t look him in the eyes yet. When he does, it’s between thick eyelashes, cowardly — or warily, maybe. His eyes look huge and black as coal in here.
"You were dead," Rick points out, his voice thick with prickling water, because this is the first important thing to say.
"I wasn't."
"I killed you! I damn well know it, I stabbed you!"
Damn it. The gun is blindly back between them when Rick can’t see anymore and has to blink several times. That night... The feeling of the blade breaking Shane's tender flesh and cracking ribs. The soft gasp of surprise, not of pain, but surprise.
Betrayal makes such quiet noises.
Rick gulps down broken glass. Shit.
"You didn’t kill me," Shane repeats, drawing closer when a sob breaks Rick’s chest in half.
He shouldn’t feel so much just hearing his wretched deep voice again. The Colt Python rises to the man's head, stopping Shane where he stands.
"Look Rick, I’m unarmed and there’s only the two of us here. I’m not asking you to throw away your gun, but can you at least let me talk?”
"Talk? You want to talk?" He repeats in disbelief, emphasizing his words by moving up and down the gun, which wobbles, turned to the side. He can’t see a damn thing because of the tears drowning his vision. “You mothe— You want to talk, now? You had to make me kill my best friend to realize you wanted to talk? What do you want to talk about, Shane?" — His name, so painful, scraping his throat, making him dizzy, Shane, Shane, Shane, the forbidden, forgotten name — "There’s nothing left for you here! She’s gone!"
Then — silence. The only thing Shane does is blink, swallowing his sorrow in the process. His two hands are raised next to his own head. Carefully, slowly measuring his words, he refutes, "There’s the baby… Judith, that's it?"
Rick's dormant hatred immediately burst into flames. That’s... the worst possible thing Shane could have said. All of a sudden fear explodes in his stomach, like acid, and mixes with the fury wetting his tight throat, until Shane is suddenly pressed up against a wall with the gun shoved under his chin.
"She’s mine." Rick growls in a low, terrified voice. "You stay away from her."
"Okay, okay. I know. I just want to make sure she’s fine."
"Is that why you’re back? Making sure my baby is fine and then leave?"
"No," he answers, "Not just for that."
"Why are you here?" Rick repeats in a demanding shout when he can’t repress his growing rage. He can't breathe — have to do it again, watch the life leaves his eyes, again. "Why aren’t you dead, Shane? Last time I saw you, you dragged me into a trap to kill me and you — You forced me to — I plunged the knife in your chest! I thought you were —"
He's done for. Without warning Rick breaks into painful sobs, openly crying now, his head falling on Shane’s shoulder like that man can comfort him. It feels like his heart is tearing itself apart all over again. God, he didn’t have time to mourn Shane, he realizes. Rick entirely dismissed the loss of his best friend just like he hasn't been able to face Lori’s death.
They were both dead. You were so alone.
Are.
Despite the tricky situation they're in, Rick doesn’t let go of the gun and Shane knows better than to embrace him, so his arms stay up and put next to his own head. However, his face does turn to him to whisper in a firm, soothing voice, "I know. Saying sorry and that I was an idiot won’t ever begin to cover what I’ve done. But I’m sorry, man. I really am. All of this is my fault. I know it is, I’m not playing culprit so that you can be good cop with me."
The banter only serves to worsen the present; yeah, they had been cops and colleagues, in another life.
"I — I know," he goes on, "I fucking lost it. There was that first day in Atlanta when I lost everything and we lost you, and then Lori, and then you — You didn’t have a choice, I get that, Rick. Hell, I would’ve made the choice you made too if I were in your shoes. I would've put me down sooner, if I'm honest."
The warm sound of Shane's smile in his ear forces Rick to support himself with his free hand against the wall in order to distance himself and blearily peer into the man's eyes. Shane's brows are oddly furrowed in concern; his whole face is a screaming plea to be trusted — dark eyes shining and lips pressed together, everything calling out for Rick's gaze.
"I just needed to find you, all of you, back."
His words are sweet, but Rick has been his friend for too long.
"I can’t trust you, you know that."
"Yeah, nah, of course, I know. Not yet. Let me prove it to you. I’ll do whatever you want. I’ve been looking for you ever since."
"There's no yet, Shane. After what happened, I’ll never be able to trust you the same way I used to."
"You have to, Rick." he says, "I’ve missed you." Always so forward. "Since that day you went to the hospital, I’ve missed you so much and I’ve never found you back."
"It's not my fault!" He shouts, digging the gun in Shane’s skin, lifting his head up.
"Yeah, 'course not," he agrees, swallowing with difficulty from the awkward angle he's forced to maintain. "It’s mine, I know. I’ll tell you over and over if you want me to: yeah, everything is my damn fault, I’m sorry, Rick. Let me make it right. I came here to apologize and to tell you I can’t live without you and Carl. And the baby. There's no point if we're not together, you get that?"
"Why is that my problem, hm? Why should I care?"
"Because you need my help. You know deep down that I wouldn’t harm them, and you need all the help you've got to keep them safe."
"Me staying alive would keep them safe. How do I know you’re not here to kill me and take my place in the group?"
"I’m not. And I couldn’t. Seriously, look at them all, listening to you and bowing to every shit you drop. I want to be part of that. I'd bow to you. I’ll do everything, just ask. You’ll see."
The tension between them is dense enough to stifle the air out of the room, but Rick can’t resist the banter. He doesn’t smile when he answers, but he does lower the gun, putting back on the security, "Maybe I could literally make you do just that."
Shane chuckles in a quiet laugh, "Your shit is gold to me if you say it is."
Rick averts his eyes, trying to assess the situation. He knows what he wants for himself — he's lost so much — he's never confused when it comes to listening to his instincts. Deciding what’s best for everyone is the most difficult part of his new responsibilities as a leader. Of course, Shane could be lying through his teeth. Hell, he could well have been sent by the Governor for all Rick knew. Being wrong would result in endangering the group. Being wrong would mean exposing his children to the man he killed to protect them in the first place. Yet, deep inside, a silly voice is still trying to reason with him: I could keep an eye on him, I could just give it a shot.
As if he guessed what Rick is thinking, Shane stresses, "You know I’m telling the truth when I say I want to protect Carl. Lori..." Beat. "She’s gone. Let me help. Let me reintegrate the group."
"It won’t be my call," he warns, turning from the side. It feels like caving in, like bearing his flesh, but he's made up his mind: he’ll speak to the others about it, since half of them didn’t seem so distressed to see him back. Maybe their decision would make it easier on Rick to throw him out, if anything. "But if you want me to agree to that, you better prove right now you're going to obey me."
"I’m all ears," Shane agrees, shrugging and pointing to his temples with a smirk.
"Show me."
There’s an odd moment of intense wavering during which Shane searches for Rick’s eyes. When their gazes lock though, he surprisingly goes down (slowly, very slowly) to his knees, and puts his hands behind his head. Looks up. Rick thinks Shane's never looked so vulnerable — but yes, of course he had, especially with all that happened recently. Still, Shane’s hazel eyes are shining with something close to innocence under his arched eyebrows.
Then, Shane glances guardedly at the gun, and bares his neck slowly in submission, looking Rick's way sideways. Getting the cue, Rick points the Colt Python where the soft skin of his neck meets his trapezius muscle. Only a nerve nearby tenses. A formidable sense of power runs through Rick’s veins. Comforting, empowering. If only they could’ve done that in the recent past. The urge to shoot would’ve been overwhelming, of course. It almost is, right now.
A pressure of his index, a deafening echo, and back to the way he was half an hour ago.
But he's curious to see how far he can carry it before Shane breaks and everyone is disappointed, Rick included.
"If you’re to stay with us," he begins through his teeth, "you're gonna have to listen to everything I say. You'll obey me and trust me with your safety and the safety of the group. No question, no fight. If you cause disagreements, you’re out. If you’re responsible for anything turning south, you’re out. You lay so much as a finger on my kids and I kill you. You try to turn your back on me, I kill you. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Rick," he answers flatly, making his Adam apple bobble from the strained angle he's in. "You’re the boss and I’m fucking shit. Can you just go back to the part about the kids? I really want to take care of Carl even if right now he must rightfully hate my face."
"No," Rick growls, digging the gun in the nerves, forcing Shane to sit back on his heels and wince in pain. "He's my son, and Judith is my daughter. If you want to speak with them, you ask me first. If you want to give advice to Carl, you shut your fucking mouth. I lead the group. You follow my orders, and Carl and Judith are my children. Do you get that?"
His jaw is clenched now. "Yeah."
"I want you to repeat what I've just said."
This gets Rick a nasty glare, but a few seconds later, through gritted teeth, Shane enunciates, "Your lead. I follow. Carl… and the baby are — they're your children."
A few seconds elapse. They stay like this, shadowy figures in the dark, immobile in the unusual silence of the new world, and Shane never turns down his eyes. He doesn’t even seem bothered to be in such a situation. They both know what he's capable of; that he's merely willing to play by the rules because they fit his agenda.
After a moment, Rick puts back his gun in its holster. He doesn’t speak yet, though. Instead, he grabs the man’s neck where it is exposed and suddenly bares it a bit more to very obviously assert his dominance over him. Shane carefully lets himself be handled but doesn’t stop glaring at him even though he can’t possibly see Rick's face.
When he’s satisfied with the way Shane has stretched his nape bare without a fight for his wounded pride, Rick takes his hand off the hot skin and says, "I’ll take the night to think about it. I’m going to lock you down here until then."
Shane nods and takes the offered hand. "Fine. Water and food, maybe?"
"I’ll have Daryl bring it for you," He nods, his voice already warming due to the friendly contact.
This is not good. This shouldn’t feel this easy.
Nothing like the deep loss and harrowing anger he had felt for so long can be erased in an hour, though, even with a timely resurrection. So when Rick does lock him up, he warns with a touch of sarcasm, "You better pray everybody agrees with my way of dealing with prisoners this time."
"I’ve got nothing to lose, do I?" Shane throws his way before he turns to leave.