Title: Flash Fiction #14
Fandom: The Walking Dead
Characters: Shane Walsh, Rick Grimes, Lori Grimes, Carl Grimes, OC (Shane’s girlfriend)
Word Count: 938
Warnings: Shane has a foul mouth but, other than that, nothing.
Author’s Note/Disclaimer: I don’t own Shane, Rick, or anything else associated with The Walking Dead, much to my ever-lasting regret. I just like to take them out and play with them every now and then. This is pure imagination, except that Days Gone Bye gave me the idea about arguing about the lights being on. This is unbeta’d and unedited – if you see anything that needs correction, please let me know! Concrit is always welcome! Ooh, also, please know that I mean no disrespect whatsoever to anyone who happens to be named Bambi.
Shane Walsh pulled his Jeep into the driveway and sighed as he remoted the garage open. He’d had a bitch of a day and now he has to come home to find every damn light in the house blazing. He parked and shut the engine off, resting his head on the steering wheel for a few moments, trying to cool his temper.
Nope, ain’t happening.
He jumped out of the Jeep and slammed the door. Then he slammed the kitchen door shut. There, that helped a little bit.
Until he walked into the living room and saw what waited for him there. His entire living room had been rearranged. New furniture covers, pictures on the wall changed, damn lace doilies on the coffee table in place of his hunting magazines. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, wondering, “What circle of Hell have I slipped into now? All I wanted was a hot meal, a hot shower, and hot sex. Is that asking too fucking much?”
The person responsible for his current irritation was reclined on the couch, reading a magazine with the TV tuned to MTV and the volume cranked to ear-splitting. Shane snatched the remote off the table and clicked the TV off. She sat up and smiled, oblivious to Shane’s irritation. “Hey baby, I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Yeah, I’m not surprised with that crap cranked up like that. You wouldn’t have noticed a jet taking off in here.” He threw his hat on the table and put his hands on his hips. “Did you happen to forget that the light switch flips the other way too? Every damn light in the house is on and it’s still broad daylight outside.”
She snorted and scooped her magazine up. “You sound just like my damn father. What bug crawled up your ass anyway?”
Shane fisted his hands in his hair, trying to count to ten but only making it as far as five before he exploded. “What bug? Are you fucking kidding me?” He started ticking his irritants off on his fingers. “I had some drunk asshole throw up in the squad car. I had some kid who had his license exactly five fucking minutes run all over the bank manager’s brand new Mercedes. I had another drunk asshole decide that the courthouse hallway was the perfect place to take a piss. And then I get to come home to Lincoln Power & Light’s wet dream come true and Martha goddamn Stewart’s perfect fucking living room instead of my own. That’s my fucking problem!”
She threw her magazine down on the table and got in his face. “You know perfectly well that I don’t like the dark! And I thought you would appreciate me bringing a little class to this hovel you call a house. Hunting magazines? God, Shane, that’s beyond redneck! I thought when you gave me a key, that meant that you wanted me to be here when you came home. I thought that meant you would be asking me to move in soon. I can’t live in a place that looks like this did! I have standards you know?”
“What the hell, woman? You seriously thought I was going to ask you to move in? Have you lost your fucking mind?”
She narrowed her eyes and poked her finger in Shane’s chest. “You know what, Shane? I don’t need your shit. There are plenty of men out there who’d be happy to have me!” With that, she stormed out the door, slamming it shut on the way out.
“Good! And you can take your goddamn doily with you!” He stalked to the door, jerked it open, and threw the doily out after her. She flipped him a bird before jamming her Camaro in gear and peeling out of his driveway, narrowly missing his mailbox. Shane sighed and leaned against the door jamb. Now he had a headache and a growly stomach to add to his list of complaints. He went back inside, grabbing his keys and hat off the coffee table on his way through to the garage. “Fuck this,” he thought. “It’s dinner time at Rick’s place. At least they’ll be happy to see me.”
A few minutes later, Shane was standing on the Grimes’s doorstep, grinning through the screen door. Rick sat at the table, helping Carl with his homework, while Lori bustled around the kitchen, cooking dinner. He tapped on the door and went on inside. “Hey,” he said, “got room for one more?”
Carl grinned up at him while Rick said, “Hey brother, of course we do! But I thought you had a hot night planned with … what’s her name again?” Shane blushed a little as he replied, “Bambi.”
“'With an i',” Lori mocked. “Jesus wept, Shane, when are you going to stop fooling around with these little teenyboppers and find yourself a good woman to settle down with? Honey, help me would you? Set the table and make sure Carl scrubs his hands, ok?”
Rick stood up to do as he was asked, scooping Carl up and playfully kissing Lori on the neck as they passed by on their way to the bathroom. Lori laughed and swatted Rick on the butt before he could get out of range. It was so normal, so happy and homey in the Grimes house.
Shane grinned and said, “Someday, I suppose. For now, when I need domestic bliss, I just come to your house.” He kissed Lori on the cheek and followed Rick and Carl, his bad mood fading away a little more with each step he took.