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Rick wasn’t entirely sure where they were standing now.
Since that memorable argument they had had on that field, something had shifted between them, changed. Their anger, their jealousy and hatred, it had all evaporated back then with their tears that would flow down their cheeks; with their blood that would mix up when their foreheads had touched, gruff apologies pouring from their lips. Something had changed, softened, their stares no longer bitter and words no longer biting.
It almost felt like Before; it almost felt like the times sitting in their car on a patrol, stuffing their mouths with donuts and sweet coffee. It felt familiar.
But it wasn’t.
After Lori’s death, after the birth of Judith – because of course they let Carl name his sister; because of course he deserved to be a big bro full-time, if he wanted ( and he did ) – some things between them stilled, froze. Maggie and Carl appearing on that yard between the prison blocks, his son crying and his little daughter bawling her eyes out in the girl’s arms, they had all brought a wall that found its place between him and Shane. A wall that kept them apart, hostile.
No, Shane wasn’t hostile. Rick was.
It was hard back then, coming back to his senses and looking at his daughter without seeing Shane there. Shane’s eyes, Shane’s lips. Shane’s ears, those pink earlobes that looked like his best friend’s copies. God, she looked like him – she’d always do – and the first thing that Rick wanted to do when he’d noticed was to punch the man.
But when he looked to the side, his fist clenching, Shane’s eyes were too bright, too happy to let him do that. His forehead was smooth once again which was rare these days, and he looked so at peace.
“She has your nose,” he muttered in that husky voice then, lifting a finger and caressing the baby’s nose like it was a precious gemstone. It was a lie – she had Lori’s nose, of course, long and thin, nothing like Rick’s. Never like Rick’s.
But he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t tear that happy smile away from his friend; he couldn’t.
And so he tried to get used to it, to looking at his daughter and acknowledging that she wasn’t only his – she was Shane’s as well. She was theirs. They both loved her and she was his and she was Shane’s in different ways – but she was theirs. They could make it work if they tried.
And they did – they did try, and it was difficult and it was painful, but it was worth it. It was worth seeing that blinding smile on his baby girl’s face, hearing her loud giggles when one of them tickled her tummy, knowing that she was happy, happy having a family that was almost complete – a brother, a father and a dad. There was no mom and there would never be, but it was okay.
They were making it okay.
But Rick still didn’t know where they were standing.
In their trying – the slow process of alternating between being exhausted and angry, between fighting and apologizing when things got too heated – something had changed again, yet it was new. For the first time in their life, it was new.
They had avoided touching since their many fights on Greene’s farm, always flinching away whenever the other got too close or their arms brushed – because they had been hating then, hating and wanting the other to hurt and not comfort. They were angry then, mad, almost falling under the definition of unstable, but it had changed, did it?
It did.
They couldn’t avoid the physical contact now that easily – not with their baby girl constantly demanding their attention, constantly wanting to be held by one and play with the other. It was hard at the beginning, learning each other’s touches again, adjusting to them and getting used, but somehow Rick was glad.
He was glad they had a reason to be them again, to be friends and partners, to try and trust each other even if they both wanted to run. They had a strong reason, a reason that was all soft baby fat and warmth and giggles and cries, a reason that loved them both like they loved her. A reason that helped them find each other again – each other and themselves, didn’t she?
And soon it was okay to be touched – to be held with long muscular arms, if only because their daughter wanted, to be held and made feel safe, even if Shane didn’t mean it. He didn’t, did he?
He couldn’t.
Sometimes they fell asleep leaning over the cold brick wall, sitting on the poor bedding with their arms and hips and legs pressed together, their baby girl held by Shane or Rick, and it was okay. It was okay, because they would always wake up warm, would always wake up with Rick’s head leaning over Shane’s bulky shoulder and the other man’s hand placed on Grimes’ thigh, his fingers clenching slightly the stiff fabric of his jeans. It was okay, because neither of them talked about it, neither of them wanted, but when they woke up like this, they would always linger a bit. A hand that stayed too long in one place, a stare that wouldn’t end in time.
And it was okay, somehow. Rick didn’t know how, because he didn’t know what they were, but it was okay.
They all talked about them, he knew. Their entire group, their not-so-discreet glances and whispers, their soft smiles and amused laughs, they talked about them, of course. Him and Shane, they didn’t act like friends anymore, did they? Their hands would always find the other’s forearms these days whenever Judith came up in their conversation, their eyes speaking more than their mouths because sometimes they didn’t want the others to know. Are you tired? Is she okay? Go to sleep. Don’t be stubborn. They talked like that a lot, and the others noticed. Of course they would – they were pretty smart, weren’t they?
“Ya queer?” Daryl asked one morning when they were checking the perimeter, getting rid of the walkers through the fence. Their footsteps echoed for a moment after that, the low moans of the undead long muted by their minds.
“Maybe,” he replied, not exactly sure and not exactly hesitant. It was one of the things that he didn’t ponder on, because it wasn’t the time anymore. If he did fall for someone, he wouldn’t care who they were – the times for hatred and shame were done, and he wasn’t going to try and revive them.
“So you and Shane?” Daryl continued in that gruff voice that always sounded grumpy, although it wasn’t like him to carry on with a conversation. Rick glanced aside, sweeping his eyes over the figure of his friend and not noticing any particular change.
“What with me and Shane?”
“Ya together?”
And maybe it was the first time that he would think about it, really. It all made it seem like they were , right? They acted like they were, and the only things missing were the right words, but they never talked. They never talked about anything, except that one time on that field that neither of them wanted to repeat, and so he wouldn’t know, would he?
“Nah,” he said instead, not in the mood to try and explain. Daryl wouldn’t care anyway, probably, and Rick didn’t want to annoy him.
And so they left it like that, not talking about it anymore and not trying to, but nothing changed beside that. No homophobic remarks, although Rick wasn’t sure if Daryl was capable of such things – he probably wasn’t. He was a good man, a man that was not too far from becoming Judith’s third dad, and he wasn’t the type to care whether people were gay or not.
But it didn’t make Rick stop thinking about it, now.
Their touches, their stares and unsaid words, everything lingering and everything too short – what if Shane thought about it too? What if Rick wasn’t the only one that was wondering? What if what was saved wasn’t only their friendship – what if alongside their old bond something new had formed and was waiting for them, waiting for the right moment? What if it was meant to be like that? What if Judith, and Lori, were the ones that had brought them together unintentionally?
He wouldn’t know until he tried.
And so he did.
He kissed Shane two days after his short talk with Daryl. Beth had just taken Judith with her to feed her (because she missed her baby smile, she said, because she liked the aura of hope the Lil’ Ass Kicker gave away) and they were alone in their cell – their, because they both slept on the same bedding, because they had all their stuff in the same box. It was quiet, both of them getting rid of their sweaty shirts and trading them for relatively cleaner ones when Rick decided that he had to know, that he wanted.
Shane was still shirtless when the other grabbed his chin, holding gently but firmly with his calloused palms, their lips connecting and noses brushing, Rick’s heart beating like a madman. It was even quieter now, neither of them moving until Shane’s hands found his hips and settled there, their lips suddenly slotting together in a better angle.
It was different than with Lori, because of course it was – she was a woman, strong, but still a woman with her soft curves and gentle shapes. Shane was a man, even stronger and bigger, more worn-out and rougher, his muscles shifting under Rick’s palms like a river.
“I never wanted to hurt you.”
Rick’s left hand travelled up, tangling his fingers in Shane’s soft, dark curls. They had grown back out since he’d shaved them on the farm and they were as rich as before, long and healthy and beautiful, although now Walsh liked it better when his sides were trimmed short. It looked good on him though, more badass, and Rick liked it even more than Shane himself.
“I’m never leaving you again.”
His back hit the wall gently and he was grateful that he had put on a shirt, because the bricks were cold and sent shiver down his arms and spine, making Shane smile timidly into the kiss. It was still slow, still soft, nothing like Rick had imagined it would be with the man, but it made him feel safe. Trapped between the chilly wall and the warm body, crowded by the wide shoulders he felt safe, he felt like he belonged.
“I’m sorry for everything I’ve done and said.”
They didn’t notice Maggie approaching, didn’t hear her footsteps and her gasp when she saw them, didn’t see her smile, wide and happy for them, didn’t notice when she left with armful of clean sheets for Judith. They were too busy, too engrossed and too joyful for the first time in weeks – in months, actually, and even if they both cried a little, it was okay.
They were making it okay.
“And I’ve always loved you.”