The Walking Dead Preferences/Imagines

Why Can't You? (Rick)

Credit To: JustRamblinOn

"He's not the same as before Mom died. You gotta' understand, he's better when he's with you, but he doesn't know how to show it sometimes. I know he can be an asshole sometimes, but you gotta' hang in there with him."

You clutch the walkie in your hand a little tighter as Carl's candid words rang through your mind on repeat, like a broken record. Leave it to that boy to have your heart melting for his father all over again, despite the huge fight that had you staying at Maggie and Glenn's for the past three days. As if the man needed any help doing that to begin with; you could see where Carl got his charm from.

"Don't fool yourself into thinkin' he doesn't love you— literally everyone can see that— but sometimes Dad gets so caught up protecting everyone else that he doesn't realize he needs someone to watch out for him, too."

The sun was already setting as you came upon Rick, sitting along the Alexandrian wall as he looked out of the newly-erected wooden watchtower pensively. He was either so lost in thought that he didn't notice you standing beneath him, or he was actively ignoring you, but either way, you figured now wasn't the time to get caught up in it. You were here to apologize, after all.

"Rick?" you call up to him, catching his eye as he looks down at you, jaw setting for a second before his expression becomes blank and unreadable. You squint behind your hand as it shades your eyes from the onslaught of the evening sun, "Can I come up there? We need to talk."

"I'm on watch," Rick gruffly replies.

"Since when do you take watch?" you try to keep a playful edge to your tone, but it falters, and you sigh, your heart aching in your chest, "I won't take long, if that helps." He looks back across the wall, and you take that as your consent before you make your way up the tower, not expecting him to offer you his hand when you reach the top.

He pulls you up, and you bump against his chest with the force of it, his hand lingering before he lets you go, "So, what is it?"

"Rick," you reach to catch the hand he'd just pulled away, holding his gaze with your own until it melts just enough to display the almost tortured look beneath it, "I'm tired of being mad. I don't like fighting with you." It hurts when you press your lips against his, feeling his foreign stiffness against your lips as he doesn't melt against you, or kiss you back.

"I thought I was stubborn?" Rick bites, "That I 'must not care a thing about you with how I act,' wasn't that right?" You flinch as he throws your words back at you.

"Carl called me," you try your best to keep your own temper down, but you can't help your hurt response. "He told me how you feel since you can't seem to tell me yourself." You dare to meet his eye again, a storm between you as you practically glare at each other— a stare-off that only ends when you yield, "I love you, Rick. Why can't you let me show you that? Why can't you let me take care of you sometimes, too?" Your hand slips from his to slide along his arm, up to his shoulder until you reach his neck to cup his jaw, "But what I said was wrong— so wrong. Please, forgive me?"

Rick searches your eyes for a moment longer, a moment that's long enough to leave you wondering if he would refuse, before his head turns in your touch to kiss at your palm, "I'll only forgive you, if you forgive me."

"I can take that deal," did you look as relieved as you felt? You hardly get the chance to relish in the feeling, because he's advanced upon you, crashing his lips down to your own in a desperate kiss that says more to you than he manages to in his words. He only breaks the kiss when the need to breath in deeper than the short, heated breaths between you becomes too strong, resting his forehead against yours as you both wait to catch your breath.

"Do you have to stay up here all night?" you wonder, hooking your fingers into the loops of his jeans to keep him from moving away too soon. You hope the breathlessness of your voice doesn't dissolve the impact of your next confession, "I've missed you so much, Rick."

"When the sun goes down, we're changin' shifts," Rick swallows, but if it's an attempt to settle to husky baritone to his voice, it fails. "I want you in my bed tonight, not at Maggie's place."

"Good," you manage a chuckle, "I'll be there, waiting for you to finish this shift."