Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Rick’s Friday shift ended at 7 pm. He wondered what to do next. Lori and Carl wouldn’t be home, they were visiting Lori’s parents for the weekend, and Rick had a rare two-day vacation from his family. Immediately, he felt guilty about that fleeting thought. 

It couldn’t be ok to be glad that he’d be alone for a few days? 

It was just...This past half a year, Lori had been even more pissed off than normal, and home wasn’t the place of warmth and relaxation Rick thought it should be, and what it had been for the majority of their marriage. Something was off, and he didn’t know where to start unraveling the knot that had grown larger and larger until it was a huge ball of tangled rope. Lori kept saying (or snarling, most of the time) that Rick didn’t talk to her, didn’t share his feelings, but he didn’t know what she wanted from him. Whenever he did talk about the feelings of loneliness, of never being able to be what Lori wanted of him, not really even having a proper clue what it was that she wanted, she would scoff and tell him he ought to just know and that if he needed her to tell him, he should do some thinking on his own.

These days, life at home was a continuous pop quiz laid down in a foreign language, a quiz which he was expected to answer without understanding the questions. Not that they were fighting as such. Rick didn’t want to fight, he didn’t much like quarreling, and Lori seemed to want to keep Carl out of it as well, and not let their eleven-year-old son see how tense it had become between his mother and father. So they played the happy family when Carl was around, and when he wasn’t...not so much with the playing.

He drove home slowly, changed into jeans and a t-shirt, sat down in front of the TV to flip through channels. He’d be alone for two whole days, he’d have a guaranteed peace from snide little poison arrows from Lori – shouldn’t he feel a bit better?

He snorted. When had this become his life? When a ‘good day’ meant not being belittled by his wife? When had his expectations lowered so far down?

To be fair – and he tried to be fair, even though it would’ve been much easier not to be – Lori might have a point. He did work hard, always staying longer than his shifts, always volunteering for extra ones as well. He liked his job, he was good at it, and he was ambitious. And they needed the money, for God’s sake, not like Lori didn’t know it, the way she liked to spend it!

And it was true he might’ve grown more quiet in recent years – he was always so tired, so preoccupied. Lori liked to talk, liked socializing, liked barbecues, evenings out, little parties, and yeah, maybe, he was becoming a grumpy old hermit before he was even forty. Maybe he’d become a dull, absent husband, and Lori was right to be angry with him. It was true that whatever free time he had, he tried to spend most of it with Carl, playing with him, checking his homework. Carl was a kid, and he wouldn’t be eleven forever, and Rick wanted to be present, unlike his own dad.

He stared at some cooking show. It brought back memories from last Saturday. For a month or so, he’d tried to do better, come home earlier from work, be there for Lori as well as Carl, and he’d prepared a nice dinner – he was a fair cook, just didn’t have time for it very often. He’d set the table and checked that they had board games and a few new dvds, something fun to do for the whole family after the dinner. He’d taken care to be the attentive husband, kept the conversation going, asked Lori about her day, her parents, her friends, and hadn’t once brought up his work or asked how Lori’s job hunt was going.

He’d thought it had gone well, had been pretty damn certain he’d not be banished to the couch for the night, and had thought he’d got it right this time. His head had been full of plans for other stuff he could do in the coming weeks and months, other ways to set their relationship back on track again. Then Carl had said good night and Rick had gone to tuck him in (the boy wouldn’t let them do that for long anymore, he’d turn twelve in a few weeks and soon he’d be too big to accept such childish shows of parental fussiness). When he’d returned to the living room, Lori had already finished the wine and was standing there, arms crossed, eyebrow lifted. Rick had smiled to her. And yeah, maybe he’d been stupid, idealistic, optimistic, but Lori’s words had taken him completely by surprise.

“You’d better not imagine everything’s alright now.”

It had gone downhill from there.

Rick shifted on the couch and checked his watch. Eight. Christ, it was eight on a Friday evening and all he had was a stupid cooking show.

Normally, Shane would’ve already called him and they would’ve gone out for a few drinks and some pool, but Shane was in L.A. at his cousin’s wedding. When was the last time Rick had done anything without Shane? He couldn’t even remember. He was all out of practice with initiating anything – Shane was always the one with the ideas, and all Rick had to do was to follow. At work, it was most often the other way around, and Rick didn’t mind letting go on his free time.

Before he had time to overthink it, he stood up, took his jacket and keys and wallet, and was on his way to the new bar he’d heard Shane mention a few days ago. He kept his mind blank the whole time he drove there. He was a grown-ass man, he could do this. People did this all the fucking time! People went out, people met new people All.The.Time.! He’d take one beer, maybe play some pool, and he wouldn’t be home before midnight, swear to God! He’d have some fun on his own if it was the last thing he did!

He smiled at himself. For real, was he giving himself a frickin’ peptalk? How lame could he be – no wonder Lori kept saying how blah he was these days.

Even the thought of his loving wife calling him ‘blah’ (and with no teasing tone nor humor either) didn’t stop him from feeling he was actually accomplishing something right now. He felt good about himself up until the moment he turned on the sideroad and parked in front of the bar. He got out of the car and felt the first twinge of doubt. Was he really going to do this?

Its name was ‘Pool & Booze’. Classy as hell, Rick thought as he saw the garish light bulbs which spelled out the name. The place looked decent enough, though, in spite of the bright, flashing signs on the windows announcing the brands of beer and the amount of pool tables. There were a few cars parked in the small lot in front of it, as well as a few motorcycles which Rick eyed with interest. He’d always had a soft spot for bikes even though Lori had firmly vetoed all suggestions that he could buy one.

The place was new but Rick didn’t expect much, so he was pleasantly surprised when he stepped inside. The colors were muted, the music wasn’t too loud, and everything looked fairly clean despite the few dozen customers who moved around laughing and talking with their drinks sloshing around in the glasses. Rick ordered a beer and ambled towards the back of the room where he could hear the familiar clack of pool balls. He watched the players for a while to get the lay of the land. There were three tables, two of which were full with friendly/fierce competition going on between the teams. 

The third table was at the back of the room with a man hovering near the wall. The guy looked a bit worse for wear – scruffy beard, messy hair, shirt with the sleeves cut off, baggy jeans, shifty eyes. For a rare moment Rick let his prejudices take over. Guys who looked like that tended to end up in his police vehicle more often than not. He watched the man for a few more minutes, evaluated, analyzed, came to the conclusion he wasn’t drunk or high, and from what he could see, not packing any sort of weapons either. He exhaled; he was here to be social, to relax, to play – he most certainly wasn’t here to write mental police reports or wallow in his groundless suspicions.

Rick took another look at the other man. His body curled up upon itself, broad shoulders slouched, feet shifted restlessly, like he was trying to fade into the background and prepare for defensive action, all at the same time. He leaned lightly on a cue stick and nibbled on the side of his thumb as he side-eyed the neighboring table – all in all, it looked like he was bristling with shy insecurity rather than dangerous violence. And he looked like he’d be interested in playing, so Rick took a deep breath and strolled closer. 

“Wanna shoot some pool?” he asked the stranger whose body language had turned even more tense. 

The other man glanced at Rick, frowned and blurted a raspy “Waitin’ for my brother.” 

Rick tried to not be disheartened by his first attempt going south. “Oh… okay.... sorry,” he babbled, and could’ve just slapped himself; almost forty-year-old seasoned sheriff’s deputies did not sound like snubbed school girls, they just didn’t! He took a step back and bumped into the wall. Smooth, Rick, nice going. Really, Shane would be ever so proud!

The stranger, who only seconds ago had looked like the more shy and insecure of the two, apparently took pity on Rick. “Ya ain’t gotta apologize for nothin’. My brother, he comes whenever. Ya wanna play, we can play until he drags his ass down here. That work for ya?”

An hour later, they were still playing. The other guy didn’t talk much and smiled even less, but he didn’t seem to mind that Rick chatted about the game, the bar, Carl, his family and best friend being out of town, his first stab into independence.

“So that’s why ya looked like a kicked puppy.” The low rumble was definitely amused.

Rick won the first game, the scruffy stranger – Daryl – the second. Daryl offered to buy the next round of beers but Rick declined.

“I need to drive back home and I don’t want to risk it.”

“Whatever, man,” Daryl shrugged. “I get it though – you’re a family man, you need your driver’s license an’ your good reputation.”

Rick chuckled. “Was one of the cars outside yours?”

“Naw, I got a bike.”

“Triumph or Yamaha?” Rick mentioned the two bikes he’d seen outside.

Daryl looked surprised. “The Triumph. D’you drive?”

“Nope. Lori won’t budge on the subject.” It came out a bit more annoyed than he’d meant. Or maybe it came out just right. He wasn’t feeling too charitable towards the long list of demands from his wife.

Daryl flicked an uncertain glance at him. “She’s just lookin’ out for ya.”

Rick had nothing to say to that. It didn’t feel like looking out for him. Could you call it concern when it was an ultimatum? He’d never once given Lori an ultimatum about anything, had never told her what he allowed or didn’t allow her to do. 

They kept playing. At some point, Rick noticed that it was already eleven o’clock, and he was genuinely surprised. For all his taciturn, blunt nature Daryl was pretty good company. Briefly, Rick wondered about that. He was used to Shane who was loud, always talking, joking, eager to do things. Daryl was quiet, restless, had a hard time standing still, and Rick thought that something bad might’ve happened to him, given the continuous need of his to scan the surroundings, the suspicious glint in the narrowed eyes as he observed the players, the drinkers, the waiters. Even with all that, his presence was solid, and something in him grounded Rick in a way Shane never could.

“So, what do you do when you’re not playing a mean game of pool?” he asked. Daryl didn’t volunteer much information and thus far, Rick had only learned that the man had an older brother, that his parents had passed away, and that he worked part-time as a car mechanic. From the shifty side-glances Rick had inferred that the job might not have all the required paperwork, but he wasn’t being a cop now.

Daryl chewed on his lower lip, thinking. “Well… I hunt.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.” The man sniffed. “That hard to believe?”

Rick shook his head. “Not really. You’ve got that alert thing going even here. What kind of a rifle do you use?”

A small smile curled Daryl’s lips and it made him look years younger. “Nuh, no gun.”

Rick quirked an eyebrow. “What, you go all Tarzan over the wild beasts of the Georgia jungle and jump on them from a tree with a knife?” 

That earned an almost-chuckle. “Naw, I got a crossbow.”

“Wow, that’s pretty cool. Never known anyone who hunted with a crossbow. In fact, never known anyone to use it.” Rick hesitated a second, then decided he got this independent socializing thingy down like nobody’s business, and went on. “Would you let me try sometime? Teach me how to use a crossbow?”

Rick couldn’t keep up with the myriad of expressions flitting over Daryl’s face. Then his eyes narrowed to hostile slits.

“What d’you want from me, man? Why are you so goddamn friendly?” Daryl took a step back and his hand squeezed into a fist.

Rick had no idea why the relaxed game had taken a one-eighty like this. Baffled, he wondered what the hell the man thought Rick wanted out of him. Did Daryl think this was a practical joke of some kind? Prelude to some sort of a Strangers on a Train kind of an arrangement?? Rick’s roundabout way of soliciting sexual services???

“Hey, man… I thought I made it pretty clear earlier… I’m kind of a pathetic loser when it comes to making new friends. Shane’s got all the skills with that, I only ever went along with him. I’m sorry if I said something to upset you, it wasn’t my intention at all. Look, can we forget about it? One more game, ok?” He tried to look as non-threatening as possible. 

Daryl squinted at him; little by little, the white-knuckled fist relaxed, and finally the man gave him an abrupt little nod. He stepped closer to the table to plan for his next shot but stopped, looked down, seemed to consider something, and finally turned to look at Rick even though his eyes didn’t quite reach Rick’s.

“Whaddya mean, friends?”

Rick tilted his head, tried to get Daryl to look him in the eye. “Can’t be a novel concept, can it?” he tried to make light of it. “Meeting new people, getting acquainted, shooting pool together, grabbing a beer or two, bitching about work, and difficult customers, and the weather bein’ too cold or too warm, and grumbling about bad days and laughing about the good days – y’know, things that friends do?”

Daryl met his gaze but didn’t give anything away. Rick had no idea what the man was thinking.

“I ain’t the type of guy ya wanna be friends with,” he finally grunted.

“Why?” Rick didn’t want to give up so easily. Daryl intrigued him for some reason, the man was different from Rick’s normal set of friends and acquaintances, and he was curious to know more about him.

“Ya really hafta ask?” Daryl snorted. “Look at you, you’re from a different world than me.”

“So?” Now Rick was honestly confused. “I didn’t know there are rules about that. We’ve played and talked and drunk beer for,” Rick checked his watch, “close to three and a half hours without any problems whatsoever. Can’t think of any reason we couldn’t do it again – unless you don’t want to? Just don’t give me that crap about different worlds, please… this ain’t the fuckin’ West Side Story.”

Daryl stared at him for a while, and Rick could just see the wheels whirring in his mind. Then his lips twitched and the gravelly voice was definitely amused. “Damn right it ain’t. But if it was, you’d be Maria.”

Rick couldn’t help it, he burst out laughing. There was a small, satisfied smirk on Daryl’s face – like he was proud he’d made Rick laugh.

“So, are we done with the nonsense?” Rick asked, still chuckling. “One last game before I gotta go. It’s been a long week and I don’t want to fall asleep while driving. Wouldn’t be good for my upstanding reputation, either.”

Daryl huffed and bit his lip, probably to keep himself from smiling too much.

Half an hour later, they walked out and stopped to take a breath of air.

“Your brother didn’t show up.”

Daryl gave a half-shrug and walked over to his bike. “Half the time he does, half the time he doesn’t. Ya never know with Merle. Ain’t exactly the trustworthy type but he’s the only brother I got, so whatcha gonna do.” He sat down on the bike and twiddled with the key.

From the way Daryl’s gaze darted everywhere but at Rick, he guessed the man was about to go outside his comfort zone.

See, I’m getting to know you already! Rick thought, and gave Daryl time: stuffed his hands in his pockets, peered at the sky, spent time admiring the few stars he could see through all the light pollution.

“Got plans for tomorrow?”

It was such a tentative tone, echoing with the certainty of being rejected, and Rick’s heart ached. What the hell had happened to make Daryl so sure people couldn’t want to befriend him? Sure, Rick had only known him for a few hours, but he didn’t get a bad vibe from him. Rick liked his quiet sense of humor, his attentive way of listening. Rick felt at ease around the guy, surprising as it might be, considering what he’d first thought when he’d seen Daryl.

“Nope. Lori left me a to-do list but I’m feeling rebellious.” Rick grinned at Daryl. “The lawn can manage on its own for another day, and the gutters...nah, just not feelin’ it, y’know.”

Daryl let out the first laugh Rick had heard from him, a short, quiet chuckle. He shifted on the seat. “Merle’s goin’ to work at the shop for a few hours… we could do some shooting. With the crossbow. If ya wanna…”

“Yes.”

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely! Sounds great! Shane’s gonna be so pissed off when he hears I had a chance to practice with a crossbow. He always likes to think of himself as the more macho one. He wouldn’t shut up about the time his cousin taught him to throw knives.” Rick grinned so hard his face hurt. “Crossbows trump knives, am I right?”

A fleeting look of relief passed over Daryl’s face, then he smirked. “They totally do. But maybe ya wanna try hittin’ a target before you go flaunt your skills?”

“Oh ye of little faith…”

Chapter Text

Rick turned the engine off and checked his watch: the long hand snapped on 12 while the short one pointed calmly at 2. Precisely on time. He got out and looked at Daryl’s house. To be honest, from the few things Daryl had said about his background, he’d expected worse – shabbier, more neglected. Granted, the paint was faded and chipping off, but all in all, the small house looked like someone actually gave a tiny damn. As he was standing there, still looking around, Daryl appeared from behind the house, carrying his crossbow.

“Heard your car.”

Rick didn’t know how to respond to that. It was just a bit weird to be here in broad daylight, at the home of some random guy he’d met for a few hours in a seedy bar. Hell, he didn’t even know his last name! It’d been so easy in that dimly lit joint – but now he couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Had this been a huge mistake?

And, oh God, here he was, an invited guest, coming over for the first time and his host was giving up his valuable time to teach him a skill – and he hadn’t brought anything! Weren’t people supposed to bring something? Good God, he could’ve, should’ve brought at least a six-pack!

He chuckled, shook his head – God, he was hopeless! – felt a grin on his face, and saw Daryl walk closer.

“What’s so funny?” Daryl sounded suspicious.

“I am.” Rick pointed at himself. “I should take classes on this making friends thing. I wonder if they have something like ‘How to get to know new people without the help of your wife and your best friend’?”

“Hunh?”

“You invited me to your home. I should’ve brought something.”

Daryl’s lips twitched in an almost-smile. “Didn’t we agree yesterday that this ain’t West Side Story? You ain’t gotta woo them crossbow lessons outta me with roses an’ chocolate. Buy me a beer next time we go shoot some pool and I’m good.”

‘Next time’, Rick thought, smiling on the inside. Good to know his ineptness at this friend stuff hadn’t backfired immediately; seemed like Daryl thought there could be a ‘next time’.

Daryl’s almost-smile had turned into a small self-conscious frown, and a light pink tinge flushed his cheeks; without a word, he turned around and started to trudge back to where he’d come from. Rick pretended not to notice and followed him. It just might be they both had some practicing to do at the Art of Making Friends.

After a few hours, Rick had forgotten all about the awkwardness of those first minutes. His muscles ached from cocking the crossbow again and again – turned out, shooting with it was the easier part. Daryl tried to be a good sport about it but couldn’t resist sniggering at Rick a few times. Rick threw a mock-outraged glare at him.

“I feel like my masculinity is called into question here! - Oh well, Shane keeps nagging that I gotta get back to the gym. Looks like he’s got a point…”

Daryl took the crossbow from him, cocked it effortlessly and handed it back to him. “Nah, you’re doin’ just fine. Don’t be too hard on yerself. If this Shane gives ya crap about it, you can send him to me. See how well he does the first time around.”

Daryl went inside to get a few beers and Rick tried to concentrate on aiming at the target. He lowered the weapon; something in Daryl’s words bothered him. He dissected the previous discussion to find out the reason.

Shane.

For some reason, the idea of the three of them hanging out together didn’t appeal to him. Rick frowned at the thought, suddenly uncomfortable. Why wouldn’t he want those two to become friends? For once, it would be Rick bringing in a new acquaintance – it had always been Shane, or Lori, before. All his friends were their friends as well.

Yeah. That was it.

Rick blushed. He was being selfish, and quite possibly a bit childish as well. Because it was selfish, wasn’t it, to want one friend to be just Rick’s?

And there was another thing, too, and this one didn’t make him blush, it made him squirm. Truth was, Daryl and Shane… Rick knew, of course, that he didn’t know Daryl well yet, hell, he barely knew him at all! But he had a distinct feeling that Daryl and Shane wouldn’t be compatible. Shane could be loudmouthed and brash, overly assertive, and sometimes more than just a bit prejudiced against certain types of people. Rick had noticed that prejudice even in himself, for God’s sake, and as much as he truly loved his best friend, he knew Shane could be a total ass towards the sort of guys Daryl looked like. From the wrong side of the tracks, kind of.

And then there was Lori. She would take one look at Daryl’s worn clothes and less than suave behavior, and turn her back on him. Rick had not a single doubt about it, he knew his wife, after all. Carl, on the other hand, would probably love the guy – Daryl with his cool crossbow and his motorbike and his tracking skills – but Lori would be adamant about not letting Daryl within hundred feet of their son.

Again, Rick knew his wife.

Shane and Lori, he was sad to say, were exactly the kind of people he didn’t want to let within hundred feet of Daryl! The poor guy wouldn’t deserve it, he seemed to be self-conscious and skittish and prickly enough already. Lord knew how the situation might escalate with Lori’s cold smiles and Shane’s blunt suspicion.

Rick huffed to himself and raised the crossbow once again (Daryl would wonder why he hadn’t taken the shot by the time he came back with the beers). Yeah, he didn’t want to expose Daryl to his best friend and his wife. He didn’t want to end up mad with Shane and irritated with Lori. He didn’t want to end up apologizing to Daryl about the behavior of the two most important people in his life. All that was true.

But most of all, he wanted to keep the two worlds separate. He wanted this one thing, this one person, all to himself. Rick was sure this meant he was really selfish. And now that he’d thought about it, he was also pretty sure he didn’t mind it too much.

He aimed carefully and squeezed the trigger. The sudden sound of Daryl’s voice (“Rick?”) startled him just enough that the bolt sailed clear past the target. Frustrated and quite a bit embarrassed, Rick lowered the weapon and glared at the other man who was trying hard to hide a smile.

“Jittery, hunh? Just be glad your dinner don’t depend on your huntin’ skills.”

Rick didn’t dignify that with an answer; instead he grabbed the proffered beer and took a long sip. Good thing he hadn’t yet admitted he was a cop and had to handle a weapon on a daily basis, it would just have made matters even more embarrassing! Rick wasn’t really sure why he’d skirted around the subject of his profession. It just tended to make people a bit self-conscious, and he wanted Daryl first to get to know him better. There was enough prejudice to go round as it was.

“Sorry about the bolt. I’ll go look for it.”

“Don’t sweat it, man. That can happen to the best of us.”

“Yeah? And when exactly was the last time that happened to you?”

“Wouldn’t wanna damage your fragile masculinity.” Daryl smirked and Rick huffed a laugh.

“So you were, like, a teenager?”

“If twelve is a teenager, then yeah.”

Rick chuckled. “Fine, I’ll just go and pick up the tiny morsels of my crumbled self-respect, I’m sure they’re around here somewhere…”

This was only the second time Rick heard Daryl laugh out loud. He liked the sound of it. The only problem with the laughter was that it made them not pay attention to the rumble of a motor, then that rumble shutting down, followed by heavy footsteps.

A scratchy voice almost made Daryl drop his bottle. Rick saw him tense up, saw the thin, pale line of his lips. They both turned towards the house. A burly man had just strolled around the corner and stood in the deep shadow of the back porch.

“Whatcha doin’, Daryl? Who’s that dude? Ya bringin’ strangers to my house now?”

“‘s my house, too,” Daryl growled.

The man grunted. Rick assumed it was a reluctant yes. Then he remembered he got this getting-to-know-people thing down pat these days. This must be Daryl’s brother Merle, so how bad could it be?

“Hi, I’m Rick.” He tried to think of something else to say, but then the man stepped forward and Rick got the first clear look at him.

Jesus Christ…

Apparently, Merle figured it out at the same second.

“What the fuckin’ fuck, Daryl! Ya brought a pig to our home? What’s wrong with you?!!! Ya lost your mind?!!!”

Rick knew Daryl’s last name now. Dixon. His new friend was a Dixon. Daryl had mentioned his brother Merle, and yes, the name had tickled Rick’s mind but he’d brushed it off, not like Merle was that unique a name.

Now he had an enraged older Dixon barging towards him, belligerent as hell, apparently prepared to beat the living shit out of the cop who’d dragged his ass to jail on a number of occasions.

Daryl stepped in Merle’s way and barked an angry “Shut up, Merle, an’ stop right there!”

Merle stopped in his tracks with an astonished look at his younger brother. Rick got the distinct impression Daryl didn’t order Merle around very often, and Merle was all out of practice at obeying anyone anyway – a fact that Rick knew all too well.

Daryl twirled around to look at Rick, and his heart sank at the sight of Daryl’s face. There was a hard, cold look in his eyes, and all the suspicion had returned threefold.

“That true, Rick? You’re a cop?”

He’d known, he’d known his job wouldn’t go down well, but still it felt bad. He refused to be ashamed of being an officer of the law, however; he leveled his gaze at his new friend, and his tone was even.

“Yes, I’m one of the sheriff’s deputies. I’ve been a cop for these past seventeen years, and as you might’ve guessed from the way your brother behaves, Merle and I have crossed paths a few times.”

“Why didn’t ya tell me? Ya got some reason not to?” Daryl’s eyes were flinty, and Merle didn’t improve the situation by hollering in the background, “He’s undercover, he’s usin’ you, you goddamn idiot, shit Daryleena, how can you be so gullible!”

Rick raised his gaze at Merle and his voice became just a bit sharper. “I don’t need to go undercover to bust your sorry ass, you’re not exactly subtle.” He looked back at Daryl and went on in a much warmer tone. “I didn’t tell you because you never asked. I’ve learned that people can be on the defensive when they learn someone is a cop, and yesterday I… I just didn’t want to risk it, okay? I wanted you to get to know Rick before you got to know Officer Grimes, y’know? Nothing more sinister than that, I promise, and I really had no idea that the Merle you mentioned was him.” He nodded at the seething older Dixon.

“You’re Grimes?” Suddenly Daryl’s mouth quirked into a quick-as-a-lighting smile. “I’ve heard about you enough times alright. Grimes and… Walsh?”

“That would be Shane, yes.”

“Quit flirtin’ with the pig, Daryl,” Merle spat out. “An’ you, you get your grubby hands off my li’l bro’s crossbow. An’ by God if I learn your hands have been anywhere near my brother, I’ll, I’ll-” Merle was foaming at the mouth by now.

“Cut it out already, Merle.” Daryl didn’t even look at his brother. The pink tinge was back on his cheeks. Was it any wonder, though, what with the way his closest blood relative was behaving in front of a new acquaintance? Rick felt bad for the poor guy.

“You want me to leave?” he asked in a low voice.

Daryl scowled at Merle’s direction before he side-eyed Rick. “Not really. But it might be a good idea. I gotta get Merle to cool down. Fuck, I thought he wouldn’t be home for another few hours…”

“Well, it was bound to happen eventually. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, about the cop thing. This could’ve been avoided, maybe…”

“Nah, nothin’ to be sorry about. I get where you’re comin’ from. Not like I don’t understand well enough how prejudice works.”

“Stop whispering like fuckin’ lovebirds!” Merle barked. “I ain’t gotta put up with that in my own home, ya hear, Daryleena!”

Rick raised an eyebrow. “What’s his problem?”

“What isn’t?” Daryl answered, words light, tone without any amusement.

Rick thought he’d better not question more. Seemed like Merle had a game he loved to play and Daryl wasn’t a willing participant. Rick didn’t want to make this any harder on him.

“Thanks for the lesson and the beer and the great company,” he said quietly, ignoring Merle’s huffing and puffing as best as he could. “You still want to hang out, I’ll be in the bar on Friday evening for some pool and beer.”

Daryl nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He took the crossbow and the bottle, and Rick left without looking back, without even a glance at Merle. He thought that Merle didn’t deserve a polite goodbye after the “Good riddance!” the man snarled at him.

Chapter Text

Rick spent his Sunday trying to catch up on Lori’s to-do list as he still wanted to give their marriage a fair shot. He had cut down on the extra hours, he’d participated more at home, and he would try his damnedest to talk the way Lori wanted him to. They’d been married for close to 18 years, and most of it had been good, right?, so there was no reason it couldn’t be again.

Good thing he wasn’t holding his breath and waiting for loving smiles and a happy “Oh wow honey, you did everything I asked you to” when Lori and Carl returned home late in the afternoon, because all he got was a polite smile and a “Well, finally!”. But he’d had a pretty good weekend and that helped him keep the welcoming smile on his face, and he still was determined to get this right.

He didn’t tell her about Daryl, though, or about how her put-downs made him feel, so maybe the talking part of his plan wasn’t yet going so well.

And then Monday rolled around and he spent hours with Shane in their patrol car, listening to his stories about the wedding. Finally Shane thought to ask, “What about your weekend?”, and Rick was so, so reluctant to tell the whole story. Shane would just spill the beans to Lori next time he came by, which was pretty much every second day. And what Shane would comment on the Dixon issue, Rick didn’t even want to imagine.

“Nothing special,” he said, changed the subject and started to talk about their plans for Carl’s twelfth birthday.

*

For the next few days, Rick didn’t give the matter much thought. Work was busy, and he really did put in a lot of effort to spend more time at home, like he’d been doing for the past weeks now. Lori had first been surprised, then suspicious. Did Rick have trouble at work? she’d kept asking, a furrow between her delicate eyebrows. Had he screwed up somehow, was the sheriff not happy with him, was Rick in danger of losing his job for God’s sake?! she’d questioned.

Yeah, not the reaction he’d been hoping for. But he persisted, he knew this wasn’t a sprint but rather a marathon. On Thursday, he prepared another meal with a nice wine and all, and for dessert, Lori’s favorite ice cream.

Carl was no idiot, he knew something had been going badly for a while now, and he sensed his dad was making an effort. He nudged Rick when Lori was having a bathroom break just before the ice cream. “You’re doing great, Dad.” The boy hesitated, glanced around to make sure Lori wasn’t coming back yet. “I know Mom’s been angry with you for, like, forever. Have you done something?”

“Haven’t been around enough, I think, and I’m sorry, Carl, I’ll try to do better.”

Carl didn’t have time to say anything else before Lori returned and they continued their meal. Rick had a good feeling, however, and the feeling lasted for a few more hours, up until he flopped back on his side of the bed, languid and lightheaded after a very satisfactory round of marital sex. It had been a few weeks, and there had been times he’d wondered if Lori was ever going to let him touch her again.

He turned on his side, towards Lori, and caressed her cheek. She panted, still high from her own pleasure. She didn’t react to the touch, but for once Rick was so very certain everything was just fine, even for a moment.

“Wanna cuddle?” he asked, gave a playful kiss on Lori’s temple and nuzzled her hair with his nose.

“Rick…” Lori’s voice was a purr. For some reason, cold shivers ran through Rick’s spine. He pulled himself back a bit and waited.

“Rick… this was nice, really it was. You’re trying, and I appreciate it. I just want you to understand that it takes more before I can forgive you. Let’s see how this goes, ok, how you can keep this up.”

Rick was speechless, the warm comfort of the orgasm vanished just like that. He forced a vague ‘good night’ out of his mouth, closed his eyes, and forgot all about sleeping.

What the hell was that? Where did Lori’s condescending tone come from? Who put her on that high horse of hers? Rick felt the first stir of actual resentment. Was it really supposed to work like this? Was he supposed to grovel, perform some kind of a penance? Was he on fucking probation?

Did he think he was the perfect husband – hell no. Could he do better – absolutely. Did he work too much, did he open up about feelings too little – guilty as charged.

Were all their problems his fault – again, hell no. Had he lied to Lori, cheated her, stolen from her, been disrespectful or violent or abusive in any way, treated their son harshly, been stingy with money – an unequivocal NO to all. He admitted that most weeks he spent one weekend evening out with Shane and other friends but even so, he always took care he was never drunk and he was back home by eleven. His pillow and blanket were always laid on the couch those nights, waiting for the prodigal husband. Once, at the beginning of it, he’d frowned and asked what Lori would say if he did the same thing to her when she returned from her weekly girls’ night out around her usual time, midnight. The atmosphere at home had plummeted below the freezing point and stayed there for weeks, and it was made crystal clear to him that those two weren’t remotely the same thing, for reasons that apparently were obvious to Lori but remained hazy for Rick.

He fell asleep at some point and woke up to the waft of coffee. Lori was still sleeping but Carl had, for once!, woken up before the alarm went off, and had made coffee for the whole family. Rick smiled at the boy and wondered briefly how the years had flown by. In a few weeks, Carl would be twelve, still a little boy but teetering on the threshold of growing into a young man.

Rick was still thinking about his son (and trying not to think of his wife) as he drove to work. Driving past a busy cafe jolted his mind: it was Friday. He had plans for this evening, didn’t he? He just needed to think of some way to make it happen. Damn it, last Saturday when he’d mentioned this to Daryl, he hadn’t given a second thought to the fact that on a normal weekend evening he had no credible reason to go anywhere without Shane or Lori.

By noon, he was stumped. Shane had just parked the patrol car to go pick up some coffee and muffins. Rick waited in the car, scanned the street with his eyes, all the while thinking furiously. Most Friday evenings, they went to grab a beer or two, it was a given, and Shane would question him without remorse if Rick tried to back out of it. He could say he’d promised to stay home, but that story wouldn’t hold for long, seeing how often Shane visited and how much he talked with Lori. 

Also, it would be a boldfaced lie, and the thought of it made him frown. He shouldn’t have to lie just to be able to spend time with a potential new friend. But he couldn’t say ‘I’m going to go play pool with Daryl’ because that would just whet Shane’s curiosity. Rick knew his friend, Shane wouldn’t just leave it be, he’d demand an explanation why he couldn’t come with, and Rick’s head reeled at the thought of having to explain The Dixon Connection. Shane positively loathed Merle Dixon, tended to be goaded by Merle’s rants too easily, and once Rick had had to step between the two men just to remind Shane that he was a cop, not a street-brawler. Also, he couldn’t very well explain his need to find a friend just for himself; he could almost hear Shane’s amused snort, but there was always a chance that he’d be hurt by it, and Rick couldn’t let that happen.

He’d figure something out. Goddamnit, this felt like a frickin’ clandestine affair! Shouldn’t be this complicated!

Shane came back and they munched their lunch in silence. Then Shane’s cell rang, the man listened, grunted a few times, and finally said, “Yeah, sure, I’ll be there by six”, and hung up.

“So much for the Friday night out with you and the guys.” Shane groaned and rubbed his face. “Dean needs help and I can’t say no, y’know. I’ll probably stay the night, too. I think I’ll leave right after work, won’t lose time to go home first. He didn’t sound so good...”

Dean was Shane’s brother, had just recently lost his wife, and the guy tried to handle the grief, the family farm, and two-year-old twins all by his lonesome. Rick knew the groan had been all for show – Shane needed to uphold his tough-guy reputation after all. The man didn’t really mind driving the extra two hours to be there for his brother and his nieces.

“Yeah, sure. Give the girls a hug for me, ok?”

And just like that, Rick’s Friday night was wide open. 

When he got home just after four, he almost crashed into Lori at the door. She lifted a surprised eyebrow.

“You’re home early.”

That rankled just a bit. Rick forced a smile. “I’ve promised, haven’t I?”

“Well, I’m off to Mindy’s. Carl is at Tony’s, I’ll pick him up at eight on my way home.”

She usually arranged something for the Friday evenings, visited some friend or other, and Carl loved to start the weekend playing with his friends just a bit later than on the school nights, so Rick simply nodded.

Lori walked over to her car and threw a question over her shoulder. “You going out tonight?”

“Yeah, be back by eleven as usual.”

He waited for a second, but Lori didn’t bother with an answer.

*

He left for ‘Pool & Booze’ well before eight. Two tables were still free when he arrived, and there was not a single Dixon anywhere to be seen. He sipped his beer and rolled a red ball over the smooth cloth, watched it bump into the cushion, roll to a new direction, clack with an orange ball, and slow down.

How long would he wait? Why on earth hadn’t he checked Merle’s record? Daryl’s number could’ve been listed there as the next of kin.

After a quarter of an hour of watching the other group play, he took a cue and started to play alone at the same table as the previous Friday. He decided to give it half an hour, then he’d leave. More people came in, and now both other tables were taken and players were milling about, so it took him a while to notice he was being watched. He was sighting along the cue, trying to figure out the best shot, when he felt eyes on him and looked up.

Daryl leaned on the wall, hands in his pockets, and somehow managed to look defensive and shy all at the same time.

Rick stood up straight and grinned. “You came.”

Daryl walked slowly to the table. “Ya thought I wasn’t gonna show up?”

“Wasn’t sure.”

Daryl looked at the table. “Wanna play?”

So yeah, it was just as awkward as before, and it got relaxed just as quickly.

“Sorry about Merle,” Daryl muttered at some point when they’d played for about an hour.

“No problem. I hear a lot worse every day. The perks of being a cop.” He gave a lopsided grin at the other man and went on in a more serious tone. “Did he give you a hard time? I mean… is he always like that to you?”

“What d’you mean?” It was almost hostile, the way Daryl said it.

“Just that is he usually that mean to you? Doesn’t he like you bringing friends to your home?” Rick explained in an even tone.

Daryl bit on his lip, looked abashed and uncomfortable, and Rick thought Daryl felt weird because he’d snapped at Rick and maybe didn’t feel secure enough in the fledgling friendship – maybe he’d thought there might be consequences. Someone whose family consisted of Merle Dixon might just have learned to be wary.

“Something like that, yeah. Merle don’t like me having friends he doesn’t know. He’s a possessive bastard,” he mumbled, “but like I said, he’s the only brother I got so…”

It was like a lightbulb was lit inside Rick, dim at first, brighter by the moment.

“He likes to vet your friends?” he asked lightly.

“Something like that,” Daryl said again.

Merle’s disparaging words rolled around in Rick’s memory, he ran through everything the Dixons had said, Daryl’s every look and every reaction to Merle, and he felt nauseated. If he interpreted this right… Christ. Couldn’t be an easy life for Daryl. And even if he’d somehow got it wrong, what a despicable way to make someone’s life that extra bit harder than necessary. Why would someone do that to a brother was beyond Rick’s comprehension.

He didn’t really expect Daryl to elaborate on the subject of Merle but Daryl surprised him. “You don’t know everything about him, Rick. Or us. Our dad… it was no picnic with the man, alright? Merle don’t know any better, y’know. He tried to look after me but it didn’t always turn out ok. Somehow he got stuck on that mode, though, trying to keep me out of, of...whatever he sees as bad company.”

“He thinks I’m bad company?” Rick kept his tone carefully nonchalant.

Daryl glanced at him and snorted. “He thinks you’re all sorts of bad company. I don’t care what he thinks, though, he ain’t the boss of me. I’m done lettin’ him vet my friends. Jesus, I’m 35, not 15…”

Rick still wasn’t sure he got it all figured out, the reason behind Merle’s ire (except the cop thing but that had been no secret!), but it really didn’t matter to him either way. He liked to hang out with Daryl, and Rick thought he might actually grow to trust this quiet, skittish, temperamental outcast, so he really couldn’t care less about the older Dixon as long as Daryl could cope with his brother.

So, they played, they chatted (well, mostly Rick, but Daryl was a good listener and did contribute from time to time), and Rick’s heart was light and content and it was all so fucking normal it was a miracle in and of itself.

Half past ten he put down the cue. “I need to go.”

“Ya don’t wanna finish the game?” Daryl asked absent-mindedly, circling the table, concentrating on looking for a good angle.

“What I want and what I have to do are two entirely separate matters.” The way it came out took Rick by surprise. Apparently, Lori wasn’t wrong: he might have some issues, some feelings he should talk about. The problem was, she was eager to criticize his silence, but not so eager to actually listen.

Daryl raised his head so quick it must have hurt, if his grimace was anything to go by. He didn’t say anything, he just quirked an eyebrow. Rick flushed, angry at himself. He was supposed to be trying, wasn’t he? He shouldn’t talk like that.

“I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have… you shouldn’t have to listen to… me and Lori…” He ran his fingers through his hair. He really needed to leave or he’d be late.

Daryl put his cue on the rack. “Don’t be sorry. What are friends for, right?” The smile was shy and barely perceptible. Then he jerked his head towards the door. “I’ll walk ya out. Maybe I’ll go home, too.”

Outside, Rick stopped to admire Daryl’s bike. Daryl lit a cigarette and leaned on the wall. Rick wasted a few precious minutes in his own thoughts. Finally he remembered what he’d thought a few hours earlier.

“You got a cell phone?”

Daryl nodded. Rick dug up his own phone and opened a new text message. “What’s your number?”

The other man rattled his number and Rick sent him a text with just one word, ‘Rick’. Daryl didn’t react to the faint ding they heard from somewhere around his back pocket but he looked faintly pleased.

“Next Friday?” he ventured.

Rick stayed silent a beat too long; Daryl’s face closed off. “...or whenever.”

“Stop that.” It came out almost harsh. “I wouldn’t have asked for your number if I didn’t think it’d be fun to grab another beer at some point. It’s just…” Rick ground his teeth, impatient, and somehow really angry at how his life had turned out. He had no idea when it had happened, this thing where he, at almost forty, a respected sheriff’s deputy, had to worry about a fucking curfew and couldn’t become friends with a new person without worrying what his wife and his best friend might say or how they might treat that person. How the hell had it come to this? How goddamned spineless had he been to let this happen? Lori wasn’t evil, he wasn’t a hapless victim – so how had it all become this joyless, tangled mess?

“...look, I’ll message you, or you message me, and we’ll see about the schedules, ok? I don’t...have a lot of time to call my own, and ain’t that just a bit pathetic. We’ll talk more next time, alright?”

Daryl had thawed some. “Ok, sorry. I ain’t the best with this friend stuff, don’t really know how it works. So you ain’t the only one who’s a bit pathetic.” He smirked, flicked the cigarette butt on the ground, and settled on his bike. “Try to relax, man. You’ll work it out with your wife.”

Rick waved goodbye and walked over to his car. Daryl seemed to have more confidence in his marriage than he himself had right now.

When he got home, Lori greeted him. If you could call “You’re late” a greeting.

He checked the time: it was five past eleven. Yeah. Try to relax, man.

Chapter Text

Next morning, Rick got a call when they were having breakfast. He went onto the porch to talk, and didn’t look too happy when he came back to Lori and Carl.

“Dad?” Carl asked through a mouthful of cereal.

“Carl, please,” Lori groaned, exasperated.

Rick sat down and fiddled with his phone. Lori would hate this, would throw his good intentions and promises right in his face. He wasn’t thrilled either; despite some of the more negative thoughts about the state of their marriage, he did want to put in an honest try. But what was it he’d thought last night about being spineless…?

“Got a call from the office,” he started, and Lori tensed up immediately, her eyebrows arched, and the smile twisting her lips wasn’t a warm one.

“Let me guess. You’re working today.” It wasn’t even a question.

Rick gave a stiff nod. “Thomas called in sick. His shift would’ve started at three.”

“And naturally you couldn’t say no.” Lori’s honeyed voice could’ve fooled someone.

“Aww, Dad!” Carl paused to think. “Wait… if you’re not home, then can I go to Jesse’s today? His mom says I can stay overnight if it’s ok for you guys, but I said I can’t ‘cause we’re having a family weekend but since you’re working the whole evening I could go and can I, Dad? Mom? Pleeeease??” The boy was almost jumping up and down on his chair.

At least he isn’t too traumatized about the sudden change of Saturday plans, Rick thought with a small, wry smile.

“I don’t see why you couldn’t,” Lori said.

“Why don’t you go call Jesse right now and ask if it’s still ok for you to go there,” Rick prompted. “I can take you there on my way to work.”

Sometime after lunch, Shane called, letting Rick know he was back in town, asking if he’d like to do something later on. Rick had to confess about the work and Shane snorted so, so hard. “Fine, you do that. Don’t come crying to me when Lori bitches about it, d’you hear! You’re goddamn suicidal, man, you can’t say no, can you?!”

Rick laughed at his good-natured ribbing, because what else could he do? After all, Shane was right.

Lori was surprisingly civil, slightly subdued, got lost in her thoughts every now and then, but all in all, the day went pretty well. Again, Rick felt a small surge of hope. Maybe it would just take time with Lori. Rick had to get his own shit together, do his own part in creating a new, better balance in their relationship.

Later, as he dropped Carl at Jesse’s and was driving to work, his thoughts turned to Daryl, to jokes about westsidestories, to the art of wooing, and while he was grinning at his memories, suddenly his thoughts took a left turn somewhere and he was frowning over the concept of love.

He loved Lori, he was sure of it. Wasn’t he? Love was… what did love mean, after all, after almost two decades together?

There was the turbulent, boisterous, emotional “falling madly in love” kind of love. There were the years of that love shifting into something else, something more: partnership, companionship, determined trust and unwavering friendship. Love was acceptance, tenderness, lust. Love was that one person who’d always have your back. Love was a future.

Love was growth and evolution, it was something that changed from turbulence to something more sturdy and lasting. Not volatile and burning like a volcanic eruption, but strong and inevitable and all-conquering as the slow flow of molten lava.

He actually liked that idea, it made his heart warm up and the corners of his mouth curve into a smile. It made him remember a quote about love: Love is friendship set on fire.

Except… their marriage kind of wasn’t like that, was it? If it had been at some time in the past, it sure wasn’t any more, hadn’t been in a long time. They seemed to talk at cross-purposes even when both of them probably meant well. The lava wasn’t molten, it was dried up, solidified, brittle. There were no embers, just ashes. And the worst of it, the absolute worst of it was...

...there was no friendship to set on fire.

The realization hit him hard just as he parked in front of the Sheriff’s Office. It was like a punch in the gut, and he had to sit in the car and settle his breath before he could step out.

He hadn’t reflected on their marriage in those terms before, and wasn’t that a sobering thought. Maybe Lori was right, maybe Rick took their relationship for granted somehow. Maybe he was stupid, hadn’t seen how they weren’t at that comfortable, strong stage at all, hadn’t noticed the fire go out, the warm friendship turn into a lukewarm roommate arrangement, and hadn’t stopped to wonder why. Hadn’t stopped to do something about it.

He noticed he was still gripping the steering wheel like his life depended on it. Realizations were bitches, he thought, and tried to chuckle at himself, but he was too shaken up about it. Slowly, he relaxed his fingers, breathed in and out a few times, and got out of the car. He’d think about this tomorrow. Maybe he’d make a real effort at talking to Lori about it. Maybe they’d find common ground. Maybe they’d still make this work.

A cold, cold sadness threaded its limbs through his heart as he noticed the overabundance of maybe’s in his own thoughts.

*

It was a pretty peaceful Saturday and Thomas’s partner Jon was on the quiet side, so Rick could’ve had much too much time to brood over his marriage. Luckily, he was actually pretty good at compartmentalizing, and the day wore on, hour after hour, until halfway through the shift they got a call to the seedier side of the city. Apparently, a frustrated bartender had called 911 about a brawl picking up steam at their premises. Jon and Rick happened to be close by already, and were at the bar within five minutes.

They heard drunken shouting before they even got inside. Jon rolled his eyes. “It isn’t even eight yet. Some people start early.”

“Or maybe haven’t stopped since Friday night,” Rick replied with a dry voice. Wasn’t the first time they were breaking up a bar fight, and wouldn’t be the last.

Two guys were at each other’s throats, trying to land punches but missing most of the time. Rick assessed the situation but there didn’t seem to be any sort of weapons involved.

“You take the one on the left,” he told Jon, and walked closer to the one who had his back to him. “King County Sheriff’s Department,” he raised his voice. “Time to cool it down, guys.”

“Yep,” Jon said, “let’s take this show to the Sheriff’s station and leave these nice people to enjoy their Saturday evening in peace.”

Both burly brawlers slowed down, and that could’ve been it, and Rick’s life could’ve so easily gone on, intact, for at least a while longer. But yeah, no.

“Rick?”

He knew that voice – soft, slightly husky from too many cigarettes. There was a surprised, shy lilt to it, and that more than anything else made him swivel his head towards the sound, and wasn’t that a huge mistake when you were trying to arrest bar fighters. He had just enough time to notice Daryl who had stepped into the bar, when he heard an aggravated roar and someone grabbed his arm.

“Goddamnit Grimes!”

For a hot minute, it was kind of hard to keep track of what went on. Later, he’d hear Jon and Daryl give their versions of the proceedings – surprisingly similar stories, to be fair. When Daryl had called out Rick’s name, Merle – the guy Rick was going to arrest – had turned to look at him, recognized the ‘pig’ who’d been consorting with his baby brother behind Merle’s back with God knew what sinister or lecherous intentions, and Merle’s temper, volatile even when not fueled by large amounts of alcohol, had snapped entirely.

Jon was in no position to help Rick; he was struggling with the other brawler who’d thought he’d join the cop beating. Merle grabbed Rick’s arm and tried to punch him in the face; the punch went wide and only grazed Rick’s shoulder. His grip on Rick’s arm slipped as Rick skipped away from him, but he still managed to rip the sleeve off. Daryl barged at his brother and together with Rick the two of them easily forced the older Dixon down on the ground. Rick was putting the handcuffs on the furious Merle, when something hit him hard on the shoulder and sent a painful jolt through his body, and the next thing he knew was that beer was dripping from his hair and shirt and soaking his pants.

“Jesus Christ!” The words escaped him even though he normally tried to avoid swearing on the job.

Merle’s raucous, drunken cackle didn’t improve Rick’s mood and he had to make a real effort to not be petty and tighten the handcuffs just a tad too much.

“Rick?” Jon had finally wrestled his guy on the ground and cuffed him. “I’m sorry, this one got away for a second. You ok?”

He felt Daryl’s worried gaze follow his every move as he turned to look at his colleague. “I’ll live,” he grunted and shook his head. Beer drops flew every which way. He got up and flinched as his shoulder protested. The heavy glass mug lay on the floor and Rick could’ve sworn it looked smug.

Jesus, and the day had started relatively well… He rolled his shoulders and grimaced; it seemed the brawler had managed to hit him right into some nerve-ending, and pain sparked all over his left arm.

Merle muttered something about goddamned pigs puttin’ their snouts where they don’t belong and it bein’ a goddamn shame the mug hadn’t bashed Rick’s head in. Daryl elbowed him in the stomach and snarled at him. “Shut your trap for once, Merle! You’re in trouble, assaultin’ an officer, you idiot!”

“Aww, did I hurt yer li’l officer friend, Daryleena?” Merle slurred. “I’m sure you can kiss an’ make it better.”

“You’re such a moron, Merle.” Daryl’s voice was tired all of a sudden.

Rick glanced at him. Daryl rubbed his face, and his mouth was a grim line. Faint spots of color tinged his cheeks.

Jon touched Rick’s good arm cautiously. “You sure you’re ok, man? I saw you just now...your arm doesn’t look good. And your clothes…” Then he chuckled. “And you smell like a Saturday night, all doused in beer.”

Merle was concentrating on exchanging barbs with Daryl, so Rick could spare a look at himself. His torn shirt clung to his skin and his pants were splotched with the damn beer. He tried shrugging which – ouch!! – wasn’t the best idea. Jon went on.

“Hey man, help me cram these two fuckers in the car. I can take them down to the station and book them. We only got, like, less than two hours left of the shift. I’ll manage on my own what’s left of it. You get to the ER-”

“You’re sure?” Rick cut in.

“Yeah, sure I’m sure,” Jon huffed. “You want a ride to the ER? It’s on the way.”

“Nah, just want to go home and change and let the shoulder get some rest.”

“Rick?”

“Yeah?” Rick turned to look at Daryl who was still standing guard in front of his brother who glared at them all.

“I’ll drive you.” Daryl snorted and cast a side-glance at his brother. “Merle ain’t gonna be needin’ his truck tonight. An’ it’s the least I can do since all that,” he waved his hand at Rick, ”is my idiot brother’s fault.”

“You’re not going to get him off the hook by playing nice to Officer Grimes,” Jon said, eyeing Daryl with suspicion.

Rick raised his hand. “It’s not that, Jon, don’t worry. I know Daryl, we’re friends,” he said, groaning on the inside, thinking of Shane’s reaction because deputies were goddamn gossips. But he didn’t know an easier way to calm Jon down right now. “Daryl, you’re sure?”

Daryl nodded. His eyes were firmly on Rick, he paid no attention to Merle’s curses about goddamn traitors to the Dixon name. Rick gave him a small smile and wondered – not for the first time – how two brothers could be such polar opposites.

“Well, ok, I gotta admit I wouldn’t mind getting a lift. Really wasn’t looking forward to getting a cab looking like this.”

They put the sulking brawlers in the car and Jon drove off. Daryl had stayed behind for a moment and came to Rick carrying a small stack of paper towels. He pushed them to Rick’s hand.

“Here, wipe your face an’ hair, you look ridiculous,” he mumbled.

Rick thanked him with a smile and followed him to Merle’s truck.

“You came with your brother?”

“Yeah. So?” Always so quick to sound suspicious, like there were traps everywhere, and Daryl was just waiting for them to start springing.

“Nothing. Just wondering about your bike.”

“Bike’s been actin’ up, I gotta fix it tomorrow. Merle wanted to go out an’ promised to behave, an’ the fool that I was, I believed him. Anyhow, get in, we’ll get you home in time for you to tuck your son in.”

Rick was kind of touched that Daryl remembered his son, the whole ‘tucking him in’ seemed so sweet coming from a rough Dixon. “I’d love to, but he’s having a sleepover at a friend.”

“Well then, you’ll get extra points from your wife for coming home early.” Daryl backed out of the lot and started to head east, following Rick’s instructions.

“Don’t know about that,” he chuckled without any real humor. “I wasn’t supposed to be working tonight in the first place. I’ve been trying to cut the extra shifts these past weeks but a colleague fell ill so…”

Daryl flicked a swift glance at him. “Your wife throw you to the guest room for the night?” It was obvious Daryl was trying to lighten the mood, but it hit a little too close to home.

“Something like that, probably.” Rick swiped a trickle of beer off his neck, and thought how he’d most likely end up spending the night on the couch. Again.

Rick thought he heard Daryl mutter something under his breath, but he didn’t hear the words and didn’t feel like asking for clarification. He didn’t really want pity and he didn’t want to start with lengthy explanations about the state of his marriage. Maybe one day in the future when they knew each other better, maybe then, maybe after a few too many beers… but (he pushed himself to be upbeat about it), there was always a chance things might work out with Lori, in which case Rick wouldn’t need to talk to anyone about it. Shane knew some, that had to be enough.

Twenty minutes later, Daryl parked the car in front of the house. Rick didn’t move, he looked at the dark brown SUV that was sitting on their driveway beside Lori’s small blue sedan, the waning sunlight glinting off their roofs. Daryl looked at him, then at the cars.

“You got visitors?”

“That’s Shane’s car. The SUV, I mean.” Rick had no idea, no idea at all, why something tensed up at the pit of his stomach. A faint whirr of a warning signal went out in his head and he looked around, looked at the car, at the house, and tried to figure out what had set off the alarm. Shane was a family friend, he came by all the time, there shouldn’t be anything here to trigger a reaction from Rick. He felt Daryl’s gaze on him.

“Something wrong?” the other man asked, and there was nothing casual about the question, nothing like merely polite concern in the tone. Based on the time he’d spent with the younger Dixon, Rick guessed his life had given him enough reason to have a highly developed sense of danger. Seemed like Daryl had immediately picked up on Rick’s worry.

“Just feels...off,” he replied, opened the door quietly and stepped out. He stood on the street, listened, watched, tried to pinpoint the source of his unease. He walked closer to the house, glanced in the living room. A lone table lamp was on, but nobody was watching TV or sitting on the couch talking. He walked past the porch and the front door and peeked in the dark kitchen. Nobody there, either. He went to the door and tried it – nothing wrong with it, the door was locked. He almost jumped out of his skin when he heard Daryl’s low, soft voice at his shoulder (Jesus Chrrrrrrist! Nobody should be allowed to walk that quietly!!).

“See anything?”

Rick shook his head, took out his key and opened the lock as quietly as possible. Before he opened the door, he looked at Daryl and whispered, “You shouldn’t be here. I don’t know what’s got me so worried but in case there’s a problem…”

Daryl looked impatient. “Yeah, so?”

Rick searched for an answer. Truth be told, he was kind of glad he wasn’t alone right now, but he felt obligated to say otherwise. “I mean you don’t have to be here. I don’t know what I’m walking into so-”

“Nah, man, y’ain’t well, what with your arm an’ all, I ain’t gonna let ya do this alone. Ya say it’s your friend’s car but, y’know, what if something’s gone wrong? Y’ain’t gonna go in with no back-up. So shut up and open that door before I will.”

Daryl glared at him, and if Rick hadn’t been so worried and on edge, he’d have laughed. He shouldn’t think about a grown, surly man in these terms but man, Daryl looked adorable, all frowny and belligerent and prepared to take up arms for a man he barely knew.

He nodded and pushed the door open and they crept inside, walked over the first floor and found no-one. Daryl stood at the foot of the stairs, head tilted as if he was listening to something, and pointed up. Rick nodded and went up the stairs, slow and careful to not make a sound, stopping once to point down at a creaky step, and then they were on the second floor.

And Rick’s ears finally got a whiff of the sound Daryl had picked up. But he was wrong, of course he was, so he padded softly to their bedroom door, and tried to convince himself he was wrong wrong wrong wrong until the word pounded in his ears and drowned out all other sounds.

A hesitant touch on his good shoulder snapped him out of it and he realized he was leaning his head on the door, barely breathing. He glanced at the other man. There was no pity on Daryl’s face, just bristling anger and cautious concern.

Rick stood up straight. Better get it over with, he thought, and opened the door, not caring about stealth and silence any more.

He wished--- oh Jesus, fuck, he wished someone would zap him with some scifi gadget and vanish the memory of what he saw. Numb with nausea, he tried to rationalize the sight. This happened all the time, all over the world – all the fucking time someone got cheated on, every single fucking second, so who was he to complain, to expect special treatment from the law of averages, from statistical probabilities?

But the rational, analytical part of his mind sounded awkward and upset, and his emotions were...they were burning alive, it hurt so much to see the horrified faces of Lori and Shane as they were jolted out of their sex haze by the sound of the door. Lori on her hands and knees facing the door, eyes squeezed shut, mouth moaning in pleasure, breasts quivering as Shane fucked her from behind, panting hard, staring at Lori’s ass, staring at how RICK’S BEST FRIEND’S COCK pumped into RICK’S WIFE’S PUSSY, and honest to God, for a second Rick wanted to kill them both, and he had the means, he had his gun, he could-

“Jesus!! Rick!!!!!!”

Lori’s scream yanked him back to reality. At the same time he felt Daryl grab his arm, and the man wasted no time in taking away the gun from the holster. “Don’t wanna see ya end up in jail, man,” Daryl muttered.

Shane had pulled out of Lori and scrambled backwards, tried to cover himself and for once seemed to be at a loss for words. Lori, on the other hand…

“How are you at home already, Rick? And who’s that guy?” she yelled.

Rick blinked. Really? That was how she was going to play this?

“You don’t get to question me, Lori,” he said, and his voice was even. He’d had a few precious seconds to get a hold of himself, and he was ashamed of having lost himself like that. Daryl had felt it necessary to take away his gun, Jesus…

He tilted his head and observed the two people on his marital bed. Trickling sweat and cum and pussy juice all over HIS MARITAL BED! He felt the churn of nausea again but other than that... The bed was now theirs, he wanted no part of it.

He walked over to his closet, pulled out his suitcase and packed it, resolutely thinking of nothing else except what he might need to stay away for a few days. He’d call Carl tomorrow, make up something, some reason why he couldn’t be home until Monday evening. He’d need to think this over, and Lori needed to think this over, and Shane… well, Shane could go fuck himself for all Rick cared.

“Hey, Rick...” Shane tried, and Lori still had her challenging tone when she commanded, “Listen, Rick…”

“Nope, nu-uh, you don’t have anything to say that would interest me. Neither of you. This is exactly what it looks like, and you most certainly meant to hurt me with this. Maybe you didn’t expect me to catch you in the literal act, but surely you didn’t think this wouldn’t come out at some point? You can’t possibly be so stupid? No, no- Shut up, Lori,” he ordered, voice still eerily calm, as Lori tried to interrupt, “you two, try to get your stories straight. I’ll come home on Monday after work, we’ll figure out how we’re gonna proceed.”

He frowned. Lori had blanched. Why would she do that?

“Lori, what? You can’t possibly think we’ll just shrug and go on as if nothing had happened? You knew this, you knew what was the one thing I couldn’t take, you’ve known it from the beginning. I never, ever tried to claim to be strong enough to handle cheating. You knew this too, Shane. And yet this is what you decided to do. So, for me it’s real simple.”

He shut the suitcase and picked it up. “We’ll talk on Monday,” he said with cold finality. “And Shane, I trust you to make up an excuse to change partners first thing on Monday? Don’t make me do it. I don’t want to be the one to answer the chief’s questions. I probably couldn’t make you look good with my replies.”

He marched out. Daryl cast one last look at Lori and Shane, curled his upper lip in contempt, and followed him. They walked back towards the truck in silence. Finally, Rick’s steps faltered, he stopped by the truck, fingers grazing the door handle. He didn’t look at Daryl, and Daryl barely caught his words.

“I don’t know what to do now.”

Chapter Text

“I don’t know what to do now,” Rick said, his words almost inaudible.

Daryl sighed, leaned on the truck and lit a cigarette.

“Ya got a place to crash for the night?”

Rick shrugged. “Not really. I was thinking… if you-” He let out a stuttering breath, lowered the suitcase on the ground and turned to look at Daryl. “Could you maybe give me a lift to a hotel? I’m so sorry, I feel bad for asking, this has already been one hell of a night for you, getting in the middle of this shitstorm, but-”

“Cut it out, Grimes.” Daryl scowled at him. “None of this was your fault an’ ya didn’t force me to get mixed up in this, that was all me. And that,” he waved his hand towards the house, “I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ about your virtues as a husband, I don’t know shit about that, and anyway that’s between you an’ that woman in there, but I know that wasn’t right, the thing goin’ on in there. So no, ya don’t get to apologize shit from me.”

He dropped the remains of the cigarette and ground it with his boot. “An’ none of that hotel crap either. Good thing Merle was an idiot today, he won’t be home for a couple of days. We have an extra room, it ain’t nothing great but there’s a bed in there, ‘cause sometimes Merle’s friends stay over, an’ we’re SO changing the linen ‘cause, man, you don’t wanna know…”

Rick had a small furrow between his eyebrows. “You don’t want me there, you don’t even know me, not really… and I won’t be good company. Daryl, you’ve already done so much, I can’t possibly-”

“You don’t listen too good, do ya, Officer?” Daryl was still scowling. “I don’t care how much you suck as a house guest, hell, I’m probably not much of a host neither. But you ain’t in a good place right now, and no way in hell I’m gonna leave you alone in some crappy hotel where you have too much time to think about this shit.”

Suddenly Daryl dropped the annoyed tone and let his worry seep out. “Man, you didn’t see yourself in there… I didn’t take the gun just for shits an’ giggles, y’know. You looked like… like not yourself, okay?”

What could Rick say to that? He remembered what he’d felt like back there. He wanted to think he wouldn’t have done anything, that he would’ve come to his senses, but he didn’t know it. Daryl had taken care of it before there had even been a possibility of…

Yeah… not really something he wanted to think about.

“Ok,” he just said. “If you’re sure?”

Daryl snorted and opened the door for Rick and hauled the suitcase at the back of the truck. They didn’t talk on the way to the Dixon house. Rick stared at the road, at the lights of the oncoming cars, at the lights in the windows, at the blinking neon signs, at the people hanging outside of bars and coffee houses, laughing and talking.

His eyes were dry. The shock hurt them, pricked and smarted under the lids, but nothing was coming out. It was like he’d temporarily lost the ability to cry. He wasn’t sure which betrayal had hit him the hardest. Was it the one from his high-school sweetheart, his wife of nearly two decades, the mother of his son. Or the one from his oldest friend, his best friend, his brother.

A niggling, sarcastic voice inside his head snickered. Or maybe Lori and Shane are just gonna tie for the gold medal of betrayal?

“You ok?”

The purr of the motor had quietened, and Rick realized they were at their destination. He nodded, stepped out and picked up his bag. He followed Daryl inside and watched as the man turned on lights in the living room and kitchen.

“You want anything? We ain’t got much in the fridge, I gotta go shopping tomorrow, but there’s a few beers if you want? Not enough to get drunk but I figure you don’t need no hangover on top of everything else…” Daryl’s voice trailed off. He stood awkwardly by the kitchen table, seemed to be a bit lost now that they were here.

No wonder, Rick thought. Probably not how the man had thought he’d spend his Saturday night. The bar fight, brother arrested (again), an eyeful of Rick’s wife and friend fucking. What a friend Rick had turned out to be, wow!

Rick still hadn’t answered so Daryl took the matter into his own hands, took out two beers, gave one to Rick and led him to the living room. For a while, they sat on the couch in silence.

“Thank you,” Rick said.

Daryl half-shrugged. “Don’t mention it.” He scratched at the label on the bottle. “Wanna talk about it?”

Rick appreciated the question. Daryl wasn’t much of a talker so the fact that he took the trouble to ask told a lot about what kind of a man he was.

He sank deeper into the cushions and rested his head on the back of the couch.

“I didn’t see it coming at all,” he said quietly.

“You had no reason to look for it,” Daryl said, calm and logical. “Your best friend, your wife… why would you have thought they were goin’ behind your back? Normal people ain’t paranoid like that.”

Rick snorted. “I guess you’re right. Still… only a few hours ago I would’ve said I’m a pretty good cop and a judge of character, and then I find out Shane and Lori are fucking and now it’s kinda hard to think well of my detective skills, y’know. God knows how long they’ve been at it.” He took a long sip. “I guess this explains why Lori hasn’t been happier about my attempts at being a better husband. Her mind’s been on a completely different game.”

“Maybe you can still fix it?” Daryl gave him a side-glance, seemed to gauge how Rick would take the suggestion. “Maybe this was a one-off. A one-time mistake. Something you guys can get over?”

Rick stayed silent for a long time, lost in his thoughts, remembering what he’d thought that very same afternoon at the station parking lot. He shook his head. “I’m starting to think there’s not enough left to get over something like this. And cheating is… is something of a red flag to me, and they both knew it and yet...”

He straightened his back and put his half-empty bottle on the coffee table. “I’ll talk to Lori on Monday. Maybe I’ll feel different then. I don’t think so but I’ll give it a chance. But it’s not just me, it’s Lori too, and you can’t say she looked too apologetic back there, now can you? So it’s not just me who has to be willing to work through this, it’s her, too, and I just don’t know…” He ran his hand through his hair and scratched his neck. “I just don’t know.”

Rick glanced at the other man and caught him staring. Daryl looked away, cleared his throat and put his bottle down.

“Fine. You give it time all you want. I don’t got no wise words to give ya but you wanna talk, I’ll listen, ok? Now, shower and get some sleep. Come on.” He pushed himself up and started to trudge upstairs.

Rick grabbed his bag and followed him to a desolate room with an old double bed and not much else. Daryl hovered at the doorway for a second, then vanished into another room, and came back carrying a set of linen.

“Ain’t much, like I said.” He sounded awkward and a little ashamed.

“It’s plenty.” Rick gave him a steady look. “The things you did for me today...you helped me, you stood by my side, you gave me a place to stay – me, a frickin’ stranger, basically. Not many people would do that, y’know. You didn’t have to do any of that and yet you did. So none of that ‘ain’t much’ crap, ok?”

Half an hour later, Rick had showered and put on a clean t-shirt and sweatpants. He was lying on the bed. The mattress was lumpy and the pillow was too flat for his taste, but the linen was clean and the blanket was thick and warm. He felt...surprisingly good, actually, which was probably all kinds of wrong, surely. He’d just caught his wife and his friend in flagrante delicto as the saying went, even though fancy Latin really didn’t change the fact that it meant ‘fucking each other in HIS home’. Shouldn’t he feel like crap, shouldn’t he be out howling sad sounds at the moon and having a soul-crunching existential crisis?

Instead, it was like a switch had been flipped in his head and his heart. Or, alea iacta est, since apparently being cheated on brought his latent highbrow brainy qualities to the surface. Whatever. He didn’t mean the betrayal didn’t hurt. It did. It was just… where there had been a painful knot before, a tangle in his life he had tried to untie, now there was only the hurt – clear and relatively uncomplicated. He could deal with that. He guessed it wouldn’t all be smooth sailing, it was bound to hurt more at some point, maybe as soon as tomorrow, but right now he was calm.

He heard the soft sounds of Daryl, walking around downstairs, probably switching off the lights. He heard him pad up the stairs, do all the stuff people did in their homes when they prepared for bed, and the last of the tension in his muscles trickled away. He burrowed in his blanket. He felt safe, at peace, and wasn’t that fucking odd?

The toilet flushed, a door opened and closed, then Daryl walked by the guest room, and Rick heard a quiet “Good night”, and then there was another door opening and closing, and silence settled on the small house. Rick turned to his side and let his eyelids grow heavy, didn’t fight the sleep, wasn’t scared of nightmares because somehow he was certain he wouldn’t have any.

*

He’d been right, on both accounts. There’d been no nightmares, and he did feel worse the next day. Funnily enough, he thought as he was brushing his teeth, it’s less about Lori and more about Shane.

For all too long, his relationship with Lori had been wrought with conflicted feelings, and the infidelity was just another chip on that particular heap of crap. His friendship with Shane, however, had always been a steadying element in his life. Something constant from way before he’d even met Lori. Shane was his childhood friend, for Christ’s sake, and this shit here, it came from so far out of left field he could hardly conceive it had truly happened. For a crazy second, he considered showing Daryl the photo he had in his wallet of his nearest and dearest (ha!) and asking him if it had really been Shane in that bedroom. But yeah, no, definitely no… Rick spat in the sink and rinsed his mouth, looked at the mirror and grimaced. Absolutely not. Poor Daryl would just book him a one way ticket to the nearest mental facility. He snorted. If only it were that easy – put everything down to seeing things.

He went downstairs towards the tempting scent of fresh coffee, still wearing his sweatpants and the t-shirt, and found Daryl in the kitchen leaning on the counter, a mug of steaming coffee in his hand.

“Sleep okay?” the man asked.

“Yes. Thank you.” Rick cast a longing look at the coffee mug. Daryl jerked his head towards the pot; there sat an extra mug, apparently waiting for Rick.

“Help yourself. We ain’t got much in the way of breakfast, though, I gotta make a run to the store.”

Rick poured coffee and sniffed at the rich aroma. “I’ll come with you. And I’m paying-”

“Shut up.”

“Will not.” Rick smirked; they sounded like bickering kids. “It’s the least I can do, and you don’t get a say in this.”

“Jesus,” Daryl muttered in his mug, trying to decide whether to glower or to smirk back at him. “Whatcha gonna do, throw me in jail for backtalkin’?”

Rick laughed out loud. “What am I going to put down as the reason for the arrest? Vocal refusal to let someone else pay for groceries? Wouldn’t really know how to explain that one to the judge…” He grinned at the other man over the rim of the mug.

They stopped on the way to wolf down a few bagels (not a good idea to go grocery shopping while hungry!). 

Well before noon, they were back at Daryl’s, unloading a boatload of stuff into the fridge and freezer. Rick had no idea how the Dixons were doing money-wise but he had a feeling that it wasn’t great. He also had a feeling Daryl wouldn’t take extravagance well, he’d interpret it as charity, and Rick was in no mood to fight with him over grocery shopping. So he had tried to tread lightly, didn’t go overboard out of sheer gratitude, but he did buy stuff the way he would’ve if it had been a regular run with Lori.

In the afternoon, Daryl gave Rick another lesson with the crossbow, and Rick was more than grateful for the overnight miracle recovery of his arm, because it meant he could do this. There was just something so soothing in the simple routines of cocking and loading, then concentrating on aiming the heavy weapon. It pushed away thoughts of Lori and Shane altogether, and for a glorious few hours there was nothing but him and the weapon and Daryl’s presence as the other man corrected his stance with light touches and quiet words.

It wasn’t until the night fell, and the two of them were watching reruns of Criminal Minds, that Rick accepted that maybe he should be doing some thinking. Tomorrow he’d have to go to work. Worst case scenario: Shane wouldn’t have managed to change partners and they’d actually have to spend the whole shift in the same patrol car. He was afraid he’d use up the whole crossbow training zen within the first hour of the shift…

And then, off to home, to Lori. He’d have to put up a brave face for Carl. Never mind what Rick thought about Lori – she was Carl’s mother, and Rick would not put his son in a position where the boy might feel he’d have to choose sides.

He’d been silent for a long while. Daryl threw furtive glances at him more and more often.

“You want another beer?” he finally asked.

“I shouldn’t.”

“That wasn’t a no.” Daryl got up and fetched two more bottles. He settled down on the couch, half-turned towards Rick.

“Ya got stuff rollin’ around in your head, I can see it. Come on, spill.”

Rick’s gaze rested on Spencer Reid speed-reading yet another book. He had no clue as to what the crime was they were solving at the moment.

“That stuff ain’t entertaining.”

“Do I look like I wanna be entertained?” Daryl scowled and seemed slightly at a loss when Rick snickered at him.

“Fine,” he said, and then he talked. Daryl didn’t say much but later, when Rick was already in bed and thought about the discussion, he was surprised at how little the man had actually said, because it hadn’t felt like that at the time. The silence with which the reticent younger Dixon listened was vocal. He didn’t brush Rick’s concerns aside, didn’t look bored, didn’t fidget impatiently, signaling his eagerness to get it over and done with, this playing a good host.

Instead, his very presence made Rick feel seen. Daryl let him speak in peace, search for words, think aloud, and Daryl gave him the occasional nod, or a small grunt or a snort, and once – Rick was sure of it even though his eyes were squeezed shut at the time, damming a fucking tear because he did not want to cry – he let his hand hover for a few seconds over Rick’s shoulder.

Daryl was there, expecting nothing of Rick, demanding nothing. He wasn’t at ease, Rick knew that, and it made him appreciate Daryl even more because it was obvious he wasn’t used to dealing with situations like this...and yet, he did it. Like an awkward watchdog, he guarded Rick’s vulnerability.

This was all the more astounding as this was, in effect, only the fourth time they’d ever even met. The guy was a born Friend, and Rick only hoped that one day he could help him as much as Daryl was now helping him.

One of the few questions Daryl asked was, “Do you love her?”

Rick had asked himself the very same thing. “I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. “We’re married, we have an 11-year-old child, we have a life together. I thought...I guess it’s more about commitment than anything else.”

Daryl watched him, didn’t say a word.

“You disagree?” Rick had no idea what was going on in Daryl’s mind. His face gave away nothing.

“It ain’t me married to her. Doesn’t matter what I think. I got zero experience with love, so you’re on your own there, pal. What I’s thinkin’ is...two things. One, you don’t sound too happy with the commitment thing. Ya don’t wanna wake up when you’re eighty and realize there was nothing else. Commitment is good, I’m all for loyalty, but it’s kinda cold to have only that in a marriage. You think your wife would like to hear for the next thirty years that ‘Geez honey, dunno if I love ya but I sure am committed to ya’? An’ two, commitment works both ways. Ya might wanna ask Lori about hers.”

His mouth snapped shut. His face was flushed and he averted his eyes. Rick figured Daryl was just as surprised about the uncharacteristic barrage of words as Rick.

“‘m sorry, I shouldn’t-”

“Daryl, don’t. I asked, you answered. I don’t mind hearing your thoughts on this. It’s not like you’re trying to force me into a decision of your choosing. And also...not like I hadn’t thought about those things, too.”

He yawned so hard it brought tears to his eyes.

“Get some sleep, man. You need to be able to think tomorrow.”

It was like Rick was given permission to be tired. He could hardly keep his eyes open as he stumbled towards the stairs. He heard Daryl snicker; the man trudged behind him all the way up the stairs.

“Officer Grimes careened to his untimely death at the Dixon house,” Daryl muttered as if to himself. “Daryl Dixon pleads not guilty, says the stupid cop tripped over his own damn legs ‘cause he was too dumb to not fall asleep while climbin’ up the stairs. The jury scoffs and sentences the poor bastard to jail for a hundred years.”

Rick snorted. “Good to know my life is worth that much.”

“Yep. I ain’t takin’ no chances. Can ya brush your teeth on your own or are ya gonna stab yourself in the eye?”

“I’ll have you know,” Rick said loftily as he aimed towards the bathroom, “that my coordination is exc-”

Which was when he stubbed his toe on the doorframe.

“Excruciating?” suggested Daryl. “Geez, can’t take ya anywhere…”

Rick’s toe hurt but it was really hard not to laugh. He leaned his forehead to the doorframe. “Agile like a panther, that’s me.”

“Delusional like a dumbass, more like,” Daryl drawled.

*

All the difficult discussions and toe-snubbings didn’t disturb Rick’s sleep. He woke up to Daryl knocking loudly on the door and hollering something about dragging his ass down for coffee, and once again he was amazed at how well he’d slept.

“You’ve got work today?” he asked as he was finishing up his coffee.

“Yeah,” Daryl grunted. “Gotta start at nine. I can drop you off at the station on the way.”

“Thanks.” Rick tried hard not to think of anything other than the ordinary routines of a Monday. Work. Just work. “Merle’s probably out today.”

“Mmhm.” Daryl’s gray-blue eyes stayed on Rick. “You got a place where you can stay? I mean… just in case.” He bit his lip, clearly wondering whether he’d said too much.

A corner of Rick’s mouth lifted. There was no humor in his lopsided smile, though. “I’ll just head to one of the motels. If it comes to that.” The if had been an afterthought, like a formality, a tag at the end of the sentence. He’d been talking like leaving home was a foregone conclusion. That was probably not a good sign of his frame of mind.

When Daryl stopped the truck at the station, it took Rick a few extra moments to get out. He didn’t want to face this day. He wanted to stay in the worn little house and practice the crossbow and cook another meal of chicken and vegetables and…

Yeah, no. He didn’t think he was a weak man, and only weak men ran from their problems. He sighed, opened the door and stepped out. Took one last look at the man who’d become his friend so frickin’ quickly, just as quickly and unexpectedly as Rick’s life had turned upside down.

Rick thought of old-fashioned scales. Without Daryl, one tray would’ve crashed to the ground with a loud thump. Now? Well, at least there was something good in the other tray.

“Thanks,” he said. Such a small word for pretty much saving his mental health. For not leaving him alone to wallow in dark thoughts in some cheap hotel room. The Python was back at his holster where it belonged, the weight of it reminding him of what Daryl had done and why.

Daryl shrugged. “Try not to kill Shane. Not that he don’t deserve to be throttled but orange wouldn’t be a good look on ya.”

Rick snorted. “Thanks for the fashion advice.” It felt good to joke around, even a little bit.

“Any time.”

Neither of them made the smallest effort to leave. The truck was idling, Daryl was tapping the wheel with his forefinger, Rick was still gripping the door handle. I should go. Procrastination won’t help.

“So...I’ll just-”

“Call me.” It sounded like Daryl forced the words out. A slight flush colored his cheeks. “Wanna know how it goes.”

Rick nodded. His small smile was more genuine now.

Chapter Text

He never found out what it was that Shane had said to the chief, but from that day on they weren’t partners anymore. Jon was now Rick’s partner, and Rick was absolutely ok with it. Jon was a good man, would watch his back, and probably wouldn’t fuck his wife, and it seemed that was pretty much the holy trinity of Rick’s expectations these days.

They were still planning their day when the door to the jail wing opened and a surly Merle stomped out. The older Dixon threw a vicious look at Rick, curled his lip at Jon, and scowled the whole way to the front desk where he signed up his stuff.

The two deputies watched the man leave the building and head heaven knew where. Merle was speaking on his cell as he vanished from their view, and Rick wondered if he was talking to Daryl, asking (or demanding, more like) him to come pick him up.

“A regular ray of sunshine, that one,” Jon said, leafing through his paperwork.

“A delight,” agreed Rick. “How did it go on Saturday? They give you trouble on the way here?”

“Nah, both of them sulked like school kids. When I booked them, there were...words, as you can imagine, but nothing I haven’t heard before.”

Rick was backing their patrol car out of the lot as Jon remembered something.

“What about your Dixon?”

“My Dixon?” The car stalled with an abrupt jolt.

“Yeah, the one you got stuck with on Saturday. Merle’s brother. You said he’s your friend.” Jon sounded mildly incredulous.

Rick restarted the car and pulled out of the lot. “Daryl? He’s a good guy.”

Jon chuckled. “Can’t even imagine how you got to be friends with a Dixon.”

“Didn’t know he was a Dixon when I first got to know him, and after that, the last name didn’t mean much. He’s not his brother.” It came out just a bit defensive, and Jon cast a curious look at him.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” he said. “Making conversation, ‘s all.”

Rick drew a deep breath. “Yeah, I know. Sorry. It’s been…a weird weekend. I’m a bit on edge.”

He sensed the curiosity from the other man, but Jon wasn’t really the prying kind. He might’ve asked something, though, but then they got a call about a fender-bender, and the day rolled on and Jon didn’t bring up the subject of Rick’s weird weekend, and then they were back at the office and it was time to go home.

Four hours later, Rick dropped on a motel bed and sat there staring at his hands. So, that happened.

He was numb. A part of him said he’d brought this on himself. Who had he been kidding? He hadn’t been open for discussion, he’d seen no other result than this: the two of them, in separate houses. So what had he expected the outcome to be with that attitude?

Maybe it would’ve gone different, maybe, if Lori had acted in some other way. But her eyes had been cold, her arms crossed, and she hadn’t been willing to meet him halfway. “You weren’t there for me, Rick,” she’d said, as if that was all the explanation it needed to splinter 18 years of marriage into tiny little shards.

You’d think that the discussion that marked the end of their marriage would take long. Well, you would’ve been wrong. Again, Rick blamed himself. How was it possible to be a pretty ok police officer and have, apparently, zero perceptive abilities when it came to his private life? It seemed their relationship had – according to Lori – been in its death throes for years. Rick had screamed internally when Lori had said the words. For years! What the holy FUCK?!

So, it had taken two hours of laborious conversation to put their marriage down. Mercy killing, really. Rick snorted, almost horrified at his own sarcastic levity. He’d packed another suitcase and they’d agreed (agreed...what a funny word in this context) to meet later that week, since they’d need a few days to find lawyers. Surprisingly enough, Lori didn’t seem to want to fight for every last dime, but even if they’d had nothing to fight over, it might still be a good idea to have professionals in place to oversee that everything was handled correctly.

And then there was Carl. “What are you going to say to him?” Lori had asked.

What am I going to say to him? Rick had wondered. He’d shrugged to himself. Fine. If Lori was going to put this on him, so be it.

Rick didn’t say all that much to his son. Carl wasn’t yet twelve but he was by no means stupid. “Mom cried a lot yesterday,” he said quietly. “And you didn’t come home. Also, you don’t lie so well, Dad… that story you gave me when you called yesterday, about helping some friend I’ve never even heard of… pretty thin. Wasn’t too hard to figure out something was wrong.”

Rick had never seen Carl so serious, his small face without any of the usual quick smiles or quirked eyebrows.

“I’m sorry, son.”

“I know you are, Dad.” Carl sat on his bed and wrapped his arms around his bent legs and rested his chin on the knees. “So, what now?”

“I’m staying in a motel for a little while, until we settle things with your mom.” Rick sat close to Carl and the boy leaned into him. “I hope you know I’m not disappearing from your life just because I won’t live here anymore. You can always call me, always. And we’ll see each other all the time, I promise.”

Carl hummed a yes; the side-glance he cast at his father was hopeful but sceptical. It made Rick swear to himself that he would keep that promise. Lori had made her own choices, hadn’t wanted to stick around to see if Rick meant business with the changes he’d already made. That was Lori’s decision. It didn’t have to mean Rick couldn’t keep on trying to put his family first. He had let things slide for a few years, with more and more work taking up the space that should’ve been his family’s. He’d already managed to change some of it, there was no reason he couldn’t continue on that path. It would be good for Carl, and it would be good for him, too.

So, now he sat on the motel bed and wondered what to do next. It was only eight o’clock and he didn’t feel like sleeping yet. It was weird, the way he felt. Wistful and sad – curious and alert. You’d think one person couldn’t feel those things at the same time but there you were. There’d be a lot of work to be done with the divorce, loads of practical issues to solve, and Rick knew the wistful and sad would, at some point, overwhelm him. How could it be otherwise, after two decades?

He still had a life in front of him, though, and it was a brand new life, and he had not a single clue what to do with it, and it felt oddly...exciting. He was almost ashamed of himself, for thinking like that. But it was better than the alternative, right?, the one where you cast longing looks at your sidearm or, to be slightly less overdramatic, where you went on a drinking spree, made questionable choices regarding one-night stands, drove back home drunk as a skunk only to become a figure in a DUI statistics after crashing straight into some poor bastard who only wanted to cross the street.

Okay, that might have been just a bit overdramatic as well.

Anyway, the fact remained he felt maybe just, like, 60 percent bad, and he kind of wanted to do something to reinforce the remaining actually-somewhat-excited 40 percent. Doom and gloom would come soon enough anyway.

He scooted back on the bed and leaned on the headrest, flipped the TV open (CNN news, ok, maybe it was a good way to get his head out of his own ass, watching what was happening elsewhere), and dug into his jeans for his phone.

His finger hovered over Daryl’s name for a long while. Daryl had told him to call, though, so he had no reason not to. Daryl might even worry – if he was the kind of a person who worried. But he had dragged Rick to his home just to keep him from doing anything stupid, so maybe it’d be a good idea to tell him everything was all right. And Rick kind of wanted to hear his voice, the low drawl as well as the curt comments that were more grunts than anything else. He wanted to hear how Daryl’s day had gone, how it was with Merle back home. Maybe Daryl might want to know that everything was ok with Rick, but that worked the other way around as well.

While he waited for Daryl to pick up, he watched as the news ticker announced an unknown virus strain causing havoc in Europe, Northern Africa, parts of Asia – oh, wow, a lot of casualties! – but then he heard Daryl answer the phone and lost interest in weird foreign flus.

“Rick?”

“Yeah, hi, umm, you told me to call?” Well, fuck, that came out all shy and insecure. Rick could’ve slapped himself. Really, now that he had his shiny new life (he snorted to himself), he’d better learn how to handle this getting-new-friends thing a lot more smoothly, and fast!

“Sounds like you made it through the day. Shane still breathing? You at home, or…?”

“Didn’t see Shane all day, and no, I’m not at home.”

They talked for a few minutes, the conversation stilted and awkward; it seemed to be their usual M.O., Rick thought, both of them rusty at this friendship thing. Rick knew he himself was simply clumsy at it, but Daryl… it was almost like every time they met, Daryl needed the first few minutes to test it. Like he stepped on ice and carefully slid his feet to see if the ice really held him or if it had thinned overnight.

There was a small, uncomfortable silence, both of them trying to think of something to say, when – to Rick’s immense surprise – Daryl blurted out, “Wanna go grab a beer or somethin’?”

“Uh, what?” You don’t want to spend time with your brother for a change? You don’t need some space from me and my stupid problems?

Daryl, of course, didn’t hear those silent questions, so he took Rick’s grunt the wrong way and backpedalled like crazy. He didn’t even say anything – Rick just sensed it. The line crackled with tense embarrassment, and the quick stutter of breath was a prelude to some sort of a sorry-that-was-a-stupid-idea, and Rick was having none of it.

“Sure, why not,” he said. “Meet you in thirty minutes in that pool place. I can’t stay late but one beer, one game, ok?”

Then, on Wednesday, Rick invited Daryl over. He’d chosen a nice motel; it would take time to find a proper apartment to suit his budget, and he wanted Carl to be able to visit him. He said as much to Daryl as the man walked in, put the sixpack he’d brought on the table where Rick had already set the pizzas he’d ordered.

“So, I’m kinda your test guest?” Daryl snorted, and plopped down on a chair by the table.

Rick smiled. “Well, what do you think?”

Daryl took in the cheerful colors, two twin beds, clean floors, cozy kitchenette, modern TV where some sort of a news bulletin about recent disease outburst in Central America was running.

“It’s nice,” he conceded. “Fuck, it’s nicer than my house. I dunno if I’m qualified to be the judge.”

“You’re plenty qualified.”

They watched the news as they ate, both raising their eyebrows at the mystery virus that was starting to make the powers-that-be slightly uneasy.

“You worried?” Daryl jerked his head at the TV.

Rick munched the pizza, thinking. He swallowed down the bite and took a sip of beer. “This is the real world, not a late night B-horror movie. So no, I’m not really worried. Sure, there are some nasty diseases floating around but everything can be contained nowadays – and there’s a vaccine or an antibiotic for pretty much everything.”

“Not everything…like malaria or H.I.V.,” Daryl said, still preoccupied by the news program, taking Rick by surprise. He didn’t know Daryl would kn...and wasn’t that a narrow-minded thought! No reason why Daryl wouldn’t know stuff, no reason at all.

“True,” Rick agreed. “But if this is spreading world wide, then it’s the medical scientists around the globe who’re working on it, not just our people. Everybody’s got a vested interest in putting this thing down. And it’s not in the USA yet, according to the news.” He paused, concentrating on the program, then frowned. “What I’m wondering is why they aren’t telling more about what it actually does? There’s a fever, and the mortality rate is horrifying...I’m just wondering…”

“Merle follows some pretty weird youtube channels,” Daryl said. “You wouldn’t believe the amount of crap in some of them shows… well, anyhow, there’s some videos people are putting on there, about the virus and what it does, an’ man, it ain’t pretty. Seems like it kinda withers you down before it kills ya. At least that’s what it looks like. If them videos are for real, I don’t wonder the news channels aren’t showing them. People would panic, an’ I ain’t exaggerating.”

Rick listened, slightly more concerned now. “But… wow, ok. I still think CDC will take whatever precautions…”

“You would believe in the system.” Daryl snorted, but the look on his face was almost fond.

“Kind of comes with the territory,” Rick joked back.

Daryl took the remote and flicked through the channels until he hit The Independence Day. “Much better,” he said and opened a second beer.

Rick grinned. “You prefer the apocalypse by aliens to apocalypse by virus?”

“Gimme aliens any time,” Daryl drawled. “Easier targets for my crossbow, that’s for sure.”

Rick chuckled. They watched the movie in silence for some time. Rick couldn’t help but think there were things they weren’t discussing. That they maybe should be discussing.

Pieces of the conversation he’d had earlier on the phone with Daryl replayed in his mind. He’d called the man when his shift ended. Daryl had been at home already and they’d talked for a few minutes as they agreed on the time and bickered about their pizza preferences. Then he’d heard Merle shout in the background.

“Who’re ya talkin’ to, Daryl?”

“Shut up!” Daryl had snapped back. “I ain’t talkin’ to you an’ that’s all ya need to know.”

“‘s that pig, ain’t it? What the fuck! Why’re ya talkin’ to that guy? What’s wrong with ya, bro?”

“Accordin’ to you, everything.” Daryl’s voice had been icy.

Rick hadn’t known what to say.

“Sorry for my idiot brother,” Daryl had mumbled.

“Who’s the idiot here, Daryleena?” Merle had kept shouting. His voice had grown stronger, he’d been coming closer to Daryl, and Rick heard him loud and clear. “Daryl, I’m just lookin’ out for ya, ya don’t know what’s good for ya.” And then there’d been noises, Daryl’s aggravated shout, and suddenly it’d been Merle on the phone, talking to Rick.

“Look here, pig, ya just keep your grabby hands off my baby bro, ‘s that clear? Ya keep your distance, d’you hear me, ya keep your paws to yourself! Ya put your li’l finger on him, I’ll snap your neck, am I makin’ myself clear?”

More noises, sounds of footsteps, then Daryl’s breathless, embarrassed voice. “‘m sorry, Rick. I swear, if that guy wasn’t my brother, I’d…” A frustrated snarl ended that sentence.

Rick kept his tone steady, like nothing weird had just happened. “I’ll text you the address. You can come whenever, I’ll order pizza.”

And they hadn’t said a word about the incident the whole evening. Rick wasn’t sure what the best way was to deal with the subject of Merle and what Merle kept saying. Rick thought he had an idea about what the older Dixon kept referring to, but there were other possibilities, and some of them were very unpleasant. Daryl seemed to prefer not to talk about any of it and Rick wondered just how much he had the right to push his new friend.

“About your brother…” he started carefully.

Daryl said nothing. His body tensed up, his eyes didn’t leave the TV screen where the aliens were leveling the White House.

“...he seems really protective of you?”

Daryl took a sip from his bottle. “That’s one word for it.”

“Is there a reason for it?” Rick tried cautiously. Daryl tensed up even worse.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Rick hadn’t heard that tone aimed at him for some time and he cursed at himself. He wasn’t doing this well. He soldiered on.

“Just that… if someone has done something to… to you, then…I get if Merle’s wary, so...”

Daryl turned his cold, smokey blue eyes on him. “I ain’t no victim here, Rick, you ain’t gotta worry about that. Merle’s just an asshole.”

Rick met his gaze. “Does he hate me because I’m a cop, or because I’m a-”

“Stop.” There was a worried strain around Daryl’s eyes; the man looked just about ready to sprint through the window.

Rick gave up. This seemed to be something Daryl really didn’t want to talk about, and Rick didn’t want to force him. Enough that his brother tried to push him around. There was still something Rick needed to say.

“Fine. Just... listen, ok. You need to know…” Rick exhaled and hoped he wasn’t fucking everything up. He really liked Daryl, he’d fuckin’ hate losing him. He’d lost a wife and his old best friend – he did not want to lose his new best friend, too. “I...I think I have an idea why Merle says the things he says…” Oh good Lord, Daryl’s eyes were frozen on Rick’s, terrified, haunted, and Rick couldn’t get the words out fast enough, hoping to salvage the situation. “...and I’m telling you, I don’t care. Those things...not important, alright? You’re a good guy, Daryl, and that’s all that matters to me. I consider you my friend, and I don’t give a fuck about Merle’s ranting, except that I wish he’d stop ‘cause it obviously bothers you."

Daryl chewed on his lower lip, his gaze starting to drift. He put the bottle down on the table carefully, like he really, really didn’t want to disturb the sudden silence.

Did I just fuck it all up anyway? Rick wanted to hit himself for being such a goddamn idiot, a well-meaning moron, who couldn’t just leave things be, even against his better judgment. However, he was a cop and believed in getting to the bottom of things. Also, he’d just received a resounding lesson on what happened to relationships when there were discussions left undiscussed, small secrets that festered into big, smelly piles of betrayal. If the thing bothering Daryl was what Rick suspected it was, then it was crucial to let Daryl know this was a safe space. Because Rick had told the truth: he really didn’t care. As long as there was consent and nobody broke any laws, he figured it was none of his business. People liked what they liked.

Finally Daryl broke the heavy silence. “If you’re sure you’re ok…?”

“I’m sure,” Rick stated with his no-nonsense cop voice.

Daryl snorted quietly, his eyes on the TV once again. “I ain’t used to... this... bein’ ok. An’ you’re a cop…”

Rick was baffled. “What’s being a cop got to do with it?”

Daryl glanced at him. “Cops ain’t usually open-minded when it comes to Dixons,” he said bluntly. “Got no reason to assume cops are open-minded with...other stuff, either.”

Rick rolled his eyes, he couldn’t resist smiling. “I’d love to toot my own horn and tell you how very very special I am, but I really can’t… Yeah, I kinda get what you mean, about cops and Dixons… or cops and Merle Dixon, probably, to be more specific… but with the other stuff you mentioned, it’s not that bad. I don’t mean there’s no room for improvement – there are always a few bigots in every group and cops aren’t any different in that respect. But mostly, it’s not as bad as you seem to think.”

Daryl snorted again and this time he dared to hold Rick’s gaze. “Would ya know, though? A respectable straight white middle-class cop…” He wasn’t trying to provoke Rick. It was an honest question and Rick thought about his answer for a while.

“Personally, not much,” he admitted. “But I have eyes an’ ears. One of my colleagues only dates women and she’s absolutely open about her preferences, and I’ve never heard her get any crap for it. Well, no, there’s this one guy who had a hard time accepting that she was immune to his questionable charms, but our chief didn’t put up with it and the guy’s been quiet about it ever since. Probably hasn’t changed his views about the subject but at least he keeps his mouth shut and acts professionally at work, and I guess sometimes that’s the best you can hope for. It’s not a perfect world…”

Daryl listened; Rick kept on talking.

“And one of Lori’s best friends since childhood, he’s married to a woman but before, he had boyfriends, too. As it happens, he’s a cop in Atlanta, so I hear stuff. Not all of it is nice, but mostly nobody cares.” He paused. “What I don’t really get is...what’s Merle’s problem? Is he just so-”

“Stupid? Yeah, mostly he’s just that stupid.” Daryl huffed an unamused laugh, and turned his gaze back on the TV. “He kinda also wants to protect me. He’s kinda...stuck in the past. Our dad… If ya think Merle’s bad, ya shoulda seen the ol’ man. Good thing he never found out about me, I probably wouldn’t be breathin’ now if he had. Merle’s shit, an’ don’t I know it, but we kinda keep lookin’ out for each other, even now. Merle tries to, dunno...I guess he keeps hopin’ I’ll snap out of it or somethin’. He thinks this’ll get me killed some day. Don’t know why he thinks that, ‘s not like anyone really knows.”

Rick tried not to let his jaw drop. First of all, Daryl talked. Like, more than two or three sentences, in a row, about personal stuff! And second of all... ‘Not like anyone knows’ – how was that even possible? But if it was, then Daryl had had no-one to talk about this, ever. Rick struggled to comprehend the horror of it.

“Well, I’m glad to hear that at least part of his mouthing off comes from a good place.” Rick hesitated. “And I’m sorry.”

Daryl didn’t look at him, he just quirked an eyebrow. “For what?”

“I guess you would’ve preferred not to talk about this. I prioritized my need to clear up some stuff over your need to be private about it. I’m sorry if it made you feel uncomfortable.”

Daryl snorted hard. “You’re a cop, I guess ya can’t help yourself. Always need to put your nose where it don’t belong.”

“Are you mad?”

“Nah. Only got myself to blame. This is what I get for befriending a cop.” Daryl cast a quick glance at Rick. “I’m not mad, Rick. Didn’t love it but it’s over now an’ we don’t need to talk about it anymore. An’ at least…” His voice trailed down.

“At least what?”

“Now ya know an’ ya didn’t throw me out.”

“Nope, you don’t get rid of me so easily, Dixon.” Rick grinned at the other man, wanting to lighten up the mood.

“Shut up, Grimes, you’re distractin’ me from more important stuff, like watching Will Smith punch an alien.”

“I deeply apologize for spoiling your enjoyment of higher cinematic art.”

“It’s a modern classic. Don’t judge what you don’t understand, man.”

Chapter Text

On Friday, Rick sat down with Lori and their lawyers to draw up a draft. Lori was more her old self which meant everything was not going to go smoothly. Somehow, Rick wasn’t surprised. Afterwards, he met Daryl for a couple of games of pool. Daryl sensed Rick just wanted to get his mind off his divorce and didn’t ask anything. Even after two games, Rick was still quiet and withdrawn.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t.”

“Shouldn’t take it out on you.”

“You’re not. I get it.”

“You’re a good friend.”

“Pfft. I’m just drinkin’ beer an’ shootin’ pool. An’ winning. Again.”

“Hmph.” Rick looked at the table more closely, sighed, rubbed the back of his neck. “Let me rephrase that. You’re a terrible friend.”

“Nah, you’re just a terrible player.”

That got a chuckle out of Rick which might just have been what Daryl had been aiming at.

*

Before they parted for the night, Daryl had invited Rick to come practice some more shooting the next day. This time Rick came prepared: he didn’t have high hopes that two six-packs would make Merle like him any better, but maybe he’d not hate him more, either. Hope springs et cetera et cetera.

He arrived early, nobody was home yet. He sat down on a porch chair that had obviously been purchased for its sturdy structure and not for aesthetic value. He leaned the chair on its back legs against the wall and relaxed without a coherent thought in his head, and watched the midday sun lavish its rays on the small batches of wild flowers and the too-tall grass on the Dixon front yard. He was pretty damn close to falling asleep with a stupid, relaxed smile on his face, when Merle’s truck turned on the driveway.

The roar of the engine died down, the brothers stepped out. The glower targeted at Rick – courtesy of one Merle Dixon – burned on his skin, and for one extremely amusing second Rick toyed with the idea of annoying the man by being obnoxiously pleasant to him. However, his aim wasn’t to aggravate the difficult situation any more than what was unavoidable simply because he was Daryl’s new friend, and a cop, and a man. He was no threat to Daryl, and he’d do his very best to show that to Merle. Oh, he was pretty sure they wouldn’t be sharing drinks and swapping secrets any time soon. Rick would settle for a strained tolerance. Jokes aside, the most important goal was to soothe things down so that Daryl wouldn’t have to listen to Merle’s bigoted tirades.

He stood up and nodded politely to both men.

“Hi, Rick, hope ya didn’t hafta wait too long.” Daryl’s tone was determinedly nonchalant.

“Our friendly li’l officer seemed to have no trouble availin’ himself to our chairs,” Merle sneered.

Rick paid him no attention. “Not long at all. Almost fell asleep though, it was so comfortable on your porch.”

“What, something kept ya up all night?” The sneer had turned to a snarl.

Rick sighed to himself. Actually, it was a really good thing he and Daryl had had that conversation, he was much better prepared for this inane onslaught.

“Cut it,” Daryl snapped.

“It’s ok,” Rick said to him, and turned to address Merle. “Yeah, something did. Thanks for asking, that’s very considerate of you.” Good Lord, there goes the decision to not be obnoxiously pleasant… “Long story short, my life is kind of a shitstorm these days. Your brother has been a lifesaver, I honestly don’t know what I would’ve done without his help. But yesterday was… especially bad. Even after,” he glanced at Daryl with a smile, “Daryl thoroughly decimated me at pool, it just… well, I didn’t sleep so well, ‘s all.”

Merle said nothing but he did listen, and Rick thought he might’ve detected a tiny, baffled glint in his eyes. Like the discussion wasn’t going the way Merle had pictured it.

“Ya shoulda called me,” Daryl said in a low voice.

“Nothing you could’ve done,” Rick said, touched by the thoughtful words. “I knew you had a shift in the morning, it wouldn’t have been right to keep you up listening to my tales of woe. And I was coming here today, so…”

Daryl grunted. Merle’s eyes had grown suspicious again.

“What d’you mean, Daryl’s been helpin’ ya?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake…” Daryl muttered and stormed inside the house.

Rick rolled his eyes and didn’t bother hiding it from Merle. “Well, you’re looking at him helping me. Inviting me here. Teaching me to shoot a crossbow. Kicking my ass at pool. Drinking beer and eating pizza and talking and watching bad movies,” (“Hey!!! It’s a classic, ya li’l shit!!!!”) “and generally just being there, y’know, the way friends are. Your brother has been a really good friend, Merle.”

Merle still had the hostile look on his face. He chewed on Rick’s words for a while, then he gave Rick a grudging nod. “Fine. As long as it’s just friends.” (“Oh for fuck’s sake Merle!!”) “An’ Grimes, you hurt him even a little, I will kill you.”

Rick had no reason to doubt his words. Merle looked fully capable of killing someone; he looked fully capable of ignoring the fact that he’d be killing a cop.

“I’m not planning on hurting him,” Rick said calmly and followed Daryl in the house, Merle hard on his heels, obviously planning on watching his every move like a slavering rottweiler.

Daryl appeared from the kitchen with two bottles of beer and glared at his brother. He shoved the bottles at Rick and pointed at the back door. “You go on, the crossbow’s outside. I’m gonna have a few words with my big bro first.”

The closed door didn’t do much to muffle the loud conversation. Rick tried to concentrate on the crossbow and not listen to the ugly words Merle was throwing at Daryl. Nothing the older Dixon said endeared the man to Rick; once, when a particularly vicious sneer reached his ears, he almost dropped the weapon, wanting to go back inside and shut his mouth with a well-aimed thwack. 

But no, Daryl was no damsel in distress, and Rick interfering would only make matters worse for him. However, the second, the second he would hear Merle’s rants turn physical, he’d storm in and kick his ass all the way to the county jail.

His mind was full of grim thoughts about chokeholds and other convenient methods – nevermind the legality – of subduing a rabid dog like Merle, when the clamor finally quietened down and Daryl strode out of the house and slammed the door shut so hard it was a wonder the window on it didn’t shatter. Rick lowered the weapon he’d been aiming at the target, picked up Daryl’s bottle from the ground and gave it to the seething man.

Daryl grunted something faintly reminiscent of a thank you, and drowned half a bottle without a break.

“Merle won’t bother us,” he said when he finally put the bottle down. “Now, show me what ya got.” He jerked his head towards the target, and Rick understood that whatever had passed between the brothers wasn’t something Daryl wanted to talk about right now. He gave a searching look to the other man and Daryl met his gaze. Rick nodded, relieved to see that the ice in his eyes was already thawing. A corner of Daryl’s mouth lifted into a lopsided smile.

“You gonna use that weapon or do I gotta show ya how it’s done, Grimes?”

Rick chuckled, turned back to the target and raised the crossbow.

They spent hours shooting, talking, eating the Thai food Rick ordered for them. Merle came nowhere near them, but a few times Rick noticed him glaring through the windows. Whether Daryl noticed him, Rick didn’t know – Daryl seemed adamant about ignoring his brother.

Shadows were starting to get longer and longer. They sat in silence on the overgrown lawn and enjoyed the warmth of the late summer evening. Rick’s eyes were closed, the last rays of the setting sun caressing his face. He cracked his eyes open and looked at the other man. Daryl was fiddling with a blade of grass, his gaze resting on his fingers. Rick thought he’d never seen the man look so at peace.

Daryl seemed to sense Rick looking at him, tilted his head and squinted at him, shielding his eyes from the setting sun with a hand. For a moment they looked at each other, perfectly content in their shared silence. The muscles on Daryl’s face relaxed, the small smile gained strength, and Rick felt his own lips quirking without any reason other than it was nice to smile together. Daryl didn’t smile enough, Rick thought, and decided to do his very best to rectify that. The guy had a nice smile.

Calm settled deep in Rick’s soul. Maybe he could do this, this post-marriage life. Whatever his new life threw at him, he could manage. He had a job, a partner he could rely on, he had a wonderful kid. He had a friend he could trust, he wasn’t alone. He could be happy, he was absolutely sure of it.

“Hey.” Daryl’s voice was soft and the small smile still played on his lips. “Ya good?”

Rick’s smile grew to a happy grin. “I’m good. You?”

“Mmhm.”

The tiny nods, the way Daryl bit his lower lip – Rick was fast learning Daryl’s body language, his familiar little mannerisms.

Daryl shifted a little, turned his face to the sun and closed his eyes. Rick wondered if that was what a happy Daryl Dixon looked like.

*

That night, Rick went to bed still wearing the same smile. He could do this. He’d find a new home, he’d make his peace with Lori, he’d be a good dad to Carl.

He’d be a good friend to Daryl, just as good as Daryl was to him. They weren’t alone.

*

And then, everything changed.

Chapter Text

“The fuck ya think you’re doin’?” barked Merle as Daryl turned the truck left instead of right when he drove out of their yard.

“I gotta make sure Rick got out.” Daryl was tense, his jaw clenched, and he was holding back the panic that tried to overwhelm him.

“What exactly did ya plan on doin’?” sneered his brother, holding on tight to the grab handle as Daryl swerved hard to avoid hitting a cluster of the creepers. “Fuck them,” he shouted, “just run them over!”

Daryl didn’t answer – he’d be talking all the time if he tried to answer every li’l thing his moron of a brother shot at him. He concentrated on dodging the undead creepers and the panicked not-yet-dead drivers and the soon-dead people trying to escape on foot, and headed doggedly towards the more well-to-do neighborhood where Rick’s house was. He’d swung by Rick’s motel a few hours earlier, and the man hadn’t been there, not since the accident, judging by the rotten bananas and mouldy bread he’d found after he’d kicked the door in.

It was almost two weeks since the day Rick had stayed the whole Saturday at Daryl’s, training the crossbow and just... being there, which in Daryl’s mind was perfect enough. In spite of Merle bein’ Merle, it had been an awesome day, and Daryl had probably never been happier than that day. Just sitting on the grass, not even talkin’ that much, just… being there with Rick. Being accepted. Having an actual goddamn friend.

Then he didn’t hear from him for days. Rick didn’t answer the texts Daryl sent. Finally, he tried calling, and it went straight to the voicemail. Daryl would never admit it to a soul, but he panicked a little. Maybe he hadn’t been accepted, after all. Maybe his friend had bolted. Had enough of both Dixons. Was done slumming, thanks for the experience.

By Thursday, he’d had enough. He got angry, and he drove straight to the Sheriff’s station before his shift started. Merle rolled his eyes but wisely didn’t comment, simply waited in the truck as Daryl marched to the station, ready to give Officer Grimes a piece of his mind.

He was met with a bunch of frazzled cops, and he frowned, sensing the tense atmosphere. He wondered if the news about the virus entering the States was makin’ the cops jumpy. He asked for Rick at the desk. The lady there looked at him funny, called a guy named Jon, and the next thing Daryl knew he was being escorted to a small room.

“Officer Reyes will be here soon,” the lady said in hushed tones. “You want some coffee? Tea?”

Daryl’s head spun. The cops were offerin’ him coffee? What was this, the end of the world as they knew it?

He recognized Reyes when the guy entered the room. He was the same guy that had been with Rick when they’d arrested Merle and Merle’s idiot friend (not that Merle had any other kind of friends). A vague unease started to swirl in his stomach.

“Mr Dixon?” the cop asked. His tone was cautious but respectful, and Daryl was sure he’d been sucked into a parallel universe.

“Yeah… Daryl Dixon. Just drop the mister, okay?”

The cop nodded. “Okay, Daryl. I’m Officer Jon Reyes. You were asking for Officer Grimes?”

“Rick, yeah… Haven’t heard from him since Saturday, an’ he’s not answerin’ the phone, an’ it’s just, y’know, not like him...” And as he was talking, Daryl realized that it really wasn’t like Rick. Rick wouldn’t just bail like that, wouldn’t drop someone without a single word, and now Daryl was well and truly worried.

“Nobody has told you?” Jon looked at him with sharp cop eyes. “His wife or Officer Walsh or any other of his friends?”

Daryl curled his lips. “I don’t really know his other friends.” He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t know how much Rick had told Jon about Lori and Shane.

Jon nodded again. “Ok. Normally I couldn’t tell you much of anything – I don’t know you and you’re not family and this is police business but… Rick talked about you, quite a lot, actually,” Jon gave Daryl a small smile, “and I know he thought of you as a good friend. In Rick’s circumstances…” he hesitated, and the two men exchanged a knowing look, “he really needs good friends. So here’s how it is: on Monday, what should’ve been little more than your basic arrest turned into an O.K.-frickin’-Corral, and Rick got hit pretty bad.”

There was a cold lump in Daryl’s throat. “He’s alive?” he managed.

“It was a touch and go for a while, but I just called the hospital, like, minutes ago, and they told me the worst is over. Rick’s in a coma but,” he lifted a hand, trying to calm down Daryl who’d shuddered at the ominous word ‘coma’, “it’s a good thing, they’re keeping him in a coma I should’ve said, it helps with the healing at this point.”

“How long…?”

Jon shrugged. “Dunno. A week, maybe? Look, I can’t tell you more. I don’t think they’d let you visit, either. But… you can come here and ask me. Things are a bit tense around here now, what with Rick and the virus from hell which I’m sure you’ve heard of, but I can give you an update every now and then. And when Rick comes to, he’ll surely give you visitation rights.”

Daryl thanked him and left the station. Merle inquired why Daryl hadn’t been thrown out on his ass after goin’ all bitchy on Officer Friendly, but swallowed his cackle (wisely, again, and would the wonders never cease?) when Daryl snapped, “Rick’s been shot, he’s in a coma.”

Three days ago, he'd finally visited his friend in the hospital. Not that they would’ve let him in the room since he wasn’t family, but he sweet talked Jon into letting him visit with him (‘cause apparently the rules didn’t apply if you were a cop – but since this time it all worked in Daryl’s favor, he was ready to let the injustice of it slide). Rick was still in a coma. The doctor smiled absent-mindedly, one eye on the TV that was spouting emergency instructions about the epidemic, and vaguely promised Rick would most likely be awake within a couple of days.

Days ran out, however, and here they were now, weaving through cars and people and something-other-than-people, trying to find out if Rick was dead or alive. Or worse: something in between.

“Your pig left home,” Merle said, watching the chaotic traffic, a shotgun on his knees. “What makes ya think he’d be there now? You’re just gonna get us both killed chasing some cop ass-”

“Shut your fuckin’ mouth for once,” Daryl seethed. The truck bumped on the sidewalk to avoid crashing with a recklessly speeding car. He was so not in the mood for Merle. “Rick’s my friend, why’s that such a hard concept to get?”

Merle grunted. “Whatever. The question stands, though.”

“Rick’s got a son. He’d go get him, no matter what.”

Merle chewed on that. “That’s if he got out of the hospital.”

Daryl swallowed. Yeah. He hadn’t been able to reach Jon for two days now, and nobody was answering the phone at the hospital. He clenched his jaw and drove on.

The street where Rick’s family lived was full of people running to and from houses, dragging kids and pets and stuff and cramming them in cars. Daryl parked the truck in front of Rick’s house and they both got out. A slim woman carrying a suitcase emerged from the house; a dark-haired man walked from behind a brown SUV to stare at them, and the stare turned hostile when he recognized the Dixons.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Shane spat.

“Looking for Rick. We don’t mean no trouble,” Daryl said as calmly as he could manage and hoped Merle would keep the sneers to himself. A young boy strolled out of the house with a heavy-looking backpack. Must be Carl, Daryl thought. At least he’s still alive.

“What do you want with Rick?” Lori was close now. She glanced at Shane, and something flickered on her face. Shane took a quick look at Carl, but the boy was focussed on Daryl. Shane nodded at Lori, a small, subtle jerk of the head.

“Just wanna know he’s ok? Is he here? Did he get out?” He didn’t like the way Lori and Shane kept glancing at each other.

He didn’t like the miserable look on Carl’s face.

“Who are you?” the boy asked, stopping right in front of him, and Daryl thought the boy needed to learn to be more wary of people he didn’t know. He already had a bad feeling about how the world was going to end up. Panicked people were like cornered animals – they were irrational and dangerous.

“I’m Daryl. I’m just lookin’ for your dad,” he replied, trying to sound non-threatening and friendly. Shit, he wasn’t used to talkin’ with kids.

“My dad…” Carl’s eyes suddenly brimmed with tears, as if he’d been holding them back as hard as he could.

“Look, Carl, why don’t you go get the second backpack,” Shane interrupted with a surprisingly soft voice. “Your mom and me, we’ll talk with these...gentlemen in the meantime.”

Carl swallowed and turned to leave. Then he apparently remembered the manners his parents had drilled into him, turned back and politely said, “It was nice meeting you. Bye now, stay safe.”

Daryl was a little thrown by this, opened his mouth to say something similar back to the boy, and then he remembered something. “Hey Carl, happy birthday.”

Carl looked struck. He brushed the tears from his cheek. “How did you know-?”

“Your dad told me. He said you’d be twelve today.” An awful premonition made it hard to breathe; the way these people were acting...Daryl’s throat was dry.

A brand new burst of tears trickled down Carl’s cheeks and the boy didn’t even seem to notice. “We were supposed to have a party…” He shook his head abruptly, like he was trying to shed an unwanted thought physically from his mind. “You know my dad well?”

Tears pricked Daryl’s eyes. The boy said ‘know’ – but maybe he just wasn’t used to the new reality yet? “Well enough to know he’s a good man,” he said. He would use the present tense up until the last possible moment. He’d have to be sure.

“Carl…” Lori’s tone was sharp, and the boy jolted. He nodded to Daryl and ran back inside.

Shane strode to the Dixons and glared at them both. “You ain’t welcome here,” he snarled.

“We don’t really care about the welcome,” Merle drawled in a bored tone. He leaned against the truck and watched the hustle and bustle of the street like he couldn’t care less about Shane or Lori. “My brother just wants to know if the guy’s dead or alive. You give him an answer and we’ll be out of your hair in no time.”

Shane and Lori glowered at Daryl, the hostility vibrating in the air. It was abundantly clear that both of them had recognized him.

Lori drew a shuddering breath and pulled herself together. She touched Shane’s arm, and the gesture calmed him.

“Alright,” she said. “But we can’t talk about this if Carl’s around so we have to be quick. It’s been hard enough for him and the world’s a mess, so… Shane, you tell them, you were there…”

Lori’s mouth trembled. Daryl didn’t want to hear what Shane would tell. He didn’t want to hear any of it! He almost turned around and left, but before he so much as twitched a muscle, Merle put his hand on Daryl’s shoulder and said, again with the same bored tone, “Ok, we’ll have our ears pricked up an’ all. Tell us, Officer Walsh. Pretty please.”

Merle’s beefy hand grounded Daryl. He’d come this far. He needed to...be sure. He fixed his gaze on Shane. The man looked disgruntled but he did as Lori requested.

“Rick didn’t get out,” Shane said bluntly. “He’s dead.”

Daryl’s heart shrank. He didn’t know something could hurt so bad. He’d had a friend, he’d had-

He didn’t want to go there. Merle had had a lot to say on the subject of Daryl’s “gross crush” but Daryl had been adamant about at least trying to keep his mind off such feelings. Rick had been a friend, nothing more, and Daryl didn’t even know how anything could be more – he’d never had a friend like Rick before, and he’d never had a boyfriend, a lover, a relationship, so he would’ve been perfectly happy with what he’d had with Rick.

It had been perfect. And he’d had it for all of a few measly weeks.

His head was spinning. He barely heard Merle’s question.

“An’ you know this how? You saw his body?” Merle didn’t sound like he cared one way or the other. Shane bristled at the tone.

“Where the hell d’you get off questioning me, Dixon?”

“Shane…” Lori touched Shane’s arm. The man ground his teeth and forced his hackles down.

“Fine. I went to the hospital yesterday morning. Rick was still in a coma and the place was being run over. Creepers everywhere, and the military was storming the place – I saw them mow down the living, the doctors and nurses too, for fuck’s sake, so obviously there was no transferring Rick in the condition he was. The only thing I could think of was to block his door so the sick couldn’t get to him. But what with the soldiers killing everyone… he was as good as dead.” He gave a grudging nod to Daryl. “So I’m sorry, man. Rick didn’t make it. And neither will any of us if we don’t get out of here right now.”

He shifted as if to go on with the packing but Merle piped up again, and Daryl couldn’t help but wonder why. Merle didn’t give a shit about Rick. Unlike Daryl who felt like someone had punched all the air out of his lungs.

“I’m guessin’ y’all have a bright idea about where to go?” Merle asked.

“Atlanta. ‘s supposed to be a safe place, according to the government.”

Daryl took a closer look at his brother. Merle was staring at Shane, frowning. He looked like he had something to say.

“Merle, what?”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t what?”

“Go to Atlanta.”

Shane smirked. “What makes you think you know better than the authorities? You. A known criminal. One of the no-good Dixons. And we should listen to you...why again?”

Merle chuckled. “I don’t care what you and the bitch decide to do, but the boy seemed decent enough, so I’m just gonna say this once and you can do whatever you want with it. Them authorities you rely on so much after they blasted their way through the hospital? They sure got plans ready for tryin’ to suffocate the disease, and one of the tricks in the military handbook is torching the cities. What I hear about the situation, it’s bad enough for them to start brushin’ off the dust from the bombers.”

Lori listened to him with her mouth gaping. “You can’t be serious? Are you seriously expecting us to believe our own government would blow us up?” She let out a small, borderline hysterical laughter. “Are you out of your damn mind?”

“Probably,” Daryl cut in, thinking hard, looking at Merle who inspected his filthy nails as if he could not care less. “But he served for ten years an’ he has friends in real weird places, so I’d listen to him if I were you. Maybe start by stayin’ out of the cities, head to the countryside where there’s less people? You got anywhere you could go?”

They hadn’t noticed Carl get within earshot. “Where are you heading then, sir?”

Merle snorted hard. Daryl glared at him and turned to the boy. “Just Daryl, okay? I’m not sure yet...I’ve got places to check before we head out of here.”

He felt Merle’s eyes on him. “You do?”

Daryl didn’t bother with an answer. Merle knew well enough. Hell, if Shane’s raised eyebrow was anything to go by, even he guessed what Daryl meant.

He thanked Shane and Lori, gave Carl a tentative smile, and climbed back in the truck and started it. Merle was with him in a second, and when Daryl drove away, Merle kept staring at him.

“Please tell me ya ain’t plannin’ on doin’ what I think you’re plannin’ on doin’.”

“Nobody’s forcin’ you to come with me. You can wait in the car for all I care.” Daryl’s fingers were gripping the wheel so tight it hurt. He relaxed his hands, straightened his fingers a few times just to get the blood flowing again.

“Fuck you, Daryleena,” Merle said in a conversational tone. “I ain’t gonna let you die. I just can’t get why you’re doin’ this... He’s that good in the sack? There are other fish in the ocean, bro…”

Daryl let out a stuttering breath. “Fuck you, man. Stop tryin’ to be funny.”

“You heard that pig. Your Rick’s dead. What’s the use of gettin’ ourselves killed for a dead body, ‘s what I’m not gettin’...”

“No, I heard Shane well enough. He said Rick was still alive when he left the hospital. He said he blocked the room. It’s possible he’s still in there, with no doctors or nurses to take care of the I.V. fluids. I know they were thinking of stopping the medication that kept him in a coma – who’s to say he hasn’t woken up by now? I don’t even wanna think what it’d be like for him, waking up in a dead hospital, not havin’ a fuckin’ clue what’s goin’ on, not bein’ able to get out…”

He glanced at Merle; the man was looking back at him, frowning, but not glaring for once. “I just gotta know, man. I can’t leave him there if there’s a chance… Come on, you saw Carl, dontcha think the kid deserves to have his dad back? Now all he has is-”

“Shane.”

Daryl heard the grimace in Merle’s voice.

“Yeah, Shane. I ain’t a fan,” Daryl said drily.

Merle was silent for a moment. “Those two seemed awful cozy.”

Daryl grunted. It wasn’t really his place to talk about it. But Merle was an asshole, not stupid.

“So that’s the shitstorm your pet cop was having… Poor sonuvabitch. Ok, maybe I kinda wish he wasn’t dead, if only to spite the piece of shit Shane.”

It took them an hour just to get to the hospital; some of the streets were blocked and they had to get really creative to find passable routes. When they finally had the hospital in their sights, Merle sighed.

“This had better be worth it,” he said, and scowled at the dozens of creepers milling around the building.

Daryl parked the truck, grabbed his trusted crossbow, checked that his two knives and the handgun were securely in their holsters, took a few deep breaths, and stepped out. Almost instantly he heard two loud shots and saw two dead ones drop on the ground which was all well and good, except that the other creepers jerked towards the sound and started to head their way.

“Well ain’t this just great,” Merle grumbled, and the men ran towards the building as fast as they could. Daryl lost track of time, and it could’ve taken a few minutes or a few hours to get past the creepers and the piles of bodies. The big glass doors of the building had been shot to shards, and they kept on running through the corridors until they were on the second floor, behind an intact set of doors.

Merle doubled over and leaned on his knees to catch his breath. Daryl’s eyes darted across the corridor, back through the doors; he waited for his heart to stop hammering like crazy.

“You know where Rick is?” Merle asked, surprisingly without any snide references to your Rick or that pig.

“I’ve been in his room. We’re in the right wing, we just have to get two floors up.”

Merle stood up straight and stared at the lumbering creepers coming their way around the corner; another batch advanced towards the doors from the direction they’d come. “Piece of cake.” His voice was dry as desert sand.

Even Merle was all out of words by the time they reached Rick’s floor. They heard faint sounds from the direction Daryl was heading – familiar pointless growls of the creepers, and weak clunks as if something was hammering against a door. Or someone. Daryl tried to keep his mind still. He had a lifetime’s experience in the futility of gettin’ his hopes up.

The clanging, weak and muffled as it was, had attracted a dozen creepers who were trying to push their way into Rick’s room with the sheer force of their combined weight and mindless persistence. Daryl roared at the creatures, fierce hope igniting in his heart, and he mowed his way through them, Merle at his side. All the creepers finished off, Daryl fumbled with the lock, trying to figure out what the hell Shane had done to make it stay locked like that. Merle leaned on the wall, panting and wiping his big hunting knife on a shirt he’d yanked off a creeper.

“Ya got to your damsel, Daryl. Ya wanna make this a rom-com event, warn your bro, ok? I ain’t got the stomach to watch you fall into each other’s arms, an’ I’m pretty sure I’m gonna puke if I see any smoochin’ goin’ on.”

Daryl was too busy fighting with the door to pay any attention to Merle’s usual blather. The hammering had stopped but he didn’t hear anything else from the room either. “Rick, ya there?” he tried with a soft voice. He didn’t want to shout just in case there were still creepers around. He got no reply but he did manage to wrench the door open, finally, and he almost shot out of his skin as Rick’s body tumbled at his feet.

“Fuck!! Rick?” Daryl dropped on his knees. Rick’s breath was shallow, his skin pale, his face gaunt. He looked dehydrated, and Daryl wondered about the timeline, how long the man had been out of coma, how long he’d been without I.V. fluids, whether there was still running water in the building. He wondered how long the man had tried to get someone to let him out. How mystified and scared he’d been when he’d realized nobody was coming.

Merle took one look at the man and confirmed what Daryl had already figured out. “Passed out. Like a proper damsel in distress. Ya keep it that way, Daryleena – be the man in the...whatever it is ya got with the pig.”

Daryl threw a disgusted look at Merle. He smirked at Daryl, obviously finding the tormenting of his li’l bro a fitting form of relaxation after the creeper-slaying stint. Daryl scoffed at the man and turned his eyes back to Rick. He cradled Rick’s head in his arm. “Wanna make yourself useful and get him something to eat and drink? There’s bound to be something in the nurses’ office.”

Merle stomped away. Daryl slowly swept a damp curl of dark hair off Rick’s forehead and fought to curb his panic. Rick had just passed out, nothing more. He was alive, and Daryl would get him out of here to safety, somehow. His fingers trembled and he squeezed them into a tight fist. He had to keep it together.

“Here.” Merle was back; he handed Daryl a bottle of spring water. “There’s a lot more where that came from. Some yogurts in the fridge, an’ I’m guessin’ there’s stuff in the vending machines. We’d better get the poor bastard back to bed.”

“Nah, I’m good.” The hoarse sound came from Rick. His eyes were still closed but he licked his lips and tried to catch the few drops of water Daryl had brushed over his mouth. “What the fuck is happening?” His eyelids fluttered and finally he blinked, tried to focus his gaze. “Daryl? Merle?”

Daryl could’ve cried. He swallowed. “Nothing much going on. Ya got your stupid ass to the hospital ‘cause you were too fuckin’ slow to dodge a bullet, and then people started to turn into zombies or somethin’. Ain’t sayin’ the two things got anything to do with each other but then again…” He was rambling. He pinched his mouth shut. Fuck.

Merle snorted. “Never knew li’l Daryl was a comedian.”

Rick’s blue gaze was sharp now and it was way too close for Daryl’s comfort. “The door was locked… and there were sounds… What? Zombies?” he repeated Daryl’s word as if he’d only now processed it. He looked at Daryl in absolute disbelief – and Daryl couldn’t really blame the guy. Fuck, there were moments he didn’t believe it, and he’d had to fight with the things. 

The incredulous frown vanished suddenly and Rick looked like he forgot all about the stupid zombie-talk. He made a feeble but frantic attempt to push himself up. “Where’s Carl?

“Not here,” Daryl said. “He’s fine though,” he added quickly, and hoped to God he wasn’t lying. Shane was an ass but he seemed like a competent ass nevertheless, so he probably was keeping Carl as safe as possible in the circumstances.

“I tried calling but the phones…” Rick’s voice cracked from underuse and he cast a longing look at the water bottle in Daryl’s hand. Daryl let him take a few sips.

“Yeah, phone lines are pretty patchy already,” Merle said. “Electricity’s the same. It’s pretty bad out there, Grimes, not gonna lie.”

Daryl was helping Rick on his feet. The hospital gown was open at the back and Daryl got an eyeful before he hastily turned his gaze to safer areas. He heard Merle’s smirk and hoped the man would, for once, keep his taunts to himself.

He took Rick back to the bed and Rick sat down. It took obvious effort not to collapse on his back; Daryl saw the grim lines of his mouth and the pained look in his eyes. He gave Rick another few sips. “Merle, go get him something to eat,” he said without bothering to look at his brother.

“By your command,” Merle said in a mock-monotone voice and sauntered away.

“Daryl…” Rick sounded so baffled and lost. “Tell me. What is this? Where’s everybody? What were those noises I kept hearing...”

Daryl rubbed his face, dead tired all of a sudden, and sat down by Rick’s side.

“Ya remember those news we were watching before ya got shot?” he started, and when Rick nodded, Daryl gave him the Cliffs Notes version of what had happened during the days of Rick lying in coma.

Rick took the bottle from him at some point and kept sipping as he listened to what was essentially an episode from the Tales from the Crypt, and Daryl was kind of impressed that the man didn’t interrupt him even once. It had to have sounded like crazy talk.

Merle came back with a few granola bars, a bag of chips and a small yogurt drink. He shoved them at Rick. “Try to get something under your belt. I want to get miles between us and this creeper town while there’s still light.”

Rick could barely get down half of the yogurt and a few tiny bites of a granola bar, but he did look better afterwards. He tried to stand up and Daryl followed him, let him grab Daryl’s arm as he aimed for the window.

“Whoa, Grimes,” Merle huffed. “Warn a guy first!”

Frowning, Rick glanced over his shoulder at the older Dixon, then he realized the reality of hospital garments. He flushed and tried in vain to grab the sides of the gown. Daryl glared at his brother.

“Shut up an’ be helpful. Check the closet, maybe somebody brought him clothes before the creepers took over.”

Rick leaned on the window and watched the mindless bodies shuffle on the streets, bump against trees and cars, turn to follow a motorbike that was zigzagging around the crashed vehicles. Daryl said nothing, he stood by Rick and gripped the sides of the gown and pulled them together. The poor guy was feeling bad enough without being self-conscious about his body.

“They’re dangerous?” Rick asked.

“Yeah. It’s a freak show out there.” Daryl shifted, uncomfortable with how goddamn close he was to Rick. The man was still holding Daryl’s arm, and Daryl felt the warmth of Rick’s back through the skimpy material. His nerves were frazzled as it was, and he sensed Merle’s beady eyes on him, and he really didn’t need this.

“It’s a goddamn horror movie,” Merle grunted. “People die, and that’s what they become. One bite is all it takes and the next thing ya know is you’re walkin’ around tryin’ to gnaw your way through anyone who’s still actually, y’know, alive.”

“You mean those things,” Rick pointed at a couple of those stumbling creatures, “are some sort of walking dead?”

“All I know is that they’re walking, an’ they ain’t exactly alive.” Daryl shrugged. He didn’t know the science of it (and as far as he knew, nobody did) – he just knew you had to kill them before they got to you. Or could you really call it killing if those things were already dead? He shook his head, annoyed at himself. Who the fuck had the energy for semantics?

“Walkers,” Rick mumbled.

“Walkers, creepers, zombies – whatever ya wanna call them fuckers, I sure don’t care. Here, get dressed.” Merle tossed a bundle of clothes on the bed, “looks like your darling wife brought you clothes. Or maybe it was Walsh, ain’t he your bestie?”

Daryl heard the sneer in Merle’s voice. Merle absolutely loathed Shane but he wasn’t above taunting Rick about his friend, either.

Rick might’ve woken from coma mere hours ago but the guy wasn’t slow. “You told him?” He cast a side-glance at Daryl who frowned, vaguely hurt that Rick would think he’d blabber Rick’s personal stuff to Merle of all people, but lo and behold, Merle came to Daryl’s rescue.

“He didn’t need to tell me shit.” Merle glowered at Rick. “He insisted that we check up on you before we hit the road. You weren’t at the motel so he dragged me to your wife’s place, and good ol’ Officer Asshole was there. It didn’t take an academic degree to see what was goin’ on between the two.”

Rick had stopped paying attention to Merle as soon as he heard they’d been to Lori’s. His gaze snapped to Daryl.

“Carl?” Rick’s eyes were helpless and worried.

“He was fine,” Daryl said. “They were packing, they were gettin’ out.”

Rick stayed silent for a while, concentrating on walking slowly back to the bed with Daryl’s help.

“I need to find him.”

“We will.” The words were out before Daryl could stop himself. Fuck.

Rick looked at him, surprised. “You don’t need to…”

“Yeah, Daryl, we really don’t,” Merle said, scowling so hard his eyebrows knit together.

“If we’re gonna leave him on his own, we might’ve just not come at all,” Daryl said bluntly. “Rick, I ain’t in the mood to fight about this. You ain’t fit to go it alone. An’ Merle, quit bitchin’. Rick’ll be an asset in no time, an’ ya can’t seriously think that more fighters ain’t better, the way things are?”

Merle blinked, then grunted something resembling a really, really reluctant yes. When Daryl turned his eyes to Rick, he saw the deputy looking at him. Daryl waited, but Rick simply nodded, then started to fumble with the clothes. Daryl averted his eyes when he saw Rick grab a pair of underwear; Merle snorted, rolled his eyes, and stomped out of the room, muttering something about not needing to see this shit.

While Rick got dressed, Daryl busied himself by checking the cupboards for anything useful. Whoever had brought Rick the set of clothes had also packed a spare set in a small backpack. He took the bag to Merle and asked him to put whatever food and medication he could find in there. Merle smirked and glanced over Daryl’s shoulder at Rick, who was having a hard time slipping into his t-shirt.

“Sure, bro,” Merle said, waggling his eyebrows. Daryl didn’t even care anymore – Merle was Merle, and they had bigger problems than Merle’s tired bigotry.

Putting his clothes on tired Rick up, his legs shook when he stood up, and Daryl pushed him back down. There was a flush on Rick’s face, the man was embarrassed about his helplessness, angry and impatient because of his need to go look for Carl. Nothing Daryl could say would help, so he just pointed at the food and drinks on the nightstand. Rick grunted, propped himself against the pillows and settled down to force his body to get used to normal nourishment again.

Merle returned from another supply run with the bag full of spoils from a vending machine and medicine cupboards. Daryl leaned on the wall by the window and kept an eye on what was happening outside. He was worried about their truck, it was full of their stuff and there wasn’t much they could do if someone tried to steal it. ‘cause the creepers (Walkers? He snorted at Rick’s word. Maybe he’d start using it for the hell of it!) probably weren’t thoughtful enough to kill only the ones willing and able to hotwire a truck.

“Did they say where they were heading?”

Daryl turned to Rick. “We tried to talk them out of goin’ to Atlanta. Merle thinks it’s not safe, and this is the one thing where I kinda trust him.” Daryl guessed Merle was rolling his eyes at his words. “We told them to head to the countryside but I don’t know…”

“You have no idea whether they took your advice.” Rick sighed.

“Yeah, well, Shane…”

“I know, Daryl.” Rick looked thoughtful and drank another yogurt. It went down much quicker than the first one, and Daryl breathed a little easier.

“Let’s say your precious bro deigned to listen to a coupla rednecks,” Merle said, not really interested but bored enough to take part in the discussion, “where d’you think they’d go? I ain’t gonna run aimlessly around Georgia after fuckin’ Walsh of all people.”

“Shut up Merle,” Daryl said absent-mindedly. He was still watching Rick. The man was staring at nothing, licking his lips for the last traces of the yogurt.

“Shane’s brother, Dean, lives a couple of hours north-east. He’s got a farm.” Rick spoke slowly, eyes flicking from Daryl to Merle and back to Daryl. “If he took your advice, they could be heading there. We could try calling him?”

Daryl handed his cell to Rick. “Don’t get your hopes up, though…”

Rick tried to reach Shane, then Lori, Carl and Dean, but all he got was a series of random beeps, and when he tried Shane again, he didn’t get even that. He gave the phone back; Daryl cast a disgusted look at the useless device but crammed it in his back pocket nevertheless, more out of habit than any hope of actually using it again.

“Ya know how to get there?” he asked, and Rick nodded.

“Dean has been taking care of her wife’s family farm after her parents passed away. I’ve been there a few times over the years.”

Merle shrugged. “It’s as good a plan as any. We gotta go somewhere, we might as well go there. Is that Dean as stuck up as Walsh? I ain’t got the patience to listen to more of that crap…”

Daryl snorted. Sure. ‘cause Merle was the poster boy of easy-going tolerance.

Rick’s mouth curled into a small smile and Daryl guessed he was thinking along the same lines. But the deputy’s voice held no sneer as he replied, “Dean’s pretty zen. Mind you, though, he’s not the kind of guy who takes any shit, so you better be on your best behavior when we get there.”

“Lot of people live there?” Daryl tried to sound cool about it but his skin crawled. He was not a people person, okay? This shit was stressful enough as it was.

“Dean lost his wife six months ago, so it’s just him and his twin daughters.”

Merle leered at that; Rick rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Stop right there, Dixon. They’re toddlers.”

Merle blinked. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” Rick paid him no more attention and turned to Daryl. “Are you seriously coming along, Daryl?”

Daryl felt a flicker of nausea. “If ya don’t wanna, then-”

“No, of course I want you to come with me.”

Rick’s smile wasn’t small anymore; the nauseous feeling vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

“Yeah yeah yeah,” muttered Merle, “I’m gonna hurl soon so could we maybe, y’know, get goin’ already if you two are all done with gazin’ at each other’s eyes?”

Daryl cast a murderous look at his brother but Rick only chuckled. “I don’t know, Daryl... are we done for the moment? Good for a few hours? Maybe we need to plan an eye gazing schedule so Merle always knows well in advance and can turn his back or whatever he needs to do to protect his sensitive feelings?” Rick sounded downright flippant and Daryl swallowed a snort.

“I’m ok for now,” he said, and Merle grumbled, “Ain’t that goddamned considerate of you.”

*

It took yet another hour to get back to the truck. Rick was slow to begin with, and got slower by the minute as they stumbled down the stairs. In the end, Daryl practically had to carry the man while Merle kept the coast clear of the undead. When they finally squeezed into the cabin, Rick was pale with exhaustion, embarrassed of his weakness, and horrified by the reality of the walkers.

“Oh my God...I’m so sorry...I had no idea... thank you, both of you.”

Merle grunted and tried to squirm into a more comfortable position in the small space between Rick and the cabin door. “Whatever, Grimes.”

The cabin wasn’t meant for three grown men, and Rick’s thigh and shoulder pressed tight against Daryl. He swallowed and steered the truck away from the hospital. “Don’t sweat it, man. What, ya thought I’d just leave you here?”

Rick turned his head; Daryl sensed Rick’s eyes on him.

“You’re a good friend.”

They were so cramped Daryl was certain he felt Rick’s warm breath on his cheek. At the first possible place Merle was so gonna move to the truck’s bed, or Rick would find out just how not good a friend Daryl was. Friends didn’t feel these kinda things.

Daryl glanced at Rick and gave him an awkward smile. He didn’t know what was happening to him. He had no history of giving a single fuck about anyone other than his brother and his mother, both of which hadn’t exactly ever been warm and fuzzy, and anyway, his mom had been dead for so long that by now his memories were more like wishful illusions. He’d never had friends, he’d only had acquaintances, and he’d never felt any need to jump through any hoops for them. They were just people he spent time with when being alone got too much even for his taste. He’d never had relationships, he’d only had hasty, anonymous one-night stands, and not too many of those either. Not worth all the hassle, not worth the risk of gettin’ caught.

The absolute panic about Rick, stuck in that hospital, gave him pause. He had a lot of time to think about it during the drive out of the city. Thinking about it didn’t get him anywhere, though. The press of Rick’s body against his was comforting and warm. It felt nothing like the burn of the horny desperation that had accompanied his few stealthy fumblings. The tingle was there, yes, and so was the inordinate amount of warmth which had nothing to do with the physical proximity or the measurable physics of body temperature. What was all new to Daryl was this indescribable sense of comfort, security, rightness, and he was helpless in the face of it. He didn’t know what to make of it, how to deal with feelings he honestly had no proper name for.

The world was a mess now, though, so he put the worthless lovey-dovey thoughts on the backburner. He almost blushed, realizing Daryl-frickin’-Dixon had wasted precious time pondering on feelings. Good Lord. Merle would probably die of laughter. And Rick...would probably just look at him, and smile, and ask him to talk about it, or something.

Daryl rolled his eyes so hard at himself he almost hit an abandoned car.

Chapter Text

Rick remembered being shot. He remembered the explosive pain, remembered how he’d fallen down, remembered the last, confused thought, “This is it? You gotta be kidding me…”, and then nothing.

He had been barely lucid when he’d woken up from the coma. He’d crawled out of the bed on instinct, yanked the drip from his arm, tried the phone...he’d been confused about everything, about the weird mix of silence and grunts and bangs and shuffling steps, and about the sound of screeching tires outside. It’d all been wrong even though his mind had been too muddled to really pin down what it was that was so wrong.

And then he’d reached the door and it wouldn’t open. He’d tried everything, but he was too feeble and the door just would not open! He banged against it, tried shouting, but he’d been silent for too long, he was so damn thirsty and his throat wouldn’t let out more than faint words. Let me out, he’d tried to scream, but only a weak plea had come out.

There’d been growls, and scratching sounds, and then something had changed, there’d been determined steps, and then...he’d fainted, apparently, because the next thing he saw was the gray-blue of Daryl’s eyes.

And now he was crammed in a rattling old truck between the Dixon brothers, and he wondered if he’d ever even woken up at all. There was no way all this was real. He watched Daryl negotiate the vehicle among crashed cars, among stumbling zombies or walkers or whatever, among drivers who were frantically steering their cars and motorcycles away from the town to safety. He saw three creatures attack an old man, and he could hear his screams over the noise of the engines.

This couldn’t be real.

He did remember the news, he remembered talking with Daryl and his colleagues about the weird sickness that had been spreading before he was shot.

But that had been just… This couldn’t be what that had been about. So he turned to look at Daryl, at his friend whose face was closed off, hyper-concentrated on not crashing into anything. Rick examined Daryl’s face, the familiar scruff, the mussed-up hair, the squint, the teeth biting into his lower lip, and tried to find something, anything, to prove that the man wasn’t really here, that Rick was just having a particularly vivid dream. A nightmare – just with his new best friend so close to him that Rick could feel his warmth through the layers of clothes separating them.

Daryl cast a quick glance at him. “What?”

This had to be a dream. This had to be a dream.

“I’m dreaming, aren’t I?” Rick said slowly.

Daryl gave him another glance. He was frowning. But before Daryl got a word out, Rick yelped in surprise and turned to Merle. The man was gripping Rick’s arm and pinching him, short nails digging into Rick’s flesh.

“That enough of an answer for ya?” Merle scowled. “Dontcha go crazy on us now, d’ya hear?”

Rick stared at him, wordless.

Merle smirked. “Want me to smack ya out of it, hunh, Grimes? Wouldn’t be no hardship, I’d be ever so happy to oblige.” He grinned like a wolf.

Daryl’s snort and “Cut the crap, Merle” jerked Rick out of the weird twilight zone. He shook his head and gave a wan smile to the still-smirking Dixon. “Thanks for the offer but I’m...ok, I guess. Just having some trouble adjusting, y’know.”

He turned to look straight ahead; he felt Daryl’s swift glance, he heard Daryl’s quiet mumble, “You really ok, Rick?”

He thought about what he’d seen. He thought about Carl, and Lori, and Shane, and his colleagues. He thought about his sister on the other side of the country, his elderly parents in Florida. His wound still ached, the pain throbbing in muted waves, and his head hurt, and he felt slightly nauseous and hungry and faint. Right now, all he had in this world with absolute certainty was a boatload of bad news, a rickety truck, two sets of clothes, a vehement Merle, and Daryl who he’d known for a few weeks.

No, he wasn’t ok, but none of it was Daryl’s fault. Without Daryl Rick wouldn’t have lived much longer, the man had come for him when no-one else had. Hell, he’d even dragged Merle of all people to help get Rick out. And they’d brought information with them, a chance to find Carl.

Rick swallowed and looked at Daryl so long the man was pretty much forced to glance back. Rick gave a firm nod. “We’re still alive, so I’m ok. Thanks to you.” He turned his head to Merle who pretended he wasn’t listening. “And you too, Merle. Thank you.”

The next time any of them talked, they were more than half way to Dean’s farm, and it had taken them until sundown to get this far. The traffic was atrocious. There were crashes, jams, bumbling walker-zombies. They saw military choppers flying low over the highway, vanishing into the northern direction. “Towards Atlanta,” Merle muttered, and even the gruff redneck couldn’t quite keep the worry out of his voice. Rick refused to think that his son could be anywhere near Atlanta – then he refused to think the US military would resort to demolishing their own cities, to massacring their own citizens. Surely there were better ways of dealing with a vicious virus than killing off anyone who’d carry or spread… Oh.

He didn’t want to think about it anymore. He was a cop and he carried a gun and he understood the need to sometimes use brute force to deal with difficult situations, with physical dangers. But he was also a firm believer in modern science, always quietly proud of the scientific advances the humankind made, be they medical or technological or the latest information on the secrets of black holes. Listening to Merle and seeing those choppers… There was nothing advanced or medical or scientific about the choppers. They brought to mind concepts such as total war, or scorched earth. Had it come to this? Mere weeks after the first news bulletins?

No, nope, nuh-uh. He didn’t want to think about it.

After a few hours on the highway, Daryl had taken the first road to the general direction of Dean’s place, and they’d weaved through smaller and smaller roads until it grew dark. They’d found a small gas station that was still operational, even the electricity worked so they had no trouble filling up their tank and purchasing a few extra cans of gas as well. Just in case.

The road was so narrow, so obviously not a hectic throughway, that they almost missed the worn sign saying “Cider Motel, 1mi.”, and when they finally stopped at the shabby buildings, Daryl kept the engine running.

“Wanna see what’s what?” he asked.

“The lights are on,” was Merle’s contribution.

Rick sighed. “We can’t drive all night, it’s not safe. You both need to sleep, you need to keep up your strength. And I need to rest to gain some strength in the first place. So we’ll go see what the situation is inside.”

Merle scowled. “Who made you the boss of us?” he started, but Daryl snapped right back.

“Shut up, Merle. I asked, you both answered, and Rick’s got a point.”

He turned off the engine, reached to the small space at the back of the seats and drew out his crossbow; Merle grabbed his shotgun. They got out and walked towards the main building. Rick tried to keep up but they hadn’t taken many steps before Daryl slowed down, took Rick’s arm and put it across his shoulders. He said nothing, he didn’t even look at Rick, his focus was on the silent yard and dimly lit windows. Rick gripped his shoulder with a grateful smile and they trundled onwards. 

When they yanked open the creaky door, they were greeted with the double-barrel of a shotgun firmly pointed in their direction. Said shotgun was held by a wizened old woman who squinted at them.

“You people alive or dead?” she asked with a raspy voice – the product of at least half a century of diligent smoking.

“Remember when that woulda been considered a weird way to start a conversation? Good times,” Merle said to no-one in particular. “Anyway,” he went on, addressing the woman, “you alone in here?”

Rick groaned on the inside. Not an ominous question at all. Way to inspire trust, Merle!

The woman was made of sterner stuff; Merle’s question made her snort. “Nope, sure ain’t alone. I’ve got my best friend with me and she’s an asskicker.” She pat her gun fondly.

“We’re not looking for trouble, ma’am,” Rick said, exhaustion too evident in his voice. He marshaled the rest of his energy. “Would you happen to have any vacancies for the night? We have cash.” They’d hit a working ATM on the way out of the city and withdrawn every last dollar from their accounts – literally every last dollar, as the device had informed Daryl, the last one of them to dig up his card, that it could only deliver 160 dollars of the 200 Daryl had tried to take. Amid all the death and chaos, that had somehow really shook them to the core. ATMs were never empty, that was just something that did not happen.

“Young man, I ain’t sure how much use money will be for me,” the old woman said. “But okay, pay whatever you like, all the rooms are vacant so take your pick. Don’t bother me, and I won’t bother you. Just let me know when you check out.” She picked up three keys and dropped them on the counter.

Rick took a step to pick up the keys, but the room blurred all of a sudden, his knees gave out, and the only reason he didn’t crash to the floor was Daryl’s strong arm around his waist.

“What’s wrong with you, son?” the woman asked, frowning.

“Bullet-wound and a coma will do funny stuff to you,” Rick said, feeling lightheaded, almost amused by the absolute ridiculousness of it all. Now, all that’s missing from this stupid scene-

“Daryl, just carry your damsel, it ain’t polite to drag your chosen one around like a rag doll.”

...aaaaaaaand there it is.

Daryl didn’t even bother to grunt, he just grabbed one key from the desk, took a firmer hold of Rick and started to pull him back towards the door. Merle looked at the remaining keys.

“What, you want me to carry your key, li’l bro? That cop is skin an’ bones, you-”

“I ain’t gonna leave him alone for the night so I don’t need a room,” Daryl grunted, “an’ I ain’t got no patience for your comments on that so spare it. This ain’t no joke, Merle, Rick just woke up from a goddamned coma.”

Daryl’s arm squeezed tighter and his growl vibrated on Rick’s skin. An odd feeling squirmed in his belly, but he put it down to lightheadedness. Daryl was a protective friend, he thought and not for the first time either. Good thing I went to that stupid bar all those weeks ago, he mused, eyes heavy, most of his weight heavily leaning on his friend.

His eyes snapped wide open, however, just as they were stepping out of the door. Another car – an old yellow Jeep – pulled up into the parking lot by their truck.

“Now what,” he muttered, trying to stand straight. He had no illusions, though; he had no hope of holding his own in a fight. Without Daryl, he’d fold to the ground like a frickin’ wet towel.

A burly, frowning man and a thin, pale woman got out of the car. They heard the woman order someone to stay in the car, and if Rick had to venture a guess, he’d figure there was a child in there.

Nobody was saying anything, they were all rooted to their spots, paralyzed by the weird, changed nature of the world.

“Hi there,” Rick said, forcing his tired face into a small smile. “Looking for a place to stay?”

The woman nodded. Her voice was timid but friendly. “Yeah. Trying to find a safe place for the night. There’s some funny-”

“Shut your mouth, Carol,” the man snarled, his eyes firmly on the three men. “No need to blab.”

The impolite tone rubbed Rick the wrong way, but unfortunately he’d met too many people who used less than nice tones when talking to their significant others. He sensed his smile become even more forced, though.

“We ain’t here for chit chat either, man, so stop snappin’ at your lady and get out of our way. The owner’s in there, try bein’ nicer to her if ya wanna have a roof over your head for tonight.”

Apparently, Daryl had taken an instant dislike to the man, and unlike Rick, the temperamental Dixon had no compunction about giving the man a piece of his mind. Rick was slightly ashamed of keeping his own mouth shut; on the other hand, he was proud of his friend, and his grip on Daryl’s shoulder tightened for a second.

*

Rick blanked out a little bit – one moment he was watching the newcomers, the next Daryl was opening the door to their room.

“Don’t move,” the man grunted as he settled Rick in a small armchair.

As if I could, Rick thought grimly. He heard the rumble of the truck getting closer and figured Merle was driving as close to their rooms as possible.

“I’m gonna go get our stuff,” Daryl said, and Rick probably passed out a little again, because the next time he woke up, it was to a scent of chicken noodle soup wafting from a bowl Daryl was just setting down on the small coffee table in front of Rick’s chair.

Rick was hungry-not-hungry, his body’s wiring all messed up, sending mixed messages. He wanted to decline the food, he was full, he was nauseous, he didn’t want to eat. And at the same time, his stomach screamed, the emptiness echoed inside of him, and he wanted to eat pretty much anything that wasn’t nailed down.

Daryl watched his dithering for exactly 1.5 seconds; then he pushed the bowl closer. “Eat.” And it wasn’t a gentle request. The man looked like he was ready to make Rick eat – at gunpoint if necessary.

So, he ate. And felt a whole lot better having done so. At some point, Daryl had fetched a bowl of his own and sat down on the other armchair.

“Where’s Merle?” Rick asked as he was licking the last of the soup from his spoon.

“He ate b’fore you woke up. He said he’d check the perimeter. We know nothin’ about this place so he wanted to take a look.”

Rick lifted an eyebrow. “You think that’s a good idea?”

“What, ya don’t trust him?” Daryl didn’t sound offended. It was just a question.

Rick thought it was kind of sad how for granted Daryl took that someone wouldn’t trust a Dixon, especially his only living family member. Rick’s tone was kind when he answered.

“I don’t know Merle well enough to really know if he can be trusted or not. All I know is his history with the law and the fact that he helped you to help me. So, I know some good and some bad. But that wasn’t what I meant anyhow. I just thought it might not be a good idea to go anywhere alone right now. Merle is strong, and I don’t doubt his capabilities, but he’s alone out there and we don’t know for sure what else is there with him.”

Daryl shrugged. “Wasn’t gonna leave ya alone in here, so we didn’t have a choice. Merle’s tough so-”

A loud rap on the door stopped him. He went to open it and Merle strolled in and plopped down on the chair vacated by Daryl.

“Should be ok. I put down a couple of them dead things. Wanna know somethin’ interestin’? I did some experimentin’ and it turns out they only really go down if ya crack their heads well an’ good. Anywhere else an’ they keep on comin’. Never really paid attention to that earlier.”

“Good to know,” Rick said, mildly horrified by Merle’s matter-of-fact tone. “Did you see the others?” he asked, wanting to change the subject.

“They’re in the room next to this one,” Daryl answered instead of Merle, and Rick realized he’d been out of it long enough for the family to get in.

He had trouble keeping his eyes open. He heard Merle mutter “Yeah, yeah”, get up and leave the room. Then Daryl touched his arm.

“Hey man, let’s get ya to bed.”

He stumbled to the bed, sat down and tried to kick his boots off. Daryl huffed, crouched down and pulled them off. Rick lay down gingerly, all his muscles were wailing in exhaustion, and he fought against passing out. He cracked his eyes open. Daryl was settling in one of the armchairs with the other blanket from the bed.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Rick asked, genuinely baffled.

“Tryin’ to get some sleep. Now shut up and do the same,” he rumbled.

Rick wished he had the energy for a frustrated sigh.

“Don’t be stupid. You couldn’t possibly sleep well in that thing. The bed’s plenty big for us. Just promise not to hog all the blankets and get in here.”

It was evident that Daryl’s first instinct was to decline in no uncertain terms, so Rick went on. “Please, Daryl. We need you well-rested. You’ve done enough for me already, you don’t have to sacrifice your night’s rest, too. I won’t have it if you get killed ‘cause you’re too tired or stiff, simply because you crammed yourself in that pitiful excuse of an armchair.”

Daryl mulled over that. “You’d let me...share the bed?”

He hadn’t exactly emphasized the ‘me’, but Rick could read between the lines. For a split second he pondered on whether he should just brush it aside, play stupid, not get what Daryl meant. But Rick was all out of games; in life’s perfect hindsight, he realized he’d had quite enough of them with Lori. Granted, Daryl wasn’t his spouse but the same principles applied. He chose his words carefully.

“You saved my life today, Daryl. I have no problem with sharing a bed with someone I can trust with my life. The way things are, I think I’ll sleep better with you close by.”

He blinked slowly; sleep was going to overtake him soon and there was nothing he could do about it. Daryl still hadn’t moved at all, and there was a small furrow between his eyebrows.

“But it’s not about me, Daryl. I want you to have a chance for a good night’s sleep, but if the idea of sharing a bed is uncomfortable for you, then forget I said anything.” Rick yawned so hard his jaws gave a tiny cracking sound. “Jesus that’s embarrassing,” he chuckled. He rubbed his eyes, and when he blinked again, Daryl was shuffling towards the bed, dragging the blanket with him. The man didn’t meet Rick’s eyes and Rick didn’t want to make it more awkward than it possibly already was for Daryl.

He felt the bed dip; he mumbled “Good night”, and then the alluring darkness took over.

Chapter Text

Rick woke up with a start. It took some time to focus his eyes. It was light outside and the old clock on the wall told him it was slightly past seven. His eyelids were so goddamn heavy, he was so tired... he had no idea what had yanked him out of his pleasant, peaceful slumber.

Something warm nudged softly at his shoulder. It took a second for Rick’s sleep-blurry mind to remember that he wasn’t alone in the bed. There was a grumpy hunter there, and Rick smiled thinking that Daryl was the cause of the gentle touch.

Daryl was almost buried under the blanket, shaggy hair standing up in every direction, his forehead pressed against Rick’s bare arm, and Rick felt the even breath on his skin.

Rick chuckled soundlessly. The bristly archer was cute, there was no other word for it, and Rick would absolutely not ever let Daryl know he’d thought of him in those terms. As a horrifying, deadly grizzly turned into a cuddly teddy bear. Rick grinned to himself. Daryl’s secret would be safe with him.

Daryl shifted a little. His lips brushed against Rick’s shoulder, and Rick’s mind fluttered, like a TV channel interrupted by static.

He would... have to move, obviously… he couldn’t…couldn’t let Daryl wake up like this. Rick blinked and frowned at himself, at his annoying lack of focus. Residue from the coma, most likely.

Daryl huffed in his sleep, his hair tickling Rick’s arm. Yes, he should wake the hunter up. Rick didn’t mind, of course, even though he hadn’t shared a bed with another male since early childhood, since Shane’s overnight stays when they were ten or so. He put his not-minding down to being used to this kind of physical proximity thanks to 18 years of marriage. And also, down to not being a homophobic asshole. But Daryl might be embarrassed, and Rick didn’t want to put him through something so unnecessary.

He should’ve stepped to it since there was no telling when Daryl would wake up, but it was oddly relaxing to watch the other man sleep. He felt Daryl’s sleep on his skin, and it was so-

What was that sound?

A muffled thump had attracted his attention. He tried to decide where it had come from. Another thump, sharper this time. Rick stared at the opposing wall. Did it come from the next room, instead of outside? He tried to remember – was it Merle on that side, or the family?

There was a third sound, more of a faint crash than a thump, and another one, a small, short cry. Rick glanced at Daryl, noticing only now that the man was unnaturally still, even for a sleeping person. Which probably meant he wasn’t asleep anymore. And since he wasn’t moving – since he was frozen like a statue – it was up to Rick to put him at ease. Damn. Between the suspicious sounds from next door and the warm body comfortably glued to his side, Rick wasn’t so sure he was at ease.

“Daryl,” he said in a low voice, put his hand on Daryl’s shoulder and shook him gently. “You awake? Do you hear that?”

He tried to sound normal as anything, like it truly was no biggie to him that Daryl had nestled into him as they slept. That it was so fricking normal that it didn’t even merit a mention. Rick hoped he pulled it off; the world seemed to be a veritable shithole at the moment, and the absolute least of their problems was the cuddling in their sleep. In fact, considering what he’d been through, what he’d seen during the last 24 hours, Daryl being plastered on his side was actually the best thing he’d experienced. So, he wasn’t gonna let Daryl get all bent out of shape for a good thing.

“Mmhm,” Daryl mumbled. He still hadn’t moved at all. Rick was sure it wasn’t because he enjoyed being so close – Daryl probably just didn’t want to show his face. If another cry hadn’t interrupted them, Rick would’ve smiled at the other man. Daryl really was kinda adorable.

“Hey, Daryl.” He gave Daryl the tiniest push and the man turned on his back, eyes squeezed shut tight. “Hey,” Rick said again, and his voice was kind, the feeling of ‘Daryl is adorable’ coloring the words in warm, friendly tones. Daryl peeked at him, finally, and Rick gave a small smile before his head jerked up at the sound of a yet another muted yelp. “I gotta check that out.”

Daryl didn’t answer but he did sit up. He ran his fingers through his mussed hair and glanced at Rick.

Rick let out an annoyed sigh as he tried to scramble up. His wound didn’t hurt but everything else did. His muscles were not enjoying themselves, they were complaining loudly about having been forced to actually do something after a couple of weeks of doing absolutely nothing.

Daryl skipped off the bed and drew Rick up. “You good?” he asked.

Rick nodded. They hadn’t bothered to undress last night, they’d been too weary and wary to let their guard down like that, so Rick just shuffled over to the armchair and sat down to put on the boots Daryl had left there. Daryl brought him a banana which he scarfed down in half a minute; he was glad he was getting his normal appetite back.

They kept hearing sounds from the other room: the occasional muffled cry, a thump, some low rumbling words too indistinct to decipher. Rick had a sinking feeling. He had a pretty good guess what this was, and he couldn’t ignore it. World might be broken for the moment but any day now, it would return to normal, and he couldn’t live with himself if he was just a fair-weather cop.

“Ya really wanna get mixed up in that?” Daryl jerked his head towards the wall. “We got problems enough.”

“I know we do.” Rick stared at Daryl. He couldn’t read him, he wasn’t sure if Daryl was truly against putting their noses in other people’s business, or if the man was simply checking whether Rick was sure or not. “It just seems there are problems enough without closing our eyes to domestic violence, y’know? I’m thinking...it could just as well be Lori and Carl in there, and I’d really like to think that there’d be people who’d try to interfere and not just walk away. Also, I’m a cop, so there’s that.”

Daryl’s nod was quick, the shrug a tiny jerk of muscles. “Not like I’m surprised to hear that. Just wanted to make sure you know whatcha gettin’ into, y’know, in case your head’s all messed up ‘cause of the coma.” His lips twitched in a short smile.

“Appreciate the concern,” Rick replied with a quiet chuckle. His eyes drifted to his backpack and a glimmer of hope sparked in him. He went to pick it up and put it on the table and methodically unpacked it.

“What?” Daryl frowned at the sudden activity.

Rick was almost at the bottom of the bag and hope was starting to dwindle down. “Just an idea...but- Wait!” His fingers had hit on a familiar object – the cool metal and the star-shape he knew as well as the back of his hand.

The badge looked kind of underwhelming against his gray t-shirt, but he still felt more at ease with himself. He was not an idealist, however. The thin brass badge was a poor barrier against enraged fists, let alone bullets. Considering his physical state, all he got going for him was his status as a police officer and his willingness – as Daryl had put it – to get mixed up in this.

He needed more muscle. He realized he’d been staring down at the star on his shirt the whole time. When he looked up at Daryl, the man’s eyes were on that very same star. It was one thing for Rick to act according to the vows he’d taken as an officer of the law, a whole another thing to ask a civilian to risk his life with him. Daryl had already done so much for him, it wouldn’t be fair to-

“We good to go?” Daryl asked and stood up. He went on to cram his gun at the back of his waist, and picked up the crossbow. He stopped at the door, a hand on the door knob, and lifted his eyebrow at Rick who hadn’t moved at all. “Let’s get this over with, man.”

Rick had to say it. Relief had flooded over him as he had watched the other man gear up, all matter-of-fact, all unasked. But he had to say it nevertheless.

“You don’t need to do this.”

Daryl snorted. “Sure, I’m just gonna let you go alone to get beaten up. That ain’t why we busted ya out of the hospital. Ya wanna do this, ya ain’t doin’ it alone.”

Daryl opened the door, checked out the situation outside, and Rick followed. His legs still felt wobbly and his muscles ached, but other than that, he felt much better. It wasn’t hard to stand up straight, and from what he’d seen as he’d passed by the mirror in their room, he wasn’t as pale anymore. Good thing he looked more like his old self. Sometimes all you needed to calm down a situation was an authoritative presence. It depended on how bad it was, next door, whether he could pull this off with the mere force of his words and the glint of his badge.

The voices carried better outside. They could clearly hear the angry snarls and the frightened cries; words like stupid bitch, wring your fuckin’ neck, and please don’t and Sophia be quiet honey reached their ears, and Rick’s resolve strengthened. It wasn’t a question of being a cop – it was about being a decent human being.

Daryl growled, low and angry, and there were probably words in there but Rick couldn’t make them out. They were so intent on listening at the door that they failed to notice someone strolling behind them.

“Whatcha doin’?” Merle asked, genuinely puzzled.

“Jesus!” Rick’s heart skipped a beat. “Warn a guy!”

“Nah, where’s the fun in that,” Merle grinned. “Seriously, whatcha doin’? Li’l creepy, ain’t it, listenin’ at doors? Steamy sex, or what?”

“Good Lord, Merle,” Daryl muttered absent-mindedly, his concentration on the sounds from the room.

Rick was about to knock, but the door flew open and the red-faced, angry man from yesterday glared at them. “The fuck you think you’re doing, lurking behind my door? Get the hell away!”

Daryl’s arm stopped the door as the man tried to slam it shut. Rick took a step forward.

“Excuse me, sir,” he began with his best sheriff’s deputy voice, polite but stern. “I need to make certain everything’s ok in there. We heard some noises that gave us cause for concern, and we will not leave until we’ve seen that everyone’s alright.”

The man sneered at him. “You got no right to make me do anything. Mind your own damn business!”

“Actually, I’ve got the right,” Rick said, unfazed by the man’s bluster. Not like he wasn’t used to that kind of behavior. “This badge,” he pointed at his shirt, “isn’t from the Walmart toy section.”

The sheriff’s star didn’t seem to make the man warm up to them. He eyed the Dixons with a hostile look. “Fine. But you ain’t gonna convince me that those dirty fuckin’ hillbillies are cops too.”

“As far as you’re concerned, yeah we are,” Merle snarled, liking the man even less than being compared to a cop.

“They’re with me, that’s all you need to know,” Rick stated. “Now, I’d like to see the rest of your family. Please, don’t make me ask again.” His trusted Python was heaven knew where, but Daryl’s crossbow was persuasive enough.

The man glared at them. He had to concede defeat; he didn’t have to be graceful about it, though. He spat at their feet, gave another ugly glower, and his eyes didn’t leave them for a single second as he hollered, “Carol, Sophia, get your asses here asap!”

The thin woman approached the door with a young girl who was around Carl’s age. Both of them looked subdued, like it was second nature to obey any harsh words the man threw their way. Rick had seen this so many times. He could hear the voices and the too many variations of the same theme. “Yes sir, I’m fine. No sir, it was just the door. I’m so clumsy.”

The women stayed just behind the door, their faces shadowed by the bulk of the man.

“Please step forward,” Rick said, his voice still just as stern, but tinged with kindness. He knew well enough that domestic abuse wasn’t necessarily about the man being the villain of the story – but this scene here, the body language, the actual language, the sounds, and…

...the bruise on the woman’s cheek, the way she was holding her arm, the red-rimmed eyes of the girl, the way she flinched from the man…

Sadly, this story here was as stereotypical as they came. Rick gave a lightning-quick glance at the Dixon brothers. There were red spots on Daryl’s cheeks, his eyes were narrowed to mere slits, and the grip on the crossbow was hard enough to whiten his fingers. Merle, on the other hand, had gone deathly still, his face giving away nothing at all.

Suddenly Rick remembered the little tidbits Daryl had sometimes mentioned. About their dad.

Could be that even a hard-nosed shit like Merle wasn’t immune to a glaring reminder of their childhood.

Rick would get nothing out of the women if the man hovered over them. “Ma’am, I would like to speak to you in private. Please step this way.” Rick backed up a little and beckoned the woman to follow. She threw an uncertain look at the man.

“She don’t have to do no such thing! I don’t give permission-” The man seethed with anger.

“She don’t really need your permission. She’s an adult, ain’t she?” Daryl rumbled.

Merle walked to the door and leaned on the wall, casual as anything, but the man cast a wary look at him. The look reminded Rick of similar ones from a number of bullies he’d met during the years. Most of them loved throwing their weight around the easy prey, but as soon as someone bigger, stronger, firmer came along, they tended to hesitate. Bullies were rarely brave – most often, the exact opposite.

Rick wondered how long the situation had continued unchallenged in this family. Had nobody paid any notice? Had no-one cared enough to help? Had the woman been in too deep in her horrible reality to believe in change? Had her life become warped enough to make her think she didn’t even want change?

The woman took a few steps, threw a side-glance at Daryl and Merle, and the little girl followed her, holding the woman’s hand. The man grabbed the girl’s arm. “You stay here where you belong. Your mama better watch herself if she-”

“Excuse me,” Merle said ever so mildly. “The only ones watching anyone here are me an’ my bro, an’ we’re watching you real close. You let that li’l girl go, or I make you let her go. Believe me, ya don’t want that to happen.”

Predictably, the man let go, and both women walked slowly the few dozen yards until they reached Rick. He let them look at him for a moment; he saw the searching eyes, the faint slouch in both their postures, the way the woman bit the inside of her lip, probably wondering if this was yet another fresh hell.

“Ma’am, would you tell me your names and what is the relationship between you three?” Rick asked. He wanted to confirm that this was a family, not a collection of strangers banded together because of the undead.

The woman’s gray gaze met Rick’s, and there was something there, under the timid and the meek.

“My name is Carol Peletier. This is my daughter, Sophia. And that,” she didn’t turn her head to look at the man, “is Sophia’s father, my husband, Ed.”

“Nice to meet you, Carol, Sophia,” he smiled at them. “I only hope it would’ve happened under more pleasant circumstances.”

The little girl looked back, didn’t smile, (didn’t dare to smile?), and her eyes were much too serious for a girl of maybe twelve or thirteen.

“I’m Rick Grimes, King County Sheriff’s Department. I was hoping there’s something I could do for you, Carol. And before you start telling me how fine everything is, I gotta say...please don’t insult my intelligence or my professional experience. Everything’s certainly not fine, and if you tell me what exactly is going on, I can and I will help you and Sophia.”

He didn’t expect the reaction he got from the timid-looking woman.

She snorted, hard, and the delicate face twisted in an ugly smirk.

“So they always kept telling us. We can help you. They never did, though. Hard to believe now, perhaps, but Ed can be really convincing. He can be charming if he wants to. What, you think I married the man knowing beforehand how it would turn out?” She snorted again and shook her head, looking tired again, all fight leaving her before Rick’s very eyes.

“Where was I supposed to go? I got no family other than Ed. He took away my friends, made me stop working, and only weeks before this thing happened, he started talking about taking Sophia away from school. Starting to homeschool her, y’know.” She stared at Rick, pouring everything out, and it felt like her last-ditch attempt.

“I tried to...and sometimes people asked...and the police came a few times, and they always, always said they’d help, but the bruises healed, and Ed was so charming, and it made me feel so stupid, you know, so damn stupid that I couldn’t get words out of my mouth, and then it felt...easier, somehow, to just let it be. He didn’t touch Sophia, so there was that at least, y’know?”

Her eyes beseeched understanding, and Rick did get it, he got the psychology of it, and all of it felt like such a failure to him. The law should be able to help, it should be capable of seeing through people like Ed, seeing past the walls of the fractured reality of people like Carol and Sophia.

Carol went on. “So excuse me if I’m not filled with confidence with your promises of help. Now less than ever, really. Everybody’s out for themselves right now. You smack Ed around a bit, or talk to him all official and stern, and then you go your merry way, and where are we? Still with him, that’s where. And he’ll be more pissed off than ever.”

“True.” Rick looked at her thoughtfully. “The thing I need to know is this. Carol, if I can come up with a permanent solution – and I don’t mean killing him, damn, don’t look at me like that – just a solution that will give you and Sophia peace and safety, is that what you want?”

Carol looked at him like he was speaking a foreign language. “What do you mean by that? How would I not want it?”

“You’d be surprised by what people think they want and what can happen when they’re on the verge of actually getting it.”

Carol glanced back at Ed, stayed silent for a while, thinking heaven knew what – maybe all the years of their marriage, all the times when things had still been good, the years she’d genuinely loved and appreciated him, and how very long it had taken for her to realize that the thing Ed had become was the new normal.

“I see,” she said quietly. “Well, I want Sophia to be safe. I want to be safe. Just...don’t kill him. I don’t want that on my conscience.”

“Do you want him gone, or just...not-dangerous?”

Carol bit her lip. “Leaving him would be like killing him, you know that.”

Rick looked at her for a good long while. “You’re a good person, Carol.” He glanced at the three men who were staring back at him. “You two, wait here. I’ve maybe got an idea but I want to discuss it with my… (men? group? team?) ... my friend and his brother.”

Sophia wound her arms around her mother’s waist, and they both turned around to watch Rick go. Rick stopped half-way and beckoned the brothers to him. “Daryl, Merle, come here please. You,” he pointed his finger at Ed, “stay where we can see you. Not a step closer to Carol and Sophia, do I make myself perfectly clear?” He stared down the sullen man until Ed gave a grudging nod.

The Dixons stopped in front of Rick. Daryl lifted his eyebrow, that was question enough.

“Carol and Sophia need our help.” There was no reason to beat about the bush. “That there’s Sophia’s father, Carol’s husband, and the only bright side in all this is that apparently he hasn’t laid a finger on her daughter this whole time. He’s settled with beating his wife and isolating them from other people. Don’t know how long this has been going on, but based on how Carol behaves...based on what I know how these things usually work… it’s been several years.”

“So? What’s that to us?” The words were harsh, but Merle’s usual bitchy attitude lacked its sharpest edge.

Rick could’ve mentioned the Dixon dad, but he didn’t want to stir trouble by letting Merle know Daryl had told Rick. Luckily, Daryl had the situation covered.

“Shut up,” he spat at his older brother. “Ya know why it’s something to us.”

Merle’s face closed up. “Fine,” he said after a moment. “But when this whole thing blows up in our faces, don’t come cryin’ to me.” He huffed a loud breath of air from his mouth, rubbed his face and glared at Daryl. “Ya were always the sweet one. Don’t rightly know how it’s even possible, given...everything. But. Whatever. Fine. Whatcha got in mind, Officer Friendly?” He turned his beady eyes to Rick.

Rick had followed the interaction with tense shoulders. This wouldn’t work if both of them weren’t on board with Rick’s crazy and possibly incredibly hare-brained idea. Not to mention that it needed more than the Dixons and the Peletiers to work, but he’d cross that bridge when they got there.

“If things were normal, I’d drag that man’s ass to jail and make it my personal mission that this time Carol got the help she hasn’t received before. If things were...y’know, apocalyptic on a Mad Max scale, I’d just put a bullet through his head and be done with it. But this is neither of those extremes, so I have to work with what the law allows. Well, more like what the spirit of the law allows. Since the situation most definitely is not normal.”

“You got an idea?” Daryl asked.

“Yeah, I do. I propose we take the family with us to Dean’s farm.”

Daryl’s eyes narrowed. “You think this Dean would be ok with that?”

Rick shook his head. “Probably not at first. But he’s a good man. He’s got kids. Us saving a mom and a kid from an abusive father is absolutely something Dean would approve.”

“An’ your BFF?” Merle sneered. “Walsh’s gonna love having me and Daryl there. He sees someone like Ed on top of it, he’s gonna flip.”

“Let me deal with Shane.” Rick didn’t want to talk about him. Daryl had told him what Shane said to them, about checking on him, about blocking the door as a desperate attempt to do the only possible thing to protect Rick’s as-good-as-dead body. Maybe that was something, and the man was probably doing his best keeping Carl safe at the very moment, but Shane’s utter betrayal of their ages old trust was still too fresh on Rick’s mind.

“Carol, could you come here for a second,” he hollered to the women. Moments later, he was explaining the idea to them.

“...so I hope you get that we will not force Ed to come with us, which means that if he refuses, we will be leaving him behind. Carol, I know your views on this but he is a grown man, he can make his own choices. And you can make yours. We’ll protect you as best we can, I promise.”

Carol glanced at the Dixons. “So you say but what about them?”

“We’re with Rick,” Daryl rumbled as if that was all there was to it. Rick couldn’t help smiling, couldn’t block the warm flood in his heart. Goddamn how he’d lucked out; asking a dubious stranger to a game of pool had been one of his best decisions ever.

Merle said nothing, he settled for an eye-roll and a huff. Rick figured Merle was the least of their problems here so he let it slide and, instead, shouted at Ed. “Come here!” He should be more polite, more professional with this, but he couldn’t muster up the strength for it. Startled, he realized he actually didn’t have the energy for anything extra – he was starting to tire already, he had to concentrate hard on keeping his back straight.

As if Daryl had read his mind, or simply was good at reading subtle shifts in Rick’s body language, he took a few steps to Rick’s side. Close enough to catch him if Rick’s strength ran out altogether.

“What?” Ed’s question came out cautious, it lacked the belligerence of before. The man probably could do the math, what with his meek wife getting along swimmingly with three armed men.

Rick’s offer didn’t go down well, as became quickly apparent from the curses and fury that burst from the man. He tried to command Carol, and when that didn’t work he even tried cajoling her, and when that didn’t work either, he turned his attention to Sophia whose eyes were wide as saucers and who was gripping her mother’s hand like a lifeline. That was when Rick put his foot down.

“You leave the kid out of this. Any discussion you have on the subject, you have it with your wife and us. So, what’s it gonna be? Carol, you and Sophia coming with us?” He was all but certain he already knew the answer and he wasn’t disappointed.

“Yes, we’ll come with you,” Carol said, voice wavering but not giving out. She didn’t even glance at her husband. Rick thought it wasn’t so much an act of rebellion, more like maybe she felt she’d lose her courage if she met Ed’s gaze.

Rick nodded and turned to Ed. “What about you?”

There was the usual glare and glower and sullen eyes. “If you think I’m gonna just hand my wife over to be your whore, you’re wrong. I’m coming. We’re a family, an’ I ain’t gonna let you three take what’s mine.”

Rick sighed on the inside. That man sorely tried his dwindling patience. However, Merle – bless his smudgy little soul – finally opened his mouth and took the wind out of Ed’s sails in his inimitable fashion.

“Whoring’s the oldest job in the world. Hate to tell ya, man, but she’s old enough to make up her own mind. If she wants to be a whore, there ain’t much ya can do about it. ‘cause I’m all for free enterprise an’ all that. Not sayin’ the merchandise is up to par – beggin’ your pardon, ma’am – but hey, this is America, the land of the thriving capitalism, and she’s free to sell whatever she’s got to offer, ‘cause – and Ed, you should really listen up now – ‘cause she ain’t yours. Things don’t work like that no more around here, y’know.”

Carol stared at Merle. Suddenly her lips twitched, and a small giggle escaped her. “Dear God, you’re an awful person!” She sounded horrified and amused to more or less equal extent.

Merle staged an elaborate bow complete with hand waving and scraping of foot.

Ed, as could be expected, was not amused. His face turned even redder, but he was smart enough to realize he was fighting a losing battle. He opened his mouth a couple of times, then seemed to decide against whatever he wanted to splurt out. In the end, it was Daryl who spoke.

“Rick, whaddaya say, an hour?”

It took a few seconds for Rick to sort out the shorthand Daryl-speak.

“Sure, we’ll leave in an hour. Eat something, get your stuff together, and then we’ll go. Dean’s place isn’t far but I’d rather get on our way as soon as possible. Who knows if we have to make more detours, or something.”

The minute they reached their room, Rick collapsed against the wall. Daryl grabbed a hold of him and all but carried him to the armchair. Daryl’s worry had no words; Rick heard it all the same.

“It’s ok. I’m just tired. Looks like 24 hours ain’t enough to get over a ten-day coma. Who’d’ve thought?” He tried to make light of it, but Daryl just gave him an unimpressed side-eye and started to rummage their bags for food.

They had almost packed what little they had lying around when there was a knock on the door. Daryl let Merle in, and the bulky man dropped on the bed and stared at the others.

“For the record, I think you’re unhinged,” he told Rick in no uncertain terms. “I can sorta deal with wantin’ to help the lady and the kid, but takin’ a loose cannon like Ed along? Are ya outta your mind?”

“Carol doesn’t want us to leave him behind, and she’s been through enough for Lord knows how many years for us to ignore what she says. I think Ed’s done that enough already. So Ed comes with us, but we’ll keep him on a very short leash.”

Merle continued to glower at him but nodded all the same. Daryl chewed on his lip and his eyes flickered between the two men.

“What we gonna do with the cars?” he asked, addressing Rick.

Rick had thought about it but he wanted to hear Daryl’s thoughts on the subject. “What do you suggest?”

Both Dixons looked surprised by the question which was all kinds of sad, really. But Rick wanted to make perfectly clear to Merle just how much he valued Merle’s little brother, and deferring to Daryl was one way of showing this.

Daryl had obviously thought about the arrangements because it didn’t take more than two seconds for him to make the suggestion. “Merle goes with them. Ed can drive. I’m bettin’ he’s the garden variety sort of bully so he’s already shittin’ himself. Merle snarls at him, he won’t try anything funny.”

Merle barked a laugh. “I’m touched, li’l bro. Your faith in me warms my heart.”

“You’re welcome.”

Rick’s lips quirked into a small smile. It was refreshing to listen to the brothers having a good-natured banter for a change.

“I agree,” he said. “Let’s get going. Daryl, you wanna stop by the office and take the keys back?”

Within fifteen minutes, the truck and the Jeep turned from the parking lot. Ed didn’t look happy but he seemed to have a healthy respect for Merle, so Rick wasn’t too worried. He and Daryl had it nice and comfortable in the truck with much more room for just the two of them. Funnily enough, Rick almost missed being crammed at Daryl’s side – the man exuded heat, and Rick was cold bone deep. He should’ve taken a blanket since he was pretty certain it wouldn’t be ok to curl up at Daryl’s side like a kitten. Could seriously damage his tough cop image, he thought, amused at himself. He could turn on the heat but Daryl had mentioned it wasn’t working properly, and anyway, it would only use more gas, and he had a feeling they’d need to be careful with it. He shifted to a more comfortable position. It was barely fall, it wasn’t really cold, he’d manage.

“Why did ya do that?”

Rick knew Daryl meant the family.

“Why did you go along with it?” he countered.

There was a faint flush on Daryl’s face.

“For the kid,” the man grunted. “She was scared, an’ it wasn’t them walking creepers she was scared of. Also…”

“Also?” Rick prompted.

“Like I said to the lady, we’re with you.” The flush was more prominent now and Daryl’s gaze was glued to the road.

Rick gave a brief thought to why Daryl seemed to be so embarrassed by the words, but the only thing that came to mind was that Daryl simply wasn’t used to being part of a team and most especially wasn’t used to using actual words to declare his loyalty.

“I hope you know how much I appreciate the trust you’re placing in me, Daryl.” He couldn’t keep the fond warmth from his tone, and it seemed to wreak havoc on Daryl’s cheeks. The man really wasn’t used to kind words. Rick planned on rectifying that.

Daryl sounded embarrassed. “The lady in the office… I asked if she wanted to come with us. Ya know, since we’re picking up strangers left an’ right.”

“That’s great, Daryl. God, I should’ve thought about it myself…”

“Ya got stuff on your mind. Ya ain’t gotta do all the thinking. Me an’ Merle, we can pick up the slack, y’know?”

“Indeed you can, my friend.” Rick grinned, and got a huff back. “Anyway, since she’s not here, I gather she declined?”

“Yeah. Said her grand-daughter called her coupla days ago when the phones still sort of worked, and said they were on their way from Chicago. She’s gonna wait. And if that plan goes south, she said she’s eighty, she’s had a good run.” Daryl was silent for a beat. “She’s a tough ol’ bird, that one.”

A bit later, Rick had to ask.

“Do you agree with Merle? That I’m making a huge mistake with the Peletiers?”

The only answer he received for a long while was an uninformative grunt. He waited. With Daryl, patience was the thing.

“I do an’ I don’t,” Daryl finally blurted out.

Rick waited some more.

“Look, man…” Daryl chewed on his lower lip like a man on a mission. “I know guys like Ed. They ain’t good news. So, while it’s great we’re helping Carol an’ Sophia, we’re puttin’ us all in danger. Guys like Ed...they’re the type to stab ya in the back while you’re tryin’ to save their asses from a zombie, y’know. They’re bullies, an’ nothing’s beneath what a bully can do.”

Daryl side-glanced at him. “An’ in case you’re wonderin’, no, our dad was no bully. He was a full-blown tyrant an’ he was scared of no-one. Not that anyone cared. What’s it to anyone what the white trash dads do to their white trash families, right?”

Rick knew better than to say anything to that. The white-knuckled grip on the driving wheel told an age-old, ugly story. Rick could apologize for the whole of the cop-kind ‘til the cows came home, but what good would that do at this point? Daryl already seemed to regret saying even this much.

“Anyhow, I just hope we can keep our promise to those women and not get ourselves killed for it.” Another side-glance. “But, for the third time, I’m with you on this. ‘cause it might’ve been a stupid idea, but it was still a good one, y’know.”

Rick squeezed his shoulder and smiled. “Thanks.”

That earned a full glance and a snort. “Kinda just called your idea stupid an’ you’re thanking me? Merle’s right, you’re unhinged.” Daryl gave him a small, lopsided grin. “Weirdo,” he muttered.

Rick noticed he’d forgotten his hand on Daryl’s shoulder. He squeezed it again. “Takes one to know one,” was his witty retort.

Daryl’s fingers loosened the death-grip. Rick slid his hand from Daryl’s shoulder and let it rest on the backrest. Even without a blanket, he wasn’t cold anymore.

Chapter Text

The yard was silent. There were no cars, there was no smoke from the chimney, the shutters were closed. Daryl had a bad feeling about this, but then, he had a bad feeling about most things. He turned off the engine and let his eyes roam the buildings. Well kept, affluent, stylish; on the front yard there was a sandbox and a few colorful ride-on toys which revealed that there were indeed toddlers in the house.

Ed’s Jeep parked beside their truck but nobody came out. Everyone seemed to be waiting for something. Rick exchanged glances with him, sighed, opened the door and climbed out. “Wait here,” he said.

“Like hell I will,” Daryl muttered, took his crossbow and followed him. Who knew what lay in wait. A house full of them walkers, or maybe someone had taken the place from that Dean guy already. Rick threw an exasperated look at him, but Daryl could take exasperation just fine. He couldn’t take a dead Rick, though.

“Not another step!” someone shouted from the house.

They stopped. Rick raised his arms a little, showing his empty hands. Daryl scanned the surroundings. Still no movement.

Then the door cracked open and a dark-haired head peeked out.

“Rick? ‘s that you? The hell you’re doing here?” The man stepped out, the wiry body so completely different from Shane’s brawny frame, but the hard, stubborn face proof enough that those two were brothers. Daryl wasn’t ready to like this guy yet, not at all. But Rick had said Dean was ok, so…

Rick approached the terrace where the other man was waiting. Daryl followed slowly, the crossbow slightly lowered.

“Who’re these people?” the man inquired immediately after warmly hugging Rick.

“Daryl, come here,” Rick beckoned. “Daryl, this is Dean, Shane’s brother. Dean, this is my friend Daryl. I trust him with my life, and I hope that’s enough for you.”

The look Dean pierced Daryl with actually gave him hope this man would be different from Shane. The gaze held no judgment, no preconception based on Daryl’s scruffy looks and blatantly cheap clothes. The look took stock, evaluated him as a man, deciphered his body language, the interaction between him and Rick. It made him look straight back at Dean, calm and steady, not in angry, prickling defiance like he so easily did.

Finally, Dean nodded and held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Daryl.”

They shook hands. Dean jerked his chin towards the Jeep. “And those people?”

Rick ran his fingers through his curls, impatience apparent in the gesture. “They’re with us. Look, is Carl here?”

Dean blinked. “Why would Carl be here?”

Rick’s shoulders slumped. “Fuck…” And then his strength gave out and Daryl barely had time to catch him before he fell.

Baffled, Dean helped to get Rick seated on a bench and watched silently as Rick leaned his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands. Daryl still had his arm wrapped around his friend, and he wasn’t really sure if it was appropriate or proper to keep it there, but then again, Rick wasn’t trying to shrug it off so maybe it was something he needed. In which case Daryl didn’t give a flying fuck what was proper and what anyone might think.

“Hey! Ya done yet? We’re gettin’ out of the car, try not shootin’ us, alright?” Merle leaned on the open Jeep door and the others were slowly getting out as well.

“Don’t move!” The shout came from the house again.

Dean looked at Daryl. “Who are these people? If Rick says you’re ok, then you’re ok, but he didn’t say the same about the others…”

“The loud-mouth is my brother. He’s a jerk and definitely needs some gettin’ used to, but he won’t harm you unless you try to harm us. Then there’s the Peletier family. We met them last night. The guy’s been smackin’ his wife around Lord knows how long, and Rick didn’t like it.”

“So you brought them here?” There was a frown on Dean’s face.

“Look, the kid was scared.” Rick’s voice was muffled and tired. “We witnessed how Ed treated Carol. You’re really gonna tell me you wouldn’t have done the same?”

Dean was silent. His gaze stayed on the four people by the Jeep and evaluated them, just like it had evaluated Daryl. Then he shrugged.

“Hate it when you’re right,” he simply stated, raised his hand and beckoned the others. “You can come. Keep it slow. I have a trigger-happy friend in the house.”

The snort from within was loud enough to reach them.

Dean touched Rick on the shoulder. “Hey, you ok? We should go inside. I’ll make some coffee and then we’ll talk.”

Merle was wary, Carol and Sophia shy, and Ed just jutted his chin and said nothing as they stepped inside, and they all took a seat in Dean’s comfortable living room.

“The girls are napping,” Dean explained as he noticed Rick looking around. “Paul, come here,” he said with a slightly louder voice.

A man strolled from the kitchen. He was carrying a rifle so he was probably the trigger-happy friend Dean had mentioned. He looked to be in his thirties, something feline in the way he moved himself, and his brown hair was long enough to attract Merle’s taunts at some point. Daryl took one look at the mischievous glint in Paul’s clear blue eyes, and groaned on the inside. That guy and Merle… wasn’t gonna be pretty.

“Paul’s Eliza’s cousin,” Dean said, and the faint twitch of pain on his face made Daryl think Eliza might be the dead wife Rick had mentioned. “He came for a visit just a day or two before the shit really hit the fan, and stayed here to help keep the kids safe.”

“Actually, I came here to get over a bad break-up,” Paul said, cool and amused. “Nothing like a zombie apocalypse to help a man stop worrying about heartbreak. Wouldn’t recommend it as a general cure-for-all, but it worked for me.”

Daryl saw Merle getting ready to comment on that. Evasive action, evasive action!

“So, no Carl?” he said quickly, trying to steer the conversation back on track.

Rick and Dean’s eyes snapped on him.

“Yeah, what’s that about?” asked Dean. “Why would he be here? In fact, why are you here? Not that you’re not welcome, Rick, but you haven’t visited for months, and now’s really not the most social time, so…”

They took turns, Rick and Daryl, to explain what had happened back in the town. Merle looked bored, leaning against the couch, arms wide on the backrest, fingers tapping an uneven rhythm. The others, even Ed, listened avidly.

Dean shook his head, face serious. “I didn’t even know you guys were getting a divorce. Shane didn’t tell me – for obvious reasons, I guess. And then you were in a coma, for fuck’s sake!” He looked at Daryl and Merle. “Thank you. Thank you both. For advicing my bull-headed brother, and for getting Rick out alive.” His sharp eyes lingered on Daryl. The look made him slightly uneasy. “Thank you for being a friend when he needed one.”

Daryl shifted; uncomfortable didn’t even begin to describe how this felt. He didn’t like being the center of attention, and he most certainly didn’t care for the gaze of this man who seemed to see things nobody was supposed to be seeing.

“But you haven’t heard anything from them?” Rick drew Dean’s attention to himself.

“Nope. The phones haven’t been working for days. We’ve been by ourselves for the past week. Paul made a quick run to the nearest town four days ago, that’s all.”

“Rick, the main roads are packed,” Daryl rumbled. “Maybe they just got stuck somewhere and it takes them more time to get here. There’s no reason to lose hope.”

“Yeah,” Merle chimed in. “Shane’s a piece of shit as far as I’m concerned but he’s no sissy. He can take care of your boy.”

There was nothing else to talk about on that subject so they moved on to other stuff, like what would happen next. The house was large but Dean didn’t look too happy about letting strangers sleep under the same roof. He looked at Ed with particular distrust.

There were four empty bedrooms on the second floor of the east wing. The kids had just woken up so Dean asked Paul to show the newcomers around.

All the rooms had two twin beds. Paul stood in the middle of the corridor and spread his arms dramatically. He grinned. “All this will be yours if you bow down and worship me.”

“Would’ve pegged you more as Jesus, what with the hair an’ all,” Daryl muttered. He was completely prepared for a cold scoff, but got a loud chortle instead.

“Yeah, my friends keep calling me that,” Paul laughed. “Anyhow, settle in however you want. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”

The guy strolled away. Rick leaned heavily on Daryl, so obviously in weak condition, and yet the whole group – including Merle as well as Ed – was looking to him for decisions.

Daryl had spent so much time alone with Rick that he hadn’t seen it, not like this, not as group dynamics. Before Rick, Daryl had never really understood what charisma meant, he’d never met a person with so much innate authority.

“Yeah, ok.” Rick let out a huff of air and looked at his group. “We can make changes when the others get here,” he started.

Daryl was glad to hear the when even if it sounded forced.

“Merle, at some point you’re maybe gonna have to share with Ed but for now, you both have a room each-”

“The fuck, Grimes? Why can’t I share with Daryl?”

Rick blinked. Daryl wanted to slap his idiot brother. The guy was doing this just to stir trouble. Merle was a menace when he got bored. You’d think people wouldn’t have time to get bored with all them zombies shuffling around, but boy, in that case you didn’t know Merle…

“Ya slow or something?” he snarled. “Haven’t I said I won’t leave Rick alone. Ya forgot the coma already??”

Merle smirked, happy as a little bunny that he got a reaction out of his baby bro. It bugged Daryl no end but he’d rather take the hit than let Rick be bothered by it.

To his surprise, Rick didn’t seem to care one way or the other. In fact, he chuckled. “Warms my heart that you’re so eager to spend time with your brother, Merle. But for now, I’d like to share with Daryl. I’m not too proud to admit that I feel safer like that. In a couple of days, when I’m stronger again, then we can rethink the roommate arrangements, but for now...if it’s really ok with you Daryl?”

Daryl nodded. He noticed the way Carol looked at them, eyes narrowed and speculating. The fuck was wrong with these people?? First Dean, now Carol? He’d spent his entire life with no-one paying one goddamn iota of attention (Merle’s taunts didn’t count), and now? As if the world wasn’t messed up enough.

As if something like...that...was so run-of-the-mill that it was normal to notice it and not make a huge deal out of it.

Well, just as long Rick didn’t notice, everything was peachy. Not that he thought Rick would cringe from him or something, no. He’d believed Rick when he’d said he didn’t mind what Daryl was. Daryl believed him because of the way Rick behaved with him: wanting to spend time with him, not shrinking from Daryl’s touch, not avoiding touching Daryl himself, not being at all funny about sharing the bed at the motel (actually, the opposite, since it’d been Rick’s idea).

No, the reason why Daryl didn’t want him to have the foggiest clue of Daryl’s goddamned feelings was that Daryl was a piece of shit, a little coward, a fucking pussy about it.

He didn’t want to see the rejection in Rick’s eyes. Didn’t want to hear the obvious: “You’re my friend but I could never like you like that”. Daryl knew that was the way it was. He just wanted, at all costs, to avoid actually hearing it. Also, he didn’t want to put Rick in the position where he’d need to spell it out for Daryl. It would hurt Rick, too, Daryl knew it. He knew Rick liked him, and rejection would make Daryl feel bad, so it would make Rick feel bad, too. And Daryl did not want that.

Goddamned feelings! Zombie apocalypse sure as hell wasn’t working its magic on Daryl’s heartache!

Rick went on. “Carol and Sophia, you get one room to yourselves. I think we should get our stuff right away and move the cars out of sight. Maybe we should drive them to the barn.”

“Aye aye, captain,” Merle said mockingly, but obeyed nonetheless.

*

The first night was weird. They showered, changed into clean clothes, did the laundry, had a good meal. There wasn’t a walker in sight. Dean and Paul had kept watch, sleeping in turns, but now there was Merle and Daryl, too, and Rick could handle shifts soon as well.

It was hard to fall asleep. The world hadn’t been crazy for very long, but this particular brand of crazy was so damn freakish it already felt like forever. They talked for some time, but Rick fell asleep in the middle of a sentence, he was so tired, and the disappointment of not finding Carl here probably had worn out the rest of his meager energy. Daryl stared at the darkness for a long time until he, too, was too tired to stay conscious.

*

Someone shook him awake. It wasn’t morning yet, no light came from the window. He stared, bleary-eyed, at Rick who was sitting by him, hand on his shoulder.

“Whazzup, man? Something wrong?” he mumbled.

“You don’t remember?” Rick asked in hushed tones, like people tended to speak in the middle of the night.

“Nuh-uh.” He rubbed his eyes. “Do I gotta go shoot something? I didn’t hear anything.”

Rick chuckled quietly. “I’m thinking you had a nightmare or something. Woke me up. You were tossing and turning and muttering something and it didn’t look comfortable, ‘s all. I hope you don’t mind that I woke you up? I thought it might help.”

Daryl blinked. He had no memory of a nightmare. Though maybe it was a good thing, if it had been bad enough to wake someone else up. “Don’t tell anyone.” The please was in the tone. Shit, if Merle found out…

“Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I tell anyone?”

Rick’s hand moved in tiny, soothing circles, and Daryl’s eyes were so, so heavy.

The next time he woke up, rays of early morning sun were creeping into the room and Rick was getting dressed, smiling at him, wishing ‘good morning’, commenting on the wafts of bacon and eggs from downstairs. Daryl had no idea what had happened during the rest of the night, how long Rick had stayed there, making sure he had peaceful dreams, and he sure as hell wasn’t about to ask. Rick was kind enough to let the embarrassing incident pass, and the memory of Rick’s touch was all kinds of torture, so no way Daryl was gonna bring it up.

Chapter Text

The first days on the farm were a blur. Rick was worried sick. He tried to cling to Daryl’s words – Shane probably just had to find a detour, they were in a traffic jam, they had to get creative with finding gas. There was no reason to assume Shane wasn’t qualified to tackle a few walkers, if it came to that, for God’s sake!

He spent the days resting, ambling around the yard, doing small chores, babysitting the twins. Anything to start gaining his strength back. He talked with Dean, got acquainted with Carol and Paul, bantered with Merle, discussed with Daryl, gleaned every bit of news from them all to get abreast of what the fuck had happened during his coma.

On the second day, he took over some of the day shifts. Sitting at the kitchen window with a rifle wasn’t above his abilities, and Daryl didn’t put up too much of a fight about it. Rick smiled at himself, thinking of his friend, the Protector with a capital P.

Now that there were more people, Dean could concentrate better on taking care of his farm, so he was gone most of the time, feeding the animals, doing whatever needed doing which Rick didn’t know too much about to be honest. He was a city boy, after all. Merle didn’t mind helping, and Ed threw a few unfriendly looks at Rick and Daryl, and stomped away to feed the chicken.

Dean kept a close look at Ed, but it seemed that as long as there were no suitable victims readily available – i.e. defenceless women or children – Ed could manage being useful just fine.

Carol and Sophia stayed mostly inside, cleaning, cooking, doing the laundry, playing with the twins who were exhilarated to have them around. Every now and then, Sophia forgot her shyness and wariness, and giggled just as hard as the two-year-olds. Once, Carol came to Rick as he was getting back inside, and hugged the man, and sighed a wobbly ‘thank you’.

“You’re welcome,” Rick smiled. “Remember to thank yourself too, though. You let us help you. And we’re so glad to have you here. Truth be told, your cooking is way better than Dean’s.” He grinned, and Carol hiccuped a small chuckle.

The third day, they were just getting ready to have some lunch when a thrum of an engine alerted them.

“Stay away from the windows, Sophia. Carol, look after the twins.” Rick didn’t hesitate to take charge, nevermind the fact that this was Dean’s house. He noticed Paul quirk an eyebrow and shoot a look at Dean, but everybody still followed every order Rick gave them with the clear, calm cop voice which came like a second nature to him.

They were stationed at the windows, Merle on the second floor terrace behind a pillar, as a familiar SUV turned around the curve in the road. Rick almost dropped his gun from sheer shock and relief. Dean cried out and was about to rush outside when Rick stopped him.

“We still can’t be sure if it’s just our people in there,” he said, voice shaking. He held on to the caution that had been drilled into him even though every last fiber in him demanded he run to meet his son as fast as he could. “We wait until they stop and we see who comes out.”

Dean swallowed hard. He was a smart man, though, and saw the reason in Rick’s words. So, they waited.

Shane stepped out first, lifted a hand to his forehead to shield his eyes from the sun, and looked around him. He ducked back inside and stood up with a shotgun in his hands. His steps were cautious as he moved closer to the house. The other door opened and someone almost climbed out, but Shane glanced back, and even through the closed door they heard him whisper-shout, “Stay back, Lori. It’s too quiet, I wanna take a look first.”

“Now can we go out?” pleaded Dean, and Rick opened the door himself.

He was glad that Shane and Lori were all right, of course he was. He was angry and disappointed in them both – didn’t mean he wanted them dead, for God’s sake. His sole focus, however, was on the boy who was now running over the yard as fast as his feet would carry.

“Carl,” he whispered, choked from all the emotions. The boy smacked into him full speed and wrapped his arms around Rick.

“Dad! Mom said you were dead!” There were tears in Carl’s voice. “Daryl found you, didn’t he?”

Rick crouched and hugged him. “Yeah, he did,” he said. Then he drew back a little to look at his son. “Wait, how did you know Daryl was even looking?”

Carl wiped tears from his face and gave his dad a smug little grin. “Daryl said he was. And then I overheard Mom and Shane talk about it. They thought I was asleep. Mom said Daryl looked like a guy who’d do stupid stuff like burst into a fallen hospital.” Then he frowned. “They don’t like Daryl. What’s wrong with him, Dad? Why don’t they like him? Shane said nasty stuff about him and his brother, and the way Mom talked...”

Rick wanted to grind his teeth but he forced out a calm smile. “People don’t always like everyone. I’m sorry you had to hear them talk like that. Daryl’s a very good friend, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with him. Now you’ll get to know him and I’m sure you’ll really like him. His brother’s name is Merle, and he’s an acquired taste, that’s true, but I wouldn’t be alive without Daryl and him, so you be respectful towards Merle, too, alright? Nevermind what your Mom or Shane say, you remember Daryl is a really good person and Merle is okay.”

Carl gave a very determined nod. He looked up and squinted at the house. “Who are all these people?”

Dean was talking with Shane and the twins were clinging to their Uncle’s legs, not really understanding what was going on but catching on to the general giddy feeling. Other than Dean, Carl had only seen the Dixons briefly, and the others were complete strangers.

Rick stood up and grabbed Carl’s hand. He gave a quick smile to Lori, a curt nod at Shane, but Carl was his priority and his pride, and he couldn’t wait for everybody to get to know the son he had feared he’d lost.

“Come on, let’s get you introduced.”

Carl gave very earnest handshakes to everybody, peered at Sophia, was instantly charmed by Carol’s warm promise of cupcakes later on, stared in awe at the surly Merle whose smile even at its best wasn’t really family friendly. Nevertheless, Carl went to him bravely, held out his hand, and Merle was surprised enough to shake it.

“My dad says you helped save his life. Thank you, Mr Dixon.”

“Just Merle,” he said automatically, baffled by the open gaze of the kid. “Not a bad kid,” he muttered when Carl left to seek out Daryl. Rick heard it and flashed a grin at the older Dixon.

Daryl, for some reason, hadn’t left the terrace to greet the newcomers. Crossbow still firmly in his hand, he leaned on the pillar and just watched. Rick sensed Lori’s eyes on his back as he walked with Carl towards Daryl. He wondered what she thought, seeing him alive and well. No matter. He’d talk with her soon enough.

“Hey, Carl,” Daryl said.

“Hey, Mr- Daryl,” Carl caught himself just in time, and smiled shyly. “You went looking for my dad. To the hospital. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Daryl grunted and chewed on his lip, eyes darting to Rick, to Shane, to Lori, then back to Carl. “Didn’t want you to get your hopes up.”

“Thank you for finding him,” Carl said, and his voice choked and he blushed, not wanting to seem childish in front of this new hero of his.

“No problem, kiddo,” Daryl replied, obviously uncomfortable facing the bright eyes of the preteen.

“Rick.” That was Lori, standing behind them with Shane. “You’re...here.”

They turned around, father and son, Daryl hovering over them with his bow like the protector that he was.

“Yep. Been here a while now. I figured you’d be heading here after I heard what Merle told you.”

“What took you so long?” Merle drawled. The man had followed them to the terrace. He stood shoulder to shoulder with Daryl, looking impassively at the couple.

“We tried Atlanta first.” Shane was surprisingly polite, not a sneer in sight even when Merle let out a loud snort. “It wasn’t good.”

“You were right.” Lori’s gaze turned inward, staring at whatever horrors they’d witnessed. “Atlanta burned. Luckily we were stuck in traffic so we didn’t get there before the bombs. It took forever to find a detour, people were crazy, and those...things... they were everywhere…”

Rick hadn’t even noticed his arm wrapping around Carl. He squeezed the boy tight against his waist. There’d be a time and a place for hashing out the grudges, but now wasn’t it.

“Thank you Shane, Lori… thank you for getting Carl here. I don’t...I was…” He ran out of words.

“Yeah, our fearless leader was kinda losing hope already,” Merle said and lit a cigarette. “I ain’t gonna say this ever again so listen up: good job, Walsh.”

Rick had nothing to add to that. Dean cleared his throat.

“Let’s get y’all inside. We were just having lunch, there’s enough for us all. I bet you could use a home-cooked meal,” he smiled at his brother.

Chapter Text

Well, shit. Hadn’t that been awkward.

Daryl turned on his side. Sleep was avoiding him. No wonder after a day like that. Walsh and that woman had kept side-glancing at Rick as if the man was gonna bite their heads off, and when they’d finally gathered enough courage to ask what had happened, they’d been subdued as hell, especially that bastard Walsh. Rick’s as good as dead, yeah, right.

Before that incident at the Grimes house, Rick had said Shane was his best friend. Such a great friend in fact, that Rick considered him his brother.

Daryl snorted to himself. With brothers like that, who needed enemies? Merle was a shitty excuse for a human being and a damn disaster as a brother, but Daryl couldn’t imagine him crossing those lines. Fucking Daryl’s spouse (okay, considering their differing tastes that was a moot point, but still), or leaving him for dead without seeing his actual goddamn body.

Shane had had Rick’s Colt Python with him, though, and seeing Rick’s small smile as he accepted the piece from his former friend had been the only moment Daryl had grudgingly felt anything else than total loathing towards the man. That, and the keeping-Carl-alive which kinda merited a few extra points.

He turned on his other side, facing the second bed. Rick slept like a log, the soft snores rumbling like a very, very faraway thunder. The man had been overwhelmed, Daryl had seen it, everybody had seen it in the way he’d watched his son like the rarest piece of precious jewelry. And Carl, he hadn’t let his old man out of his sight for a single second.

During his miserable life, Daryl hadn’t been much good for anything. But he’d been stubborn enough to get to Rick, and now Carl still had his dad, so that had to count for something. Atone for a coupla sins at the pearly gates, probably. Not that that meant anything for him. He was just happy it had turned out ok, and he was here now, listening to the quiet, soothing snore of the man he considered his best friend.

“Soothing snore.” For fuck’s sake, Dixon, you’re pathetic. He thumped his head on the pillow. Good thing the fucking end-of-the-world thing had only turned people into zombies, not mind readers. He’d never live that sappy crap down.

*

One day followed another. They fell into routines pretty quickly. Every day Rick was a bit better, his steps more certain, his body stronger, more like his old self. Daryl kept an eye on him every second he could, which wasn’t often. The meals and the evenings, that was all these days. Daryl had his own routines, his new responsibilities.

Shane, Lori and Carl had taken the fourth bedroom. Unsurprisingly, Merle had bitched about having to share with Ed, but he’d caved easily enough. The fourth bedroom was the largest one, and the cot for Carl fit in there comfortably.

Rick hadn’t suggested that Carl share with him. He hadn’t even hinted at Daryl squeezing himself into Merle and Ed’s room. Merle had noticed this, had cackled at it. Rick had frowned, not getting the joke, and Daryl had scowled at his no-good brother so hard Merle had, for once, let it go.

Daryl spent his days outside, roaming the farm, the nearby woods and roads, getting to know the place so that they’d be prepared for whatever might be coming. Paul was always with him. The man was already familiar with the area.

“I’m your guide,” he replied grinning when Daryl had finally snapped that he’d be just fine on his own. “No time for trial and error, and it ain’t good to be alone out here,” he said in a more serious tone.

“Ya think there’s trouble brewing?”

“And you don’t? There’s dead people walking, and live ones shooting at each other. Don’t tell me you haven’t seen it already. The way some people get when they’re scared shitless. They see a dead one eating a cop, they realize it’s the Wild West all over again.”

“You’ve seen some of this shit?”

They were strolling through a sparse batch of trees on their way to their usual lookout spot on top of a small hill. Paul wasn’t so bad, Daryl had to admit it. Rick was in no condition to wander around rough terrain all day long, and even though Daryl would’ve preferred to be alone instead of spending his time with an almost-stranger, Paul...yeah, he wasn’t so bad. He didn’t look at Daryl funny, he didn’t talk down to him, and he seemed to know his way around in the woods and fields.

Paul nodded, his long hair swaying with the movement.

“I’m the one who has gone on runs to the town nearby,” he explained. “It ain’t pretty. I’m sure it was the same where you came from.”

Daryl grunted an affirmative. He’d rather not talk about some of the things he’d seen during the few hectic days before they got out of the city.

He kind of liked being here, outside. Especially on the days when it felt like Rick had forgotten he even existed. Rick was busy getting better, spending time with Carl, taking charge of the whole group. He sat down with Dean and Shane and made plans and timetables about runs and speculated endlessly about when all this would be over and they’d be back in their real lives.

Then there were different kinds of days. Evenings when Daryl sensed Rick’s eyes on him, and when he went out for a smoke, Rick would follow him, and they’d sit down on the back porch and talk and be silent and talk some more. And Rick would confess he didn’t see how things could be back to the way they’d used to be.

“Dean’s strong but you don’t know him like I do,” he said one night when everyone else was already in bed except Merle who was standing guard at the kitchen window. “He’s got the twins, and he...I know he needs to keep up the hope.”

“You think the rest of us don’t need to?” Daryl lifted an eyebrow; he wasn’t sure Rick would see it in the dark, though.

Rick huffed a small chuckle. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s not just about Dean – there’s Carl, and Sophia… and Ed is a loose cannon… and Lori’s terrified. You though,” Rick turned sideways and leaned on the porch pillar, “you are kind of my rock in this shitstorm. I hope it’s not too much pressure on you, Daryl? That would be a shitty thing to do to my best friend. You must be worried too, so…”

“Nah, it’s ok,” Daryl said quietly, somewhat abashed and also oddly pleased about Rick’s words. His rock. Good Lord… I ain’t never been anything to anyone before, and this guy, he keeps piling up these things. A best friend, a frickin’ rock, someone he trusts with stuff he won’t talk with anyone else.

“Glad I can help,” he went on. “It takes more than a bunch of undead walkers to creep out the Dixons.” He thought of something. “Ya wouldn’t need to sugarcoat stuff to Paul either, I don’t think. He don’t seem the type to spook easily.”

Rick was silent for a long beat.

“You know him better than I do, so I’ll take your word for it,” he finally said. “You’ve spent a lot of time with him these past days.”

“Uh-huh,” Daryl grunted, a little confused by Rick’s tone. There was an unfamiliar bite there, and Daryl didn’t get where it was coming from. “We’re patrolling. That not what ya think I should be doin’?”

Rick shifted, turned to look at the full moon, half-covered in wispy clouds. “No, no… it’s important work. Just… would be nice to have you around more often.”

“Jesus Christ…” Merle muttered behind them, and Daryl wondered how long he’d lurked there and how he’d snuck up on them so quietly. “Your turn, Officer Friendly. I’m gonna hit the sack.”

*

A couple of days later, Daryl finally started to really pay attention to the way Paul was acting. He thought he might be imagining it, and stayed awake for a long time one night, wondering how he could clarify the situation. They got along well, and Daryl didn’t want to change that.

That was why, three weeks after they’d arrived at the farm, he braced himself and did something that was uncomfortable and out of character to him: he asked a personal question. They were sitting on the hill once again, the crossbow firmly in his hand, Paul crumbling dry grass in his fingers, both scanning the surroundings in companionable silence.

“A bad break-up, hunh?”

A corner of Paul’s mouth lifted. “God, feels like it happened eons ago. Yeah, it wasn’t pleasant.” He turned to Daryl. “Can I tell you a secret, though?”

Daryl nodded.

“It wasn’t quite as recent as I led Dean to believe. I called him and...well, he didn’t exactly say it but I heard he was lonely and stressed out, what with the news about the disease and he was still so fucking sad about Eliza and worried about the kids...He said something about Shane being so busy with work and it sounded like he wanted to ask but didn’t know how, so I went on and on about the break-up and how I maybe needed a change of scenery for a while and my work just needs – well, needed – a computer and a wifi so I could easily do it anywhere… So, long story short, here I am.”

He smiled at Daryl. “What about you, you have your fair share of break-ups?”

What the fuck was he supposed to reply to that? He liked the guy well enough but didn’t exactly want to pour his heart out to him. So, he just gave a non-committal shrug and hoped Paul would leave it at that.

But the man kept watching him; Daryl felt Paul’s gaze drag over him and not for the first time, either. Good Lord. Oh fuck.

It wasn’t entirely unpleasant, though. And Daryl had started this line of discussion in his clumsy attempt to maybe find out what the deal with Paul and his lingering gazes was, so he’d better just deal with it.

And man, what a weird feeling it was, to be the object of an interested gaze – without booze or shady bars or dark alleys or anonymous, hasty touches.

“Can I ask something, Daryl?”

Marshalling his courage, Daryl met Paul’s eyes. His mouth was desert-dry so he just nodded.

“Y’know, Daryl, the world ain’t exactly what it used to be but I’d still kinda like to keep to certain...codes of common decency. Some things I won’t do, is what I mean.”

“There a question somewhere in there?” Daryl mumbled.

Paul chuckled. “Okay. You and Rick...you two have a thing?”

Daryl’s throat closed up something awful. He couldn’t get a word out. Paul kept on looking at him with a small smile on his face.

“Just that I wouldn’t want to try anything if you’re taken,” he went on. “I don’t appreciate people trying to wheedle their way into my relationships and I won’t do that to others, either.”

Daryl regretted his stupid question so hard. He’d wanted to steer the conversation in this direction in as roundabout a way as possible – but he realized he hadn’t thought this disaster through at all. Daryl had no fucking idea what he was supposed to say to Paul. He could’ve resorted to his fists, snarled something about not being a goddamn fairy. It would’ve been so easy.

But he liked the guy. Paul had been nothing but kind to him, and the way he’d asked about...this thing...It was respectful. And it was just the two of them here, Daryl didn’t have anyone to keep up the appearances for.

“There’s no thing.” He wondered if he’d managed to not sound too bummed out about it. “We’re friends. Rick’s not…”

He and his stupid mouth. He could’ve said “I’m not” but, well, not like Paul hadn’t already seen through him, apparently.

“Uh-huh,” Paul breathed, looking at him carefully. “So, if I were to start flirting outrageously with you, what would happen?” He tilted his head.

Daryl blushed. He fucking blushed! And he couldn’t help but be just a little...flattered, to be honest.

He didn’t know how to find the right words, but his body knew what he was feeling. He blushed because he was flattered – and he shook his head, like a reflex, because he wasn’t interested. And Daryl wasn’t a player, he wouldn’t flirt (even if he knew how, dear Lord…) just for the hell of it, ‘cause Paul was a good guy and, just, no.

For a split second Daryl wished he could just roll with this, ‘cause Paul was clever and good-looking and nice, and nothing would ever happen with Rick anyway, but.

It is what it is, he thought, and shook his head again, and now he found some words, too.

“Sorry, Paul… You’re great, obviously, but…”

The other man chuckled. “Yeah. But. That’s what I thought, but I figured, hey, a man’s gotta try, y’know? Still friends?” The blue eyes sparkled with amusement.

Daryl was so relieved he almost laughed out loud. “Yeah, sure. I get it, can’t blame a guy for tryin’.”

Good Lord, he was joking about this!

Some time later, they were walking back to the house. Surprisingly enough, Daryl felt light, carefree even, and was mulling over why exactly he’d feel that way after a discussion like that. After decades of keeping his preferences to himself, worried sick about what would happen if everybody he knew found out about it… and now, it seemed there were more and more people who knew and didn’t seem to mind one way or the other. And Paul… Daryl was no expert in these things but Paul’s interest hadn’t felt like it had only been about physical release.

Weird, that. Not something Daryl was used to at all. And even though Daryl hadn’t been interested in pursuing anything with Paul, it had felt kinda nice nevertheless, and Daryl bit his lip to stop smiling.

And then, of course, Paul jolted him out of his quiet content.

“I think you should take your own advice.”

“Hunh?” He had no idea what the man was on about.

“You said you can’t blame a guy for trying.”

“So?” Daryl frowned.

“Are you sure about Rick? Absolutely certain?”

Daryl snorted. “The man was married forever and he’s got a son. I’m pretty sure, man.”

Paul snorted right back. “I know you know it’s not necessarily either or.”

Daryl was still frowning. “Sure, but…” He thought back to the few times they’d touched this subject. That one time back at the motel, before everything. Then after the hospital, about the bed. Which mostly didn’t even qualify.

He shook his head. “Nah, it’s not...there’s nothing, alright?”

“Would he blame you for trying? Is he that kind of guy?”

A shiver ran through him, a mixture of hope and horror. “Ain’t about to risk it. He’s my best friend.”

“And you’re his, or so I’ve heard. Would he turn against you if you let him know you’re interested in him?”

“Ain’t about to risk it,” he repeated. He sure as hell wouldn’t admit to Paul that his biggest concern wasn’t the friendship – he had too much faith in Rick – but the state of his fuckin’ heart since he was too chicken to hear Rick’s rejection. Admitting that would be humiliating. He was thirty-five, not thirteen, for fuck’s sake...

They walked the rest of the way in silence. In the withering light of the cloudy evening, he discerned Rick’s familiar form sitting in the rocking chair on the porch. Daryl’s face warmed up for no reason at all. Paul, the goddamned comedian that he was, nudged him, chuckled low, greeted Rick with a cheerful “Hi!”, and vanished inside.

Rick’s eyes were sharp. “Something funny?” he asked, and there it was again, the bite.

Maybe he was just stressed out or something, Daryl thought. Maybe he was worried, or tired, or ShaneMerleLoriEd had said something stupid.

Daryl dragged a chair closer to Rick, sat down, and lowered the crossbow to the ground. “Nuh, nothing special. Just jokin’ around, y’know.”

“Mmhm.”

“What’s wrong?” Daryl asked, worried.

Rick drew a long breath, visibly forcing himself to relax and smile. “Nothing. I just get worried. You don’t normally return this late.”

Daryl huffed a laugh. “You’re like a shepherd dog or something. Get all anxious when one o’ your flock ain’t there.”

Rick’s smile grew wider, more genuine. “Now don’t you start, too… Carl already called me fussy today.”

“Carl’s got a way with words.”

Carol had to call them to dinner three times and finally she got frustrated enough to send Merle with the express instructions to bring them in at gunpoint if necessary. Merle followed her command with unholy glee – no surprise there.

What did come as a surprise to Daryl the next day, however, was that this time Rick wanted to go out on patrol with him. And there had been the thing, the something, the maybe nothing last night after dinner, after doing the dishes, and he didn’t know what to make of it.

“Gotta start some time,” Rick pointed out in the morning. "Now’s as good as any. I’m pretty familiar with the area so Paul can take a day off.”

“Actually, this might be a good day for the run,” Paul cut in, turning to Shane. “Wanna come with? It’s safer and we can pick up stuff faster than if it’s just me.”

Daryl waited for Rick to pack a small backpack for their day, and resolutely kept his eyes averted from Paul. The man was smirking. The bastard.

Chapter Text

Rick settled down on the rocking chair. It was getting dark and he was soon lost in thought. Time passed differently now, and he realized with a slight start that they’d been at the farm for three whole weeks. You’d think it’d be boring, what without TV or news or internet, but they were so goddamned busy all the time, he barely noticed the time fly by.

Without the news, they had no way of knowing where the world stood regarding the outbreak. Although, if the fate of Atlanta was anything to go by, the world probably wasn’t so much standing as lying on the ground, battered and bloody.

They fell into a routine: making plans, patrolling, keeping the household going. Laundry, meals, sleeping, playing games, being on watch. Paul and Shane took turns going on quick runs in the nearby small town every four or five days. Every now and then, small groups of walkers stumbled too close for comfort, but mainly there weren’t that many, and those on watch or patrol duty had no trouble getting rid of the creepers.

An uncomfortable thought often surged in his mind. Maybe it wasn’t that there weren’t that many walkers. Maybe it was just plain dumb luck they kept having.

He brushed the nagging thought aside every time, however. The only thing he could really do about it, was make more of those damned plans.

He didn’t take the role of the leader, it was more like it was handed over to him. He held the figurative scepter, and sweat beaded on the back of his neck. What the hell was he supposed to do with this? He figured, however, he had no-one to blame but himself. He kept telling people what to do in small matters – he couldn’t help it, it was his training, and now he was starting to realize it was his personality as well. He hadn’t thought it would come to this, though, the whole group looking to him for answers for the large matters as well. Even Merle and Ed, though the first grumbled and the second glared. Nevertheless, they did as they were told.

Shane put up no fight, either. Rick had thought he might, given his macho personality. Maybe he would challenge Rick one day, but for now, he seemed to be too subdued, too much like a beta-wolf baring its neck for the alpha.

They pored endlessly over the maps. Dean told him everything he knew about the neighboring farms, and they tried to figure out what would be the best town to visit on a run after the closest one would be robbed bare.

Carol brought up the question of medical help. None of them had any real training except for the most basic first aid, and there were kids in the group, not to mention the dangers the grown-ups faced every time they stepped out of the house.

“There’s the Greene farm,” Dean mused as he stared at the map.

“What about it?” Shane asked absent-mindedly as Lori sat down by his side, bringing fresh-baked bread with her.

“Don’t know them that well,” Dean said, glancing at Rick and Shane. “I heard the old man is a veterinarian.”

Rick hummed, considering the value of this information. Carol put down a pot of coffee on the table and gave a quiet snort. Rick quirked an eyebrow.

“You don’t think it could be useful?” he asked.

The woman blushed, not used to being the center of attention of so many people. She gave a nervous glance around the room, automatically checking for the whereabouts of Ed. Rick was sad to see it, but he knew people didn’t get over years of conditioning in a few weeks.

“Just saying… I don’t see how much help he’d be with ulcers or pneumonias…”

Rick nodded. “I see what you mean. But it’s a medical training nonetheless. He knows a whole lot more than us about surgery, and about how a body works and what it needs to heal. I mean, a broken bone is a broken bone. It doesn’t matter if it’s on a horse or a dog or a human. Right?” His eyes searched for confirmation from the others.

Dean and Shane nodded, so Rick continued. “We might want to establish contact with the Greenes. Is there anything else you can tell us about them, Dean?”

That was pretty much how he spent his days: talking, planning. Trying to stay upbeat for the others, especially Lori and Carl. The divorce might not have gone through yet, but as far as he was concerned, he wasn’t married any more. Lori remained Carl’s mother, though, and he’d do his damnedest to keep them both safe and hopeful.

So he kept the façade on for everybody. With two exceptions. Daryl was one, of course, but the other… it was Merle.

The first few times it happened, he brushed it off as an anomaly. Merle couldn’t possibly be seeking his company. The older Dixon despised him, only tolerated him because of Daryl, and since being friends with Daryl was one of the reasons for Merle’s dislike… Yeah, Rick didn’t get it. But the burly man kept bumping into him, asking questions about the plans and making comments of his own – sharp, useful, to-the-point comments, filled with cynicism and brutal pragmatism. And he wouldn’t take any of the hopeful bullshit that Rick always tried to sprinkle around whenever he talked about the new undead world. Merle saw right through it, and badgered Rick mercilessly until he got what he wanted. Rick never opened up to him, but his silence seemed to be blunt enough for Merle.

He didn’t say anything to Daryl. Rick didn’t want to waste the precious moments with Daryl talking about Merle Dixon.

In any case, he hadn’t seen much of Daryl after the first few days, only during meals and just before they went to bed. It bothered him to an unreasonable extent, ‘unreasonable’ being the operative word: this was still more time spent together than what they’d had before all this. Be that as it may, Rick wasted a lot of time searching for the gray-blue eyes in the crowd that was always surrounding him these days. More time than he was quite comfortable with.

It was just that Daryl’s presence calmed him, Rick explained it in his mind, annoyed at himself. The younger Dixon was pretty much the only one who didn’t require something from him – answers, plans, forgiveness, protection. Daryl simply was there, and it was fucking soothing, ok?

Rick shook his head. Soothing, for fuck’s sake! He was sitting on the porch rocking chair just before dinner, and Daryl and Paul still hadn’t returned from patrolling the area. They were grown-ass men, perfectly capable of taking care of themselves, but he was anxious all the same.

He rubbed his jaw; time to do something about his beard again, maybe? He’d let it grow a bit, couldn’t be bothered with shaving every morning, and a short stubble framed his face nowadays. Lori looked at it with pursed lips, but how, pray tell, was Rick’s facial hair growth any of her business anymore? He remembered a conversation he’d had with Daryl some days ago.

“Lori asked if I was out of razor blades or something,” he huffed to Daryl as they sipped coffee after the dinner, outside on the back porch as usual.

“Hunh?” Daryl frowned.

“It’s her subtle way of letting me know she doesn’t appreciate my new look.” Rick chuckled and ran his fingertips along his cheek. A soft scratchy sound was barely audible.

Daryl was still frowning.

“What’s that to her?” he snorted.

“My thoughts exactly,” Rick replied lightly. “Force of habit for her, I think. I don’t mind, really...she’s more relaxed, more normal around me now, talking like she used to, so that’s good. We don’t need the tension. This place is large enough for us all, but much too small for infighting.”

“True.”

They stayed silent for a moment. Then Rick scratched his stubble again.

“Although… should I? I kinda like this, but-”

“Nah,” Daryl cut in, staring at his cigarette, at the feathery threads of smoke. “You like it, you keep it. It looks good on you.”

Rick barely heard that last sentence. Daryl’s voice had petered out to a quiet, gravelly rumble.

The stubble stayed.

One day, just before Daryl and Paul were leaving on their daily patrol, Paul told him that the nearby town was good for maybe one or two more runs. After that, they’d better have another plan ready. Rick had talked about it with him for a moment, and there would’ve been nothing special about the whole thing, except that it’d been the first time Rick had really given a conscious thought to his feelings about Paul.

Rick tried to like the guy, he honestly did, and he couldn’t really put his finger on the reason why his hackles got up every time he saw the man. Paul was good-humored, sharp as a knife, observant, willing to work hard – why wouldn’t Rick like a man like that? He didn’t, though. Daryl seemed to have a good feeling about Paul, however, and Rick had grown to trust his friend. So he tried to have an open mind.

But every time Daryl mentioned Paul, Rick heard the bite in his own voice, and he noticed Daryl noticing it, too, and it baffled the younger Dixon. It baffled Rick as well.

No, that wasn’t right. Rick wasn’t baffled, not as such. He wasn’t a confused fourteen-year-old, he was almost forty, he liked to think he was an adult. He could be thickheaded and oblivious to quite an astonishing degree sometimes, but he wasn’t stupid and he wasn’t blind. The only thing that was baffling here was that for a couple of days Rick had actually entertained the shameful suspicion that he might, after all, be a bit homophobic.

As stated, he was neither blind nor stupid. He’d seen the way Paul was looking at Daryl. He’d watched Daryl grow more comfortable with the man, actually like going out on patrol with him every day. Rick hadn’t brought it up with his friend, so he didn’t really know what Daryl thought about the blatant interest, but Rick was very aware of the sickening twists in his stomach as he thought that Daryl might...that those two might…

Daryl deserved everything good. He deserved respect and recognition and love. He deserved a healthy relationship. As all this was crystal clear to Rick, and as he truly appreciated Daryl, thought the world of the capable, loyal, slightly awkward younger Dixon, he had no other explanation for his weird, achy feelings than that he wasn’t as liberal-minded as he’d thought. That the idea of actually witnessing a loving, romantic gay relationship in close quarters was too much.

Good God, he’d hated himself during those few days.

But then, of course, he’d come to his senses, even though the truth perhaps wasn’t any less shameful. It wasn’t a lightning strike, more like a cumulative wave, a tsunami, gathering all the evidence from the first moment he’d met the man.

They’d been having breakfast, a couple of days ago, sitting side by side at the table, talking with Carol and Sophia. Paul came down, and as he passed them by, Rick saw him squeeze Daryl’s shoulder and receive a smile in return.

The tsunami hit, hard.

That ugly twist at the pit of his stomach wasn’t homophobia – hell, how could he have been so stupid as to confuse what his reaction was really about?

Fuck, wasn’t this just fucking great. Fucking awesome. Fucking AWFUL!

He was jealous. Fuck!

He had to leave the table. “Nature calls,” he smirked at Daryl who looked at him with a question in his eyes. He spent his time in the bathroom in awkward soul-searching, but it was what it was. He’d fallen for his new best friend.

He stared at the mirror, at the face with the Daryl-approved stubble. He shook his head, wondering about the clusterfuck that was his mind. He’d just divorced his wife, not to mention they were in the middle of a frickin’ zombie uprising! How the hell was he falling for someone during all this shit, and how, HOW had he not seen this coming?

He spared a fleeting thought to the fact that he seemed to be crushing on a man which was all kinds of new (except now that he thought about it, this cast a completely different light on some of his more racy fantasies ever since teen years. Hunh.). It only took a second to decide he was too damned old to have a gay panic about the shift in his heretofore set-in-stone sexual identity. The dead were walking. A little bit of bisexuality wasn’t going to make him go all haywire, goddammit!

Nothing easier than developing feelings for a man like Daryl. The guy had everything going for him, even though he wasn’t aware of it himself. Rick knew how his friend struggled with self-worth, had difficulty accepting praise. But Daryl was clever and brave and kind and certainly not hard on the eyes. So, Rick didn’t wonder about the falling for Daryl – it just went to show that Rick had good taste!

And Paul. Paul had good taste, too. And Daryl seemed to like it.

Hence, jealousy.

Fuck.

Now, a couple of days after The Tsunami, Rick was still processing it all. He squirmed uncomfortably on the chair, the terrace boards quietly creaking under the sudden rocking motion. There was nothing he could do about this. The two of them had a terrific thing going, and he certainly wasn’t going to risk their friendship by forcing Daryl to make his uninterest clear. Rick knew Daryl cared for him, so cornering him like that, forcing him to let Rick down easy, would only make Daryl feel bad. Rick didn’t want that.

And someone like Paul, someone with much less baggage than Rick, someone more good-humored, fewer years on his shoulders, no kids or ex-wives around… someone like that was much better for Daryl.

Rick didn’t like Paul (hah! NOW he got why), but objectively, Paul was a good man. He’d be good to Daryl.

He forced his thoughts away from the fruitless trail, went back to waiting, sidetracked himself by concentrating on Sophia’s upcoming fourteenth birthday.

But then he heard a crunch of steps, and his gaze snapped up. There they were, safe and sound. He didn’t miss the overly familiar nudge Paul gave Daryl, nor did he miss the flush on Daryl’s face, and it soured his mood. He had to remind himself pretty goddamned sternly that he had no fucking right to be brusque with his best friend over this.

They ignored the dinner calls, and finally Merle came to shoo them in. “Dinner’s gettin’ cold, you brats. Get your asses inside, Mom’s gettin’ upset,” he quipped, and cackled when he heard Carol’s indignant holler, “I heard that!”

Dinners were mostly pleasant. Carol was a good cook, and she was thriving now that Ed left her and Sophia alone. Ed didn’t talk with anyone, and it didn’t take a genius to notice his dissatisfied glares, but he’d learned his lesson. The few snappy snarls he’d thrown at his family had had immediate consequences, and Merle – who for some mysterious reason had made this his personal mission – was never anything but crystal clear (as well as heavy-handed) with the consequences. Seemed that Ed didn’t appreciate bruises when they were on his skin. Imagine that.

Lori and Shane had relaxed and stopped flinching every time Rick talked to them. Occasionally, Shane even tried to banter with Rick, joke around a bit, and Rick went along – it cost him very little and it greased the social cogs of the mismatched group, so what the hell, why wouldn’t he? Daryl had wondered about it one night when they were already in their beds, lights off, almost asleep.

“Don’t cost you nothing? Really? That easy?”

Rick had heard the frown even if he couldn’t see it.

“What can I say? If none of this had happened – the coma, the walkers, I mean – maybe things would be different. Maybe I’d still have the energy to hate him, or despise Lori. The way things are, stuff like that feels like a first world luxury, y’know? Maybe I’ll never really trust them again, but some joking around with Shane seems like a pretty damn small price to pay for some sort of harmony in this household. We already got Ed to create unwanted tension – I ain’t about to be part of the problem if I can help it.”

Daryl had snorted quietly. “You’re a much better person than I’d be in your situation, man.”

“Don’t feel like a better person. It’s just practical, ‘s all.”

Daryl had yawned. “Sucks to be the leader, then. Get some sleep now, Grimes, you need the rest so’s you can be all zen tomorrow an’ keep cracking more jokes with the worse-Walsh.”

“Next you’ll be checking my meals for the nutritional value to make sure my zen is fed properly,” Rick had teased, chuckling. Daryl had grunted a soft, sleepy “Shut up,” and Rick had fallen asleep, smiling.

Some dinners were more quiet than others; this one was pretty talkative. Over lunch, they’d talked about the next run, and now everybody seemed to have an opinion on whether it would be better to do it tomorrow or the day after. Then Carl and Sophia piped up about the farm work they’d helped Dean, Merle and Ed with, and then Lori asked where the shopping-list-kind-of-thing was hidden this time because there were items she needed and she wanted to write them down, and then Carol said the oven was acting up and if someone could please take a look at it if they wanted to keep eating her casseroles and pies, and… So yeah, it was a talkative meal, complete with occasional bursts of laughter.

Rick eyed his group. The world might be broken into nasty, little, biting pieces, but this here, this was pretty nice. For a stupid moment, he even wondered whether there’d be any of this left, after the world would inevitably get back to some sort of normal. Might they still have this odd, comfortable comradeship when the necessity of it would be over?

His gaze fell on Daryl, like it always did. The man was listening to Carl, intently as usual, like the person he spoke with was the most important man or woman in the world. In public, he didn’t talk much but man, he could listen better than anyone. Rick kept being surprised at how quiet Daryl was most of the time, seeing as these days he tended to talk with Rick without any problem – a fact that simultaneously made Rick’s heart warm an’ fuzzy, and crunched up his stomach into twisted, aching knots.

He must have been lost in his thoughts, still watching Daryl and Carl, because Carol had to nudge him hard to get his attention, and they spent the rest of the meal talking about the winter which was drawing nearer and nearer. Everybody would need warm clothes.

They all pitched in with the dishes and the cleaning as they always did even though, at the beginning, Lori had insisted it wasn’t necessary, and that she and Carol managed just fine. 

Rick had seen a shadow pass over Carol’s face the first time Lori had tried to push the men out of the dining room, and Daryl must’ve seen it too, because the hunter had said nothing, had simply started gathering the dishes and carrying them to the kitchen, and generally ignoring Lori as if she didn’t exist.

“Carol ain’t gonna be the house-elf,” he’d grunted on the back porch that night, almost two weeks ago.

Rick had almost choked on his tea. “You know your Harry Potter?” he’d laughed.

Daryl had glowered at him. “Oh, like ya don’t?” he’d snapped.

Rick had chuckled and got back to the matter at hand. “You’re right. I’m guessing Ed’s the traditional sort of guy – an’ I’m talking medieval here, what with his attitude… We might wanna make a schedule for chores, y’know, cleaning and stuff.”

“Merle’s not gonna love it,” Daryl had pointed out, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Yeah, well, it’ll build his character,” Rick had deadpanned.

Now, Daryl was done ferrying food back to the fridge, and he was standing in the living room, trying (and failing, as he wasn’t trying too hard) to stop the twins from clinging onto his legs, the girls giggling like toddlers tended to do when they had zero fear of a grumpy hunter and knew that if they just kept badgering said grumpy hunter long enough, he’d give in and scoop them up on his wide shoulders.

Sophia was still wiping the table, and Shane was chatting with Dean on the couch as they laid out the chess board for their usual evening game. Rick was doing the dishes, and a quietly but steadily grumbling Merle was helping with the drying.

The next ten minutes would forever remain the strangest in his life – the walkers had nothing on this.

“Ya like my brother?” Merle muttered quietly.

Rick cast a baffled look at him. “Umm, yeah?” he replied, not really getting the reason behind the question. Merle knew perfectly well Rick liked Daryl. Everybody knew that. Rick didn’t try to hide how greatly he valued his new friend.

“Umm, yeah? ” the older Dixon mimicked, rolling his eyes. “Whatever. But ya do get there’s competition now, dontcha? Ya ain’t too daft to see it, are ya?”

Rick’s fingers slipped in the soapy water, the plate he was cleaning splashed mutedly deeper into the water. The fuck…?

“Daryl has gained a lot of new friends these past weeks,” he said, picking his words with care.

Merle snorted. “Yeah...I ain’t buying that, Grimes. Maybe you’re all hot stuff with interrogatin’ poor innocent people, but you suck royally when it’s the other way around.”

Rick picked the plate up, started scrubbing it again, felt his jaw tense. In his wildest dreams he wouldn’t have pictured the two of them having this conversation. “Let’s say, hypothetically, that I get what you mean. What, there’s a shovel talk on the horizon?”

“Already gave you that one, weeks ago. Ya mean you’ve forgotten the rule? Hurt him, an’ you die. But that ain’t what I meant, an’ ya know it so stop tryin’ to deflect, you suck at it like I said.”

Merle rubbed a wet plate furiously with a dish towel and scowled at it like it was personally offending him. His voice was a wheezy growl, too low for anyone else to hear, especially with the delighted giggle of the twins in the background.

“Ya gotta be smart enough to notice what that Paul guy is doin’? He’s fuckin’ wooin’ my li’l brother, for fuck’s sake.”

Rick’s heart beat too fast, too loud. “So what if he is? He’s not a bad man, and Daryl seems to… I mean, it’s not like Daryl’s trying to put an end to it.”

Merle put the poor plate down and glared at Rick like the deputy was the village idiot. “Daryl’s never been wooed, you moron. Some decent guy does that, an’ nobody calls anybody a fuckin’ faggot, an’ everybody’s nice about the fuckin’ gay goings-on… the poor stupid Daryleena’s just bein’ a happily flustered damsel about it. Paul’s into him, an’ the man ain’t too chicken to let Daryl know it.” He picked up another plate, started drying it, and snorted. “Unlike some.”

Rick ran his tongue over his lower lip. “You think I’m...into Daryl?”

Merle had an endless supply of snorts.

“Me, I don’t think, I know you’re into Daryl. I know. Carol knows. Dean knows. Everybody with workin’ eyes knows. Hell, Paul knows. Daryl’s probably the only one who has no goddamned clue since ya ain’t doin’ nothin’, sayin’ nothing. So, y’know, as far as Paul’s concerned, Daryl’s up for grabs.”

Rick swallowed, scrubbing a dirty pan, his hands working on autopilot, slow and sloppy. “What’s it to you?” he finally asked. “You don’t even like me. Why’re you telling me all this?”

“It don’t matter if I like you or not,” Merle said bluntly. “My brother thinks the world of your sorry ass, though. Daryl likes you. Maybe you’re too stupid to see it, but I know my li’l bro, an’ I’m tellin’ ya I ain’t never seen him take to anyone like he’s taken to you. The guy’s got a fuckin’ crush on ya. But ya ain’t doin’ nothing, man, so Daryl won’t do nothin’ either. But then there’s Paul, an’ he sure is doin’ something. Daryl sees your ex and he sees your son, an’ you’re clappin’ him on the shoulder all ‘best buds’ style, an’ you’re sleepin’ in the same fuckin’ room an’ still you do nothin’. So all I’m sayin’ is...think long an’ hard about this, an’ if ya want him, ya better stake your claim b’fore someone else does.”

Merle dropped the dish towel in the sink, a disgusted look on his face. “I can’t believe I just did that. The fuck am I, Dr. Phil?” he scoffed. “You ever mention this to anyone, you’re in a world of hurt, Grimes.”

He stomped away, shaking his head and muttering to himself. Rick was sorely in need of some peaceful thinking time, but of course he was robbed of it in the most achingly pleasant way. A chuckling Daryl strolled from the living room, Lori having taken the twins to bed, and he peeked in the sink over Rick’s shoulder, took in the wet dish towel and the absence of Merle.

“My brother ditched ya?” he asked, grinning. “A shocker, that’s what it is.” He took out a new towel from the cabinet by the sink. “Let’s get this taken care of, okay, then grab some tea an’ go out. I need me some peace an’ quiet.”

Rick mustered whatever zen he had and nudged the other man. “Stop pretending you don’t love those little girls.”

Daryl grunted, tried to hold back a smile. Then he paused with the drying and threw a side-glance at Rick, serious all of a sudden. “Didn’t know I liked kids, y’know? Had no frickin’ idea they’d like me. I mean...who’d’ve thought?”

“One of these days you’re gonna stop selling yourself short.” Rick gave him the last of the plates. “One of these days you’re gonna see yourself like we see you.”

Daryl huffed a laugh. “Awkward an’ dirty?” The man was joking, not belittling himself, but Rick was in no mood for jokes. Merle had jolted him but good.

“No. Capable, clever, and kind.” Rick dried his hands and went for broke. “And there are people here who think you’re a damn fine looking man.”

Daryl’s narrowed eyes met Rick’s nervous gaze.

“Well ain’t that rich. How would you know, anyhow? You one of them by any chance, Grimes?” Daryl was still joking but there was gravel in the tone, a shy tinge in the vibrating rumble.

Rick had absolutely no game whatsoever. He’d never even learned to wink properly. A wink would have been just the thing. Good God he was hopeless. So he simply gave Daryl the sweetest smirk he could and replied, “I might be. I’m not blind.”

He turned around and walked to the living room, trying to calm his racing heart, and comment something semi-sensible to whatever Carol immediately said to him. He’d need a few minutes before their inevitable, routine evening tea on the back porch. He’d need to calm down and think this through.

He did hear a quiet, startled “Fuck…” as he walked away.

*

He lay in his bed, wide awake, staring at the ceiling, the shadows shifting as the clouds glided over the moon. On the other bed, Daryl grumbled in his sleep and turned on his side.

There had been no more godawful flirting that evening, Rick simply hadn’t had it in him. Merle’s words kept thumping in his head all through the late night talk on the porch, the cups of tea and the shared muffin they’d snatched from Carol’s stash, risking life and limb in the process.

When Daryl had ambled from the kitchen, he’d been as if nothing had happened. And maybe nothing had, maybe it was all in Rick’s head. Maybe Rick’s attempt at flirting had been even worse than he thought, maybe he’d imagined hearing a reaction.

Or maybe not. Maybe Daryl had been just that tiny bit more subdued, lost in his thoughts. Maybe the side-glances had been more frequent, maybe he’d bit on his lip more often, maybe his hand on Rick’s shoulder had lingered a few seconds longer than usual as he stood up and left for bed.

Maybe.

Jesus, Rick was so fucking lost trying to figure this out. He’d been seventeen when he last tried flirting and wooing and courting and all that stuff. He was out of practice.

Did he even want to do this? Did he want to ‘stake his claim’, as Merle put it? Wasn’t all this too soon?  Wasn’t the timing godawful, what with everything that was going on?

Not to mention the gay aspect, ‘cause that had been unexpected to say the least, but what was he gonna do – lie to himself that he wasn’t attracted to the person sleeping only a yard from him? Now wouldn’t that be truly ridiculous? A few days ago, he’d refused to have a gay panic, and he stood by that decision. This was how he rolled now, apparently. Regarding Daryl, at least.

But would he suck at this leadership thing that had been hoisted on him if he started pursuing something so selfish as a…

...relationship?

No, no… Rick shook his head, squeezed his eyes shut, rubbed his face. Not a relationship, God, what was he even thinking?

But were there alternatives to a relationship? Casual dating? Friends with benefits, if that was what the kids called it these days? Being goddamned fuckbuddies?

An unpleasant shiver ran through his body.

First of all, that kind of thing would probably get him killed. By Merle.

Second of all… There wasn’t really a casual bone in Rick’s body. He had zero practice in that sort of thing, and he wasn’t interested in gaining any. And if he was quite honest with himself, that there thought ended with a quiet whisper from his heart: especially not with Daryl.

For a man like Rick, having feelings for a guy like Daryl, the only option was something not casual, not off-handed, not just something to satisfy Rick’s curiosity or sate his needs.

It was too soon to think in terms of a relationship, but maybe he should be honest and admit that he really, really wanted to think in terms of potential for one?

It all came back to this: was this just too selfish? Their friendship was damn perfect as it was. Would he risk it simply because he wanted more?

He turned on his side, towards Daryl. He saw the dark silhouette of his body against the window, the hunched shoulder, the shaggy hair sticking every which way.

Maybe this relationship stuff was too big to decide right now, too big to decide alone. The other party might want to weigh in, too, at some point. But to get to that point, Rick maybe needed some more time to get more data. He was a deputy, after all. He should observe.

Rick closed his eyes. He knew what he’d do next.

Chapter Text

Daryl had looked surprised but pleased when Rick announced his intention to go on patrol with him. They set out after breakfast, Paul and Shane leaving at the same time on their run.

It had rained during the night and it was still drizzling – tiny drops, cold as ice, forming a layer of chilly dampness on their exposed skin. Not the nicest weather to start being outdoorsy again, but Rick barely noticed it. His mood was unseemly buoyant, and Daryl eyed his perpetual grin with suspicion.

“What put that smile on your face?”

No reason to lie. “It feels great, going out like this,” Rick admitted easily. “An’ I’m kind of really looking forward to spending the whole day with you.”

The familiar grunt was slow to come.

“Uh-huh…” Daryl finally let out. “Not like I’m a no-show at the house.”

“Yeah, but you’re away most of the time. I miss having you around.”

He’d decided to put it in unequivocal words. How much he liked Daryl’s company, how much he appreciated him. Nothing romantic, geez, not yet, and depending on what he’d observe, maybe not ever. But now that the words were out of his mouth, and he saw the bright crimson spots appear on Daryl’s cheeks, he wondered, worried, if maybe he wasn’t laying it on too thick for Daryl’s taste.

“Didn’t know that,” the man mumbled.

“Now you do,” Rick said, still smiling. “But maybe go easy on me this first time, ok?” (fuck, innuendo? really, Rick? stop with the imagination right this fucking second!) “Guard duties at the house don’t really do much. I feel like I’ve lost half my muscles.”

“Nah, ya just need to get used to it all over again. Your muscles look just fine to me.”

Rick’s overly active imagination was shutting down all too slow, and he must’ve imagined that Daryl’s tone was slightly lower, slightly more gravelly, slightly more… Yeah, no, goddammit Merle, for putting ideas in Rick’s head.

It was the first of many days on patrol with Daryl. Not every day, because his conscience wouldn’t allow it: he was reconciled with being the leader now, and that meant he couldn’t just go gallivanting with Daryl whenever he wanted. He had his responsibilities.

And anyway, ‘staking his claim’ didn’t mean he’d get to isolate Daryl from the other suitor...

---(Jesus Lord, he was starting to sound like a character in a Victorian novel. Sometimes Rick’s eyes hurt, he rolled them so hard at himself. When had his life become a period drama?)---

...because that would be ridiculous and frankly pretty goddamned insulting. Daryl liked Paul – if that were to amount to something else at some point, there was nothing Rick could do about it.

Except let Daryl know Paul wasn’t the only one interested.

After five whole days with Daryl, Rick still didn’t know how to really go about it. He’d observed like crazy, but he still wasn’t sure that Merle had got it right. “The guy’s got a fuckin’ crush on ya.”

But Daryl was how he’d always been. The same shy side-glances, the same unwavering steadiness, the same quiet thoughtfulness when they had their more serious conversations about the state of the world or their tiny community at the house.

Always there to help, just like he’d been there when Rick’s old life had crumbled because of Lori and Shane’s betrayal. Or coming to get Rick at the hospital when no-one else did. Only this time, it was more Daryl yanking Rick up when the older man slipped on wet leaves, or putting a lightning-fast bolt through a walker’s eye so he’d get to help Rick quicker with the two Rick was grappling with.

Daryl was no different than before. He voiced hesitant opinions about a stupid stunt Carl had pulled with Sophia, the silly escape plan they’d concocted for fun, being the kids that they still were, but risking their lives climbing down the wall in the dark, not knowing the ladder was damaged. Rick, Lori and Carol had been furious, but later, on patrol the next time, Rick had wondered if he’d handled it well. Carl was getting to the age where father’s anger wasn’t the best teacher any more. The kids had to learn the whys and the wherefores, and Rick feared none of the adults had really done a good job. As always with issues like this, Daryl was self-effacing, still could hardly believe someone would want his opinion on raising children of all things, or handling a complex personal issue, or anything like that.

His touch was the same, the warmth of his body the same, just the same as in the backyard of the Dixon house when they’d sat on the lawn, or squeezed together in the truck. (Or slept in the same bed, reminded Rick’s treacherous brain). Rick thought – imagined – that Daryl’s hand kept lingering those extra few seconds every now and then, clapping Rick’s shoulder, patting his stomach, correcting his grip on the crossbow for the hundredth time, pulling him up when they’d been sitting down.

Rick hadn’t been quite so open with his appreciation before, so he had nothing to compare with there. Daryl blushed easily, and then he blushed some more because he was embarrassed by the blushing. For him, it was a weakness, something a Dixon shouldn’t show, and Rick could easily imagine how Merle had always commented on the subject of blushing.

Once again, Daryl turned his face away, listening to Rick’s compliments on his views on the Carl-and-Sophia issue.

“Hey,” Rick said, voice coming out softer than he’d intended. He reached for Daryl, dared to brush his chin with light fingertips, coaxing him to turn back. Rick felt the scratch of Daryl’s short facial hair. “Don’t turn away from me, okay? Why would you do that?”

“‘s embarrassing.” But Daryl did manage to look straight at Rick, albeit with a slightly lowered face.

“Says who?”

“Blushing’s for chicks.”

“Didn’t know Merle was here with us,” Rick countered with a dry voice. “‘cause I’m hearing your brother right there.”

Daryl let out a short chuckle. “Yeah, maybe… our dad anyway.”

“It’s just your body’s reaction,” Rick went on. “Some people blush more easily than others, it’s got nothing to do with being masculine or feminine. Blushing doesn’t make you weak, and not blushing does not make you strong.”

Daryl chewed on that for a moment. “Still don’t like it,” he decided after a while.

“Fine, you don’t need to. Just… never turn away from me, ok?”

That...had come out with more weight than Rick had intended. More heat in his voice – more meaning embedded in the simple phrase about blushing.

Judging by the way Daryl blinked, almost seemed to stop breathing, the man had heard all the layers loud and clear.

Rick didn’t find out if Daryl was going to say something; five walkers crashed through the thin veil of shrubs and the men had their hands full of the deadly dead. Afterwards, Rick didn’t know how to approach the subject again, and Daryl looked like he wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole.

Rick was almost, almost ready to go to Merle and tell him to get his eyes examined – Daryl wasn’t interested in Rick that way, and Rick didn’t need the heartbreak that came out of wanting something he couldn’t have.

Then, of course, only a few hours later, he caught Daryl looking. Just a brief moment, equivalent to those touches that were maybe one or two seconds too long. And Rick didn’t imagine it, he was a cop still, and paying attention had been his bread and butter. So, when he met Daryl’s gaze at the dinner table that evening, he knew he couldn’t give up just yet. He was talking with Dean and Shane when he felt eyes on him, looked up over the long table, and Daryl was looking right back. Not smiling, his face giving nothing away, he was simply looking at Rick, head slightly tilted down so it probably wasn’t apparent to anyone else.

Shane and Dean’s voice vanished as if someone had pressed a mute button. Rick’s heart stuttered, but he managed a tiny tentative smile. A corner of Daryl’s mouth twitched, his eyes darted down, then right back at Rick, and now it was a smile, lopsided and small and sweet.

And that was different. Daryl did not do that. Daryl did not look like that or smile like that. Had never held Rick’s gaze like this before – slow and shy and meaningful.

“Are you listening, Rick?” Shane sounded annoyed.

“Mmhm?” Rick blinked and tore his gaze away and frowned at Shane. “What? Sorry, my mind was…”

“Yeah, your mind was.” Dean, on the other hand, sounded amused.

“Where’s your head at these days,” grumbled Shane, but didn’t expect an answer for which Rick was profoundly grateful. “I said that we need to check the second town real soon. Like I said, the town where Paul and I went today, it was a bust. Full of walkers and nothing much else. And then Dean said maybe we could go to the second town tomorrow but with a bigger group, maybe four? None of us knows the other town well except Dean but he’s not leaving, he’s got the girls and I ain’t putting him in danger.”

Dean huffed, as if those two had been over this subject several times already.

“Fine,” he said, rolling his eyes. “So, what about it, Rick? Who’s going?”

“Four should be enough,” he mused. “I’m gonna be one of them. Daryl, too. Merle and Paul. Just keep an eye on Ed, I still don’t trust that guy.”

Shane nodded. “Sure.” He cast a look at the others. “We might wanna start teaching Lori and Carol. Just in case shit goes sideways.”

“Yeah…” Rick sighed, watched his own left-hand fingers rub against the thumb, the movement almost hypnotic. “It’s been weeks now… still no TV, nothing on the radio, phones not working, the town overrun…” He side-glanced at Dean. “I hate to say it, but-”

Dean let out a quiet snort. “I ain’t gonna break, Rick. I’ve got the girls, but it doesn’t mean I’m somehow consumed with desperation, or whatever it is that’s been making you handle me with kid gloves lately. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. It’s sweet an’ all, and I appreciate your concern, but for me, this situation means that we need to keep the wheels turning on this world. And I plan to do just that even if that means I gotta rotate the damn wheels with my own two hands.” He lowered his voice to make double sure that nobody else heard. “But Rick, if you can manage to keep the smile on your face just a while longer, I think you should do it. Carol seems surprisingly tough, considering, but that hubby of hers, that one’s jittery. Don’t really know how he’s gonna react if… You never know with the bullies. I try keeping him busy and he’s not a bad farmhand, but he’s no backbone of apocalyptic communities, y’know? And then there’s Lori…”

Rick’s eyes automatically veered to Shane. The younger Walsh sighed at Rick’s raised eyebrows. “Don’t ask me, she won’t tell me what’s wrong. She’s really worried, an’ I can’t get a handle on what it’s about. Walkers, or something else.”

Rick cleared his throat. “Is she upset that I’m here?”

Looked like the mere idea was surprising to Shane. Things had indeed cooled down these past weeks. “No. No, I don’t think so. I don’t think it’s about the people. She doesn’t care for the Dixon brothers and she positively loathes Ed, but you’ve seen how she is…”

Rick had seen it. Lori had been on her best behavior. Very polite to everyone, very considerate. Doing her very best to keep the spirits up, all old-world bravery-against-overwhelming-odds kind of thing.

“So, it’s gotta be the state of the world, then,” Rick said. “I’ll superglue the smile on my face, don’t worry. In any case, there’s Carl and Sophia, too. None of us can give in to doom an’ gloom. It’s gotta get better at some point, y’know. We just need to hang in there long enough for the science to do its part.”

Shane shook his head, for the first time in a long, long time a genuinely fond expression on his face. “You an’ your science, man…”

Dean chuckled, but then he grew serious. “I’ve got an awful feeling this here is more of a George Bernard Shaw kind of a mess…”

Shane blinked and frowned, but Rick got the reference.

Science never solves a problem without creating ten more.

Didn’t bear thinking about it. Rick had to believe this zombie shit was just nature playing a dirty trick on humans, nothing more sinister than that.

He glanced at Daryl again. The man was still watching him, but now he looked worried. He must’ve picked up on Rick’s unease – the sudden shift from what was essentially flirtation to hushed voices and furrows on foreheads. Shit, Rick had to guard his expressions better from now on. Granted, Daryl seemed to notice more than some of the others but no need to risk it.

Also, there’d been fricking flirtation.

What was Rick supposed to do with that?

Chapter Text

They didn’t get to have their evening tea/coffee routine on the back porch; it started to rain hard and the cold wind was even harder. The group spent some time together playing and sipping warm beverages, and then people trickled away to their own rooms.

Rick was nervous. His master plan had been to observe, and now that was done and he had no Phase Two prepared. None. Good God, he just hoped he’d never have to lead a group bigger than this, or lead troops to war, because apparently he couldn’t plan for shit. Good thing he always wanted to be just a regular, boring cop, ‘cause he would’ve been a lousy criminal mastermind.

Daryl was already in their room, standing at the dresser, fiddling with the stuff he always took out of his pockets, usually right before sitting down on the bed and slipping out of the pants and under the blankets, quick and awkward, even after weeks of sharing the room.

Now, it kind of felt like Daryl was waiting for Rick.

He glanced at Rick over his shoulder. He said nothing.

…”an’ you’re sleepin’ in the same fuckin’ room an’ still you do nothin’.” Merle’s words.

Maybe that was all the plan Rick needed. He had to have the courage to do something.

He walked to Daryl. He sensed the point where he stepped into Daryl’s personal little bubble. The man still toyed with the items on the dresser – a set of keys, a lighter, half a pack of cigarettes, three paper clips for some mysterious reason. He pushed them around with his index finger and wouldn’t look at Rick. The line of his shoulders was rigid.

Rick touched his upper arm, begging him to turn with the gentle brush.

Daryl looked down, his shoulders rising and lowering, and Rick guessed he’d taken a deep breath. Suddenly Rick was filled with dread. Maybe his observations had been just wishful thinking. Maybe Daryl was now mustering up his nerve and preparing to say ‘no’ as kindly as possible.

But then Daryl turned all the way, and his eyes were shy and insecure, and his lips were red and puffy from all the lip-biting he’d obviously done, and Rick’s skin remembered their brush, that morning in the motel, weeks ago.

Daryl had been mustering something, but it hadn’t been the nerve to say no, it’d been the bravado to ask a question.

His gravelly drawl brought goosebumps to Rick’s arms, tingled and danced on his nerve-endings.

“There something we need to talk about, Rick? Earlier, b’fore the walkers came..?” Daryl’s words stumbled to a halt.

Later, Rick would wonder, amazed, how much courage that must’ve taken from the man. To cross that line, what with his background and insecurities. But that would be later, because right now all intelligent thought flew right out of Rick’s head.

He was done talking.

He moved deeper into Daryl’s bubble, almost close enough to touch. Daryl’s eyes were wary – not scared-wary, just whatcha-gonna-do-Rick -wary. Curious-wary.

Maybe waiting for Rick to do something. Make the first move.

So he did.

It was the easiest thing, to kiss Daryl.

At first, it was just their lips touching, slotting together, noses brushing and bumping, stubbles scratching. Then there were the hands, gripping and squeezing, sliding and caressing, pulling their bodies together. Rick was lightheaded, euphoric, and everything kept building up, up, up, and then he was so fucking horny it wasn’t even funny anymore, goddammit!

He didn’t realize he’d slammed Daryl into the dresser until he heard the dull thump and the tinkle of trinkets. A flash of worry passed through him, but Daryl didn’t seem to mind; the archer’s arms held him tight, then there was the breathless “Yeah…”, the graze of teeth on Rick’s throat, the almost desperate grind of hips.

The man wasn’t pushing him away, wasn’t snarling at him about misunderstandings or being interested in someone else.

Daryl was kissing him back, letting out tense huffs and low whimpers. Daryl was holding him with absolutely no hesitation. Daryl was hard.

Rick felt like he’d bet his whole life on red, and he had just seen the ball land on that color. He knew he was being overly dramatic, but apparently he was like that sometimes, whaddyaknow. But this here, this was a double or nothing kind of situation, and he’d come out as the winner.

Nature set certain limitations to human lungs, so Rick drew back a bit, couldn’t stop a gigantic grin from emerging on his face, and enjoyed the pure bliss that was watching Daryl try to catch his breath – the wet lips, red-tinged cheeks, lust-blown pupils.

Rick traced the gorgeous line of Daryl’s cheekbone right down to the mole at the corner of his mouth, brushed his lips, returned by the same path and sank his fingers into Daryl’s spiky, messy hair.

Daryl’s eyelids fluttered, he enjoyed the gentle touch, he seemed to enjoy it quite as much as the more passionate, forceful ones only a minute ago. Rick filed the information away for later. Anyway, he planned on showering the man with as much gentle and passionate as he possibly could.

The archer’s eyes flew open, suddenly there was a light furrow between his brows.

“This ain’t no joke?”

“What could possibly be the reason I’d make a joke like this? No, Daryl. This isn’t a joke.”

“But...you’re not…”

“I kissed a guy and I liked it,” Rick smirked.

“Katy Perry? Really? You’re bringin’ Katy Perry into this?” Daryl snorted. “I worry about you sometimes, I truly do.”

Rick grinned, so damn giddy with excitement. “Would you feel better with philosophers? I kissed you, therefore I’m obviously attracted to you. A bit clumsy but-”

“Shut up,” Daryl rumbled and kissed him silent.

The next time they stopped for air, Daryl had another question ready. It didn’t come as easily, though. It was obvious he had a hard time summoning the courage to ask it.

“So, this ain’t...I mean, is this…fuck, I mean, ya want just sex? Or d’you, like, y’know, like…” Daryl’s voice wavered.

Rick heard the tiny hope in Daryl’s tone. 

He marveled at the strength of his own trust in this. How had this happened so fast, this thing in his heart? These feelings, this, this sense of belonging and safety and friendship? This simmering crackling spluttering warmth, this murmuring flame slowly swaying under his skin?

He wasn’t about to let it die down. This wasn’t going to end up in lukewarm ashes if he could help it.

He cradled Daryl’s face in his hands and put everything he had in his gaze.

“I want you. Everything you want to give me. You decide how much that is. Just know that I want all of you.”

Daryl looked like someone had knocked him over the head. “What?” he snapped, incredulous and hopeful.

Rick chuckled and slid his thumb through Daryl’s short beard. He liked the feel of it.

“So… so, if you were asking if I like you, the answer is yes. I like you a lot, in all the ways that word can mean.”

“I thought you just…” Daryl searched for words. “...just, ya kept sayin’ best friends, so I thought…”

“It’s not a bad foundation for more, is it?” Rick asked, smiling.

They were silent, Daryl’s arms wrapped around Rick, their gazes locked.

“I like you, too,” Daryl blurted out. The blush grew deeper. “An’ I ain’t gonna say no to sex either.”

Rick burst out in a full chortle, his hands slipped down and around the hunter and drew him into a hug. “Yeah, me neither,” he said, still laughing.

At first, Daryl tensed up at the laughter, but then he relaxed, and Rick felt a huff of a chuckle against his neck.

“This is weird,” Daryl mumbled, still chuckling.

“Hunh?” Rick loosened his grip and drew back. He wanted to see Daryl’s face.

“Nothin’.” The man looked embarrassed, chewed on his lip, eyes darting to Rick. “Just, never guessed there’d be so much, y’know, laughing.”

Rick cocked his head to the side. “Liking someone is supposed to be fun. Serious and committed and all that, yeah, but fun as well. Or...do you mean about the kissing and the sex?”

Daryl looked superbly uncomfortable with the topic but didn’t give up. “Kinda, yeah.”

Now it was Rick who was searching for the right words. The way Daryl had spoken once before had led Rick to believe the man maybe didn’t have a huge amount of experience, but surely...

“No reason sex can’t be playful and fun.”

“Not my experience,” Daryl said. The worried look on Rick’s face prompted him on. “I don’t mean.. it’s nothin’ bad. I told you that already. Nothin’ bad. Just...wouldn’t call it playful. Quick an’ stealthy, more like.”

Now it was Daryl who looked a bit worried, as if he wondered if Rick would think less of him.

Rick kissed him. He needed to get that expression off of Daryl’s face.

“Well, we gotta change that,” Rick said after a thorough kiss.

“Yeah?” Daryl’s eyes narrowed; the glint in them was amused. “Whatcha got in mind?”

Rick let go of the man and took a step back. “How would you feel about...taking your shirt off?”

It felt reckless, talking like this. But Rick was goddamned horny, and he really, really liked this man.

“You first.”

Rick’s heart skipped a beat, and his fingers reached for the hem of his shirt before he’d given it a conscious thought. Daryl watched him take the shirt off, his face thoughtful, teeth worrying the lower lip.

It was hardly the first time Rick had gone shirtless in the presence of his friend – they were roommates, after all. It was completely different now, though, and Rick’s nipples perked under the intensity of Daryl’s gaze.

Daryl’s eyes shot up to meet Rick’s, and they were wide and nervous and eager. Rick quirked his eyebrow. Your turn, the eyebrow said.

The archer ran just a bit hotter than everyone else, like a frickin’ mythical werewolf or something, so he was still wearing one of his tattered, sleeveless button-ups even though the weather had turned chilly. Rick wasn’t complaining. Daryl had beautiful shoulders and arms, and Rick had enjoyed watching the way those muscles bulged and shifted under the tanned skin even before he’d recognized it wasn’t just for aesthetic pleasure.

Daryl swallowed, and popped open the first button. Rick couldn’t help but imagine how that hot skin would feel when he’d finally be allowed to touch it. His fingers twitched, his hands jerked in an involuntary movement towards Daryl.

Another button popped open. Rick’s hands squeezed into fists, just to prevent himself from ripping the shirt off.

Daryl fumbled with the third button, his fingers trembled, and Rick forced his impatience down to manageable levels.

“Let me help?” he said quietly and took Daryl’s low grunt as a yes.

His fingers brushed against Daryl as he opened the rest of the buttons. He felt the soft skin, the quick spasm of abs, the trail of coarse hair – fuck, he wanted to touch Daryl everywhere. The last button opened, he spread his hands over Daryl’s stomach and reveled in the warmth of it. His hands traveled up, fingertips tracing every bump of a muscle, the softness of a few extra pounds, the solid ridges of the bones guarding Daryl’s strong heart. He curled his fingers, nails raking over the chest, following the lines of the collarbones, and then he was pushing the shirt off until it slid down Daryl’s arms and dropped on the floor.

Daryl hadn’t moved at all, hadn’t said a word. God, was Rick freaking him out?

Rick stepped back to give the other man some space. His eyes, slow and meticulous, dragged over Daryl’s body, and he was this close to being fuckin’ hypnotized by the rise and fall of Daryl’s chest, when the view was suddenly blocked out.

He looked up. Daryl was looking at the floor, face flushed, arms crossed tight, shoulders hunched. Rick was at a loss, he didn’t know what the problem was. Had he done something wrong? Was this not what Daryl wanted after all?

“What’s the matter?” he asked, laying his hand lightly on Daryl’s forearm. He didn’t pull, didn’t try to pry Daryl’s arms open. Daryl had put up a shield and Rick wasn’t gonna break it.

“You’re lookin’,” the archer muttered, still avoiding Rick’s eyes.

Rick was baffled. “You’re gorgeous. Of course I’m looking.”

A muscle fluttered under Rick’s palm. The arms started relaxing so very slowly. Daryl gave Rick a side-eye, wouldn’t turn his head towards Rick.

Now he sensed it, the soft waves of insecurity and self-consciousness.

“You’re gorgeous,” Rick said again. “Trust me on this.”

“Mmhm,” Daryl grunted. He opened his arms just enough to slip his hands on Rick’s waist. He pushed back a little. “Bed.”

Rick’s cock gave an eager twitch.

They stumbled on Daryl’s bed and Rick drew him close, so close their chests rubbed against each other. Daryl’s mouth hovered over his, lips barely touching, and it was delicious, the anticipation.

This time, the first kiss was slow. There was chocolate in the taste, and cigarettes, and mint tea. Daryl licked into Rick’s mouth, and Rick almost fuckin’ swooned. He gripped Daryl’s jean-clad hip, sensed his low moan, and his brain cells fizzled. He rolled Daryl on his back, his fingertips starving and impatient, caressing every inch of Daryl’s skin.

The archer was no better off, short nails biting into Rick’s back, and then a hand ventured over the waistband, settled on Rick’s ass, holy fucking Jesus! Why were they still wearing jeans, for fuck’s sake? He wanted to feel Daryl’s hand… He wanted to strip the jeans off the man, he wanted to feel him, he wanted to know what another man’s cock felt like in his hand – no, not another man’s, just Daryl’s. Were they going too fast, should they slow down? Fuck no, please, no…

A quiet whimper came out of Rick’s mouth, and Daryl’s fingers sank into his ass, and Rick really, really hated the soft material of his worn jeans. He kissed Daryl’s mole, mouthed the line of his sharp jawline, sucked the side of his neck. His thumb rubbed on Daryl’s nipple and good God he wanted to touch more of him.

He didn’t really know what he was doing – but what was there to know, really? He liked this man, he wanted to make him feel good, he wanted to touch him all over, and he couldn’t wait to learn all Daryl’s likes and dislikes. That was how these things worked. He nipped the skin stretching over Daryl’s perfect collarbones, licked the tattoo arching over his pectoral, and smiled at how Daryl’s chest hair felt on his lips. Should it have felt odd? Well, it didn’t. All part of Daryl.

Daryl moaned when Rick bit and sucked on his nipple, his body trembled under Rick’s adventurous nails as they raked further down, and suddenly Rick was on his back, forced down by Daryl’s strong arms, and the man looked savage and wild, short sweaty strands of hair stuck on his forehead, eyes blown up into a black abyss that was sucking Rick in.

“Fuck, Rick…”

The words resonated on Rick through Daryl’s hands.

He was lightheaded, lightheaded...heart pumping like crazy but all the blood flooding his groin, feeding the sensitivity of his skin, and nothing left for his brain. He was all instinct and lust and want, Jesus Christ, he wanted…

“Would you fuck me?” he gasped, only realizing what he said when he heard the words.

Daryl gripped him harder, crashed his mouth on Rick’s, and Rick’s fingers slid under the waistband of Daryl’s jeans and touched the thin material of his underpants.

Daryl’s head snapped up. “Ya mean it?” he panted as his hips ground down on Rick.

“Mmhm.” He was so hard. He wanted so much.

“I ain’t never-” Daryl stopped. He looked embarrassed, and eager, and uncertain.

Rick licked his lips. “Me neither. Not this. But I want you to. Want to feel you.”

But what if Daryl doesn’t want it? Rick tried to calm down.

“You don’t have-”

“Fuck, yes, I want.” The words rushed out of Daryl’s mouth. “Wanna touch you so fuckin’ bad.” He clambered out of the bed, almost fell on his ass as his foot got snagged on the bedspread. “Fuck!”

“In a minute,” quipped Rick and smirked. Daryl looked at him and let out a startled chuckle.

Rick squirmed out of his jeans and watched Daryl struggle with his. Rick toyed with the waistband of his underpants, shy all of a sudden. Their eyes met.

Rick exhaled slowly. “Do we...need something?” He’d wanted to try this with Lori a few times but she hadn’t been interested. He wasn’t much for watching porn, and the few raunchy fantasies that had vaguely touched this subject had been just that, fantasies, without hardly any facts to back them up.

Daryl strode to his backpack and rummaged for a while, found what he was looking for and came back with a small plastic tube. The look on his face was a mixture of excitement and utter embarrassment.

Rick grinned. “You came prepared.”

The flush on Daryl’s face turned to such a bright crimson that Rick almost felt bad for him.

“Shut up...I didn’t-”

“I’m glad you did,” Rick cut in, still grinning. His hand hovered on his underwear, thumb sliding under the waistband, bunching up the soft material. Daryl’s eyes followed the movement. He dropped the lube on the bed, threw a nervous glance at Rick, and dropped his gray boxers down with one swift move. Almost as if he worried he wouldn’t have the nerve to go through with it if he did it slowly.

Rick forgot to pay attention to his own boxer briefs. He was probably pushing them down and wriggling out of them, that had been the plan at least, maybe do it kinda slow, try to be just a little playful or something, but all the air rushed out of his lungs, his abs convulsed, and saliva burst on his tongue at the sight of Daryl’s rock hard cock right there, precum dribbling down the shaft.

“Get in here.” His throat was tight with lust. He forgot all the things he didn’t know, like the mystery of the mechanics of gay sex, or the mystery of actually wanting to have sex with a man. It was enough that he knew other things. How much he liked Daryl, how much he really, really wanted him in all the ways possible. Everything else would sort itself out somehow.

Daryl climbed on the bed, lay down on his side, didn’t touch him. He had a faint frown on his face. For what felt like a thousandth time, he asked, “Ya really want this? Ya sure?”

Rick turned to face him, cupped Daryl’s face in his palm, ran his thumb over the slick lower lip.

“Daryl…” How hadn’t he noticed before how much he loved the way the name rolled on his tongue? “...would you please fuck me already?”

Daryl snorted. Then his brow furrowed again. “Ya tell me if I hurt you? Ya promise?”

Rick kissed him. “Mmhm,” he breathed out and ran his hand over Daryl’s shoulder, over his side, on his butt, and with one quick pull, drew him close, skin to skin. White lightning sparked behind his closed eyelids at the feel of Daryl’s cock pressing against his. Daryl shuddered, let out a sound that was a mix of “Fuck” and a whimper, and bit down on the side of Rick’s neck.

After that, it was a pleasant blur. Rick touched everywhere, and Daryl was all muscle and strength and fierce kisses. Rick licked and sucked his way down to Daryl’s leaking cock and didn’t hesitate one second. He flicked a glance at Daryl’s wide eyes and kissed the top of his dick. Precum wet his lips and he tasted it. Not bad. He could live with this just fine. He’d been on the receiving end of enough blowjobs to know to mind his teeth as he slid his wet lips down Daryl’s cock, sucked it gently, bobbed his head up and down ever so slowly, savoring Daryl’s taste. This was the first time, and he already loved the feel of a hard, silky cock in his mouth.

“Rick…” Daryl sounded broken, the tone begged him to stop, and Rick did. He smirked at the other man.

“Good?” This might be his first time with a man but he knew how good a hot mouth on your dick felt.

“Too good,” Daryl huffed. “Ya want me to fuck you, it ain’t gonna work if I blow my load in your mouth now.”

Rick shivered and licked his lips. Daryl noticed it, of course.

“Jesus, Rick…” He sounded strangled which was nice, and incredulous which wasn’t. “You’d want me to?"

Rick didn’t much care for the disbelief in Daryl’s tone. Had no-one wanted to before?

He flicked at a pearl of precum with his tongue. “Of course I want you to,” he said, his voice so matter-of-fact that it made Daryl’s lips quirk in a smile. “Next time,” he added, and crawled over the goddamned gorgeous body so that he could kiss those quirked lips.

Daryl’s hand wandered down Rick’s back, reached his ass, the fingers slipped down the crack, and Rick spread his legs on instinct. A dry finger brushed over his hole, and it wasn’t just Rick’s breath that stuttered, not just Rick’s body that convulsed in anticipation. He kissed harder, and the finger swirled slowly over the hole, mapping down the feel of it, the soft hair, the furls, the tiny dip.

All too soon Daryl pulled back his hand, grunted, pushed Rick off and to the side. He turned quickly, and when he was once again looking at Rick, he was holding the lube. “I guess we-” he started but his voice choked up, awkward and uncertain and so, so full of lust.

Rick snatched the tube from Daryl’s hand, opened it, grabbed Daryl’s hand and squeezed a fair amount of the fluid over his fingers. Daryl stared at his hand, rubbed the slicked fingers against each other; his eyes drifted back to Rick’s, traveled slowly, meticulously down his body, and Rick’s hard cock wept a steady stream of precum. He felt the laser focus of Daryl’s gaze, it made him shudder, it made him roll his hips, it made him beg.

“Please…”

Daryl scooted down, his mouth was on Rick, hot and greedy, lapping up the precum, tongue running up and down the shaft, and then the lips closed around the cock, moved slow and steady, like Daryl wanted to savor every taste.

Rick’s body flared up, and much later he congratulated himself on his inhuman self-control that had stopped the loud cry of pleasure from getting out.

Daryl’s fingers slid down, down, and Rick didn’t think, he reacted on instinct, he lifted his leg and grabbed it behind the knee, granting better access to Daryl’s slick fingertips. Daryl lifted his head, and Rick moaned the loss of the hot mouth.

“Wanna see,” the archer said with a low voice, sounding slightly abashed.

Rick shuddered, his cock twitched. Daryl wanted to... look. Good God. That’s so fucking hot.

“Hot?” Daryl’s eyes snapped to Rick’s.

Rick’s body was ablaze with lust but he had to laugh. “Didn’t mean to say that out loud,” he chuckled breathlessly. “But yeah, it kind of is.”

Daryl crawled between Rick’s legs and pushed the other leg up as well. Rick grabbed it, and then he was open, on display, and he was embarrassed and turned on and his cock was rock hard, glistening with precum and Daryl’s saliva.

Daryl pushed a pillow under Rick’s pelvis. He dragged his lubed fingers down over the balls, over the perineum, circled the hole. His gaze was glued on the movement of his fingertips, on the way Rick’s body reacted to his touch.

Rick licked his lips. Daryl’s cheeks were flushed, his touch gentle and insistent, and- Oh. Rick gasped. Daryl pushed inside, and it felt-

He whimpered. It felt strange, and it felt good, and he wanted more. Daryl’s mouth was slack, his eyes feverish. Rick’s hole yielded and it felt so fucking good.

He floated. The firm touch inside of him, the steady push-pull, the spark deep inside, soft at first, but stronger with each brush of Daryl’s unrelenting finger – it was everything. He felt his muscles tightening, his nerve-endings starting to burn, and he had to stop.

“Daryl,” he rumbled, “fuck me. Now. Don’t wanna come before-”

“Yeah, ok,” the archer replied hastily, all of his cool and calm lost in the wind, his brow sweaty, his cock angry red and twitching eagerly. He pulled out of Rick slowly and carefully, picked up the tube and groaned as he slicked his sensitive cock. He shuffled closer and stared at Rick’s ass.

“Jesus… how’m I gonna fit in there,” Daryl blurted out.

Rick had no idea but god damn how he wanted to find out. He opened his mouth to frickin’ beg, but then Daryl’s eyes grew wide and worried.

“Rick, I don’t got anything…”

Well. In a perfect world, they should’ve had this conversation, like, thirty minutes ago. On the other hand, in a perfect walker-less world they wouldn’t even be here, together, and Rick took this imperfection over perfection any time. A flurry of thoughts raced through his mind. How Lori had hated the pill. How she hadn’t wanted more kids. How Rick had used a condom for several years. How increasingly infrequent the sex had been anyway. There was Shane, sure… but as much as Rick didn’t appreciate their betrayal, he didn’t doubt Shane’s feelings for Lori. Shane had always been a womanizer, yes, but Rick didn’t know anyone who was as scrupulous as Shane about getting tested regularly. He didn’t think Shane would ever knowingly risk Lori. Which, in turn, meant that Rick was probably in the clear.

“For a lot of reasons which we can talk about later, I believe you have nothing to worry about. What about you? Have you…?”

Daryl shook his head. “Haven’t really...before, y’know. Nothing like this.”

It was heart-breaking, the way that gorgeous man looked ashamed of his lack of experience. But Rick didn’t want to dwell on it, not now, not while their bodies shrieked with want.

“I want you inside of me, Daryl,” he said, his voice soft and warm. He smiled. “Go slow, okay? This is my first time, too.”

It seemed to make Daryl feel better – the fact that he wasn’t the only one figuring things out here. He looked at Rick and there were...all kinds of feelings in his eyes, and it was almost too much for Rick. His cock ached and his hole fluttered and his body wanted – and Daryl’s eyes touched his heart, deep within, and Rick couldn’t fathom how all this could be true. So much good in spite of everything that was so bad in the world.

Daryl bit his lips and his eyes drifted down, down to where their bodies almost touched. And then he pushed, and Rick’s eyes widened.

“Oh fuck…”

“Fuck you’re tight…”

He couldn’t concentrate. Daryl moved deeper, and Rick felt how his body opened, made room for Daryl, welcomed him, deeper, deeper, and it was so, so slow, so careful… Rick noticed he’d let go of his thighs at some point, they were resting on Daryl’s arms. Daryl was still biting his lip, his gaze boring into Rick’s, his hot shaft filling Rick up, and yes it hurt a little, but the small twinges of pain twindled into nothingness and it was worth it, worth every tiny throb of burn, to have Daryl inside of him, to feel him so close, and-

Oh good God.

There it was again, the spark. Rick let out a long, drawn-out moan.

“Good?” Daryl’s gravelly voice was rougher and lower than ever. He was hovering over Rick, his narrowed eyes glittering blue and black, his mouth tense with emotion. Rick slid his palms up Daryl’s arms, loved the feel of hard muscle and unwavering biceps, and pulled Daryl down, just a bit, so that their mouths almost touched.

“Move,” Rick whispered, and the words touched Daryl’s lips, made him shiver, made him pull back a little and roll his hips, slow and sensual, like the ebb and flow of the tide.

Daryl pressed his lips on Rick’s, his hips danced against Rick, and then he shifted, and the spark inside of Rick started to burn brighter. He wormed his hand between their bodies, curled his fingers around his cock and started to stroke himself to the rhythm of Daryl’s thrusts.

“Jesus fuckin’-” Daryl let out a broken gasp as he glanced down between them.

The dance turned wilder, harder, and they panted and groaned and whimpered, and Rick dug his fingertips into Daryl’s skin like claws and Daryl bit into Rick’s lower lip and-

Rick’s whole body tensed up, every muscle starting to burn, and he sensed the orgasm rushing closer and closer, out of control like a wildfire. A steady stream of swearwords rushed from Daryl’s mouth as he fucked harder and faster and the rhythm stuttered, Rick banged his head back on the pillow, his mouth open, the throaty howl of pleasure almost past his lips-

-and Daryl cut it, he covered Rick’s mouth with his hand just in time, grunted “Quiet”, and his eyes squeezed shut, he let out a low whimper and bit into Rick’s shoulder to smother his own sounds.

*

Daryl moved slowly, just far enough to pull out his spent cock, and Rick sighed. But Daryl did not go far, he wrapped himself around Rick, buried his head in the crook of Rick’s head and shoulder. Rick’s body felt heavy and relaxed, and there was a pleasant buzz in his brain. He had cum on his belly and in his ass, and he might be slightly sore come tomorrow, but Daryl was solid and warm and Rick was in love.

Chapter Text

They woke up to the prattle of Carl and Sophia out in the hallway. Rick sneezed lightly, Daryl’s hair was tickling his nose. They’d fallen asleep in the same bed and it’d been a tight fit for two grown men, but Rick had been so very unwilling to leave, much preferring the lazy kisses and the touching and the post-orgasmic bliss that was saturating Daryl’s bed. He’d made a half-hearted (more like quarter-hearted) attempt to get up at some point but Daryl’s arm had tightened immediately. The archer hadn’t said anything, it had been in the touch – the plea, the “please don’t go”, so Rick hadn’t.

Rick was relaxed, well-rested, hopeful. He looked at the other man. Daryl had turned on his back, his arm resting on his forehead, eyes on the ceiling. Could you use the word ‘beautiful’ for a man? Rick thought. Of someone like Daryl, with a face that wasn’t exactly delicate, or even symmetrical? But there was more to being beautiful, wasn’t there, than perfect proportions and impersonal, vacuous perfection? Daryl was intriguing with his high cheekbones, shapely jawline, tempting mole at the corner of his mouth, piercing blue-gray eyes. Intriguing, and just a little bit dangerous.

Rick smiled. He was pretty goddamn well and truly in love, and it was ok. It was all ok. Daryl might not feel the same, he hadn’t said anything – but then, neither had Rick. There was no rush.

Daryl glanced at him, chewing on his lip which was the only thing that told Rick the archer was worried. Rick was 100 % certain Daryl wouldn’t say anything about it, and was trying to figure out how to defuse the situation, how to let Daryl know they were more than fine, when Daryl caught him by surprise.

“I ain’t never woken up with anyone.” It was an awkward mumble.

“Oh.” What the hell is wrong with everybody? How hasn’t anyone seen Daryl’s worth? “Well...did you enjoy it?” It was an inane question but suddenly Rick didn’t know what to say.

“The wakin’ up or...before?”

“Both.”

“Wouldn’t mind doin’ it again. The wakin’ up an’ the before.” Daryl shuffled on his side, facing Rick. His eyes were still a bit wary. Waiting for Rick to say something.

Rick grinned. He let himself have this: a moment of pure, unadulterated, giddy happiness. He pressed a small kiss on Daryl’s lips, pulled back and grinned even wider. “Me too, Daryl. I liked all this so goddamn much.”

Daryl huffed a pleased little sound, then the sound turned to a quiet grunt. “Just wish I knew why, though. I mean, someone like you...and me...it don’t add up, y’know…”

“Hey…” Rick brushed Daryl’s cheek, slipped his fingers around Daryl’s neck and squeezed ever so slightly. Then he smirked. “I know, right? You’re much too good for me. You with your mad survival skills, and saving my sorry ass which, I might add, was hanging bare at the time, and-”

“Oh fuck you, Grimes.” Daryl snorted and nudged him. “Ya know that ain’t what I meant.”

Rick chuckled, but didn’t have time for lengthy lectures on Daryl’s awesomeness, because right then they heard the thump of running feet in the hallway, a brisk knock on their door, and Carl’s young voice from behind the door.

“Dad, Daryl, wake up! Shane says you guys should leave in an hour. There’s breakfast.”

Rick cleared his throat. “Yeah, ok, we’re up. We’ll be there in a minute.”

“Ok!” And then Carl was gone.

They were quiet for a heavy moment. Rick’s heart was still pumping too fast.

“Ya locked the door?” Daryl asked, voice tight.

“Nope.” Rick’s throat tickled. A hysterical giggle was on the way.

“Good Lord.”

“You don’t say.” Rick bit his lip to keep the chuckle in. Honestly, there was nothing to laugh about! He wasn’t ashamed of his feelings for Daryl, but dear God, it would’ve been a godawful way to let people – to let his son! – know about this. Carl could’ve opened the door which would’ve been all kinds of embarrassing. Hell, Shane could’ve come to wake them up.

“Stop laughing,” Daryl chastised, but he didn’t sound angry.

Rick hadn’t even noticed it. He thought he was keeping the unseemly merriment inside, but his shoulders were shaking and he wasn’t doing a very good job stopping the chuckles from getting out.

He grinned at Daryl. “Sorry. We’ll lock the door tonight.”

Daryl cocked an eyebrow, and goddammit, that was flirting!

“Ya think ya wanna do something tonight?”

“Yeah. You.”

Daryl snorted, hard. Ok, so, maybe that wasn’t Rick’s best dirty talk. He needed practice, ‘s all.

*

Rick was on his second cup of coffee when Merle deigned to come down for breakfast. The burly man shuffled towards the table, yawning, not bothering to cover his mouth. He stopped behind Rick and Daryl and leaned between them.

“I didn’t get much sleep last night,” he muttered just low enough that nobody else heard, and when he’d got their attention, he clucked his tongue and shook his head. “Too much noise, if ya get what I mean. I’m appalled, that’s what it is. Look, this here’s a family establishment. We don’t need to hear two fags fuck, y’know. I mean, the kids… Why won’t anybody think of the kids?” And the man shook his head again.

During the short rant, Rick’s mind ran a mile a minute. His eyes darted here and there, scanning the others who were eating calmly, fetching more coffee from the kitchen, chatting with each other, looking not at all traumatized. He wasn’t ashamed of what he and Daryl had done last night but he sure hadn’t intended to inform the others of their budding relationship by means of goddamned sex noises.

Then Merle’s mocking words and leery tone truly worked their way into his brain. He glared at the man, saw the grin, heard the wheezy snigger.

“You fucker.” Daryl looked like he wanted to smack his brother right into his smirking mouth.

Merle chuckled. “No need to get your panties in a twist, Daryleena. Man, you’re too easy... Calm down, Officer.” Merle patted Rick on the shoulder. “Nobody heard nothin’. Took an educated guess, ‘s all. I saw the look on your faces last night. Figured you grew balls, finally. Was I right?” Merle waggled his eyebrows.

“None of your goddamn business,” Daryl snapped, which only made Merle cackle louder. Carol was watching them already, and Rick wanted to end this line of discussion before someone heard what the subject was.

He tilted his head at Merle and smiled. “What if you were right? Would you wanna know more? Get a detailed report, blow...by...blow..?” And he let his gaze drift to Daryl, caress his face, travel lower…

...and as he’d suspected, Merle’s skin got a very unbecoming greenish tinge, the man nearly gagged, and left in a hurry.

Merle maybe wasn’t quite as horrible as Rick had thought weeks ago, but the man was an actual homophobe, and for once Rick had managed to use that information to his own advantage.

Daryl stared at him. “I don’t even know… What the fuck was that?”

“A sure-fire way to get your brother off our case.”

The archer took a deep breath. “Sorry he’s such an idiot.”

“Not your fault.” Rick shrugged. “He was just teasing us.”

“What’s going on?” Carol asked. The woman was looking at them across the table with a questioning quirk in her eyebrow.

Daryl’s gaze snapped towards her. “None of your concern,” he snarled.

Carol looked taken aback at his snippy response; it’d been weeks since Daryl had used that tone of voice with her. Her gaze flitted between the two men. Under the table, unseen by anyone, Rick slid his hand on Daryl’s thigh, hoping to calm him down.

“Nothing,” he said to Carol and smiled. “Just Merle being Merle.”

Carol nodded slowly, still watching them, and there was a growing something in her eyes. Rick knew, he just knew that the woman had a good idea what was going on.

“Sorry,” Daryl mumbled.

“It’s okay.” Carol gave him a small smile. “Don’t let him get to you. The man’s a handful.” Her gaze drifted over to Merle who’d stopped at the door to talk with Dean, and the look on her face was, well... affectionate probably would describe it best. Rick and Daryl saw the look, glanced at each other, a surprised huff almost escaping from the younger Dixon. What an...interesting turn of events, Rick thought.

There was something none of them noticed, however.

Ed saw that look, too.

Chapter Text

A couple of hours later they parked their car on one of the alleys off the main street. Three walkers took an interest but were no match for the Dixon brothers. 

They hit the pharmacy first, rummaged through the half-empty shelves, Merle digging deep in the prescription drugs, Paul quirking his eyebrow at something on the list Lori had shoved in his hand, Daryl picking up every last package of bandages and Band-Aids. Rick glanced at the list Carol had handed to him, sighed, and aimed for the feminine hygiene products. He stuffed his backpack with tampons and pads, and if he happened to slip a few tubes of lube into the side pocket on his way back to the others, well, it was none of anybody’s business.

Their next stop was the clothing store a bit further down across the street. An eerily quiet walker stumbled there among surprisingly well-stocked racks and shelves. Daryl put the lone creeper down without a comment. They spread out through the shop, each one with their lists, looking for warm clothes, socks, shirts, jeans – anything and everything.

Their bags were getting really heavy and they decided to drop the stuff to the car and head for the grocery store. The town was pretty untouched, really, with barely any smashed windows or cars crashed into buildings, and they had high hopes for the store.

They never even made it back to the car.

From behind the corner of the building, the sound of running footsteps preceded the noise of ragged breathing, and two strangers – a young woman and a young man – tore smack into Rick and Merle. The girl let out a muted scream, nearly fell in her haste to veer by them, to keep running away from them just like she was running away from something.

“Fuck, fuck, let me GO!” the guy snarled, panicky and scared out of his mind. Merle had gripped him tight, not having exactly appreciated the way the young man had slammed into him.

These young people obviously posed no threat to them. However…but Daryl got to it first.

“Whatcha running from?” Daryl demanded.

“The dead?” Paul prompted, frowning.

“The living!” the girl hissed, her face white with fear, her eyes blazing. “If you’re not with them, get the fuck off the street, they’ll kill you.”

“Or worse,” the man panted.

Rick flicked his hand towards the pharmacy, towards the alley where their car was, but Daryl raised his palm, his whole body still all of a sudden. If he’d been a dog, his ears would’ve been pricked up. Rick held his breath.

“Back, get back,” Daryl whispered, a tense urgency in his voice.

So, not the pharmacy and the car. Rick jerked his head towards the clothes store. “Run!” he said quietly, and then they were dashing towards the store.

Because now he heard it, too. The raucous laughter, the heavy boots stomping the ground, the voices – too many voices – of predators after their prey.

The shot came out of nowhere; the young man cried and stumbled, but didn’t fall. Paul grabbed his arm and dragged him along, the girl immediately by her companion’s side, supporting him, the grim line of her lips showing her determination.

Someone cackled, and Rick saw a glint of a rifle on the roof of a building just next to the pharmacy. Fuck, this isn’t good.

“Winged the boy!” the shooter whooped.

A bullet hit the ground inches from Rick’s foot. He just ran faster, hearing the shooter’s frustrated profanities echo on the street. Then they dove into the store, stopped to catch their breath, the young man dropping on the floor like a sack of potatoes. The wound looked like just a flesh wound, but it was bleeding heavily.

The store’s safety was questionable at best, however; Rick was still leaning his hands on his knees, panting heavily, when he started to give orders.

“You,” he puffed, completely winded, and jerked his head towards the girl, “take care of him. There’s bandages in Daryl’s bag.”

The archer wiggled the heavy bag from his back, walked over to the man and laid the bag there. The girl nodded and seemed to forget them the moment she turned her eyes on the guy, all her attention on him.

“Daryl, Merle, you watch the front. Paul, check for back doors. And everybody: try to figure out a way to get us out of here, okay? I didn’t like the sound of those people. I think they probably won’t let it go. They might surround us, attack us, try to starve us – just for the hell of it, and not because they’d need to.”

Rick didn’t like this at all. They didn’t have plenty of ammo; they’d also brought hardly any food with them as this was supposed to have been a simple run. They had a couple of sandwiches, a bottle of water each. If the people outside wanted to play cat and mouse, or stage a Battle of Helm’s Deep kind of siege/attack, Rick’s group wouldn’t last long. This was a clothing store for fuck’s sake, with everything that entailed: the front consisted of nothing but glass, and the furniture was mostly light mobile metal racks and shelves bolted to the walls – nothing they could efficiently hide behind or use to block the whole goddamned front wall.

And they had an injured person with them. He couldn’t exactly run, the poor guy had barely handled the dash of hundred yards just now, he’d probably used up all his adrenaline. They could leave him, of course; they didn’t know him, they didn’t owe him anything. The thought curled Rick’s upper lip and earned him a confused look from Daryl, who kept throwing glances at him as he was crouching behind a display of dresses.

Rick wasn’t yet ready to forget that he was supposed to protect people. They hadn’t abandoned Carol and Sophia to the mercy of Ed – Rick didn’t want to start abandoning people with these two, either.

He was still thinking of a way to get them all out of here alive, when Paul returned with a disgusted look on his face.

“Yeah there’s a back door,” he said even before Rick had asked anything. “But it’ll only be useful to them,” he nodded towards the street that wasn’t empty anymore. Men were trickling to the other side of the street, lurking behind cars and trash boxes. “The door’s not locked, it looks like someone took a hammer to the lock, it’s completely busted. The biggest problem is the van. It’s parked right into the door, so good luck with trying to move that thing from the inside. Not such a huge problem for the guys outside, though…”

Daryl gave a thoughtful grunt. Rick held the heavy Python in his hand but the familiar weight wasn’t as comforting as usually. He forced down thoughts about Carl, about his son losing his dad for the second time. Pushed away thoughts about his fledgling relationship with Daryl.

Merle said nothing; he scanned the street, slowly, non-stop. Merle was military, Rick suddenly remembered. He was a cop, Daryl was a hunter, Paul was… actually, Rick didn’t know what Paul was, except that he was clever. They should be able to work out a plan, shouldn’t they?

More men strolled on the other side of the street, staring at the shop windows. Nothing else, just staring. Like they were waiting for something.

“Thanks.”

The men turned to look at the girl, still kneeling by the young man. The man’s eyes were closed but he was breathing steadily, the wound was bandaged, there was even some color on his cheeks. The girl’s voice was quiet as she went on.

“I’m Maggie. This is my brother, Shawn. Thanks,” she said again and drew a stuttering breath. “Nobody helps anybody anymore…”

Merle snorted. “Nobody ever did,” he said harshly, like a knee-jerk reaction.

Maggie shook her head. “You’re wrong, people do help, even if it’s for selfish reasons. We’re pack animals deep down. And after hundreds of years of sort-of civilization, I’d thought…”

“You’d thought what?” Rick prompted as the girl grew silent.

She looked up at him, and Rick realized he might have to re-evaluate this young woman. She’d been panicking when he’d first bumped into her. However, he’d also seen the look on her face outside as she was helping her brother; he’d seen how focussed she’d been, taking care of his wound. Now he saw the piercing eyes, the cool, calculating, assessing look she directed first at Rick, then at each man, one after another. This young woman was nobody’s fool.

“I’ve done Social Studies at college. I’ve done World History. I know how people act. And yet…” She jerked her head, frustrated. “...it was all theoretical. Also, there’s never been an outbreak of zombies before, so there’s that.” She quirked her mouth, but the ghost of a smile vanished in a microsecond. “I never would’ve guessed how quickly all of it would turn to shit. How fast civilized behavior would vanish, and people would turn...Like, I said we’re pack animals, but people turned to just animals. Back to predators and prey. And it’s been, what, less than two months!”

Rick felt a momentary burst of tenderness towards the girl. She was smart, no doubt about it, probably even wise. But her age was showing, and Rick’s almost forty years were showing as well. Her eyes still held the shocked realization that her ideals and book knowledge didn’t reflect the way the world was. There was none of that left in Rick’s gaze, or Merle’s, or Daryl’s, or even Paul’s. Rick’s heart lurched as he understood that Carl would probably still have that idealism as well, and he didn’t want to consider just how fast that would turn into the same kind of shocked, almost affronted look Maggie now had on her face.

Daryl’s voice jolted him out of his thoughts.

“Something’s happening.”

Even Shawn stirred, wanting to get up and take a look, and he leaned on Maggie as they all took cover behind flimsy racks full of t-shirts and jeans. Merle and Daryl grouched by the window displays, rifles pointed at the strangers.

A man sauntered from behind an abandoned SUV. Rick did not like the look of him, all smirking and smug and so fucking sure of the upper hand of his invincible group. These men weren’t the cautious, skillful wolf hunting a full-grown moose; they were the entitled cat toying with a wounded mouse.

And somehow, they were more dangerous for it.

“Let’s not waste our time here,” the man hollered, “y’all know you ain’t gonna get outta there alive unless we let you. You put your guns down an’ listen carefully, an’ nobody’s gotta die here.”

Daryl snorted. Rick felt like rolling his eyes. Did the man think they were born yesterday?

“You give us the girl an’ your guns an’ we’ll call it even,” the man went on. A guy approached him with a few quick steps and whispered something in his ear. The man smirked. “Let me rephrase that. You give us your guns, the girl, an’ the two pretty boys, and the rest of you can go your merry way.”

Merle obviously couldn’t resist. “You might wanna tell us who you mean by pretty boys unless you want us to arrange a beauty contest! We’re all goddamn catches here!”

The man outside cackled. “The guy with the girl. The one with the long hair. Them we can use. Nobody ever would’ve guessed just how boring the end of the world can get. We need all the entertainment we can find.”

“Feel flattered yet, pretty boy?” Merle drawled at Paul.

“You’d think. But not so much, no.” The words and the tone were the usual Paul: unflappable, somewhat sarcastic. He couldn’t hide the way his face blanched, though. The guy was brave, not indestructible.

Maggie let out a long sigh. Rick interrupted her before she even opened her mouth.

“We’re not handing you over, obviously.”

“Nothing obvious about it, man.” That was Shawn. “You don’t know us. We’re not part of your group. We’d...get it, if you gave us to them. Maybe they’d negotiate about your friend…” He threw an uncertain look at Paul.

“Nah, they won’t.” Daryl shook his head.

Merle piped up, “They would or they wouldn’t, no way of knowing, an’ I ain’t amenable to countin’ on the word of that guy,” he nodded towards the street, and promptly destroyed any good impression he might have given to Maggie and Shawn, “an’ anyway, we need more pretty people in our own group.” The leer was vintage Merle.

“Fuck off, Merle,” Daryl snarled at the same time as Rick snapped at Merle, “Shut up, you’re scaring them. This isn’t the time for your stupid jokes.” Surprisingly enough, Merle did shut his mouth after Rick’s chastising.

Rick turned his gaze to the siblings. “If we survive this, you’ll have plenty of time to get familiar with Merle’s so-called sense of humor. But first, we have to get out of here. Any ideas, anyone?”

The man outside was shouting again. “We’re waiting…! Don’t make us come over there. Make no mistake, we’ll get what we want. It’s up to you how much you need to hurt before that happens. ‘Cause we-”

Rapid bursts of gunfire cut into the threats; it was almost comical how the heads of two dozen men swiveled as one towards the sound. Daryl cocked his head, frowning, raised an eyebrow at Merle who nodded.

“One gun,” Daryl muttered. “An’ it ain’t one of theirs.”

The men on the street looked worried, surprised, angry. The leader was pointing towards the sounds, waving his arm, barking orders. Half of the men started running west where the sounds were still coming in sets of two and three. The rest of them remained but their focus was shattered. Rick wondered if this was their one chance to break out, this monumental piece of good luck.

“Paul, Merle, I need you to-” he started, but a thump and a screech somewhere from the back of the store interrupted him. Then a sound of heavy, hasty strides approached. Rick’s heart stopped for a horrible second. So it had been just a ruse, the gunshots...something to lure them into a false sense of hope and make them less alert of what might be going on behind the shop’s backdoor.

Daryl still kept his eyes on the street, watchful as ever; the others had turned their guns on the door leading to the shop’s storage area. The steps stopped, nobody tried to open the door.

“Don’t shoot!” It was a hurried voice – a deep, male voice. “We got the door open, we got, like, maybe a minute before they figure out what’s goin’ on! Please don’t shoot me, guys, I’m openin’ the door…” The handle lowered slowly.

“Throw your weapon on the floor first,” Rick commanded. “Keep your hands where we can see them and move slowly.”

The door cracked open, a barrel of a rifle lowered to the floor and the weapon was pushed forward. Then they saw two palms, forearms, a dusty boot...the man had taken Rick’s order to heart and moved at a snail’s pace.

“Okay, come in,” Merle barked, “we ain’t got the whole day.”

The man stepped inside. He was dark-skinned, bald, burly bordering on overweight, and he oozed nervousness. It was obvious the guy was not used to any of this. His hands were up and they trembled.

“Look, I know y’all got no reason to trust me,” he rushed out, “but ya gotta anyway. Those people, they’re bad. We’ve been here a while, stayed off their radar, but we know, man, we know… We were just gonna leave today, but then Glenn saw them,” he nodded at Maggie and Shawn. “He saw what happened on the street. We figured you didn’t deserve it, so…”

“That’s your people shooting out there?” Paul asked.

“Yeah, that’s Glenn. We figured that’ll pique their interest. Get a few guys off the street, go check what’s goin’ on. I got the van away from the backdoor, and our car is waitin’ a coupla blocks north.”

Rick made the decision. They had nothing to lose. They were completely out of options as long as they remained stuck inside. They had no conceivable plan, no chance to truly stop the bad guys from storming the shop. They’d all die – or wish they did.

“Lead the way,” he said, ignoring the startled looks from his people. Nobody questioned the decision, though; they picked up their bags and Paul grabbed hold of Shawn. The stranger cast a hesitant glance at Rick, then at his rifle, and Rick nodded. The man picked it up and led them through the storage area, down the short maintenance corridor.

“I’m Theodore, by the way. Everyone calls me T-Dog, though,” the man said as they hurried towards the door. He was sort of babbling, halfway between the terrified ‘oh fuck they’re gonna shoot me dead’ and the relieved ‘oh thank fuck they didn’t shoot me dead’.

“Introductions can wait, don’t you think?” Rick reminded him, the tone of his voice gentle in spite of the tense situation. It was second nature to him, to try to ‘control the crowds’ so to speak, to keep the emotions from getting out of hand. If this T-Dog was for real, he was about to save their lives, and it would surely help the process if T-Dog were to be able to compose himself. 

Daryl wiggled past T-Dog and Rick and reached the door first. He’d given his rifle to Maggie and now had the crossbow ready. He glanced at Rick and nodded at the door; T-Dog started to push the door open, slowly. Daryl peeked out, drew his head back and whispered, “Wait.” He slipped out, quick and quiet.

Rick heard a low growl behind his back, almost infrasonic, the sound waves rumbling on his body. Merle wasn’t loving that his brother was out there, alone.

Rick didn’t much care for it either, but either he trusted Daryl’s abilities and his judgment, or he didn’t. And what was the point of anything if he didn’t trust Daryl?

The seconds ticked on. The gunshots they heard now weren’t like before, they were from several weapons. They had no way of knowing if that Glenn person was still involved. T-Dog’s eyes were wide and worried.

Daryl came back, he pushed the door open, his voice gravelly and tense.

“We’re good. T-Dog, do your thing.”

T-Dog led them along backstreets, across alleys, over a small footbridge. They kept silent the whole time, frantically listening to the shots still echoing in the town. Less than fifteen minutes later, T-Dog slowed down and stopped altogether. Shawn was close to passing out, his bandage was red with fresh blood. Paul tightened his grip on the young man.

There was a small park with a cafe. T-Dog’s head kept turning, he kept checking the area, and the others took their cue from him. Everybody held their breaths.

“The car’s behind the cafe,” T-Dog finally said. He cast a glance at Rick. “Don’t make us regret this, ok?” He probably tried to sound badass, but it came out as a plea.

If this wasn’t some convoluted trap, this was proof that there were still a few remarkably good people around, Rick thought. Maggie might get some of her faith back…

They were closing in on the building when they heard the light pounding of running feet. Daryl’s crossbow was aimed at the oncoming person so fast Rick didn’t even see him move. The runner was a young man, his face sweaty and pinched. “T-Dog,” the guy whisper-shouted, “we gotta go!” He slided to a stop in front of them, brushed back his black hair, gave a lightning-quick grin to the others. “Didn’t really think you’d trust us enough.”

“Why bother then?” Merle snorted.

The guy shrugged. “That gang, we don’t like them. We felt like throwing a wrench in their plans. Not that you guys didn’t look mighty cozy lurking in the shop…” Paul chuckled at the kid’s sarcastic tone. “...but I thought we’d give you other options.” He started to walk behind the cafe and the others followed. The kid kept chattering. “You probably had a car. My advice: forget about it. At least as long as those guys have the run of the town. We’ll get you out of here…”

They turned around the corner and the guy stopped talking as they approached an old white-ish/beige-ish RV. The door opened and an elderly man, probably in his sixties with his dark eyebrows a stark contrast to his white facial hair, came out with a rifle in his hand.

“Everything okay?” the man asked, eyeing Rick’s group like a particularly suspicious hawk.

“We’re good,” the young man said. “My shooting invited a coupla dozen dead ones so the thugs should be busy for a few more minutes. We gotta go now, though. They’ve probably noticed the shop’s empty by now.”

The old man grunted and turned his eyes on Rick’s people. “You got a leader?”

Rick gave a slow nod. “My name’s Rick. Thank you for the help. If there’s anything we can do…”

“You can get in and not make us regret this,” the old man snapped and got back inside.

The young man grinned sheepishly. “Not a fan of the plan.”

“Going against coupla dozen killers an’ rapists for a bunch of people you have no real idea aren’t the same sort of folk...Gee, I wonder why he’s no fan,” Daryl said rolling his eyes.

The guy chuckled.

In a minute, they were all more or less seated in the RV. The old man was behind the wheel, rolling the lumbering vehicle slowly out of the city, in the opposite direction of the gang’s last known whereabouts. The young guy sat sideways beside him, looking back at the others.

“I’m Glenn, by the way. This is Dale,” he pointed at the driver who gave yet another grunt. Maybe Dale had a naturally surly personality, but Rick had noticed a few looks Dale had cast at T-Dog and Glenn – especially at Glenn. The boy was young enough to almost be his grand-son, and the looks had carried an awful lot of affection. Dale was worried for his tiny group, worried for his almost-grand-son, and that made him snappy. Rick could hardly blame the man.

“Pleased to meet you,” Paul said, and introduced their group.

When Rick heard Maggie tell her whole name – Maggie Greene – his head snapped up. He saw the others pay attention to the last name as well. Shawn frowned. “What?”

“You’re from the Greene farm?” Rick wanted to verify the information. “Your father’s a vet?”

The siblings nodded. Their eyes were wary again.

Rick glanced at his group. Merle lifted an eyebrow, Daryl and Paul nodded.

“The name Dean Walsh mean anything to you?” he asked.

Shawn blinked. “Yeah...there’s a Walsh farm fifteen miles from us. You know them?”

“We’re staying there. Dean mentioned you, your dad having medical training of sorts, y’know. We were going to contact you at some point. I guess we got to that point sooner than we thought.” Rick’s smile was grim.

“Hey,” Maggie cut in, but she was addressing Dale, not Rick. “Could you drop us off here?”

They were outside of town, maybe five miles into the main road, in the middle of a batch of fields.

“Here?” Glenn frowned. “Why?”

“We’ll take the shortcut home,” she said. “My brother… the wound needs to be taken care of. It’d take a long time by road, and I’m sorry but this RV is a risk, it’s so visible and slow, and we can’t take the risk of those people following this thing to our home.”

Rick looked at Glenn. The young man shrugged. “It might’ve taken them some time to get to their cars. And that’s if they really wanted to find you. And even so, they wouldn’t have known about us, or which direction we took. But,” the boy talked to the Greenes, “it’s up to you. Of course we’ll drop you off here if that’s what you want.”

Maggie smiled at the boy, and the smile transformed her whole face. Rick smiled to himself; the poor boy looked like he’d been struck by lightning.

The Greenes trundled across the field; the RV stayed put for a few more minutes, the group watching the two figures.

“So, where can we take you?” T-Dog asked. He seemed relaxed now, kind, good-natured, not so frowny and sulky and tense.

“We should get off the main road,” Paul said. It took Rick a few seconds to get his meaning, but yeah, a good plan. They shouldn’t try to reach the farm by the straightest route, just in case the townsfolk were looking for them.

Dale, T-Dog and Glenn started asking more details about the route, and suddenly the RV was full of chatter. Rick happened to look at Merle; the man was sulking on the bench, resolutely staring outside. As bad luck would have it, also Glenn noticed it and let out a cheery, “What’s eating you up, man?”

It was like watching a train wreck. Rick guessed it the second Glenn’s words were out that this wasn’t going to be pretty.

Merle curled his upper lip. “The hell this world is comin’ to? Ain’t enough with the dead walkin’, nooooo, now we’re bein’ hauled around the county by an old geezer, some goddamn Chinaman, an’ a fuckin’ ni-”

“Shut the fuck up.” Rick’s voice was ice-cold. He should’ve seen this coming. Merle was a homophobe – that he was also a racist and a bigot shouldn’t have been a surprise. Collect the whole set!

Merle sneered at him; his sneer turned to an annoyed huff as Daryl cuffed him upside the head. “Shut up,” Daryl ordered, too. “I don’t wanna end up walking the whole way back to the farm so keep your fuckin’ thoughts to yourself, okay?” He glanced at the others. “Sorry for my idiot brother.”

Dale’s bushy eyebrows were knitted together, T-Dog just looked bored and annoyed.

“You don’t share your brother’s sentiments?” Glenn asked, his gaze flicking between Daryl and Merle.

“Ain’t never thought about it much,” Daryl muttered. “The way I see it, the world’s got just two kinds of people: the ones I trust, and the rest. An’ the first list is pretty goddamn short. The other stuff…I couldn’t care less, man. Chinaman, frickin’ alien, black, purple...I don’t care.”

“Well ain’t you the tolerant one,” snapped Dale.

Daryl glared at him, his defences up. “The fuck d’you think I am, some fuckin’ hippie? People are shitty creatures. It’s just...a few of them are not so bad, and a few of those few I even trust. The rest can go to hell for all I care.”

Glenn was chuckling. “I like you,” he declared with all the buoyancy of a person in his early twenties, optimism not yet sullied by the dead not staying dead and the alive ones being assholes. “Also, not a Chinaman,” he pointed at himself. “Korean.”

Daryl glared at him somewhat less fiercely. “Whatever,” he mumbled.

Rick wondered if the others noticed the faintest pink tinge of color on Daryl’s cheeks. It was fuckin’ cute, the way the rough Dixon tended to blush so easily.

And he remembered the way Daryl’s face had flushed last night...and ordered himself to stop being a love-sick fool. This was not the time to remember the sound of Daryl’s low moans, the feel of his blunt fingers on Rick’s skin, the taste of Daryl’s--

Rick cleared his throat. “We should get going,” he said. Paul gave him a curious glance. Rick’s cheeks were burning. Jesus, he hadn’t been like this in a very, very long time…

Dale started the RV and Paul gave him directions for a roundabout route to the farm.

An hour later, the vehicle trundled to a stop at the house. There was nobody in sight. Dean had mentioned they were going to have a family outing that afternoon. In Dean-speak it meant that everybody was helping with cleaning the sheds and barns. He was going to take the twins along, the kids would have fun falling down on piles of hay. Probably even Carl and Sophia would indulge themselves, even though they were certainly big enough to help with the actual cleaning. There was most likely enough chatter and giggling in there that they hadn’t heard them come, especially as the old RV was actually pretty decent with the engine noise.

Ed was probably at the back of the house, Rick knew there were some problematic gutters there. Carol had scheduled a bake-off, contestants: one. At breakfast, she’d had an almost dreamy look on her face as she’d described and planned all the things she’d have time to prepare when the house would be completely empty of all distractions. And the stern look she’d cast had not been at the giggling toddlers, it had been at the guilty-looking Carl and the even more guilty-looking Shane – both notorious for their sweet-tooth.

When Dale had turned off the engine, T-Dog smiled at Rick. “Nice place you got here.”

It could’ve come off as a threat. Oh, you got a good thing here – give it to us or we’ll just take it! But it didn’t, it was just a polite observation, casual small-talk. That decided it for Rick.

“Come inside,” he said. “I’m sure the others would like to meet you. It’s been a month with just us, it’d be nice to have visitors. Carol’s baking today, there’s bound to be fresh bread or muffins or something.”

Merle rolled his eyes at the invitation but wisely said nothing. Paul nodded, Daryl gave a half-shrug.

Glenn grinned. “Sure, we’d love to come.” 

“You had me at muffins,” T-Dog quipped. 

Only Dale still looked mistrustful, but Rick didn’t mind. He understood. Even in the good ol’ days, marching into a house full of armed strangers in the middle of nowhere merited some consideration, and these were far from good ol’ days. This world was like Rick had stepped into one of the more ridiculous scifi-fantasy-horror movies he’d sometimes liked to numb his work-weary brain with. So he had no problem with Dale’s glares. They just proved the man had a firm grip on this here reality.

They were still a few dozen steps from the house when Daryl stopped dead. “Shut up,” he hissed at the others who had been chatting about nothing in particular. Slowly slipping the belt over his head he took out the crossbow, staring hard at the house, looking for all the world like a guard dog who’d just heard a suspicious sound. Rick turned his gaze towards the house, too.

And then they all heard it. The screams, muffled and broken as if something was blocking the sounds. Then one scream, louder and clearer than the previous ones.

“Stop! STOP! Help! Please don’t...please!”

Rick knew that voice. He was running to the house before he’d even made a conscious decision. It didn’t surprise him that Daryl, Merle and Paul were right by his side. He spared no thought to the other three, they weren’t his people. But the one screaming, that one was.

Chapter Text

They ran inside, as quiet as they could. They didn’t know what they were up against; making noise was an even worse idea than usually.

Daryl glanced at Rick, waiting for his directions. Not that Daryl had any problem going at whatever this was on his own, but they did have kind of a team nowadays, and Daryl had watched enough action movies to know how fuckin’ fast things could unravel when people got creative in all the wrong ways. Clarity, teamwork, and plans – that was just more efficient, and during these past weeks Daryl had found out to his immense surprise that he valued efficiency more than he valued his untouchable, irritated, lonely independence. Efficiency was safer for their people, and Daryl still woke up every morning flummoxed by the realization that he now had his people.

Some time last night, he’d briefly woken up, arms full of a softly snoring Grimes, only to bury his nose in Rick’s neck, his palm securely against Rick’s chest, the steady thump-thump-thump of Rick’s heart lulling him back to sleep. Yeah, Daryl would do nothing to risk what he now had.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the three newcomers enter the foyer. They had enough sense to follow Rick’s lead and keep their mouths shut and steps light. The house was completely silent for a few seconds. Daryl saw Rick lift his arm like he was about to give them orders-

-and then it started again, somewhere on the second floor, towards the east wing. Rick’s arm snapped down, ordering them to stay put. He twirled around, hissed his instructions to them all.

“You three,” he pointed at Dale’s group, “keep the staircase clear. Nothing gets past you, understand?” He looked at the others and jerked his head towards the second floor.

All this had taken less than five seconds. It took another three to get to the stairs, and the whole time they heard the NO and the PLEASE, the yelps of pain when a fist hit its target, and the closer they got, the clearer the noises were – the sounds of tearing fabric, of struggling bodies, the angry growls, the SHUT UP, the GOT THIS COMIN’, the YA AIN’T NOBODY’S BITCH BUT MINE.

Somebody would die soon. Daryl would see to it. His crossbow was already cocked and loaded.  During the few heartbeats when they stopped and saw what was happening, he had ample time to fantasize the damage the bolt would do, ripping through flesh and muscle and blood vessels.

Time stood still, the picture immovable like a sick, twisted painting. The second-floor corridor, all soft colors, comfortably worn wooden floors, bright wall lights. On the floor, lying on her back, clothes torn to shreds, almost naked, skin scratched, eyes hopeless and terrified, Carol still kept fighting Ed, pushing at him with all her meager strength. The man was kneeling over her between her legs, smacking her, his jeans lowered, his white ass bouncing in the rhythm of the punches.

Several things happened at the exact same moment.

Rick yelled “ED STOP!”, and Daryl raised his crossbow and took aim. The sound he heard right behind him was Paul flicking off the safety of his handgun. Ed froze and half-turned to look at them; it was obvious he hadn’t heard them come. And Carol...Carol smiled, hope and relief replacing desperation on her face. It broke Daryl’s heart a little, to realize he wasn’t the only one whose life had taken a drastic turn for the better, all because of a fucking apocalypse. They both now had people they could rely on.

Daryl averted his eyes, though. He’d liked the hope he’d seen on her face, but other than that, Carol didn’t deserve to be seen like that. Naked, helpless, humiliated.

Half a heartbeat later, one thing drowned out everything else.

An almost inhuman roar rattled the pictures on the walls, resonated on the crossbow in Daryl’s hands, vibrated under the soles of their boots, made Ed flinch in horror and Carol’s eyes grow wide.

The next second, Ed went flying smack into the wall and crumbled on the floor, the realization of impending death evident on his face. He didn’t whimper or beg; Merle’s fury was a tidal wave, and even the stupidest person knew not to beg mercy from a force of nature.

Ed Peletier was no more.

Carol still lied on the floor. Everything had happened so fast. Now she turned on her side, stared at the broken body of his husband, and Daryl had trouble reading her expression. She just looked, didn’t try to cover herself up. It was as if she’d forgotten she only wore the tattered remains of a t-shirt, and underpants that had been ripped open on one hip.

Daryl felt sick. For a moment, he hoped magic was real and they could resurrect Ed so that Daryl could kill him again.

“He dead?” Just in case, y’know. He’d use his knife, the one with the wicked curve. Make it real slow. 

But Merle nodded, so that was it. He didn’t move, he was still standing by the wall with the bloody knife in his hand, the one he’d used to slice Ed’s throat and then stab him in the head.

“Thank you.” Carol’s words could barely be heard, the whisper was feather-soft.

Quiet as they were, her words got them all moving. Rick vanished into the nearest bedroom and returned a few seconds later carrying a blanket. Daryl put down his weapon and followed Rick to Carol. Merle crouched down, and gently, like he was holding a newborn baby, helped Carol up, and the others covered her in the warm blanket. Daryl heard, as if from a great distance, Paul’s voice at the top of the stairs telling the others not to let anyone come up under any circumstances. Clever, he thought, his mind slow and foggy, still trying to come to grips with what had happened, what could have happened.

He heard worried voices outside, then inside – looked like Dean and the others had finally heard the noises. Merle’s shout, probably. Daryl was furious at them. How could they have let this happen? Why had Carol kept crying for help and nobody had paid attention to it? How could they have let Ed stay so close to Carol, alone?

The woman Merle was now carrying to her room was tiny and fragile and kind, and they should’ve protected her, and Daryl was angry, he wanted to blame someone.

Rick put his arm around Daryl’s shoulder, and Daryl was in no state of mind to consider how that touch might look to Carol or Paul. They stood at the doorway as Merle laid Carol down on her bed and covered her with another blanket. Rick’s touch drained Daryl’s fury and only now did he notice he’d been trembling, muscles straining and tense. Rick’s thumb made small circles on his shoulder, and Daryl let out a shuddering sigh.

He knew his anger was irrational. The others hadn’t been far, could’ve heard her screams if the kids hadn’t been making their usual racket. Ed had behaved for weeks, this hadn’t been the first time Carol and Ed had been alone-ish for short periods of time, and this would’ve been just another short one if Ed hadn’t lost his mind. Something must’ve triggered him. Daryl didn’t know what it had been, and frankly didn’t much care either. Nothing justified Ed’s behavior.

“What’s going on up there an’ who the fuck are these people?”

Paul’s calm words answered Shane’s belligerent tone. “We’ve got this covered. Just stay there for one more minute, okay? Rick’s coming down any second.”

Paul glanced at them; Rick had already let go of Daryl and was heading towards the stairs. Daryl took one last look at his brother and Carol. Merle was sitting on the edge of her bed, holding her hand, telling her about their trip to the town, his voice gruff and the vocabulary most certainly not suitable for civilized company. Daryl would’ve frowned at it, questioned the style of Merle’s bedside manner, if he hadn’t seen the small quirk of Carol’s mouth and the way her face seemed to relax as Merle went on with his embellished story.

Daryl shrugged and turned to follow Rick. Merle was a bigot and a racist and a damn fine fighter and he had a protective streak a mile wide; he was a snarly beast and he had a godawful sense of humor and he was loyal and seemed to know exactly how to take care of Carol. He seemed to know how to make her smile after what had just happened.

One of these days Daryl would get whiplash. Merle wasn’t easy to pin down on the scale of good and bad.

*

Rick was standing on the second step at the foot of the stairs by the time Daryl caught up with him. Rick didn’t step down, he used the small elevation to strengthen his authority which was a smart move, Daryl thought, ‘cause Shane wasn’t taking the situation well. Dean, as the actual master of the house, stood by his brother’s side, his head slightly cocked to the side, watching quietly. Daryl had seen that look when they’d first arrived. He wondered if Glenn, Dale and T-Dog had any idea how thoroughly they were being evaluated at the moment.

The three men still guarded the staircase. T-Dog threw a glance at Rick and he nodded. The men parted like the fricking Red Sea. Rick still didn’t descend the final steps.

“Look,” he started in a calm voice, “there’s a situation upstairs and we couldn’t take the risk of letting anybody else there until we knew what it was about, and when we did find out, it was crucial to restrict the access.”

Rick sounded like the cop he was. Daryl snorted to himself. But then, Shane was one, too, and it was obvious he heard all the things Rick had carefully left unsaid. Actually, the only one who wasn’t used to cop-talk was Sophia, which was what Rick had intended. Daryl noticed Carl start, frown, look around him; Daryl saw the boy realize there were people missing from the scene, and the boy took a step closer to his unsuspecting friend who was still simply staring at the three newcomers with wide, curious eyes, somewhat worried about the strange situation but without the smallest idea that it had anything to do with her.

Rick went on. “These are Dale, Glenn and T-Dog, and we met them in the town. They saved us, actually, but we can go into that later. They’re good people, that’s all we need to know right now. And Dean, we also met a few of the Greene family back there. More about that later, too. Lori, Carl, Sophia... could you please show our guests to the living room. Sophia, you could maybe make some coffee. Dean, Shane, follow me upstairs, okay.”

Those were commands, veiled in the polite but authoritative tone of Rick’s calm drawl. He waited until Lori had led their guests deeper into the house before he turned around to ascend the stairs. Daryl followed him with the two men trailing behind him. Paul nodded to the brothers when they reached the second floor but no-one said a word, not even when they stopped in the corridor by Ed’s body. Daryl glanced at the newcomers. Dean looked vaguely sick; Shane’s eyes roamed the body, taking in the gory gash in the throat, the blood, the puncture in Ed’s temple. Daryl figured he was checking for bites or scratches, anything walker-related.

He heard a quiet murmur from Carol’s room, recognized the wheezy sound of his brother. Daryl looked at Rick and saw him looking right back. For a few heartbeats, that was all they did: rested their eyes on each other. A tiny lull in what had turned out to be such a hellish day.

Finally, Shane opened his mouth, not to ask “what happened” or “who did this” but, “What did he do?”

The murmur in Carol’s room had stopped. They were listening.

“He was forcing himself on Carol. He was beating her within an inch of her life when we heard her shouting for help,” Rick replied.

“Is she ok?” Dean asked.

Merle appeared at the door. “She’s resting.”

Dean frowned, worried. “But is she-”

He got no further. Carol was now standing by Merle, her thick bathrobe tightly wrapped around her. She was pale and her face was shadowed by bruises and her shoulders were hunched, but her voice was calm. “I’m alive, so I’m ok. My friends saved me and he won’t bother me anymore.”

She didn’t even look at Ed, she just gave the faintest smile to Rick, to Merle, to Daryl, to Paul. It was a poor excuse for a smile, but it was one nevertheless. Daryl liked her, she was a fighter deep down, and Daryl promised himself he’d start teaching her so that she’d never again be helpless. There would always be people like Ed in this world, unfortunately.

“Who…” Shane started, and Merle guessed the question.

“I took care of him,” he grunted. He jutted his jaw at Shane as if waiting for a condemnation of some sort, but none was coming. Shane nodded and grunted back, “Good.”

Paul cleared his throat. “We should clean the corridor. We can’t… I mean, people sleep here, and Sophia can’t see this.”

“Sophia…” Carol whispered. “I need to talk to her. Where is she?”

“Downstairs with the others,” Daryl told her. “Nobody down there knows what’s goin’ on.” He turned his gaze to Rick. “How d’you wanna do this?”

Rick thought for a few moments. “Paul, Shane, you take care of the body. Dean, you clean the corridor. Daryl, you get Sophia.” Nobody moved yet; Rick wasn’t done yet. He addressed Carol. “You need privacy with Sophia and you can’t be here until this is cleaned up. How about one of the empty bedrooms in the west wing? The one by the twins’ room? Daryl can escort her there and shield her from looking at the east corridor.”

Carol nodded and stuffed her hands into the deep pockets of the robe. She hesitated, took a look at her outfit. “I need to change,” she said quietly. “Sophia can’t see me like this.”

“Do you need help?” Rick asked. “I could get Lori-”

“No.” She shook her head. “I’ll manage.” She straightened her shoulders as best as she could, ignoring the bruises on her body. She took a deep breath. “Merle…” The man snapped his gaze to her. “...you want to stay by the door while I change? I’d feel safer.”

Daryl saw it, the effort it took from her to form the words to ask for help. She still didn’t seem to be all that great at that – the believing in getting help. Rick had told him about their discussion at the motel, and it had only been a few weeks. Daryl knew firsthand how hard it was to get that all people weren’t shit. How hard it was to realize you could actually trust someone. He’d had a head start with Rick, the few extra weeks before the world fell into chaos.

Merle huffed a sound that meant “you didn’t even need to ask”, and Carol vanished back into her room. Rick asked Merle to bring Carol to the guest room when she was ready, and then Daryl walked downstairs with him. Daryl didn’t envy Rick’s task of telling others what had happened, he much preferred to go talk to Sophia who was still in the kitchen making coffee, taking out cups and setting a plate of muffins on the table. He didn’t bother to make up a cover story; he just told her that her mother wanted to talk to her, there’d been an accident in the bedroom wing where they all were staying so he’d show her to another room upstairs. The girl wasn’t stupid, her life had made her extra sensitive, and the words accident and mother in the same sentence made her swallow, and she looked like she was on the verge of asking questions. Daryl shook his head to stop her. “Nuh-uh. Your mom is probably waitin’ for ya already.”

Rick waited for them to leave; he couldn’t start with the story before Sophia was well out of earshot.

*

It was kinda sad, Daryl thought a few hours later, that a person had just died and nobody missed him. He looked at the people at the dinner table, the three new men and their old group, and it was like Ed had never existed. Sophia’s eyes were red-rimmed, but it was pretty obvious it was just from the shock of it, not from any real mourning. The girl clung to her mother. Daryl didn’t know how much Carol had told her, but Sophia had probably witnessed all too much at home. Carol’s bruises told a story Sophia could read fluently.

Daryl knew enough, firsthand, of the kinds of dads nobody really missed after they were gone.

Chapter Text

Even though Dale kept glaring at people, the three men were a welcome addition. After a light dinner, everybody stayed in the living room late into the night swapping stories about how everybody had ended up where they now were, in Dean’s house. Even though the day had been horrible, and Rick had to tell about the incident with the townsfolk, and Carol still was pale and drawn, it was nevertheless kind of cozy. They even managed to laugh a few times – Glenn especially had a knack for storytelling – and Rick was glad to see a few fleeting smiles on Carol’s face.

Rick lounged on the couch by Daryl’s side, their arms brushing against each other from time to time. He was watching his people. It was weird that a run that had gone so horribly wrong had gone pretty damn great at the same time. He should be suspicious of these new people, he was sure of it, but he couldn’t find an iota of distrust within himself. Glenn’s face was too open, T-Dog’s smiles too wide, Dale’s scowls too genuine, and Rick’s wary cop senses slumbered peacefully.

Dean invited the newcomers to stay the night. “You can park your RV behind the house. I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not inviting you to sleep in the house. We don’t know you that well yet.”

“That’s alright,” Glenn said quickly. “We get it. We’re not looking for-” He bit his lip and cast a swift glance at his group. “Well… we are. Looking for a place to stay. Looking for a bigger group. Y’know, a bigger group of good people, not like the ones today. But we get it,” he repeated. “Just…” Another hesitant glance.

Rick sat up straighter. “Trust me, Glenn, we get it. We’re not opposed to making our group larger if we find the right sort of people. You saved us today, so that’s a good start. But this is Dean’s house so it’s his rules. For tonight, maybe some nights to come, you’ll stay in the RV. If everything goes well, and you’d like to stay, and we’d like you to stay...well then, we’ll see how it goes, alright?”

Soon after, everybody went to bed. It had been quite the day, after all, and everyone was exhausted. Rick was glad they’d showered before dinner; now, Rick barely had the energy to take off his boots. He crawled on his bed, trying to wriggle out of his clothes at the same time. Daryl snorted.

“Ya better keep your day job. A contortionist you ain’t, that’s for damn sure.”

Rick grinned at him, and wiggled out of his clothes. All of his clothes. Daryl’s hands had frozen on the buttons of his shirt, his gaze dragging over Rick’s naked body, slow and cautious, as if Daryl wasn’t really sure he was allowed to do that.

Rick saw it so clearly: last night hadn’t convinced the archer that they were really a thing now.

“Come here,” he said and his voice was soft and kind. Daryl didn’t need lusty whispers now, he needed to know what Rick felt. He needed to start trusting in this. And they both needed the comfort of being close to one another. Rick found peace with Daryl like with no-one else, and he liked to think it was the same for the hunter. He wanted that peace; he wanted the feel of Daryl’s warm skin, he wanted to be close to the steady thump of his heart. He wanted to drown in Daryl’s scent, he wanted to be blinded by the starbursts Daryl’s kisses triggered in his eyes. He wanted-

Daryl cleared his throat. There was a flush on his cheeks as he went on with taking his shirt off. “Ya ain’t too tired?”

Rick moved a little, crawled under the duvet and rested his head on the pillow, pointedly leaving just enough space on the other side of the bed for Daryl. “Yeah, I’m tired. Not too tired to want you close to me, though. Never too tired for that.”

The last words had slipped out, just like that. Never. That was...hopefully it wasn’t too much for Daryl? Rick hadn’t realized how much he meant it before it was out there. Never. He didn’t want to ever be far from the grouchy hunter. 

Daryl undressed and climbed into the bed. His movements were slow and uncertain. Rick took a deep breath. But no more words came out. It had happened so fast; the last 24 hours had changed everything between them, and no amount of words would make Daryl suddenly all mellow. Especially not after a day like this. There would be other days for Rick to tell this man how very much in love with him he was. And then he would repeat it with words, with kisses, with gentle deeds, as long as it would take for Daryl to really believe it.

“Never?” Daryl vibrated with warmth and strength, and the dim light of the bedside lamp cast soft shadows on his face and framed the line of his neck and shoulder. The question had come out nervous but determined.

“I kinda think so, yeah,” Rick said, a little nervous himself as he hadn’t thought Daryl truly would pick up on the word. Maybe Rick had interpreted this wrong, after all. Maybe all Daryl wanted was a tumble between the sheets every now and then. Maybe-

“Fine by me.”

And the hunter inched closer, wrapped his arm around Rick, nuzzled his neck, ran his mouth over the jawline and slotted their lips together. Rick forgot altogether that he was tired; dozens of giddy little bubbles whirled in his heart, and his lips curled in a happy smile against Daryl’s.

It started out so gentle. The way Daryl pressed close to Rick, the way his arm wound around him told Rick louder than words that Daryl understood all the layers of ‘never’. There was a forever in there, somewhere, and Rick vowed to himself that this time, he would not give up, would not let the flames be smothered by the daily humdrum.

Daryl was so warm, his mouth so eager, his hard cock scorching as it rubbed against Rick’s. Waves of want surged through Rick, and all rational thought evaporated. They’d have plenty of time to talk about feelings in the morning. Now, all Rick wanted was to get Daryl even closer.

Rick’s palm glided down Daryl’s back, fingertips bumping on the damaged skin. Daryl’s kisses paused for a second; Rick’s hand kept caressing him, scars and all, and the hunter sighed into Rick’s mouth, broke the awkward pause by nipping him on the lip and rocking his hips down tentatively. Rick let out a soft groan.

“Ya wanna fuck me?” Daryl mumbled, his lips touching Rick’s.

“If that’s okay?”

Daryl rolled his hips again, let a few inches between their faces and looked carefully at Rick. “You seemed to like it.”

That wasn’t really an answer.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Rick said, trying to force some blood into his brain. He had to have his wits about him for this discussion. “There’s no law that says we gotta take turns. We do what we want to do, nothing else.”

“I know.” Daryl’s hand glided down Rick’s belly, his blunt nails scratched the sensitive skin on Rick’s groin and Rick shivered. “I’m curious. I wanna know what it feels like. You, inside of me.”

A low moan escaped Rick; it was unbearably hot to hear Daryl say stuff like that.

However, he felt it was only fair to warn him. “It can hurt a little.”

“I hurt you?” Daryl’s fingertips had been so close to Rick’s cock; they stopped in their tracks. He sounded mortified.

Rick brushed Daryl’s cheek. “You did everything right, darling.” Daryl’s eyes grew wide at the endearment. “And the pain…it was nothing. It passed quickly, and there’s so much…other stuff to feel, the small discomfort…it was nothing,” Rick repeated. “We just go slow, just as slow as yesterday.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Daryl still wasn’t reassured that he hadn’t messed up.

“It wasn’t important, that’s why,” Rick said, still caressing Daryl’s face. “It was small, and fleeting, and everything else felt so, so good. I only mentioned it now because we’re, y’know, still learning this stuff, together.”

Daryl chewed on this for a second.

“But you liked it?” he wanted to make sure.

Rick smiled. “I really did. I loved it. You felt amazing inside of me, Daryl. I can only hope you’ll like it as much as I did – the way I’ll feel inside of you.”

The hunter relaxed, obviously deciding to trust Rick with this as well as with everything else. He wrapped his fingers around Rick’s cock and slid his fist in slow, torturous strokes up and down the hard cock a few times. He grinned.

“Ya could pound nails with this thing.”

“Just gonna pound you,” Rick muttered, all the meager amount of blood in his brain rushing back south once again.

Daryl chuckled and let go of him, and trailed his hand up, around Rick’s waist. Rick gripped his shoulder and pushed him down.

“Turn around.”

And Daryl did, but not without first taking out the lube from the drawer of their bedside table and tossing the tube to Rick.

Rick kissed him on the shoulder blade, right on the sprawling angel/demon tattoo. He glided his tongue over the dark lines, then over the harsh thick scar spanning over Daryl’s whole back. He didn’t want to think of the circumstances that had created the violent mark, he only wanted to assure the hunter that Rick wasn’t flinching from Daryl’s imperfections. The man had tensed up as Rick’s lips had touched the scar, but little by little, Daryl relaxed. By the time Rick had thoroughly kissed the broad twin scars, edging closer to the dip on his lower back, Daryl was whimpering and bucking his hips. Rick huffed a chuckle, pleased because he’d made Daryl feel good, hard because touching this man did things to him, and he shivered from the anticipation of what he was planning on doing.

He bit Daryl on the cheek of his butt – a light nip, but it got a reaction out of the hunter. His hips bucked and a surprised “What!” burst out of him, muffled by the pillow he’d buried his head in.

Rick’s palms were steady by the sides of Daryl’s hips, holding him still. He gave Daryl’s firm cheek an open-mouthed kiss; he licked and nipped at the skin; he pressed a slow, lingering kiss on Daryl’s tailbone, on the top of the cleft.

Daryl let out a low moan, and his body seemed to have a hard time staying put.

Rick smiled to himself and ran his tongue along the slick, well-kissed skin down, all the way down to Daryl’s thigh, and then he started kissing the top-most part where the thigh met the butt, where the skin was sensitive at the fold of the juncture, and his nose bumped lightly on the crack of Daryl’s butt.

The hunter almost jumped up. He peered over his shoulder. “Jesus, Rick, whatcha doin’?” The words came out breathless and husky, and they were most definitely not a no. Not a Rick, stop.

And even if Rick wasn’t such an expert on the tones of Daryl’s voice these days, there was also the little matter of Daryl’s legs jerking apart, making room for Rick. And now Daryl sounded just a bit awkward, the second “Jesus, Rick…” so self-conscious, reacting to the eagerness of his own body.

Rick squeezed the cheeks gently, saw the soft hair, the tiny, tiny opening.

He was famished.

He cleared his throat. “Can I?” He almost didn’t recognize his own voice.

“Mmhm.” The hunter had buried his head back in the pillow; his hips twitched reflexively, his legs spread out another inch.

Rick licked his index finger and brushed over the tight pucker, again and again, mesmerized by the feel of the furled skin, by the sight of the hole reacting to his touch. Daryl breathed in short, uneven pants that stopped altogether for a moment when Rick touched him with his tongue instead, gave wet kisses to his balls, lapped the sensitive perineum, spread out his butt-cheeks and ran the flat of his tongue to Daryl’s hole.

Somewhere at the back of his mind, Rick knew he should’ve been repulsed by the idea of it. But he’d got it in his head that he wanted to try this, and now that his tongue was flicking over the crinkled skin of Daryl’s hole, all he could feel was want. Daryl’s body was moving, shuddering, undulating; the noises Daryl was making, the unabashed moans and grunts were filling Rick’s head. Daryl tasted earthy and clean, and, and… Oh Jesus Lord, Rick was doing this to Daryl, making him let out all those noises, making the restrained hunter lose his control… Rick’s breath hitched, his whole body trembled, he was losing control, for fuck’s sake…

He pushed the tip of his tongue against the tiny pucker. The muscle yielded, and it was like Rick couldn’t get enough, he pushed inside, his index finger rubbing the tight muscle, the rim getting puffier and slicker with every lick and suck and brush. Daryl was moaning, and Rick thought he might be losing his mind, getting lost fucking Daryl’s ass with his tongue, never wanting to stop because how could he when Daryl sounded like that?

He slipped a finger alongside his tongue, and Daryl made room for him, inside of his body…

…Rick had to stop, or he’d come before he could bury his cock in that delicious ass, and that just could not happen.

He fumbled for the lube with his other hand, slicked his fingers, relished the tight heat, looked in wonder at his fingers slowly pumping in and out.

“Ya gonna fuck me anytime soon?” Daryl growled, his ass pushing against Rick’s hand, his tone ordering and begging at the same time.

Rick lathered his cock with the lube; Daryl was so fucking tight, Rick didn’t want to hurt him. Slowly, his cock pushed into Daryl’s body. He couldn’t tear his gaze from the damn sight of it, every nerve ending screaming as the hot, vice-like channel surrounded him. He listened to the ragged breathing, he was hyperfocussed on every little sound, every minute hint that Daryl might be hurting.

He leaned slowly over Daryl until their skins touched. Rick pressed his lips on Daryl’s shoulder.

“You good?” he whispered.

Daryl grunted. Rick sensed the strong muscles on his back move, his ass push against Rick – that was Daryl’s reply. Rick  squeezed his eyes shut for a second. Jesus Lord, Daryl’s ass felt amazing. He sucked the skin on Daryl’s neck and rolled his hips – out, and in. A stuttered whimper, half-muffled in the pillow, reached his ears.

There was no pain in that sound.

Rick rolled his hips again, and again, and every whimper, every moan, every “Fuck, Rick!” made him lose control just a bit more. His teeth sank into the muscle on Daryl’s shoulder, his vision turned white and blood-red at Daryl’s helpless gasp, and the last of his restraint vanished as Daryl bucked against him and growled “Harder!"

There was not a single conscious thought left in Rick’s brain at that moment. The sound of that growl, the feel of Daryl under him, surrounding him, fizzled out all the words, and only sensations remained – fiery and wild.

Rick pounded into Daryl – he hang onto Daryl’s body, his mouth still latched onto Daryl’s skin, his ears full of nothing but the sound of their gasps, the scratch of Daryl’s nails on the sheets, the faint squeak of the bed.

His hips stuttered, his muscles tensed and burned; the sweet, sweet grip on his cock overwhelmed him, and later, he would drowsily tell Daryl he’d probably blacked out a little.

But now, he moaned into Daryl’s shoulder, a long rumbling sound. Daryl groaned a strangled “Fuck”, his body jerked once, twice…

…and for a moment, everything went quiet.

Rick thought he should move. Maybe. But Daryl felt so, so nice; it was so, so nice just to stay here. On Daryl. In Daryl.

He should move, though. He was squishing his lover, surely. Just…it was surprisingly hard to make his muscles do his bidding.

“Rick?”

Judging by Daryl’s drowsy voice, the man was just as thoroughly relaxed as Rick was.

“Yeah?”

“Ya wanna move?”

Rick chuckled. He pulled his cock out slowly and rolled to Daryl’s side. The man watched him under his lashes. His short bangs were stuck on his forehead. Rick wanted to brush them aside but good Lord, his muscles weighed a ton. He managed a smile; Daryl answered with a lazy grin.

“So…did you like it?” The words barely out of his mouth, Rick groaned inside. “Did you like it?” What a lame question. Next, he’d be biting his nail or twirling a finger in his curls like a coy teenager.

“Not bad for a first time.” Daryl chewed on his lower lip as if he was thinking really hard. “Gotta try a second time, though. We gotta test this thing, y’know, real proper. You’re all for science, right? Them scientific methods are all about experimentin’, like, a lot of experimentin’?”

Now Daryl’s grin was wide and relaxed, the glint of his wolfish canine doing things to Rick’s body.

Daryl lifted his hand and brushed Rick’s cheek – rough and gentle, just like the man himself. His gaze had grown more serious and he looked like he had something on the tip of his tongue…but nothing came out, he just swallowed and his fingertips rested on Rick’s jaw.

Rick dared to hope that the things Daryl maybe-perhaps was feeling were the same as Rick’s.

In time, they’d say the words, he was sure of it. Right now, this was enough.

Chapter Text

Daryl woke up groggy from deep sleep, confused about what had dragged him out of unconsciousness. Rick was still sleeping, nuzzling into Daryl’s neck, his arm tightening around Daryl’s waist.

He heard the sound again, something thumping against the building… No, someone knocking at the front door, cautious but insistent.

He opened his eyes, but there was nothing to see, it was still pitch black outside. He glanced at the clock on the bedside table.

2:55.

The hell?

Daryl heard a door open, muffled sounds from the corridor, the voice of his brother wheezing an annoyed curse, growling out a low warning. 

Merle had been the night watch. He wasn’t one to get worked up over nothing.

Daryl nudged Rick.

“What?” The word was barely recognizable, just a sleepy jumble of letters.

“Someone’s at the door,” he hissed, fumbled at the table lamp and hit the switch.

Rick blinked a bleary eye at the soft light. It took a few seconds for the words to penetrate the haze of sleep. Then he jerked up. “What?” he said again, alert this time.

Now there were more doors opened, more low voices asking what was going on. The men rolled off the bed, threw on their clothes, grabbed the Python and the crossbow and the knives, and hurried out to the corridor, down the stairs, and were met by a befuddled group of pajama-clad people with guns in their hands. Only the twins seemed to be sleeping through it all – even Carol stood there gripping a small pistol with white-knuckled, uncertain fingers. They’d had the good sense to not switch on the lights; only the small table lamp by the stairs was on as usual, so whoever was outside probably had no idea that the welcome committee was already gathering in full force.

Daryl threw a glance at Merle, and the brothers moved in tandem, taking positions on both sides of the door. Rick exchanged a few quiet words with Dean and Shane, then turned towards Daryl. At that moment, they heard a familiar voice through the sturdy door.

“Is Rick there? Or…or Daryl? Or…” The voice grew quieter for a second, as if the person had turned aside to ask someone. “...Merle?”

Another voice added. “It’s Shawn an’ Maggie. Remember us?”

Then a third voice cleared its throat. “If there’s someone listening, this is Hershel Greene. I believe you’ve met my son and daughter earlier today…I’m afraid we need your help once again.”

Daryl was watching Rick. He looked indecisive for a moment, stared at the floor chewing on his lip. Then he nodded as if to himself, squared his shoulders and looked up, straight at Daryl. He tilted his head slightly, and there was a question there. Daryl gave an infinitesimal nod, got another one back, unlocked the door and, with Merle backing him up with his gun, opened it.

Five haggard-looking people were staring at them. Daryl recognized Maggie and Shawn, and guessed the older man with the white bushy eyebrows was Hershel, the head of the household, the vet they’d been talking about. There was a young girl with eyes wide and scared, and an older woman leaning on Shawn’s arm. Daryl wondered if maybe she was their mother.

Daryl felt Rick’s hand on his shoulder and stepped aside. Rick moved between him and Merle. He nodded at Maggie and Shawn and took a long look at Hershel, at his white hair, his ruddy complexion, his joyless eyes.

“Why are you here?” Rick asked, his tone steady and calm.

Daryl would’ve growled ‘What the fuck you’re doin’ makin’ a goddamned noise in the middle of the fuckin’ night?’, but of course Rick would be borderline polite even in the middle of the fucking zombie uprising, in the middle of the night after only two hours of sleep, after being woken up by a bunch of relative strangers breaching their safe zone.

Maggie took a step forward and the faint light from the hallway hit on the bruises on her pale face, the dirt, the scratches, the way she was shivering in her simple hoodie which wasn’t at all sufficient for the chill of the fall night.

“Remember the guys in that town? Seems one of them remembered us.”

Daryl lowered the crossbow. “They came for you.” It wasn’t a question. 

Maggie’s gaze drifted over to him. “Yeah, they did.” Her voice was strained, her head held up high like the posture was all that was keeping her together. Her dad threw a worried look at her.

“Maggie thought of you,” he said, turning to Rick. “I’m not too proud to admit that I did not know what to do when…” The man closed his eyes for a second, his upright back slouching just a tiny bit. “We don’t want to intrude, but-”

Daryl glanced at Rick. This could mean trouble. If Rick were to ask his opinion, would he give a nod or… His eyes took an involuntary jerk towards Carol. Back then, he hadn’t been much interested in helping out random strangers – truth be told, he’d only gone along with it because he’d trusted Rick. He’d trusted the man after only a few weeks of knowing him, and he’d known he was screwed ‘cause he’d known he’d follow the guy anywhere. Rick had gotten under his skin like no-one else ever had.

So yeah, he probably would’ve left the Peletiers to their own devices if not for Rick. But now – he looked back at the Greenes – it was different somehow. He felt the faint stirs of actually wanting to help. Not like in that town, in the heat of the moment. No, this was more deliberate, and Daryl noticed he had a hard time thinking of reasons not to take these people in, even though it might bring along danger.

So, when Rick cast that particular look his way, Daryl gave the second nod.

The Greenes trundled inside. Dean led them to the long dinner table; Lori checked the window shades and then lit a few candles. Carol went to make tea, and Paul took an assessing look at the visitors and vanished to fetch disinfectant and bandages. Daryl stood guard by the windows, watching the eldest Greene take a seat.

Hershel put his elbows on the table and leaned his head on his palms. Maggie sat down beside him and put her hand on his shoulder. “Dad..?”

“I’m fine, sweetheart,” Hershel said with a grave voice. “Don’t you worry about me.” He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms and lifted his gaze to Rick and Dean who were sitting opposite of him.

Rick’s arms were resting on the table, his index finger tapping a slow rhythm. Daryl only saw his profile, but he knew how sharp the look in those sapphire blue eyes could be.

“What happened?”

Maggie and Shawn had barely reached home when a dozen men from the town had appeared on their doorstep, pissed off and vindictive. The Greenes had put up a good fight, and in the end they’d driven off the remaining aggressors.

But not every Greene had been victorious. The list of names of the fallen family members was a long one. Hershel struggled to utter the names, and the woman – Patricia, who wasn’t the kids’ mom as Daryl learned that night – burst out crying. Names floated in the still silence of the room, affecting even those who had not known them. The young girl sobbed quietly, tears flowing freely on her cheeks and splashing on the table. Shawn’s gaze was dull and hopeless; he tried to comfort the young girl but looked like he was in dire need of being comforted himself.

Daryl felt a painful twist in his heart. He wasn’t comfortable facing all these wild, raw emotions. But ever since this thing that was building up speed between him and Rick, his walls had lowered and he felt for the Greene family, damnit! He shifted his grip on the crossbow and glowered at the innocent weapon. Then he took a deep breath and concentrated on the story again.

The Greenes had ran. Their cars had been damaged during the fight, stray bullets hitting the vehicles. They’d packed a few hasty backpacks, grabbed the guns with barely any bullets left in them, and rushed over the fields to the woods. They knew the group would come back, even more furious this time around. They weren’t going to wait for them. With hurried whispers, Maggie had told her dad about their encounter with Rick. It had been her idea to try to ask for their help.

Rick tilted his head, watching Maggie, and the young woman looked torn between awkward and defiant.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” she blurted out. “You guys seemed capable enough. And anyway, we’re not here just to beg for help.” She jutted a belligerent jaw. “Those people might be looking for you, too, so heads up about that.”

The silence following these words was heavy, the faces surrounding the table grave, and Daryl couldn’t help but let out an angry grunt. What a goddamned shitshow. As if the growly dead ones weren’t a problem enough…

A cautious rap on the front door disturbed his irritated thoughts and made everyone sit a bit straighter and grip their guns a little harder.

“Daryl, Merle, Shane-” Rick hissed, and they didn’t need more instructions. Rick and Paul covered the dining room doorway while the other three secured the front door.

Yet again, they heard a familiar voice. “Everything okay in there? Rick? Daryl?”

Daryl huffed and yanked the door open. “A fat lot of help you’d’ve been if we’d been attacked,” he grumbled at Glenn.

Dale frowned. “We figured that since there wasn’t any shooting, it wasn’t about a fight.”

“So you’re just nosy?” Okay, so he’d had two hours of sleep, he’d been ripped out of the comfortable bed, off the warmth of Rick’s body, and there’d been fuckin’ feelings about the Greene family and everything – so he was a bit grouchy, sue him.

“Daryl…” That was Rick, touching his arm. Daryl huffed again and lowered his crossbow. 

“Come in,” Rick went on, “you should know about this as well, it concerns you too.”

Soon enough, there were even more worried faces around the table. Daryl kept patrolling from window to window while Merle did the same on the second floor. The hunter didn’t say anything but he observed. The smooth drawl Rick used whenever he wanted to keep things calm. The quiet words of Hershel, wavering every now and then as grief tried to overwhelm him. The intense tone and blazing eyes of Shane. The almost nonchalant way Paul was leaning on the wall, arms crossed, alert, throwing in a question or a suggestion every so often.

And Glenn, slouching in his chair, flicking at his lip with his thumb, his leg bouncing fast, as if the boy was nervous…

…no, not nervous. Daryl focussed on the young man, narrowed his eyes and really looked.

Glenn wasn’t nervous. He was itching to do something, and his eyes darted from Rick to Hershel to Maggie… And then Daryl got it. The boy wanted to say something but he was too uncertain of his standing in this group that had suddenly got even bigger.

Rick rubbed his eyes. “We all need some sleep,” he said in a decisive tone and stood up. “Dean, we still have spare rooms, don’t we? We’ll keep two guards at all times, two hour shifts – Paul and Shane, you’ll take the first watch, me an’ Daryl, we’ll take the next one. After breakfast, I want to go through this again. Daryl, Merle, Paul, Hershel, Maggie – meet me in Dean’s den. Shane, Dean, Shawn, everyone else – you need to keep watch while we plan. We can’t let our guard down for a single second.”

Daryl’s gaze was still on Glenn. The boy was biting his lip now, a mask of indecision on his face. Everybody was getting up, retreating to their rooms, Dean leading the Greenes to the spare rooms. Daryl glanced at Rick. The man looked tired and extremely pissed off, letting his true feelings show now that he didn’t need to radiate unflappable leadership every damn second. Daryl almost snorted but thought better of it. That young girl – Beth – was still within earshot. She’d probably take it the wrong way, someone cackling only hours after most of her family had been killed.

Paul, Carol and Carl were still milling about, and Glenn lingered, dragging his feet, obviously torn between following T-Dog and Dale back to their RV and wanting to say something. Finally Rick met Daryl’s gaze and the hunter gave a minute flick of the head towards the young man. Rick lifted a curious eyebrow but didn’t hesitate – he strode quickly around the table, caught up with Glenn and tilted his head like a wordless question. Daryl wanted to know what the everloving fuck had made the boy so jittery, so he muttered “Wait” to Rick, shooed the other stragglers upstairs and strolled to Rick and Glenn.

“Spill,” he ordered the wide-eyed young man.

Glenn blinked. He stuffed his hands in his pockets. Good Lord how young he looks, Daryl thought and for a moment considered easing up on the scowls. But then he thought about another young person, that kid, Beth, with her limp arms and huge eyes filled with tears. Now was not the time to go easy on anyone who might have an idea how to solve the problem with the townsfolk.

“Glenn, out with it,” he rumbled. “I know ya got something on your mind. Tell us, or stop fidgetin’ an’ let us get back to bed.”

Rick let out a small sigh. “Yeah, Glenn. Talk, please. If you have any information, any idea, anything at all…”

Glenn cleared his throat, shifted the weight from one foot to the other. “D’you got anything against going on the offensive?”

Well, shit. Not that Daryl did, of course. It just wasn’t what he’d expected to hear from the kid who was barely out of his teens.

“What gave you the impression that we might have something against it?” Rick asked. 

Damn, he sounded so worn out. Daryl felt a sudden need to protect the man, to pretty much carry him to bed and make people stop wanting to talk with him for one goddamned second. Let the man sleep, for fuck’s sake!

He must’ve given Glenn some A+ level glares because the kid started to talk so fast the words kept bumping into each other. As Daryl was an expert in interpreting vague tracks in the woods, he had no problem parsing through Glenn’s excited/bashful jumble of words.

The gist of it, it seemed, was that Glenn had flitted around the town like a ghost-bunny for a week. He’d taken it upon himself to find safe shops, track creeper crowds, generally sniff around like some sort of a scout on an enemy territory. Which was pretty accurate, considerin’ the state of the world, Daryl huffed to himself.

Glenn was fast and stealthy; Dale didn’t like what Glenn did but neither Dale nor T-Dog were exactly built for nimble speed, and they did need the information and the supplies. So, Glenn had scouted around, and three days before they met Rick, he’d found a group of people, thirty strong, mainly men with heavy weaponry and a vicious attitude.

“Didn’t take me long to decide I wanted nothing to do with them.” He shrugged and shook his head, disgusted at the memory of what he’d witnessed. “That’s why I was so quick to help you guys. I mean, you stopped to help two complete strangers. Lemme tell ya, that group didn’t do anything like that…”

He told them about the group’s lair, the high school where they’d set up shop. They were strong, but they were also discreet which was why Maggie and Shawn hadn’t had any idea about them.

After he’d blurted out his story, Glenn looked at them. “Could we use this?” he breathed out, anxious and hopeful.

Daryl was already busy making plans, calculating their manpower, trying to remember just how many guns and how much ammo they had, and what else they could use. He glanced at Rick. The slightly glazed gaze and the small furrow on his forehead told him Rick was doing exactly the same thing. He nudged the man.

“Hey, stop it. Ya need sleep first.”

Rick snapped out of it so hard it was a wonder there was no twang. “Yeah… Glenn, breakfast at eight, planning starts eight thirty. Be there.”

For a second, the boy looked confused. Then, in a blink of an eye, it was as if he’d matured five years; his eyes grew sharp, his jaw tensed in a determined grit, and he gave a tight nod to Rick, turned around and left. His steps had a spring to them and his back was straighter than before.

Daryl and Rick watched him leave, then they trundled upstairs, kicked off their boots and fell into Daryl’s bed without bothering to take off any clothes. They’d be up soon enough anyway. Daryl thought he might have trouble getting sleep after all that had happened, but Rick wrapped his arms around him, gave a sleepy kiss on the corner of Daryl’s mouth, and Daryl was fast asleep.

Chapter Text

“It’s not safe to let Glenn go alone, not now, not when they’re so damn mad. I want to go with him,” Maggie insisted, and got into a heated quarrel with her father. Glenn, sitting at the table opposite of them, looked flustered at the sudden argument.

Daryl leaned on the wall with his arms crossed, watching Hershel demand that his daughter stopped saying such foolish things, and Maggie just as passionately demanding to know why it was a foolish thing to want to pitch in and help, especially as the whole thing had started out with Rick helping the Greenes in the first place.

If it were up to Daryl, he wouldn’t let Maggie leave his sight. He wouldn’t especially let her go anywhere near the townsfolk, not when there was that gleam in her eyes. Flinty sparks were crackling there, and it made him uneasy. Maggie wanted to throw her life away in a mindless revenge, that was her prerogative. But she wasn’t allowed to take anyone else down with her. And that was what worried him. First, the risk to Glenn, if Maggie did something stupid while they were scouting the group. Second, the risk to them all, if Maggie did something stupid and got caught while doing it.

He glanced at Rick who was leaning on the same wall, only inches between their arms. Rick met his gaze, shook his head with such a tiny movement that it was likely no-one else even noticed, and Daryl let out a soundless sigh of relief. Thank fuck, Rick had noticed the same thing about Maggie. 

“Maggie’s not going.”

The quarrel stopped. Rick hadn’t even raised his voice, his calm words penetrating the argument like a sharp dagger. The Greenes turned to look at him, Hershel with a relieved smile, Maggie with a betrayed face.

“Thank you, Rick,” Hershel said from his heart. “She can’t go, indeed, she’d just get herself killed-”

“Glenn’s life ain’t cheaper than hers,” Merle growled. Daryl was kinda proud of his brother.

“I didn’t mean…” Hershel said, frowning.

“I know you didn’t,” Rick assured him, then went on with a bit more steel in his voice. “I don’t want to put anyone’s life at risk – not Glenn’s, not Maggie’s either. That wasn’t the point. To put it bluntly: The reason I don’t want her to go is not because it risks her life. I don’t want her to go because it risks everyone else’s life.”

Maggie look affronted, opened her mouth in protest, but Rick lifted his hand and she bit down whatever words she’d been about to say.

“She’s angry and sad, and that is completely understandable. It’s just that angry and sad is a very bad mindset when you’re out there trailing after the people who’ve made you angry and sad. It makes you unpredictable, it makes you take unnecessary risks. We can’t allow that, not if we want to keep this group alive. I’m sorry, Maggie, but you have to sit this one out. There’ll be time for action – later.”

He turned his gaze to Glenn. “You’ll be going with Paul. He’s pretty fast on his feet, I think you’ll work well together.”

Paul nodded and gave a reassuring smile to the young man.

“We’ll keep an eye on those people for a day or two – let’s just pray we have a day or two. We don’t want them to catch us off guard.” Rick stepped to the table and leaned his hands on it, taking a long, hard look at everyone. “While Glenn and Paul find out everything there is to know about that group, Merle, you team up with Shane to check our weapons.”

Merle sneered, but Rick didn’t care. “You two can keep arguing later, right now we have other things to do, and you know it.”

Merle rolled his eyes and nodded.

“Dean, Daryl and I, we’ll plan for the worst case scenario: how we get our people to safety if we can’t beat the townsfolk like planned. Dale, T-Dog, Hershel, Maggie and Shawn will guard the house. Carol and Lori will focus on keeping Beth, Patricia and the kids calm.”

Rick straightened his back. “Glenn, Paul – you leave within an hour. We expect you back by nightfall. Don’t let us wait in vain, okay? Please, stay safe.”

Paul nodded again, winked at Daryl – the bastard, Daryl thought, but couldn’t help but huff a chuckle – and beckoned Glenn to follow him.

Hershel and Maggie hadn’t said a word during all this. Maggie still looked angry, hadn’t even glanced at her dad, but she nodded a goodbye to Glenn and Paul.

Merle snorted at the Greenes, slapped his hands on the armrests of the comfortable armchair he’d been sitting in and stood up. “Well, that was fuckin’ entertain’. I’ll go on my merry way an’ look for my new bestie Officer Walsh. I’ll bet he’s just itchin’ for cooperation with li’l ol’ me.”

“Don’t be difficult,” Rick said, his voice mild, almost amused.

Merle settled an outraged expression on his face. “Who, me? Never!” and stomped out of the room.

Daryl scowled at Maggie. “Stop mopin’,” he said. “Rick’s right. You wanna get yourself killed, do it later. Better yet, don’t get yourself killed at all. Not like your dad hasn’t lost enough people already.”

Maggie’s eyes flashed, and Daryl wondered if he should’ve picked his words more carefully. Or maybe he shouldn’t have left his crossbow in the corner of the den…

“Please, Maggie…” That was Hershel, and there was no argument in his voice anymore. It was the voice of a man who’d lost children, siblings, close friends only a few hours ago, and all fight left the young woman.

“Fine,” she said. She seemed to struggle with herself for a moment. Then she looked up at Rick. “Fine,” she said again. “I hate what you people said, but I think…I think I get it. Doesn’t mean I like it but I get it.”

She stood up. “I’m going to go see how Beth’s doing. I think it’s better if she’s with me even when I’m keeping watch. Patricia’s too devastated ‘cause of Otis, you know that dad, you should keep her company. That leaves just me and Shawn, and Shawn’s got his own watch duties.” She looked at Daryl and Rick again. “No offense to your people, it’s great if Lori and Carol can help, but we don’t really know them. And Beth…” She swallowed. “She’s kind of fragile.”

Hershel followed his daughter but she stopped with her hand on the door knob, and took one more look at Rick. “Don’t make me stay behind when we go after them. Please. I promise…I swear I won’t put anyone in danger. But I gotta be there.”

Rick gave her an assessing look but stayed silent. Daryl quirked his lip. “Do you even know how to do anything?”

“If by anything you mean use a gun, then yes.”

“She’s a good shot,” Hershel grudgingly admitted.

Daryl turned his head towards Rick and raised an eyebrow. Rick met his gaze and Daryl saw him take Maggie’s request seriously. Finally, he drew a long, slow breath and looked at Maggie.

“I will consider it. I’m not saying yes right now – but I’m not saying no, either. You get your anger down to a manageable level, and then…”

Maggie nodded, and the Greenes left the room.

“Good Lord…” Daryl muttered as they closed the door and took a few minutes just to themselves. “That lady… I ain’t sure if I should be scared of her or admire her.”

Rick flashed a tiny smile. “Both, I think. She’s one of the good ones, though. She’ll be ok. It’s up to us to keep her from doing anything too stupid before she’s ok.”

“Mmhm,” Daryl grunted and picked up his crossbow and strapped it on his back. “Wanna go find Dean? We better pray he knows of a goddamned cave or somethin’, just in case…”

Three days later

After it was all over, the drive back to Dean’s farm – back to home, like Daryl had slowly started to think of the place – was quiet. Rick had a vice-like grip on the steering wheel, the damaged skin angry red on his knuckles, the trickles of blood smudging the backs of his hands. In the backseat, Merle and Paul were, for once, both completely silent. Daryl had no idea what his brother was thinking, but one glance at Paul told him the man wasn’t doing too well. Paul wasn’t hurt, he wasn’t wounded, there were no bullet holes or knife slashes in him…but he was having a hard time coming to grips with all they’d had to do.

Not that Daryl could blame him. Merle might call all of them no-good pussies or bleeding-heart softies, but Daryl hoped they’d never need to do anything like that again. Springing on people like that, catching them with their pants down…

He wasn’t gonna lie, it’d been kinda satisfyin’, in a way, seeing the look in that leader’s eyes when he’d found out the hard way that the rest of the Greenes and Rick’s people weren’t just gonna wait around, beg for mercy an’ hope for the best.

Maggie and Shawn, though, they’d been vicious, and Rick had looked so grim, and Merle had cackled as he’d mowed them down, and Shane’s eyes had been so cold, and Daryl…he’d stopped thinking, figured these people were just another brand of walkers, and his hands had been steady as a rock as he’d used his deadly crossbow.

Now, though? Now he just felt filthy.

When the three cars stopped at the front yard and people started trundling inside, Daryl leaned on the car and lit a cigarette. He watched Glenn run behind a shrubbery, and by the sound of it, the boy was throwing up. Bleakly, Daryl wondered if the kid would do it again, tell them about where the townsfolk were staying, now that he knew how all this would feel.

Finally, it was just him and Rick outside. Well, except for T-Dog, Dale and Dean patrolling around the house like watchdogs. Just in case, y’know.

Rick slumped against the car. Their fingers were brushing against each other. Daryl thought “What the hell” and grabbed Rick’s hand, hesitated for a microsecond, then intertwined his fingers with Rick’s. 

Daryl wasn’t much of a hand-holder, at least he didn’t think he’d been but who knew now, what with Rick an’ all? Anyway, it felt good, and Rick squeezed his fingers gently, so maybe Rick liked it? Daryl was ridiculously in love, and, just this very morning, Rick kind of had told him he was too, so maybe this hand-holding shit was okay? Especially on a day like this.

Merle, Paul and Shane came back out to get the rest of the gear from the cars. They barely glanced at the two men. Shane, whose eyebrows had reached almost the top of his head when he’d first realized the changed relationship between Rick and Daryl two days ago, gave them a tight smile in passing. And the funny thing was that Daryl knew the smile was tight simply because of the shitshow that had been this day, and not because of, y’know, the gay stuff.

Rick squeezed his hand again and his voice was low. “Wanna get inside? I need a shower and a bite to eat. I’m guessing you do, too.”

Daryl let out a small huff. “Yeah…not really hungry but I guess we gotta eat something.” He didn’t get to say anything else; Carl was running out of the house, straight for his father.

The boy hugged his dad and peered at Daryl. “You ok, Daryl?”

“Mmhm.” 

Carl let go of Rick. “Dad, Daryl, come in. It’s weird in there.”

“What?” Rick frowned. 

Carl answered with an another question. “Are you going to tell me what happened exactly?”

“Nope.”

“Figured as much.” The boy nodded to himself. “Rated R for violence, right?”

“Something like that, yes.”

They entered the house and it didn’t take long to get what Carl had meant. The quiet was suffocating. Even the twins, playing with Sophia and their dolls at the foot of the stairs hardly dared to whisper – even two-year-olds sensed that something was wrong. Lori and Carol spoke in muted tones in the kitchen, quirking their eyebrows at the men, and Lori’s shoulders twitched up and down in a slightly frustrated question, and if there’d been a cartoon bubble over her head, it would’ve said, “What the hell Rick??!”

Daryl guessed Rick might’ve wanted to stop to talk with them, but the curious tension in the atmosphere seemed to affect him – it sure as hell affected Daryl, he’d probably jump out of his skin if someone so much as sneezed! – and Rick just shook his head at the women. He and Daryl moved around the house that had suddenly turned into a mansion of ghosts. 

Shane, Merle and Paul had gotten back and sat at the dining table, cleaning weapons, saying nothing at all, buried in their own thoughts. 

In the living room, Maggie was lying on the couch, her head in her dad’s lap. Hershel was brushing her hair with slow, even motions, while Maggie stared out of the large windows, her eyes completely dry, completely dead.

The door to the downstairs bathroom was open. They heard running water, they heard muffled sobs. Shawn was there, washing and washing his large hunting knife over and over again. His shirt was wet, but all the dark stains weren’t water.

Shivers ran down Daryl’s back. This was fuckin’ eerie, okay? He wasn’t one to brag about his studies (there wasn’t much to brag about) but he had been forced to sit through Macbeth at one point, and somewhere from the deep recesses of his memory sprang the echo of Lady Macbeth trying to clean her hands.

Out, damned spot; out, I say. 

Rick walked on. Daryl saw it in his face – that just like Daryl himself, the leader had been caught in the sticky web of a nightmare, a cesspool of delayed emotional responses. Daryl wasn’t the best with emotions, and he didn’t think he was any good with them “people skills”, but he’d bet good money that every single grown-up in the house was asking themselves the same questions: Was this what we were now? Was this what the world was now?

They’d climbed the stairs to the second floor. Sitting on the landing, arms curled up around his bent legs, Glenn had crammed himself between the wall, the railing and a huge potted ficus. They wouldn’t have even noticed him if not for the discreet sniffs.

Daryl didn’t miss the way Glenn quickly brushed the tears from his eyes and put on a brave face. The boy had had to grow up much too soon. What with his family an’ all, Daryl had had to do the same when he was even younger than Glenn. It didn’t bring him any pleasure, though, that the zombie disaster had forced others to stop being kids much, much too soon as well.

Rick crouched down in front of the young man. He didn’t say anything. Daryl figured Glenn wouldn’t want to hear clichéd you-did-goods or you’ll-be-fines. Anyone came at Daryl blathering well-meaning platitudes, he’d punch them in their damned throat. So, looked like once again Rick knew what to do – staying silent, simply putting his hand on Glenn’s knee and giving a gentle squeeze. Daryl wasn’t comfortable doing something like that, and anyhow, there was no room, what with the stupid ficus an’ all, so he settled for trying to look as compassionate as he possibly could. And it probably didn’t go too bad, seeing as the kid managed to give him a weak smile. Then Glenn nodded quickly to Rick, and the leader stood up, looked at Daryl and jerked his head towards the staircase.

“We’ll be in the living room,” he said looking at Daryl but, in reality, saying it for Glenn’s benefit.

Maybe Rick said it for all our benefit, Daryl thought as they slowly descended the stairs. He wasn’t much for philosophy or existential musings, but in the middle of today’s death, the undead state of the world, it brought just a little bit of comfort to think that there was still a room for the living in this house, and their new family was gathering in there. Keeping the life alive.

Chapter Text

After a week or so, the worst of it was over. People bounce back quickly when they realize there was no other choice. Paul and Glenn were planning a longer run, all the way to the outskirts of Atlanta. Not so much for the stuff but for the information. There were still no radio or TV broadcasts, they had electricity only because Dean’s farm had solar panels and a windmill, and – as Carl pointed out one day, surprising Daryl ‘cause he hadn’t thought about it at all – they hadn’t seen nor heard of a plane or a helicopter the whole time they’d been on the farm.

But maybe there’d be something close to a big city like Atlanta, even though it had burned? Not everybody could be a walker? The government couldn’t crumble like that, not in just a few months? 

This couldn’t be what was left of the civilization.

The benefits of organized society hadn’t been a subject Daryl had given too much thought to, before. Truth be told, if he just considered himself, he figured he’d manage well enough in the new reality, such as it was. But when he looked at Carl, Sophia, the twins… or Lori with her stealthy visits to the bathroom to throw up… or considered what would happen when the bullets truly ran out and there was no-one to make more, or the last of the antibiotics were taken, the last of the gas, or the last of the…whatever. The last of everything he’d taken for granted for so long.

He’d thought about the townsfolk a lot. The townsfolk was what happened when there was no organized police force anymore. He’d snorted to himself, thinking about the irony of it. Who knew there’d be a day when a Dixon kinda felt nostalgic towards the good ol’ days of “law an’ order”?

He was sitting on the roof of the largest barn. It had turned out to be a pretty decent place to keep watch. The weather hadn’t been too bad but, to the best of Daryl’s knowledge, it was October now, and the temperatures would start dropping sooner rather than later. For now, though, it was warm enough and Daryl still only wore his short-sleeved shirts and the leather vest Merle had given him (or, more like thrown at him) after a run couple of weeks ago. The vest had a pair of angel wings on them which were kind of corny, to be honest. But Rick had looked at him wearing the stupid vest, and his smile had been small and soft, and Daryl had thought what the hell, the walkers ain’t about to laugh at his wings, and Rick likes them, and Daryl didn’t really give a fuck about anyone else’s opinion.

He heard the squeak of the old ladder behind him; he heard Rick’s low “Hey”; he heard Rick’s steps as he made his way to where Daryl was sitting. Rick sat down behind Daryl, scooted closer with his long legs around Daryl. His chest against Daryl’s back, his arms around him, his chin resting on Daryl’s shoulder, his quiet “Hi” brushing Daryl’s ear.

Daryl let himself smile a little. It was funny to him, the way the more slender of the two held the more sturdy one. Truth be told, he didn’t really mind. It felt kinda nice, to be held like this, to feel Rick’s warmth and strength and (love, Daryl whispered to himself, still in awe that Rick loved him, loved him). 

They were silent, watching the wide open fields. Then Rick sighed.

“I just talked with Lori and Shane.”

Daryl grunted. He guessed what was coming.

“Lori’s pregnant.”

He’d been right. “Yeah?”

“You’re not surprised.”

“Not with the pukin’, no.”

Rick chuckled. “Yeah, Lori started early with Carl, too.”

“What d’you think?”

“I’m happy for them. And worried.” 

“We got Hershel,” Daryl said. A vet was better than nothing.

“Yeah. Still, can’t help but worry. I hope Paul and Glenn find something… I mean, how hard could it be to find a working hospital with a couple of surgeons and anesthesiologists and obstetricians…”

Rick aimed for a playful tone, but Daryl knew better. He just didn’t know what to say. They would hope for the best but Daryl had never been one to entertain idle optimism. Better to expect the worst – at least, then they’d be pleasantly surprised if things worked out well.

Rick’s arms tightened and Daryl leaned his head against Rick’s.

There was something he’d been meaning to talk about with Rick. Now was as good a time as any. Rather now than later when they were going to bed. They had kind of an unspoken rule about that. Going to bed was about kissing and touching and breathless words and hard banging and gentle lovemaking and all that relationship crap Daryl was tentatively starting to feel pretty damn good about.

Going to bed most certainly was not about the future of the goddamned world and the fate of their missmatched little family in it.

He tried to find just the right words but then thought better of it. Rick usually got him anyway, and if not, he asked questions.

“This place…it won’t be forever,” he said.

“I know.”

“Not that I think Dean’s gonna kick us out but…”

“I know.”

“We’re bound to find more people eventually, and then there won’t be enough space, and…”

“I know.”

“There’s really no fences to speak of… The house is fuckin’ indefensible if the bad guys get close enough, or if there’s a lot of walkers, like, a kind of a herd of something…”

“I know.”

“Winter’s comin’ and we’re good an’ cozy here but still, we gotta start lookin’ some place safer, easier to defend…”

“I know.”

“Ya know everything.” Daryl smiled even though he knew Rick couldn’t see it. Maybe he heard it in his voice.

“I’m good like that,” Rick joked.

They were silent for a beat.

“Do the others know?” Daryl wondered.

“Some do. Some don’t want to think about it before they have to.” Rick sighed. “We’ll wait for Paul and Glenn’s run, then we’ll know more. Hopefully.”

Something in Rick’s tone was off.

“You ok, Rick?” Daryl wiggled a little, turned half-way so that he could see Rick. His blue eyes were troubled.

“This whole thing, with everything that’s happened to our group…and then there’s Lori…and what if Paul and Glenn don’t find anything? I’m just worried, Daryl. Worried about our future.”

“This is the future, all the time, every second. Don’t look too far ahead, not like that... We plan what we can but other than that...we’ll just roll with the punches. It has worked out so far.” Daryl didn’t know where all those words came from. He just knew it, deep in his gut – that he had to be the counter-balance. They had to balance each other if they were going to make this work. And by this Daryl meant the relationship crap as well as keeping their weird group alive.

“You really believe that?” Rick held his gaze.

“Dunno how to do it any other way,” he shrugged.

Rick stared at him for a long moment. Then he chuckled, gave Daryl a quick kiss on the lips, and buried his face in Daryl’s neck.

Daryl sensed an indistinct rumble against his skin.

“I love you,” Rick mumbled.

Daryl hadn’t heard it often enough yet to get all blasé about it.

He’d always really, really liked Star Wars, though.

“I know,” Daryl said and grinned.

***THE END***