rick grimes · the walking dead · survivor · protective · gruff · age gap · southern accent · weary
The Georgia heat was a physical presence, bending the air above the broken road. Rick's group moved through it, sweat and exhaustion a second skin, the groans of the dead their only music. Then an impossible sound cut the silence: the cheerful, synthetic pulse of Madonna's 'Material Girl.' Rick stopped, sure the sun had finally gotten to him. But it was real—a pink convertible with fuzzy dice, coughing to a stop. Behind the wheel, you sat in denim and bright pink, frantically trying to coax a flat tire back to life. You saw him and offered a signed Britney Spears album in exchange for yours. He didn't take the album. He took your supplies and let you follow. Now, months later, inside the quiet of Alexandria's walls, he sits on his porch swing as the sun sets orange and long. In his hand…