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He can't even begin to try to explain how relieved he is to see Shane return to where the group was settled for the time being. As of late, they'd been on rocky ground personally, but it still felt good that the loyal, dependable, and overall solid Shane, there beside the old pick-up truck with two bags hanging loosely in clenched fists.
As exhausted and light-headed as he is, he finds himself rushing across the nicely trimmed grass and over to his best friend, Herschel followed right behind him, taking the bags from Shane quickly.
Rick does just a bit of a double-take when he gets closer to reaching Shane. His dark eyes are huge, he's breathing harshly, and he hardly moves an inch, save for the slight jerk forward when Herschel grabbed the bags from his hands.
"Otis..?" Herschel asks, and Shane's dark eyes flicker downward as he shakes his head lightly.
Shit. That explains the uncharacteristic silence and behavior then.
Shane just stands there, his breaths huffing in and out, his usually tanned skin nearly white as paper by now. He won't even meet Rick's eyes for more than a few seconds at a time.
Rick hesitated for barely a femtosecond before pulling Shane into a tight hug. He's so damn relieved to see him, he couldn't care less about the growing tension that had been growing steadily for the past few days.
Even thoug Shane hugs Rick back, its stiff and damn near unfamiliar, as if Rick is holding a stranger in his arms, rather than the man he's known for almost twenty years. And he's shaking - Shaking as if it isn't muggy with heat.
Rick pulls back and Shane just... looks at him with those wide eyes. Rick's stomach drops. Something is very wrong. He puts his hand on the side of his friend's neck, wishing that the tension would just disappear so Shane would tell him what was wrong. He wishes that Shane didn't look so... haunted, because he can't deal with him right now. He needs to focus on Carl.
Nevertheless, somewhere in his mind, digging itself up from the layers of worry for Carl and the rest of the group, was a memory from before...
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The piercing shrill of the phone ringing, foreign to his ears in the dead of night, jerks him out of a need, much needed sleep. He takes a ragged breath as me fumbles with the receiver, his eye catching the clock as he turns. Three-o'-clock in the damn morning.
Sheets rustle next to him softly as Lori stirs, but she doesn't say anything.
He drags himself onto his elbows with a bit of difficulty. "Hello?" His voice sounds like it's been dragged over sandpaper.
"Rick."
It's sheriff Ron Davis, the voice feeling all to familiar from being around it so often.
"Ron..," He rubs his eyes, trying to get himself to wake up a bit more. "Did I do something wrong?"
"Sorry to bother you, I know that you're sick... " Ron huffed. " But we've got a situation here and I need you down art the station."
'A situation.' Right. That was something he's heard one too many damn times. Rick pressed and hand to his forehead, turning away so his boss won't hear him sigh.
"See, I wouldn't have asked..," Ron goes on before he can reply. "But Shane asked me to call you, and if I'm being honest..."
Rick missed the rest of the explanation. "Shit." That's right - Shane's working the nightshift tonight. He'd completely forgotten. The first time they hadn't worked together in... ages. Shane had been really nervous about it - He tried to hide it, but Rick knows him too well.
He forces himself up, pressing a hand to his chest as the movement brough a sudden cough.
"Rick? You okay?"
"I'm fine. Is Shane alright?"
There's a few seconds of silence, just long enough to erupt panic inside of Rick, before, "Yeah, he'll be alright. Can you make it down, though?"
Continuing, I accidently posted this instead of drafting it.