#Daryl Dixon x Rick Grimes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

twdsunshine · 2 years

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State Of Grace (One-Shot)

Summary: Song fic. State Of Grace by Taylor Swift. With the world around them falling apart, Rick and Daryl find a state of grace in each other.

Pairing: Rick Grimes x Daryl Dixon; past Rick Grimes x Lori Grimes

Warnings: Language, violence, implied smut

Word Count: 11,331

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Author’s Note: My first ever Rickyl fic! I know, right? It’s no secret that I’ve never really been a big shipper, and my love for this particular ship didn’t come from watching the show. Nope, I fell down a deeeeeep, dark AO3 rabbit hole where I discovered some of the most amazing Rickyl stories, and they just spoke to me and inspired me in a way that I was not expecting. The trust between these two, and the bond, and the way they can communicate without even speaking... It just lends itself to a good love story, it really does, so I thought I’d have a go at one of my own. If this isn’t your thing I totally get it, and feel free to ignore me. But, if you do like it, let me know, as I’ve got a few more ideas that I would love to work on if you’d love to read them. For now though, enjoy a little prison-era Rickyl romance... Happy reading!

*****

I'm walking fast through the traffic lights Busy streets and busy lives And all we know is touch and go

He’d been haunted by the dream for as long as he could remember. He would be walking through Atlanta, the way the city had been before, back when the dead stayed dead and the sidewalks were bustling with pedestrians, hurrying to and from work, laughing outside cafes and staring at their phones. He would never really know where he was going, just that he had to keep moving, putting one foot in front of the other, and then he’d see her, Lori, just a glimpse of her through the crowd.

“Lori! Wait up!” Of course, she wouldn’t be able to hear him over the roar of the traffic and the cacophony of conversation, and he’d try again - “Lori! Please!” - only to find that his throat was dry, and he couldn’t manage more than a husky croak.

He’d pick up his pace then, pushing through the sea of people, trying desperately to keep her in sight as she strolled along, eyes searching the throng for a glimpse of her familiar figure, shiny waves cascading down her back. His boots would slip and slide against the concrete beneath his feet, suddenly unable to gain any purchase on the ground, and he’d find himself running in place as she moved further and further from his reach. And then a cry would go up, panicked and shrill, and he’d hear a horrifying rasping moan and the sickening click-clacking of jaws, and he’d know: it had started. The walkers were here, and his urgency to get to her would turn into a sudden life-or-death despair. She didn’t know: didn’t know what they were; didn’t know how to fight them. He had to get to her, to protect her, and then his name would cut through the air, pained and afraid - “Rick!” - and his world would drop out from under him… He was too late. He was always too late.

The first time he’d had that nightmare had been at Morgan’s, back in King County. The other man had explained to him about the outbreak, about the corpses that roamed the streets, the way that life as they knew it had come to an end whilst he’d been comatose in his hospital bed, and all he’d been able to think about was his wife and son, somewhere out there, facing this new world without him. It had continued to plague him once he’d tracked them down, perhaps because of the persistent threat, or because, more and more, it had felt like Lori was slipping away from him, questioning his every move to the point that he had to wonder if she trusted him at all. It had followed him to the farm, only altering enough that the Lori he chased through his dream now had a swollen tummy, channelling his anxiety about the new life growing inside of his wife. And when she’d died in childbirth, it had become so frequent that he had gone months without being able to remember the last time he’d woken without the cry of her name on his lips.

When, exactly, it had shifted so that it wasn’t Lori that he was following through the streets but an unkempt redneck with a crossbow slung across his back, he wasn’t sure. He’d barely processed it at first, too caught up in the panic and the chase to really register the details, because everything else about the dream was so familiar, right down to the smell of exhaust fumes and fresh coffee. But, at some point, his wife’s slender frame had changed into broad shoulders and a strong back, a mop of dark, shaggy hair replacing her flowing chestnut locks, and he’d been able to pick out a pair of pale angel wings weaving through the masses, and suddenly he wasn’t fighting to get to the woman he loved anymore, but to keep up with the swaggering gait of Daryl Dixon.

But Daryl wasn’t afraid like Lori, his logical mind told him. Daryl was built for this world. He knew how to fight, how to kill if he needed to. He didn’t need anyone’s protection to ensure his survival. But, still, in his sleep, Rick would battle to reach him, and, more than once, he woke with the hunter’s name on the tip of his tongue and a desolating sense of loss deep in his chest.

We are alone with our changing minds We fall in love till it hurts or bleeds Or fades in time

Rick found himself watching Daryl more and more these days. Perhaps it was because of those dreams, the ones that woke him with a start, pulse racing and chest heaving as he fought to compose himself. Or perhaps it was because something about the other man brought him a sense of security. There was an air of strength about him as he moved about the prison grounds, patrolling the perimeter or shoring up the fences or standing watch up in the guard tower, a solid silhouette against an expanse of blue, with a wisp of cigarette smoke curling into the air above his head. He never seemed panicked or overwhelmed, adapting to whatever this new world threw his way without breaking his step. And Rick, with his overactive mind and the staggering weight of the responsibility he felt for the group, needed that, depended on the hunter’s quiet consistency to keep him going, fighting to get through another day.

And that was all it was, he told himself: dependence; alliance; two warriors who have fought side by side looking to one another in the aftermath of the battle, knowing the war is far from won. That was why he felt as if he could communicate with the archer without the need for words, why they seemed to fall into one another’s orbit so easily. It came down to survival tactics, something they’d developed for the good of their people. It was nothing more than that. It couldn’t be. Rick Grimes was a straight man. He was unprejudiced, saw nothing wrong with two men in a relationship or getting up to whatever else they might desire, but he’d loved his wife, truly, and he still loved her, he was sure. A part of him felt that he would grieve Lori and the marriage he’d lost until his dying day, so he couldn’t possibly have the space in his heart to feel anything for anybody else, and certainly not the surly bowman who had been so hostile and closed-off when they’d first met. No, Rick was a married man, just as much as he had been the day they’d said their vows, and there was nothing and nobody that could change that.

Except… Except that, sometimes, when Daryl laughed - which was an exquisite rarity in itself - Rick would find himself smiling, even if he hadn’t been close enough to hear the joke. And, when he ventured out on runs, Rick would feel a weight on his chest, constricting his lungs so that he couldn’t breathe right until he heard the familiar roar of the hunter’s motorcycle speeding towards the prison gates. And, when the group gathered together after darkness had fallen to play cards by candlelight, sometimes Rick would find himself distracted by the glow of the amber flames reflected in Daryl’s eyes. He’d lost so many hands because he’d been too embarrassed to admit that he’d zoned out and had no clue what was going on, and, occasionally, the other man would glance over at him with a small smirk quirking his lips and Rick would be sure that he knew, and that would have a warmth spreading through him that could almost be likened to desire. And, when he thought of his wife, as much as it still hurt and as much as he still missed her and mourned for what they’d had, his need for what she’d been to him seemed to be slowly fading away. He was learning to get by without her, and, if he was honest with himself, Daryl might just be the reason for that.

And I never saw you coming And I'll never be the same

“So, I’mma gonna take this road out, scout out the towns west of here. Reckon some’a the smaller places might not’a been raided yet. Far as I can tell, s’just farmin’ communities for miles. Might be able to scrounge up some ammo if nothin’ else.” Daryl was poring over the map spread out on Rick’s bunk, tracing the route he intended to take with the tip of his finger. Despite there being nearly a foot of space between their bodies, Rick had been forced to lean in to see what the hunter was showing him, so that the tops of their shoulders brushed, and he could smell the traces of cigarette smoke and summer rain that clung to the other man’s skin. He knew that he’d already been up and out at the crack of dawn, venturing into the forest to check the traps, and now he was readying himself to leave the safety of the fences once again. Rick swallowed hard around the lump in his throat, and, when Daryl glanced up at him, concerned by his lack of response, he nodded slowly, taking a moment to process the plan.

“Sounds good. I still don’t like ya headin’ out alone though.”

Daryl shrugged, folding the map away and tucking it in the back pocket of his threadbare jeans. “I’ll be fine.”

“Ya don’t know that. Anythin’ could happen, and we wouldn’t even know about it.”

“I can take care’a myself, Rick.”

Rick bowed his head at the bite to the hunter’s tone, knowing that he was nagging but unable to shake the worry that was curling through his gut. “I know ya can. I’m not questionin’ that. I… I just…”

“What?”

He turned away, pacing towards the back of his cell and bringing up a hand to rest against the smooth concrete, letting it cool the flush that he could feel stealing over him as Daryl’s stare burned into the top of his spine. “We can’t do this without you, none of us. The group… We depend on you. I depend on you.”

Daryl scoffed. “S’bullshit. Ya’d be just fine.”

The sheriff whirled around, eyes flashing with frustration. The other man’s self-deprecating denial of his worth had sent a sudden and alarming rush of anger through his veins, and, try as he might, he couldn’t hold it back. How could Daryl not see it? How had he not realised that there were times where, for weeks on end, his tracking and hunting abilities were the only things keeping them all fed? How had he missed the fact that, since Shane, Rick had found himself checking almost every move he made with the bowman, looking to him for guidance and affirmation, because it seemed that Daryl’s moral compass was unshakeable? How could he not know?

But, because this was Daryl and they didn’t seem to need words anymore - just another sign of how important the man had become to Rick’s sanity and survival - he didn’t get a chance to choke out any of the thoughts running through his mind before the hunter was shaking his head, arching a brow like he found Rick’s turmoil amusing as a small smile played on his lips. “I’m comin’ back, alright? Don’t worry, Officer, y’ain’t gonna have to run this shitshow alone.”

The early morning sunlight filtered in through the gaps in the privacy curtain that hung over the bars of the cell, deepening the tan that painted Daryl’s broad shoulders golden and highlighting the sharp cut of his cheekbone, the hollow of his clavicle to one side of his throat. He seemed to glow with it and the anticipation of freedom that Rick knew he got from stepping outside of the fences. He looked oddly beautiful in that moment, and, before he’d even really considered what he was doing, what the impulse might possibly mean, Rick strode forward and wrapped his arms around Daryl’s waist, tugging him close, burying his face in the crook of his neck so that he could breathe him in. Daryl stiffened, immediately tense in the sheriff’s embrace, but, as Rick spread his hands over the other man’s spine and murmured, “You’d better,” against the steady thrum of his pulse, he relaxed into it, pulling back so that he could lean their foreheads together. Rick almost thought he could taste the hunter’s breath.

“Got plenty’a reasons to.”

There was nothing immediately suggestive about the statement, and yet, once again, Rick felt his cheeks flush with warmth, and, when Daryl finally pulled away and spun on his heel, stalking out of the cell, he felt bereft at the loss of him from his personal space. It was such a foreign feeling, that need for closeness from another person, from another man, from anyone that wasn’t his wife, that it damn near knocked him on his ass, and he collapsed on his bunk with a quiet groan. Whatever this was - and it wasn’t until he viewed the exchange with the benefit of hindsight that he would come to assign a name to what he was feeling - it was intense and intimate and shocking, and he wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to do with it. He felt irrevocably changed somehow now that he’d allowed himself to act on it. Rick ran his hand over his face and tried to force all thoughts of Daryl Dixon from his mind.

As those in the cells around him began to stir, the soft sounds of sleep giving way to mumbled greetings and shuffling footsteps as the rest of the group readied themselves for the day ahead, he realised that he was fighting a losing battle. Trying to think of anything other than the hunter was hopeless, and, with a sigh, Rick shoved his way out of the cell block to take watch in the guard tower, where he planned to stay until Daryl arrived back home.

You come around and the armour falls Pierce the room like a cannonball Now all we know is don't let go

The pain was overwhelming. Rick had wasted precious seconds, shouting a warning to the others on the run, gesturing wildly towards the incoming threat, and it had given their attackers just enough time to fix him in their sights. The wound wasn’t fatal, the bullet just grazing his side, painting the skin that stretched across his ribs in burning red, sticky crimson oozing down his stomach and soaking into the thin fabric of his shirt. And it had been white-hot agony, blurring his vision until he’d thought he might pass out, but he couldn’t - Glenn, Maggie… They were depending on him, already outnumbered even if he managed to stay standing, so he forced down the sickening nausea that threatened to drag him under and raised his Python, letting off a shot in the direction of the shouted voices that were drawing closer.

“Rick!” Glenn had come for him, towing him back behind the wall of an old bank, forcing him into a crouch as his worried gaze scanned over him. “You hit?”

“Just skimmed me.”

“That’s a lot of blood,” Maggie spoke up, her voice thick with concern, but Rick had shaken his head.

“I’m fine. We gotta take these guys down.”

“We need to get you out of here,” Glenn argued, “get Hershel to patch you up.”

“No! They’re too close to the prison! We have to take them out. Can’t risk them following us back.”

“He’s right,” Maggie had reluctantly agreed, and, God, he was grateful for her as she moved past him to peer around the corner. “We’re outnumbered but, from what I can see, only a few of them have guns. We’ve got this.”

Glenn was still hesitating, eyes fixed on the blood that was spreading down Rick’s flank. “You’re sure?”

“I am.” Rick sucked in a deep breath, gritting his teeth as he forced himself to his feet. “Let’s do this.”

And they had. It hadn’t taken long. The men that had shot at them had been strong, yes, but they’d been slow, lumbering almost, and they were no match for Rick’s family. A sense of pride swelled in his chest at the power of his people, the warriors that they’d become, but it was quickly forced down as the world around him tilted alarmingly.

“You okay?” Glenn’s grip on his arm was firm and unyielding, and he nodded, forcing a tight smile.

“Fine.”

“Ready to go home?”

“Yes. Please.”

He’d eschewed any help walking into the cell block, keeping his hand pressed tightly to the wound, feeling the warm liquid seeping out around his fingers because his constant movement meant that he was still bleeding profusely. But he’d be damned if he let his step falter, if he showed any sign of just how much it hurt because he was the leader here, and he wasn’t about to let anybody see him looking vulnerable, not when his strength, his sanity, had already been called into doubt so often in recent times. It wouldn’t do, so he fought against it, slipping into his cell and collapsing onto his bunk with a muted groan.

In truth, it wasn’t even the pain that was bothering him, even though, goddamn, what he wouldn’t give for a shot of morphine right about now. It was how close he’d come to not coming back, to leaving his kids without a father, to leaving Daryl when he couldn’t even define what they were to each other, without understanding what the feelings that glowed in chest really meant. It had been a matter of inches. If he’d not turned when he had, if the shooter had taken a little more time to take aim before he fired… He imagined the other two returning, tearful and sombre, murmuring apologies to his son and to little Judy who was too young to understand. Just the picture of Carl’s grief in his head cut him to the core, and it was no real surprise when he realised he was shaking.

“Rick!” The sheriff hadn’t even noticed Daryl’s presence until he’d snapped his name, dragging Rick from his thoughts with his angered tone. “What the hell?”

He lifted his head, not bothering to swipe away the tears that had welled up in his eyes and were now spilling over and trailing down his cheeks. “Had a close call.”

“I can see that. Why the hell ya just sittin’ here?” If Rick hadn’t known him better, he’d have bristled at the accusation behind the question, the aggressive way the hunter loomed over him, but he could read him too well now not to be able to see the fear that lingered behind the rage. It became even more apparent when Daryl drew closer, dropping to his knees in front of the bed, hands reaching out as if to assess the wound but drawing back when all he could see was blood. “Need to get ya to the doc, man.”

“I- In a minute,” Rick agreed. “I just… I need a minute.”

“What happened out there?”

What happened? Loud footsteps, sunlight glinting off of blades, a deafening gunshot that seemed to reverberate off of the buildings and echo on forever, and pain, so much pain. “H-had a close call.”

From somewhere in the cell block, Judith let out a piercing cry, the shrillness cutting through the hushed hum of conversation, and Rick crumbled. It had never hit him this hard before, the near-misses, the what-ifs. He thought perhaps he’d grown complacent, the high fences and thick walls of the prison lulling him into a false sense of security where nothing could hurt him or his people, not now they’d taken down the inmates who’d meant to do them harm. Except the fences provided no protection at all out there. He was so very aware of that whenever Daryl went out, speeding away on his motorbike in a cloud of dust or slipping into the forest and disappearing between the trees. But he’d never given much thought to what it would mean if he himself didn’t come back. It was a rude awakening, and it had hit him like a tonne of bricks.

His entire body seemed to tremble as the last of his adrenaline drained away, leaving only shock and agony and fear in its place, and he hunched over, giving into it as it destroyed him from the inside out, and then he was being pulled into a strong embrace, wrapped up in muscled arms that seemed determined to hold him together when he felt as if he was splintering apart. Daryl’s scruff was rough against his cheek, and Rick buried his face in the crook of the other man’s neck, breathing in his steadying scent of motor oil and cigarettes and something earthy and unique to the hunter. It smelt like home, and the gravelled words mumbled in his ear only reinforced that notion: “S’alright. I got ya. Yer home now. Yer safe.”

“Daryl.” His voice was ragged, gasping, and he nuzzled closer, mouth brushing over sensitive skin, licking the traces of the hunter’s sweat from his lips.

“Ya made it back, man. Ya came home to yer boy an’ to Li’l Asskicker.” Daryl hesitated, and Rick thought he was done, and then his quiet rasp lowered even further so that the sheriff had to strain to hear the whispered, “Ya came home to me.”

Rick nodded, though it turned abruptly into a panicked shake of his head when the hunter’s hold on him loosened. “No, not yet. Please. Just a few more minutes.”

The arms around him tightened once again, and Daryl’s breath was a warm puff of air against his ear as he sought to reassure him: “Ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

We are alone, just you and me Up in your room and our slates are clean Just twin fire signs, four blue eyes

He was used to nightmares. The recurring dream where he was chasing Daryl through the streets of Atlanta had become so commonplace to him now that it barely shook Rick up anymore, though it would leave him with a knot in his stomach for the rest of the day, and he’d find himself looking to the hunter even more than normal, reassuring himself that he was there, alive and safe and in reach. But the nightmares that came following his near-miss on a run were darker somehow, scarier. For countless nights, he’d watched as if from somewhere up above as he’d been eviscerated, ripped clean apart by the bullet that pierced his skin, seen the life dim in his eyes until they were rheumy and soulless, his jaws snapping in a hunger for flesh. Sometimes it wasn’t him that got hit: it was Carl, his little boy crumpled on the sidewalk, bleeding out as he cried for his father; it was Judith, eerily silent as her pink knitted blanket melted into red; it was Daryl, stoic till the end, forcing Rick away because he didn’t need to see it, needed to get to safety and leave the hunter there to die alone.

So, now, Rick didn’t sleep. He cat-napped during daylight hours, when the recesses of his unconscious mind seemed less threatening somehow, grabbing an hour or two here and there when the cell block was quiet. And then, come nightfall, he read or took a shift on watch or he paced back and forth, because he couldn’t risk sinking down onto his thin mattress and succumbing to his exhaustion.

There’d been a time, when they’d first arrived at the prison, when Daryl had made his bed on the perch, and he’d been there during the early hours, always willing to listen, to share a kind word, or to distract with stories of the antics Merle used to get up to back in the day. But, when he’d been tripped over one too many times or just gotten tired of the lack of privacy maybe, he’d moved into one of the cells on the upper level, so now Rick’s wakefulness was witnessed by nobody, and maybe it was better that way. He didn’t want to worry anyone after all. But it sure as hell was lonely in the darkness when the rest of the group was fast asleep.

Perhaps it was that that drove his steps tonight, creeping up the staircase, trying to move silently and wincing at the click of his boots against the metal. He wouldn’t wake Daryl, he decided as he traversed along the catwalk. He just wanted to see him, to know that he was breathing, his heart still beating, chest rumbling with soft snores. He’d just peek in through the curtain to see his face, because that face could calm even his most nagging bouts of anxiety, and that would be enough.

“Can’t sleep?” Rick was startled by the sound of Daryl’s voice as he pulled back the hanging sheet, jumping at the sound and drawing a quiet huff of laughter from the hunter as he tucked an arm beneath his head and watched the sheriff step inside. “Ya been pacin’ down there for hours, man. S’goin’ on?”

“I kept you up?”

“M’a light sleeper,” Daryl confessed with a shrug. “Was ten minutes away from comin’ down there an’ forcin’ yer ass into bed.”

Rick’s cheeks flushed at that, and he ducked his head, hoping that the pink tint wasn’t noticeable in the dim moonlight that shone through the thin covering over the doorway. “I’m sorry. I was tryin’ to be quiet.”

“Gotta teach ya how to be lighter on yer feet then.”

“Think that might be a lost cause.” Rick grinned, and that was why he’d come. Because, even plagued as he was by this new fear of the visions that came to him in the night, Daryl had him smiling like it was the easiest thing in the world. And it was. Rick thought he’d never smiled as much in his life as he did these days with Daryl. He never would’ve imagined that the first time they’d met, when the hostile hunter had tossed a string of squirrels at his head, but he possessed a quick wit and a dry humour that never failed to affect the other man, even if only for a short while. His face fell though as he propped himself against the bars, crossing his arms over his chest. “Been havin’ nightmares.”

“Bad?”

“The worst,” Rick admitted. “Keep dreamin’ that I’m back there on the street when those guys attacked us, ‘cept this time I’m dyin’. Or Carl is, or Judith, or… you.”

“Makes sense ya’d be scared to lose ya kids. Everythin’ ya’ve done since the start’a this thing’s been to keep ‘em safe.” Daryl frowned. “Ya don’t gotta get ya panties in a twist ‘bout me though. I can hold my own, y’know that.”

“Don’t mean I can stand the thought of losin’ you.”

“Yer gonna be the one gets lost if ya don’t let yerself rest.”

Rick sighed, running his fingers through his hair. He could feel his tiredness weighing on him, finally understood what it meant to be bone-weary, because it was as if his insides had turned to lead, making every movement he made slow and draining. On the road, adrenaline had spared him the worst of this feeling, knowing he had to keep the group moving, keep them safe, fed, warm. But, at the prison, most of that was taken care of, and there was nothing to distract him from his need to shut down.

Sensing his reluctance, Daryl shuffled over on his bunk, rolling onto his side and patting the space next to him. “C’mere.” When Rick hesitated, he rolled his eyes. “C’mon, man, ain’t askin’ twice.”

It wasn’t like they hadn’t done this before, he told himself as he lowered himself down beside the hunter, stretching out to get comfortable before rolling to face the other man, their bodies pressed close together on the narrow mattress. Before they’d found this place, they’d faced a harsh winter out in the wild, and they’d slept bundled together to share body heat, the whole group of them in some kind of big puppy pile, and more often than not he’d find himself with the bowman pressed against his back, always protecting him, keeping watch. But this… This was just the two of them and it felt intimate in a way that that just hadn’t. He balled his hands into fists and held them to his chest, determined to force down the urge to reach out and touch.

“Y’ain’t wearin’ yer weddin’ ring.” Daryl’s observation was hushed, forced out on an exhale, his gaze fixed on the clenched fingers of Rick’s left hand and the pale sliver of skin on his ring finger.

“Nah.”

“Hadn’t noticed till now.”

“Only took it off the other day. Didn’t feel right wearin’ it no more.” In truth, Rick had been struggling with the constricting band for a long time now. He’d battled it for weeks, months, perhaps even longer, but, if he was honest with himself, he just didn’t feel married anymore. Lori was gone, and, even before that, their marriage had been falling apart. To begin with, he’d glorified her in death, finding it hard to see the flaws that he’d been painfully aware of both before the dead started walking and after. But, now, he could see that she was just a woman, a woman he’d loved with every part of him once upon a time, but that time was gone, and it was no longer his wife that occupied his thoughts when he was thinking about the present, the future, and what he wanted from life. It was the man laying beside him.

Daryl grunted, reaching out a tentative hand to rest over Rick’s, the pad of his thumb brushing over that strangely smooth patch when the ring had sat for nearly fifteen years. Rick shivered at the touch, and shadowed blue eyes locked on his, so much swimming in the depths that Rick knew he didn’t stand a chance of figuring it all out, not tonight at least. Instead, he pulled away from the hunter’s caress but only to edge closer, resting his palm over the steady beat of Daryl’s heart and feeling his own pulse gradually slow to thrum in time with it.

“Ya reckon ya can sleep here like this?”

“I think so.” Rick’s eyelids were already growing heavy, despite how much he wanted to hold the bowman’s gaze, to lose himself in those mysterious depths and drown in their secrets. He wanted to bury his face in the dip at the base of his neck and breathe him in until the only air that was in his lungs carried his uniquely masculine scent. He wanted to wind himself around the other man like a vine and cling on, because it was only when they were side by side, close enough to touch, that he ever felt truly content. In short, he just wanted.

“G’night then.” As the quiet rasp ghosted over his face, he lost his battle, his eyes falling shut and he nestled into the pillow, tilting his head as he tried to find a comfortable position. And maybe it was the beginnings of a dream, a better dream, a perfect dream, or maybe the hunter was having just as much trouble controlling his impulses as Rick, but he felt the soft brush of chapped lips against his own. And then there was only black.

So you were never a saint And I've loved in shades of wrong We learn to live with the pain Mosaic broken hearts But this love is brave and wild

The boiler-room was refreshingly cool, the lack of windows and the thick concrete walls effectively keeping out the stifling Georgia heat, and yet Rick knew with absolute certainty that that wasn’t the reason for Daryl’s presence there. It had been four days since he’d crept into the other man’s cell, since the hunter had shifted over and invited him in, and they’d barely exchanged two words in that time. To begin with, they’d both been busy, heading out on runs or hunting and doing whatever other jobs needed doing around the prison, and it had seemed like just bad luck that they were never in the same place at the same time. But Rick was sure now that the bowman was in fact avoiding him, and finding him down in the dusty basement seemed to confirm it.

“You busy?” He tried to disguise the nervous tremor in his voice, clearing his throat in an attempt to calm himself down.

“What’s it look like?” came the hasty reply, and all Rick could see of Daryl was his legs, sticking out from beneath some sort of machinery that he wouldn’t have been able to identify if he was asked.

“Looks like you’re doing a pretty good job of hidin’,” Rick quipped back, and he saw the hunter’s body tense.

“Ain’t hidin’. Seein’ if I can rig this thing so we can run it off a generator. Figured everyone might appreciate a hot shower from time to time.”

“An’ you’re doin’ that now? In the middle of summer? Seems kinda like a winter job to me.”

Scooting out from beneath the mess of pipes and metal where he’d been hunkered down, Daryl shot Rick a dark glare. “There somethin’ ya need, Officer?”

“I wanna talk.”

“I’m listenin’.”

Rick sighed. “Actually, I think this talk might require a little more active participation.”

For a moment, he thought that Daryl might disappear back to his work, ignore the request completely, and, from the way his eyes shifted left and right, refusing to settle on one place for too long, he could tell he was considering it, but the sheriff’s heartfelt, ‘Please,” was enough to force him to his feet, wiping his hands clean on the rag that hung from his back pocket before tossing it aside. He finally met Rick’s gaze then, glancing up at him from beneath his fringe of dark hair, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he chewed on it uneasily.

“What’s up?”

Rick swallowed hard. He’d spent the better part of the last four days practising this in his head, testing and weighing his emotions, conjuring up images of the other man and the secrets that had swirled in his eyes that night, but, the truth was, he really didn’t know how well his confession was going to be received. He’d been so sure before that his feelings weren’t one-sided, that perhaps the hunter felt something for him too, but he also remembered how bigoted his older brother had been, spewing venom left, right and centre. He couldn’t imagine that Daryl had grown up in a very accepting household, and he didn’t even know if he was into men or women or… well, anybody. He was just as likely to receive a punch in the face for his efforts as anything else, but he’d never find out one way or the other if he didn’t suck it up and get on with it. He summoned every ounce of courage he had and opened his mouth to speak.

“You’ve been avoidin’ me.”

“Been busy.”

“We haven’t talked in days.”

“Like I said…”

“Since I spent the night in your cell.” Daryl’s shoulders stiffened, the muscles in his arms bunching and shifting as he clenched his fists at his sides. They’d woken the next morning in a heated tangle of limbs, and perhaps it should have been awkward, but it hadn’t been, at first. It had been nice, cosy even, but Rick’s body’s reactions had become immediately obvious, pressed so tight against the hunter, and it had turned into a hurried race to get up and out to face the day. Now, Rick wished he’d lingered a little longer, pushed a little further whilst they had the space and quiet to see how far Daryl would let him go, but the moment had passed him by. “You invited me in.”

“I know that.”

“S’the best night’s sleep I’ve had in months.”

“Same,” the hunter admitted, a blush stealing over his cheeks and turning the tips of his ears pink where they poked through his hair. “Freaked me out a bit, s’all.”

“Why?”

Daryl raised a hand to his mouth, chewing at his thumbnail, and Rick longed to close the distance between them and pull it away, but he was afraid that any sudden move would make the skittish bowman flee. “Ain’t- ain’t never done that before.”

“What?” Rick frowned, and then the realisation hit him. “Shared a bed with a man?”

“Shared a bed with anyone.” He shrugged as if it was no big deal, but it was, and Rick could see the shade of confusion in his eyes.

The sheriff nodded slowly, processing that for a moment. He’d gotten the feeling that Daryl wasn’t the most experienced. He never chimed in with group conversations about past relationships, even when they were light-hearted and teasing. But he’d figured there must have been something in the hunter’s past. How could there not be? He was strong, smart, attractive with that piercing blue gaze and that crooked smile, when he dared to show it, and he was funny too, though you had to dig deep to find that sardonic sense of humour. Rick couldn’t imagine anybody not considering the other man a catch, but then he knew how much Daryl had changed over the time he’d known him. Admittedly, that aggressive archer that had come at him, fists swinging, might have had a harder time letting anyone get close. “And how was it?”

“Felt nice,” Daryl murmured, and Rick knew how much it was costing him to be this open, this vulnerable. His heart ached.

“For me, too,” Rick assured him, taking a step closer, relieved when the hunter didn’t move away. “Daryl, that night… I thought I felt somethin’... and I might’ve been dreamin’, but…”

Daryl’s flush deepened, pink cheeks flooding with red, and he looked away, fixing his stare on the hard concrete floor as if it held all of the answers of the universe, or perhaps an escape hatch that he could make use of. “M’sorry.”

“I don’t want an apology. I just want to know-”

“I did it. I kissed ya. Just… Just wanted to know what it’d be like, s’all, an’ ya was right there, man. I thought…”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Rick took another step forward, closing the distance between them, reaching out to draw the archer into him with a firm hand above the jut of his elbow. “I’m not mad. I just wanted to know I hadn’t imagined it, that’s all.”

Daryl was still studiously avoiding his gaze, and Rick ducked his head, a small chuckle escaping him which had the other man flinching in his grasp. “What’s funny?”

“Just… I wish you would’ve tried it when I was more… awake, I guess.”

“Yeah?” Those blue eyes were burning into him now, questioning, reading every reaction and expression that flickered across Rick’s face, but the sheriff knew he’d find nothing there but honesty.

“Yeah. I feel like I missed out.”

Daryl scoffed. “Ain’t missed out on nothin’. Ain’t like I know what I’m doin’ here.”

“That makes two of us.”

“Don’t do that. Ya was with Lori forever. Ya got more of an idea ‘bout any’a this than me.”

“Yeah, I was with Lori, but only ever with Lori, and look how that turned out. Not exactly a shinin’ example of marital bless.” Rick rubbed a hand over his beard, idly wondering whether he should shave it as he remembered how his wife had complained about it whenever he let it grow out a little, but he pushed the thought aside. “Never been with a man, that’s for sure. Never wanted to, before you.”

“Ain’t gay,” Daryl batted back, eyes darkening, though they softened when Rick’s hold trailed up to his shoulder, squeezing it tight. “Ain’t nothin’ really, ‘fore I met you.”

“And now?”

Daryl stared at him for a long minute, gaze roaming over him, from his own anguished blue eyes, down to his mouth and back again, over and over until Rick wasn’t sure if the other man would ever speak, and then he was jerking away, tugging himself free from the sheriff’s grasp with a grunt. “What are ya doin’ here, man? Ya don’t want me!”

“Daryl-”

“Nah! I’ve done things, Rick, things I ain’t proud of! Things ya would’a thrown my ass in jail for not so long ago! And now yer standin’ there an’ sayin’... sayin’ these things, an’...” He tailed off, shaking his head, stalking back and forth across the width of the room. “Ya don’t even know me!”

“I think I know you pretty well,” Rick insisted, refusing to give in to the hunter’s self-deprecating claims. “I’m not stupid. I’m still a cop. I know you’re no saint, Daryl, and I think you’d be pretty borin’ if you were. But I know you’re the only person I trust to have my back when the shit hits the fan. And I know that the only time I don’t feel like the responsibility of keepin’ these people alive is makin’ me lose my damn mind is when I’ve got you by my side. I know you love my kids just as much as I do, and I know you’d die before lettin’ anythin’ happen to them. I know we’d all have died five times over if we didn’t have you keepin’ us safe. You’re a good man, the best, despite everythin’ you’ve been through, and I’m in awe of you most days. So, don’t tell me I don’t know you. I’m startin’ to think I know you better than you know yourself.”

Silence. Both men were breathing hard, chests heaving, and Rick pretended that he didn’t notice the shine in the other man’s eyes that spoke of unspent emotion, the gentle waves in those ocean-blue depths threatening to break and surge free. God, he wanted to reach out and pull him into his embrace, show him just how much he meant to him, how much he wanted him. But, as it turned out, he didn’t have to.

One second, Rick was hovering in the middle of the room, watching as the hunter processed his words and tried to pull himself together, and the next his back was colliding with the wall and he was being pinned there by a warm, solid weight as Daryl kissed him with everything he had. It was messy and clumsy, an overeager clash of teeth and tongues that dragged needy whimpers from Rick’s lips, and those tiny wanton noises only spurred the bowman on. He was ruthless in his assault, his mouth trailing down to attack the sensitive skin of Rick’s throat as his fingers tangled in the sheriff’s dark curls and tugged, earning himself a deep groan as Rick tipped his head back to give him better access. Now that he’d overcome his insecurities, it seemed, the hunter was a wild creature, hands questing and clutching, teeth scraping, tongue darting out to taste and savour, and Rick gave himself over to it, revelling in this new side of the man that he’d never seen before. It was brave and insatiable, and he was powerless to do anything but let Daryl have his way - not that any part of him wanted to fight.

As acres of taut, freckled skin were revealed to him, aged scars noticed and traced over with gentle fingertips but left otherwise unacknowledged, Rick let himself go, floating on a tidal wave of sensation as he discovered things about his body that he’d never known, as if the hunter was capable of teasing out secrets that the sheriff hadn’t even realised he was keeping. And each time he was sure that it had peaked, that there was nothing the other man could do to him that would feel better than the last touch or thrust or kiss, he would find that he was wrong, so very very wrong, and he was building up and up and up until the world around him exploded in a bright flash of blinding light and he was falling down, down down, safe in the knowledge that Daryl was there to catch him.

And I never saw you coming And I'll never be the same

“Din’t know it could be like this.” Daryl’s voice was a gruff whisper in the silence of the cell block, his back pressed to Rick’s chest as he trailed a lazy finger back and forth over the arm that was draped across him. The hunter had stolen into the sheriff’s cell as soon as the rest of the group had settled in for the night, as had become his habit, the both of them close to drawing blood as they bit their lips in an attempt to muffle the sounds of their pleasure, and now they were curled together on the narrow bunk, sated and drowsy with contentment. “Din’t think I’d ever have anythin’ like this, not before an’ sure as hell not after.”

Rick hummed in agreement, tracing meaningless shapes over the soft flesh of the hunter’s stomach, brushing through the downy hair that covered his skin. “Never had somethin’ like this before either.”

“Lori?”

“That was… different.” Rick took Daryl’s silence as a plea for him to continue, so he did, though he paused for a moment to think it through, wanting to say it right so that the other man would understand just how much he meant to him. “Lori was… From the first time I saw her, I knew I was lookin’ at my future. I knew I’d marry her, and that we’d have a kid or two and grow old together, and it felt… secure. It felt like I was achievin’ somethin’. I don’t know if that makes any sense at all. I loved her, of course I did, but… It was never like this.”

“What’s this like?” Daryl pushed, and, though his tone was teasing, Rick knew the question was genuine, those old insecurities always simmering just beneath the surface. Ya don’t want me.

“It’s… It’s somethin’ to fight for. It’s somethin’ to live for.” Rick sighed, squeezing the hunter tighter. “It’s hope for a future that I don’t even know if we’ll have with the world the way it is. But it makes me determined to build it, for us.”

“Ain’t gotta build it alone.”

“I know.” Rick pressed a soft kiss to the back of Daryl’s neck, smiling when a shiver ran through the other man. “We’ll do it together.”

The hunter rolled onto his back so he could see the lazy grin that was painted over the sheriff’s face, his own lips quirking at the corners. “S’been a long time since I heard ya talk like that.”

“It’s been a long time since I saw life as anythin’ but one fight after another.”

Daryl frowned. “That ain’t changed. Still walkers outside the fences. Still plenty’a livin’ assholes gonna want what we got here. Still gotta fight.”

“I know that. I- I think maybe I’ve changed.” Rick didn’t think he’d ever blushed as much as he did when Daryl was watching him with that knowing gaze, as if he could read every thought in his head without him even having to open his mouth. “I think this- you’ve changed me. I’m not just a leader now, not just a warrior. I’m… I’m yours, too. There’s somethin’ good to come back to after the fight. I know I’ve got my kids and this family, but they’re not… It’s not the same as havin’ someone to curl up with and talk it over or just… forget it all for a while. I didn’t even realise I needed it till I had it, y’know? I think some of your zen’s rubbed off on me.”

“Ain’t as zen as I make out,” Daryl admitted with a chuckle.

That night, both men found their sleep undisturbed by nightmares.

This is a state of grace This is the worthwhile fight Love is a ruthless game Unless you play it good and right

For the life of him, Rick couldn’t work out when Carl had become so like his mother. Sitting across from him on the grass outside of the cell block in the glow of the morning sun, the similarities between his son and Lori almost stole his breath away. It wasn’t his eyes - they were blue, like Rick’s - but there was a certain look behind them, a softness, a gentleness that reminded him of his late wife in her younger days. It was the shape of his nose, though of course Lori had hated it - not thin enough, not quite pointed enough to match up with the unattainable perfection in her favourite magazines. It was the curve of his lips when he smiled, the laughter lines that creased his cheeks. It was the slight wave to his hair now that it was growing out, getting longer, and Rick wondered whether Carol might cut it for him if the boy asked. Or perhaps Carl liked it that way. He was getting older now, after all, knew his own mind. He was more than capable of making his own decisions. It was definitely in the exasperated look he shot his dad as Rick fiddled with a stray thread on the seam of his jeans, trying to figure out how to tell his son about the new developments in his life.

“You said you wanted to talk, Dad?” Carl prompted, eventually.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Just… We’ve been sitting here for a half hour now, and you’ve not said a word.” The boy frowned. “Is something wrong? Did I do something?”

“No, God, no.” Rick shook his head, his gaze falling on Daryl as he unlocked the gate down at the bottom of the outer field, his crossbow slung over his shoulder as he prepared to head out and check the traps. He tracked the hunter’s movements, hungry eyes following his path as he crossed towards the trees, until he was swallowed up by their shadows. “It’s me. I- I’ve got somethin’ to tell you, and I don’t know… I want you to be okay with it.”

“Well, what is it?” His son’s eyes were wide and beseeching, somehow so innocent despite everything he’d seen and done since his childhood had been so cruelly ripped away from him. It was a wonder, really, that he was as grounded as he was, and Rick desperately didn’t want to be the cause of him going off the rails, the final nail in the coffin of the boy’s humanity. The loss of his mother still felt so fresh.

“Y’know I loved your mom, right?”

“I know, Dad.”

“I’ll always love her, Carl. She gave me you, and, even when things weren’t good between us, I’ll owe her forever for that.”

Carl swallowed hard, his throat bobbing with the motion. “Dad, you’re freaking me out.”

“I’m sorry. That’s not what I’m… I’m not tryin’ to do that.” Why was this so hard? Somehow, Rick thought, this was even more difficult than standing in front of Daryl in the boiler room and all but challenging him to admit his feelings, making his own for the hunter perfectly obvious at the same time. There had been a mission there, something to be gained from his bravery, but, with Carl, he felt as if he only had a lot to lose. He sat up straighter, squaring his shoulders, resting his elbows on his folded knees. “I’ve been seein’ somebody.”

“You have?” The kid’s brow crinkled with confusion, and Rick could see the wheels turning in his head as he ran through the occupants of the prison. “Who? Carol? No, she was too close to Mom. She wouldn’t. Maggie’s with Glenn… Oh, man, not Beth? Please, not Beth!”

Rick couldn’t hold back his chuckle at the flush of colour that stole over Carl’s cheeks at the mention of the youngest Greene, rushing to reassure him. “No, not Beth. And not the others either.”

“Well, then who?”

“It’s… It’s Daryl actually.” Rick held his breath, watching the kaleidoscope of emotions that passed across his son’s face as he struggled to understand.

“But… you’re not gay.” He cocked his head to one side, studying his father. “Are you?”

“I don’t know what I am,” Rick admitted. “Before, I would’ve said no. Only person I’ve ever been with is your mother, and it’s not like I was secretly crushin’ on Shane the whole time. I wasn’t!” he insisted at Carl’s amused scoff. “Never really looked at another man before now. It… It’s just him, I think. Just Daryl.”

Carl nodded slowly, processing, and Rick figured the fact that he wasn’t pushing himself up and hurrying away could only be a good sign. “And he likes you too?”

“Seems to.”

A pause, and then, “Do you love him? Like you loved Mom?”

Rick sighed, running his fingers through his hair. He hadn’t said the words yet, not to Daryl, not even to himself because he wasn’t sure he could handle the flood of emotions that admitting the level of his feelings might unleash upon his already battered heart. But he couldn’t lie to Carl, he wouldn’t, so he found himself thinking over the moments he and the hunter had spent together, trying to distance himself, assessing each interaction with a cool and clinical detachment. “It- It’s different. But, yeah, I- I think I do. He brought me back, y’know? After losin’ your mom. He took care of you and Judith when I couldn’t do it, and then he helped me get back to a place where I could do it again, where I could lead.”

“And that’s when it started?”

“In my head, yeah, I think so. Nothin’ happened for a long while though. It’s still new.”

Carl was nodding again, staring down at the blade of grass that he was twisting around his finger, seemingly lost in thought. Then he glanced up to meet Rick’s gaze, fixing his dad with a serious look. “Thanks for telling me, I guess. Rather find out from you than walking in on something I don’t wanna see.”

Rick laughed, leaning forward to ruffle his son’s hair, knocking his sheriff’s hat off in the process. “I want to do this right. Don’t wanna have to hide it, but I wanted you to know first. I want you to be okay with this, Carl.”

“I am.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You deserve to be happy, Dad.” Carl’s face had lit up with a smile, but it faltered now as he retrieved his hat and settled it back on top of his head. “When you’re not happy, it’s not good for any of us. So, if Daryl makes you happy, then I’m okay with it.”

Rick was struck by the sudden and immediate knowledge that, no matter what mistakes they’d made in their many years of marriage - miscommunication, resentment, infidelity - he and Lori had raised their boy right. He’d never been so grateful.

These are the hands of fate You're my Achilles heel This is the golden age of something good and right and real

“You shouldn’t have done that.” Rick’s tone brooked no argument as he patched Daryl up, hands moving carefully over the grazes on the back of the hunter’s arms. “I was handlin’ it just fine.”

“Ya was ‘bout to get yer ass bit, runnin’ off on yer own like that!”

“I was tryin’ to make sure we didn’t get cut off from the car.”

“What? So we’d have a way to haul yer gnawed-on ass back home?”

“Daryl-”

“Nah, save it!” Daryl shook his head, flinching when Rick poured antiseptic over his wounds and dabbed at them with a clean cloth. They weren’t deep, thankfully; just a few scrapes that had left his exposed skin sore and bloody, but it wouldn’t do to risk them getting infected. “Ain’t got no clue how ya survived this long, I swear. Got a damn death wish or somethin’.”

It should have been an easy run. It was a location they’d scouted before, and Rick, Daryl and Glenn were the most competent and experienced at getting in and out of town without too much trouble. They’d had a list of the specific items they’d needed, and it had been going well, their packs weighing heavy on their shoulders, bulging with the required supplies. And then a car alarm had gone off in the store parking lot, and, just like that, there were walkers coming at them from every direction. Even then, they’d been managing just fine, moving in formation, hacking at every snapping corpse that lunged their way, fighting their way out of the building, only to find even more of the undead flooding in from the surrounding streets.

Rick hadn’t even thought. He’d seen the path the biters were taking, his eyes flicking from their shambling figures to the minivan that they’d parked up a short distance away, and he’d taken off, heading for the oncoming herd so he could thin them down before they cut off their exit and left them trapped in the middle of the carnage. And perhaps it had been stupid. He’d lost himself in the midst of the pungent-smelling crowd, swinging his blade on autopilot, adrenaline flowing, blood pumping as his skin grew moist with gore and sweat. He knew this. He could do this. Hell, a part of him might even have been enjoying it. And then he’d felt a heavy weight collide with him and he’d been knocked to the side, just in time for a lumbering beast of a biter to land heavily on top of Daryl and force him to the ground. He’d gone down hard, the air forced from his lungs by the weight above him, muscles straining as he tried to keep the ravenous jaws from clamping down around his throat, and icy cold panic had seized Rick’s heart.

“Daryl!” He’d thrown himself back into the fray, plunging his knife down into the skull of the walker that had Daryl pinned, and then the other man’s palm was slick and warm in his as he tugged him to his feet. “What the hell were you thinkin’?”

“Was thinkin’ I needed to come in here an’ save yer sorry ass!”

Rick felt his hackles go up at the accusation. “By nearly gettin’ yourself bit?”

“By gettin’ ya outta harm’s way!” the hunter had snapped back, and Rick was so close to losing it, his panic melting into an anger that rivalled even the rage that he could see flashing in Daryl’s eyes.

But there was no time.

“Guys!” Glenn’s shout cut through the tension, and they’d followed the direction of his pointed finger to see a small break in the sea of surging bodies, moving in sync as they seized the brief window of opportunity and sprinted towards it. Glenn was hot on their heels as they piled into the car, Rick twisting the keys in the ignition and gunning the engine as soon as it roared to life. And then they were peeling out of there, back-end swinging out behind them as the tyres fought to find purchase on the asphalt, and the herd was just a bad memory, receding into the distance.

“If it had been anyone else,” Rick asked now, avoiding the fury in Daryl’s gaze as he finished dressing the cuts and sank down onto his bunk, “anyone else but me that made that move, would you have reacted the same way? Would you have gone runnin’ in there, throwin’ your weight around and ended up nearly gettin’ yourself killed for it? Think about it.”

He was using that tone, the one he’d learned as a cop that he knew the hunter hated, overly reasonable and authoritative, but it seemed to break through the wall of anger in the other man’s head, and he closed his eyes, replaying the moment in his mind before sinking down next to Rick with a guttural growl of frustration. “Guess not. Can’t think straight when yer in danger. Somethin’ happens to ya on my watch, how’m I meant to live with that?”

“Right back at ya,” Rick teased, nudging Daryl with an elbow, though it barely raised a smile. “Hey, it’s okay. We’re both here, we both made it out. I just don’t want you puttin’ yourself at risk for me like that. Couldn’t stand it if anythin’ happened to you. You’ve seen me grievin’! Not sure how I’d make it through without you there to pull me out of it.”

The hunter leaned forward, rubbing a weary hand over his face, his whole posture slumped and dejected. “Fuck, I dunno how to do this, man. Feel like I’m scared all the time since this thing with you an’ me. Thought it’d make me stronger, but I don’t feel it.”

“It does make us stronger,” Rick insisted, reaching out to draw soothing circles over Daryl’s back with his fingertips, “both of us. You tellin’ me you wouldn’t have fought that entire herd off single-handed to get to me if I needed you? ‘Cause I know I would’ve.”

Daryl grunted. “Ya know I would.”

“Well, then.” Rick shrugged, but the anguish on the other man’s face didn’t ease. “Hey, it’s just a part of it, okay? It’s… It’s bein’ vulnerable and openin’ yourself up knowin’ that it might hurt. But it’s also… knowin’ that you’re stronger together, that you’d tear the world apart to make the other person happy, to keep them safe, if that’s what it took. It’s just… It’s all part of the package. It’s real and it’s raw but… it’s what it’s all about really, isn’t it? Survivin’, livin’... It’s all about this, right here.”

“What even is this?” The hunter cocked his head to one side, fixing Rick with a curious look, because, other than telling the group that they were seeing each other, they still hadn’t put a name on it, this thing that they had. It seemed somehow too big to define, too all-encompassing to be summed up in one little word or phrase. In short, Daryl had become Rick’s everything, and he wasn’t sure that any word in the modern language could quite summarise that.

So, he grabbed onto the only one he thought came close to what he was feeling, what he hoped Daryl was feeling too. “Pretty sure it’s love.”

And I never saw you coming And I'll never be the same

Rick watched from across the yard as Daryl laughed with Carl and Beth, Judith, his Li’l Asskicker, cradled in his arms. The baby was reaching for his face with grabby hands, perhaps trying to grasp a hold of the wispy strands of hair that fell across his eyes, but was easily placated as the hunter lifted her high in the air, bouncing her up and down and coaxing a gummy grin from her as she squealed in delight. His own lips were curved in a barely-there smile, but even from a distance Rick could see his blue eyes shining, and another rasping chuckle reached his ears as Daryl lowered the girl back to his lap and booped her gently on the nose with a calloused fingertip. The image brought a warm glow to life deep in his chest, and he wandered over in their direction, straddling the bench beside the bowman and leaning in to press a soft kiss to the top of his daughter’s head.

“Ya want her?” Daryl offered, but Rick shook his head.

“You’re good, man.”

“I think she’s teethin’,” Beth explained, rolling her eyes as if she was an exhausted mother rather than a teenage girl, but then Rick supposed she was mostly fulfilling that role for Judy right now. He’d been more than grateful to the youngest Greene for the way she’d stepped up and taken on most of the childcare responsibilities, and he made a mental note to try and to bring her back something nice from the next run as a token of thanks. “This is the first time she’s stopped cryin’ all day.”

“Looks like you’ve got the magic touch,” Rick teased, nudging Daryl’s knee with his, and smiling at the flush of pink that coloured the other man’s cheeks. “Gonna have to start keepin’ you inside the fences just in case you’re needed to stop a temper tantrum.”

“Just try it, Grimes,” Daryl scoffed, narrowing his eyes. “Next time we head out, I’mma try an’ find some teethin’ rings or somethin’ for her. Somethin’ to chew on, that’s what ya need, ain’t it, L’il A?”

As if she’d understood the hunter’s words, a chubby hand grabbed a tight hold of his finger and guided it into her mouth, drool leaking down her chin. This time his smile did reach his lips, wide and unguarded, a rare sight, and Rick drank it in, unable to resist the urge to brush the hair back from Daryl’s face, so that no part of his openly affectionate expression was hidden from view.

Their eyes met, and Rick could see a peacefulness in the other man’s gaze that he wasn’t sure he’d ever noticed before. Gone was the tension that seemed to linger, ever constant, just beneath the hunter’s skin, tightening his muscles and carving frown lines into his brow. Gone was the edge to his voice, the defensiveness that told of bone-deep insecurities, as if he was expecting every word spoken to him to come with an undertone of attack. Gone was the tendency for his eyes to flick from place to place, ever restless, ever waiting for something to go wrong, something to come along and tear his peace from his desperate grasp. No, the man beside Rick now was calm and grounded, content to let his worries slip his mind for a few brief moments, and the sheriff relished the change. It had been a long time coming.

When the kids, noticing the lingering gazes being exchanged between the two men, slipped away, muttering about helping to get dinner started and taking Judith with them, Rick slid closer to the hunter, leaning his chin on Daryl’s shoulder and eyeing him with a lazy appreciation. “You seem different.”

“I do?” The hunter arched a brow, a smirk twisting his features as he turned his head to rest his forehead against Rick’s.

“Mmhmm. More relaxed. Less… surly.”

“Ain’t surly.”

Rick scoffed. “Hate to tell you this, but you’re surly most of the time. Not right now though. I like it.”

“That mean ya din’t like me before?”

“Apparently, I’ve got a thing for surly,” the sheriff assured him, reaching up to fix the rumpled collar of Daryl’s shirt, “but this is good too.”

The hunter huffed a laugh, pulling away just enough to scan over the courtyard, his gaze roaming to the fences where just the odd walker wandered between their land and the treeline, before returning his attention to Rick. “Got me playin’ with babies an’ jokin’ with teenagers. Fuckin’ ruined me. S’all on you, man.”

“You’re allowed to let yourself be happy.” The sheriff’s arms wrapped tight around Daryl’s waist, and he relaxed into the embrace, tipping his head back and letting his eyes flutter closed as the evening sun kissed his skin.

“Ain’t got much choice these days,” he admitted. “S’on you too.”

“I can live with that.”

This is a state of grace This is the worthwhile fight Love is a ruthless game Unless you play it good and right…

*****

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gutsby · 6 months

Text

I’m a Good Girl, Officer!

Pairing: Reader x Detective Dixon x Officer Grimes x Officer Walsh

Summary: Apparently flashing your tits to truckers on the freeway is frowned upon in small towns like yours. When three familiar King County cops take charge of the case, you learn they punish bad girls a little differently.

Warnings: NSFW. Foursome! :-) Unprotected p-in-v, spitroast, double penetration, overstimulation, praise and degradation, bimbofication, throatfucking, painal, breeding kink, using c*m as lube, and a (consensual) strugglefuck. Elements of dubcon à la power imbalance and coercion. Age gap. Public indecency, evading arrest, assault on two cops, and general drunken stupidity.

“Goooooood morning, babycakes!”

Your best friend rolled the hem of her shirt over her chest and shimmied her shoulders at the big white semi truck about to pass under the bridge. The stranger at the wheel took one look at the woman’s tits and almost swerved across two lanes of traffic. The sight sent you and your drunken group howling with laughter, falling onto the ground as Maggie yanked her top back down.

It was five a.m. and freezing. The club where you’d been boozing all night had long since shuttered closed, and you and your closest friends from high school—home for the holidays and happily plastered—had gone wandering home in a daze. When one of the girls had stopped suddenly at the midsection of a bridge, you hadn’t been able to keep from sharing her smile the second she’d grinned and said, ‘For old time’s sake?’

In no time at all, you’d been lined up along the metal railing and ogling the unsuspecting drivers down below. The freeway was mostly empty at this hour, save for a couple tractor trailers and early morning commuters, but that didn’t matter.

Rosita was up next. You watched her eye an RV as it bumbled down the road and saw her take hold of her shirt just like Maggie had. Then, right when the camper got close enough, the brunette bent slightly at the waist, flipped her top up, and screamed at the top of her lungs:

“HEY BIG RED!”

A big, buff dude with a bright red handlebar mustache looked up from the passenger seat, as did the white-haired, bearded gentleman wearing a bucket hat beside him. The pair then watched your friend’s roadside spectacle with shared looks of wonder and awe, before passing under the bridge as slow as they possibly could. Rosita staggered off the ledge and reached for the flask in your hand, heedless of her breasts still hanging out.

“Your turn,” she chirped before taking a swig.

Your feet were already wobbling onto the concrete slab. From your vantage point, the outline of the sun was just then breaking out across the tops of the trees, casting the morning’s first rays across your bare skin. You stretched your arms out wide, Titanic-style, and basked in the warmth—likely looking drunk as all hell as you did.

“Ooo, this one, this one!” Maggie cut in presently.

You followed your friend’s gaze and caught sight of a sleek, glistening firetruck speeding down the road.

Perfect, you thought as your eyes soaked in the sight. You pictured the truck packed to the gills with hot and sweaty firemen inside, and your fingers itched at the bottom of your shirt. Curled under the fabric and ready to lift as soon as the time came. Even from a distance, you could make out a tiny cluster of uniformed men at the helm, each of their faces contorted with curiosity.

The truck sped up and drew closer. Maggie squeezed your hip, Rosita chewed her lip, and together, you all stared the firetruck down with bated breath until it was just about to go under the bridge.

In a blink, you flipped your shirt up and shook your tits back and forth for the men going by. Much to your surprise, the firefighter in the driver’s seat honked his horn a couple times, and another one, at the rear, stuck his grinning head out the window and waved.

You, Maggie, and Rosita waved right back, practically falling over each other in fits of laughter as you yelled,

“Call me, daddy!”

The three of you collapsed on the sidewalk in a heap of shitfaced hysterics. Rosita flung your flask to the side and smacked you playfully across your boobs—still out and proud and likely able to cut diamonds with how hard your nipples had gotten in the chilly morning air.

“Daddy?!” she wheezed, “You skank!”

You straightened up, partially splayed across Maggie’s lap, and wiggled your shoulders once more, feigning that high-pitched, ditzy voice you used whenever you were hammered,

“Daddy please fuck my titties, I’ve been such a bad girl!”

Then you gave the best porn star moan you could muster and started to pull your shirt the rest of the way off. Not thinking, you balled up the light pink fabric and threw it up in the air while Rosita cheered—‘Tits out for the girls!’—and Maggie almost pissed herself laughing. Really anything would’ve had your sides fit to split at this point, seeing how faded and adrenaline-drunk you were.

You reached up and waited for the top to fall back into your hand...until it didn’t. You cast a sweeping look across the three of you to see if your shirt had landed somewhere else, but the garment was nowhere in sight.

You turned and craned your neck to see over the railing.

“Shit!”

You scrambled to your feet and gripped the metal siding of the bridge, tits fully out and exposed to the world. You watched as an old Ford Ranger picked up speed and crushed the scrap of fabric under its tires, before the driver, in turn, gawked and honked his horn like a fool.

Just as you started to turn back to tell your friends the bad news—and beg them for a piece of spare clothing to cover you—a sound startled you all.

The short, sharp yelp of a siren straight ahead.

Your hands flew to cover your chest while Maggie and Rosita went floundering over each other trying to get up. A few yards away, a police cruiser had pulled up to the side of the bridge with its lights flashing bright red and blue.

Shit, again, seemed to be the resounding sentiment among you three as the car started inching closer.

“Stop right there!” a voice boomed over the PA system.

That only prompted your group to take off running.

You, cradling your tits in both hands, and Rosita and Maggie trying desperately not to trip over the curb, the wayside trash, or each other as they raced down the street.

Two car doors flew open. Then, the sound of that same voice, breaking out across the still morning air without the aid of the intercom and telling you to freeze right now, followed by the sound of footsteps. Boots thudded heavy on the ground below, moving fast and with purpose. Both pairs easily gained on your three retreating forms in a matter of seconds.

Maggie and Rosita were already leaps and bounds ahead of you. Too busy juggling your tits and struggling to breathe, you felt your heart sink.

Rosita shot a look over her shoulder and cried, ‘C’mon!’ as she eyed the cops coming closer.

I’m trying, you wanted to say, but couldn’t speak. Your chest was too tight, pupils blown wide with fear.

This was not the fucking time to be having a panic attack. But here you were.

Before you could stop yourself, you waved a frantic hand to your friends and somehow managed to scream, ‘Go!’

The girls slowed, tried to urge you forward, but, sensing that you weren’t keeping up and wanted them to go on without you, relented at last. They bounded off toward a side street and disappeared down an alley while you felt your legs start to falter beneath you.

“Freeze!” the voice bellowed again. Loud, gruff, and much closer to your ear than it had been before.

You did as he said, not because you wanted to, but because you had to, then, or your body would’ve given out. Still in the grips of terror and rampant intoxication, you stopped in your tracks, spun on your heels, and watched the two officers sprint toward you.

You started to raise your hands in surrender, but just when one of them approached—presumably to tackle you to the ground—your instincts took over. You scarcely knew what you were doing; you just felt your leg lift with the last bit of strength you had left, then, astonishingly, deliver a kick straight to the first man’s gut.

To the shock of you, the cop, and his partner, the man went tumbling backward. Fell straight on the pavement in almost comical fashion and grunted in pain.

“Rick!” the dark-haired one yelled reflexively.

His gaze darted back to you in an instant.

You knew you were capital F fucked. You didn’t bother trying to run and simply stared at the man left standing in a mixture of horror and dread as he charged straight at you.

Your flight response abandoned, you had only to fight. And, by the looks of your opponent, you sensed this motherfucker knew how to tussle.

Before you could even prime yourself for another kick, the cop had taken you down with one lunge. Pinned you flat on the asphalt and yelled right in your face,

“I said don’t move!”

You moved. You moved in his arms while he wrestled you to the sidewalk, snaked his hand around your front, pressed your back against his chest. You moved when he barked his orders once more, told you to get down now and stop resisting, and even wrapped his arm around your throat to force your compliance.

Chokehold’s illegal, asshole, you thought, fighting hard against his grasp. This cop played dirty, and appeared to give no fucks about who could see.

Just as his grip started to tighten around your neck, you heard the other officer back on his feet, talking sharply into his radio:

“Code 10-33. Requesting backup on Fayette Bridge.”

At the same time, the man above you was trying to shake his head, craning his neck to get his partner’s attention.

“Nah, nah, Rick, I got her!”

When ‘Rick’ didn’t seem to hear and kept shouting into the receiver, the burly cop turned his body to the side, squeezing your neck even tighter.

“Rick!” he called, “I got her right here, she’s— FUCK!”

Suddenly, the man’s voice broke off in a strangled yelp as you sank your teeth into the flesh of his arm. When he loosened his grip out of instinct, stinging with pain, you made a desperate attempt to slip from his grasp and get back on your hands and knees.

The freshly bitten cop just slammed you even harder on the ground, unleashing a string of expletives in your ear.

“Fuck you, pig!” you screamed back.

You weren’t sure what had come over you in the few short moments preceding this one—what had irked you so terribly to be inclined to kick one cop in the stomach and bite another on the arm like a feral cat—but there you went. Face down on the pavement with a set of handcuffs being clipped over your wrists.

You winced when you were jerked back onto your feet, the cop’s left hand on your shoulder and the other at your back. He shoved you to take your first steps forward, you instinctively told him to eat shit and die, and as a grim, unsavory unit, you walked toward the officer with his grip still fastened tight to his radio.

“You alright?” Rick asked, out of breath.

His gaze seared right through you to his partner—whose face, you could sense, was already beset with a scowl.

“Bitch bit me,” he spat.

You saw Rick’s expression change, watched his mouth move to speak again, when a sound crackled out of the receiver in his hand. A couple code words and street names you couldn’t make out.

“That’s— that’s alright, now, Officer Walsh has the subject restrained,” Rick returned hastily.

At present, Mr. Walsh had his thumb dug deep in your back, ostensibly holding tight to keep you subdued but more than likely just being an ass. He felt you flinch and gave you a fierce shake.

“Quit squirmin’, girl.”

“Quit pinchin’ me, pig!”

“You’d best watch that fuckin’ mouth’a yours.”

The voice above your ear had you easily outmatched in volume and tone, coarse as it was unkind.

You decided to try your luck anyway.

“Make me, pussy.”

The last thing you saw was the look of bewilderment leap to Rick’s face as Walsh thrust you forward, suddenly, and slammed you face-down on the hood of their car.

“What’d I say ‘bout that fuckin’ mouthin’ off?! Huh?”

“Shane—”

Rick grabbed this Shane’s shoulder in an effort to intervene. Tried prying him off before he could shove you down any harder, but his partner seemed adamant. Shane put his palm over the side of your head and knotted his fingers through your hair, quick to pull.

“Nah, man, I ain’t takin’ lip from some halfwit bimbo—”

“Hey!” you started, only to have your words muffled with your head forced back on the hood.

“Shane!” Rick snapped this time, taking a harder grip of his shirt and yanking him back. To your dismay, Shane kept a chunk of your hair clenched in his fist and probably dislodged a dozen or more strands when he was pulled away.

You let out a gentle groan as your head hit the car for a third time and the two officers broke off in a skirmish.

“You heard what Dixon said,” Rick hissed.

“Fuck what Dixon said!”

“You cain’t just— you got no right—”

“I got every right, man, lemme tell you sumn’—”

Before Shane could ‘tell you’ much of anything, though, the two were rendered silent by the sound of tires on pavement close by. A halt, a tense moment, a car door swinging open and closed, and a whisper passed quickly from Rick to Shane as the two exchanged a look,

“You fucked up.”

You tried tilting your head up toward the windshield to sneak a look in its reflection, maybe see who was coming. You couldn’t make out a thing.

Then, presently, the voice of a much more hushed, humbler Officer Walsh as he spoke,

“Detective Dixon, how’s it—”

“Six bucks.” Another man, presumably Dixon, cut in.

“Huh?”

“Six bucks fer this fuckin’ coffee. Tastes like dirt.”

Oh, uh, yeah, you could just sense Shane shifting uncomfortably on his feet as he searched for the right words to say, maybe scratched his head once or twice. Fortunately for him, Rick came to the rescue.

“Tried that new place on Main, huh?”

“Nic and Norman’s, yeah. Eggs were runny as shit an’ the waitress kept callin’ me ‘Dale’,” the man, now presumably Dixon but not Dale, said in a huff.

It was as if you weren’t lying flat on your tummy with your top off and your hands cuffed behind your back. You stupidly hoped the new man hadn’t noticed you.

“Well who’ve we got here?”

Shit.

You heard footsteps approach, but you didn’t turn your head. Your lungs expelled a small, shaky breath as this detective came by and stood inches from your bent form.

“She and her friends were flashing their tits to the cars passing under the bridge,” Shane declared, a touch too smug as he said it, “The others got away, but this one was sweet enough to grace us with her presence.”

“Kicked me in the stomach and knocked me on my ass,” Rick added.

“Bit me, too.”

You heard a low tsk-tsk as the detective clicked his tongue. Took another sip of his mud-flavored espresso and shook his head above you. Your skin burned with the imprint of his gaze.

“Spring break come a little late this year?” he teased.

“Fuck you,” you muttered.

The men let out a collective chuckle at your tart words. You could just picture the smirks and sly glances shared between them as they watched you writhe against the hood of the police cruiser and try not to give them the satisfaction of seeing your breasts splayed out underneath you.

You were ashamed, admittedly, unsure of how to proceed with three cops at your rear and few options at your disposal besides swearing up a storm. At last, you decided to shift your gaze in their direction and shoot them a glare—more of an empty threat than any real message, but you didn’t care.

You turned and immediately wished you hadn’t.

Your heart leapt into your throat.

“Daryl?!”

This time, Rick and Shane were the only ones to laugh out loud, before quickly stifling the sounds when they realized their superior hadn’t shown a hint of amusement.

Daryl Dixon, the detective, and your brother’s best friend from college, stared down at you with a look of horror.

“Y/N,” he stammered, in shock.

It was clear he was trying with every fiber of his being not to look down at your tits, but his resolve was only so strong. Finally, he settled on looking away, fast, and staring off in the distance while you readjusted yourself.

“Been a minute,” he said, trying for a curt, awkward nod.

And a minute it had been. The last time you’d laid eyes on the man had been at a Christmas party hosted by your brother and his husband four years ago. You’d exchanged all of ten words in polite, drunken pleasantries, and he’d stumbled off at the end of the night with a gorgeous redhead dressed as Mrs. Clause. You hadn’t heard hide nor hair of him since.

For a moment, Rick’s eyes danced indeterminately between you two. Shane’s remained fixed on your face.

“You know this little hellion, Detective?”

Daryl cleared his throat.

“Yeah, uh, that’s— that’s Aaron’s little sister.”

“No shit?”

The words came out faster than Shane could think to stop them. Your hometown was no great metropolis, and even he knew of your brother through a friend-of-a-friend and several cousins’ babysitter’s grandma’s Aunt Carol, or some similar relation. He and Rick had probably partied at your lake house a couple times in college.

“Uncuff her.” Daryl’s voice had already lowered some, pacing away to give you privacy.

Shane obliged and freed you from the handcuffs. When you turned around, only the back of Daryl’s body was visible to you as he ducked inside the backseat of his car.

He returned a few moments later with a blanket. Tried his damndest not to let his vision stray an inch from your face as he handed it to you. Then he beckoned Rick over, and the two exchanged a few quiet words by his sedan.

“You got rabies or anything?” Shane was eyeing the tiny crescent of teeth marks on his forearm.

You rolled your eyes.

“Worse. I’m one of those walkers.”

Shane gave you a look that conveyed he was just as annoyed but didn’t say anything more, even when you made a face at him. He just crossed his arms, leaned back against the squad car, and gritted his teeth. Before you knew it, Daryl and Rick were walking back.

“I’ll take her to the station,” Daryl said.

“Alri—”

“What?” you cried, “For what?!”

You knew for damn what. You just couldn’t believe your brother’s best friend wasn’t planning on giving you a family friend freebie of some kind.

Officer Walsh supplied an answer for you nonetheless, “Let’s see, now: public intoxication, public indecency, open container, and aggravated assault on two police officers. That clear things up, sweet cheeks?”

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

“Disorderly conduct, too,” Rick chimed in. Trying not to smile as he said it.

The only ones still not amused by anything this situation had to offer were you and Daryl. The detective looked positively pissed and ready to chuck his cup of coffee over the bridge, while you wanted nothing more than to disappear into the ether. The two of you exchanged a brief, uneasy look and quickly looked the other way.

Rick and Shane were already retreating to their cruiser. You just watched them, almost forlorn, and pretended not to see Daryl signaling for you to follow him.

“C’mon now,” he murmured.

“Can’t you just let me off with a warning?”

Daryl was treading closer to you now, hand outstretched in an almost gentle sort of gesture. Like he wasn’t about to cart you off to the slammer.

“Y’know I can’t do tha’,” he replied, “With all the fuss ya caused, Captain would have my head.”

When you wrenched your arm away from his grasp, you saw him frown.

“Hey,” Daryl said, a little more sternly now, “Don’t make this harder than it needs ta be.”

You watched him reach for you again.

Your first instinct was to shrug him off. Your second was to flee.

You weren’t sure why you even tried it—it just seemed like the right thing to do in the moment, like they did in the movies, to take off sprinting down the street. You gave it a shot.

Unfortunately for you, your feet didn’t carry you far, and Daryl had you snagged in his arms in about five seconds flat. You glanced to the first cop car and saw that Rick and Shane hadn’t even stirred from their seats. Just grinning and laughing at your attempted escape.

Detective Dixon had you by the bicep now, leading you toward his car with a little more force in his step. You were cursing, writhing, fighting every effort of his to corral you into the backseat, but, without much trouble, he pushed you in.

Rear doors locking automatically, you had little more to do than sit and pout and feel every bit the brat as Daryl buckled himself in and started the car.

“C’mon, Dar, this isn’t a joke. I could lose my job ‘cause of this,” you whined, threading your fingers through the wired metal barricade that separated you.

Daryl watched and waited for the other cruiser to fall behind him. Then he started off.

“Shoulda thought about tha’ before ya decided to show yer tits off ta the world, no?”

“Like four people saw us.”

In the rearview mirror, you could’ve sworn you saw a ghost of a smile cross Daryl’s lips.

“I got a pretty colorful phone call from a man named Eugene saying he saw three girls danglin’ half nekkid from a bridge tryin’ ta flag down a firetruck...Don’t sound all that discreet to me.” Daryl shrugged, pretending not to see you slump back in your seat.

“We were drunk!” you cried.

You threw your hands up and let them fall at your side, while Daryl made a wide left turn.

“So?”

“You’ve done plenty of dumb shit when you were drunk, Dixon. Don’t even start.” You raised your hand like you were talking to your mother as an angsty teen. The man in the driver’s seat hardly seemed fazed.

“Oh?”

You paused a beat, then jolted back up as an old memory stirred in your mind.

“Like— like the time you got so shitfaced on senior night that you stumbled into my room thinking it was the bathroom,” you said, hastily, “Pissed all over my floor.”

Daryl’s eyes darted up to meet yours in the mirror, sharing in that vague and ugly recollection from his college days.

“That was yer room?” he winced.

“I was twelve and terrified,” you said, hovering as close as the metal wall would allow you, “Didn’t even know what being piss-drunk meant until you decided to relieve yourself all over my Barbie rug.”

“Ah shit...I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“Let me out and we’ll call it even?” you ventured.

“Nuh-uh,” Daryl said, shaking his head, “Not how that works.”

You balled your hand in a fist and struck the wall between you, an exasperated sigh escaping your lips. Try as you might to fight it, you were still slightly buzzed and far more prone to anger than you normally would be. Daryl gave you a look.

“Pipe down, princess, ‘s’ain’t the end of the world.”

“And who the fuck are you to say?” you snapped, clenching your jaw.

Daryl pressed a bit harder on the brakes as he brought the car to a stop at a red light. Then he shot a look over his shoulder. His brow drew in just slightly.

“Yer a real brat, ya know that?”

“Really, pig?” you sneered.

“Yeah, slut.”

Your mouth fell open at the sound of Daryl’s first real insult. He’d been all placid smiles and gentle eyes, never lapsing in the civility of his rank or his respect for you, his close friend’s sister, until that point. You watched as his gaze visibly hardened and moved away from yours, foot hitting the gas when the light turned green.

“What did you just call me?”

“A fucking slut. ‘Cause tha’s what ya are,” Daryl answered, not missing a beat.

Had he lost his fucking mind? Who did he think he was? The man carried on, starting to increase the car’s speed,

“Nobody’s showin’ off a pair’a tits that damn pretty ‘less they’re a whore, ya know?”

You sat back in awe, hardly aware of the cruiser’s growing acceleration, or the fact that Daryl was just then starting to turn down a road you—and Rick and Shane—had never seen before. You were too offended. Flustered.

“Excuse m—”

“Yeah, I looked. You’ve got an incredible rack, really,” Daryl admitted as he cut you off, “Too bad it’s attached to such a worthless little slut.”

“Get fucked, Dixon,” you hissed, beating your fist against the divider once more.

“Oh, believe me, we will.”

Your blood likely would’ve run cold in your veins if you had the first clue what he was talking about. What did he mean by ‘we’? Why had he started smiling when he’d said that?

Presently, you looked out the window.

Where the everliving fuck had he taken you?

Instead of finding yourself parked outside the King County Sheriff’s Department, as expected, you cast a sidelong glance to the left and the right and saw nothing but trees. Wilderness. You were parked in a clearing, at what appeared to be a campground...in a quarry?

You turned back to Daryl, suddenly rigid with fear.

The driver’s side door was already slamming shut behind him. Instead of deigning so much as a glance at the back, he strode right past you and went over to the car that had just pulled up. Rick and Shane appeared just as confused as you were as they came to a stop.

You watched them, dumbstruck, pulse pounding in your ears as a hundred different thoughts danced in your mind and grew progressively darker the longer you stared. Were they going to torture you? Kill you? Cuff you to the car and kick the living shit out of you until you bled from the mouth and begged them for mercy?

There was no way the drunken fratboy of your youth, now a detective on the police force and your brother’s best friend, would do something so heinous, right?

You slinked back in your seat when you saw all three men turn and approach your car.

Now, more than ever, there was no place but the police car you wanted to be as Daryl flung the back door open and stuck his head inside.

“Hey,” he grinned, “Wanna talk?”

Before you knew it, your feet were planted on the rocky terrain directly in front of Daryl’s car, and your hands were clasped together. Not cuffed this time—just folded and trying to look as polite and unassuming as possible.

“We’ve got a proposition,” Daryl started, steady.

You watched him pace back and forth while the two other officers stood back in silence. Shane wore the faintest smirk.

“You don’t wanna go to jail, right?”

You shook your head no.

“Good, ‘cause we don’t really feel like bookin’ ya,” Daryl continued, “Too much paperwork an’ all tha’ bullshit.”

You nodded along, slowly. Relieved to hear you weren’t getting arrested but waiting to see what the ‘But…’ was.

“But, y’know— it wouldn’t be fair to let ya go that easy.”

You kept nodding. Now looking at Shane and Rick and finding both of them smiling.

“So I say we make ourselves a deal. That okay with you, sugar tits?” Daryl sneered.

You balked at the name but swallowed your pride and answered, ‘Uh huh’ in a small voice. Squeezed your hands even tighter together.

Daryl approached you for the first time. You stood there, trembling, still thinking there was a chance that the three of them might just beat the hell out of you right then and there—and you flinched when Daryl lifted his hand to your cheek.

He brushed a few loose hairs from your face.

“I think you need to start by saying sorry.” His voice was almost serene.

You blinked a couple times up at Daryl with wide, oblivious eyes, shaking your head when you didn’t understand what he meant.

“To Shane,” Daryl added.

Softly, he tilted your chin toward his friend, who was grinning even bigger now.

You struggled for a second, opening and closing your mouth a couple times before stammering:

“I-I’m sorry, Shane.”

Your voice barely reached them in a whisper. You were so confused.

And, just as you started to wonder if that was all they really wanted, or if there’d be some other catch, Daryl decided to supply you with a wordless answer before you could even ask. The “catch” caught you right on the backs of your legs as Daryl gave them a gentle kick, causing both to buckle underneath you. You fell to the ground on your hands and knees and straightened yourself up just in time to see Shane make his leisurely approach.

“I’m sorry, Shane,” you spluttered again, thinking he just wanted you to grovel there in front of him.

Daryl and Shane exchanged looks. Then they smirked at you.

“I think Shane would rather you show him how sorry you are,” Daryl said, suddenly leaning over to collect two handfuls of hair behind your head, “With your mouth.”

At any other time, such condescension dripping from a man’s tone would have turned you off—and pissed you off—immediately. With Daryl and Shane standing over you now, the former’s fingers slotting through your hair and the latter’s working to unzip his pants, you couldn’t imagine yourself being any more aroused.

It hit you like a ton of bricks, all at once.

They were there to fuck you, not fight you.

At least not in the way you’d imagined anyway. No doubt Shane was keen to get his fill, and might be a tad more aggressive than the others to get it, but Daryl would make sure he didn’t push too hard. He held your head in place while Shane pulled out his cock.

And, you hated to say it, but your mouth was salivating for a taste. You couldn’t be bothered to look up at either man now, just soaking in the sight of Shane’s thick, veiny member and feeling your face being moved closer to it. Not minding you were being manhandled as a gentle moan escaped your throat.

“Wanna show Shane how sorry ya are? Show him how good tha’ slutty little mouth’a yers can make him feel?” Daryl hummed.

“She’s droolin’, man,” Shane said, hardening at the sight.

You were. You couldn’t help it. You felt a thumb swipe at the spit that had just begun to trickle out of your mouth and sensed Rick at your side, enthralled as all the rest of them. Then that same finger drifted down to your tits, smearing the moisture all over one nipple before pinching the peak between two digits.

Your lips parted with another small whimper at the sensation, and Shane took that as his window to thrust his cock in your mouth. Caught off guard, you couldn’t help but gag when his tip hit the back of your throat, but Daryl steered your head back just in time so you weren’t choking on that first, single stroke.

“Easy, easy,” Daryl chided his friend as he watched your eyes water and your hand reach up to steady yourself against Shane’s thigh.

“You kiddin’? She fuckin’ loves it,” Shane grinned, “Don’t you, slut?”

You licked your lips and nodded. Didn’t bat an eye when Shane brought the head of his cock back down to your lips, and you quickly enveloped him in an open-mouthed kiss of sorts. Shane groaned at the sensation and couldn’t help but rut his hips.

“Such a fuckin’ whore,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

Daryl helped move your head up and down his length while you stared up at Shane with the prettiest, most fucked-out expression you could manage, and you felt his length twitch in your mouth. Daryl pulled you off.

“Now what do we say for kicking Officer Grimes, hm?”

Before you could answer, your face was tilted to the left, and you were met with the sight of Rick stroking his length at your side. A string of saliva still connecting your mouth to Shane’s cock, you looked up at the friendlier of the two officers and gave him a smile.

“I’m sorry, Officer Grimes.”

This time, Daryl let Rick take the reins, for a moment, and move your mouth over his shaft. You happily accepted him between your lips and started bobbing almost instantly. You relished the pleasure that flooded those soft blue eyes, the way they winced just a little when you took him to the back of your throat. Like he wanted to fuck your face but felt too overcome with some feeling or fear to give it a try.

You decided it was cruel to make a man so polite wait a second longer than he needed to. Presently, you pulled off Rick’s length with a gentle ‘pop’ and turned your head back over to Daryl.

“Can you please tell Officer Grimes to fuck my throat?”

All three of them froze for a second, taken back by the filth that had just come out of your mouth, still spoken so sweetly. You stroked Rick’s cock and pretended to be oblivious of what you saw. Deep down, you knew by the glint in their eyes they were yearning, lusting, fucking you in their minds with every innocent blink you made. You felt Daryl’s grip tighten in your hair.

“You heard the lady,” Shane said, words directed to Rick but gaze never leaving you.

Out of habit, his hand came to wrap around his own cock as he watched you take Rick’s. You glanced between the two of them, placed a quick kiss on the tip—first on Rick’s and then, to the men’s surprise, on Shane’s—and parted your lips when you moved back to Rick.

Officer Grimes didn’t hesitate this time. He leveled himself with your mouth and pushed all the way in. You started to moan, but the sound was audibly cut short by a spasm in your throat. Rick reached the back of your warm, wet orifice with ease and, going further than Shane ever went, actually slid down that space. Exactly how you wanted him. You bobbed your head and hummed to show your appreciation.

Encouraged by how eagerly you swallowed him and how quick your whimpers were to reverberate down his length, Rick moved his hips. Watched you gag once or twice and blink through a couple tears, before Daryl wiped the moisture away as Rick had done for your spit. You were every bit the pampered and primped fuckdoll in their hands, bobbing and licking and sucking him dry.

“Good girl,” Daryl murmured, massaging your scalp when you gagged again.

“Takin’ me so well,” Rick groaned as he fed you another inch.

Shane continued pumping his cock, grunting out expletives, and watching you all the while.

You pulled off of Rick for a moment. Whether it would piss them off or turn them on, you didn’t really care—but you reached up to Shane and replaced his hand with yours, before dropping a kiss over the head of his cock.

All three men seemed to love it. Especially Daryl.

Though he hadn’t made a move to get his own dick wet just yet, you got the sense the man loved to watch. Loved to see your mouth sliding up and down and swallowing more cock every time, thinking to himself what a nasty, filthy little whore you were and just waiting for the moment it would be his turn to claim your throat and the rest of your holes as his own. In the meantime, you wanted to give him a good show.

You jerked both Rick and Shane in either hand and chanced a look over at Daryl.

Locking eyes with him, you moved down over Rick and sucked half his length in your mouth. Then, just as quick, you took Shane between your lips and gave the tip a wet, spongy kiss before taking him to the back of your throat. The mound in Daryl’s pants grew even more pronounced.

“Hey,” Rick said, grazing your cheek with his knuckles, “Ain’t you gonna say sorry to Detective Dixon, too?”

You moaned against Shane’s throbbing length and made sure Daryl saw your tongue swirl over the tip. Teasing him now.

Presently, Shane pulled out of your mouth and grabbed hold of your hair.

“Gonna make him feel real good with that slutty little mouth’a yours, huh?” he growled.

You nodded and smiled. Wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and started crawling over to Daryl as soon as Shane let you go.

You couldn’t believe he’d waited this long—couldn’t believe you’d been sucking his friends dry all this time and hadn’t gotten so much as a glimpse at him. Daryl watched you with a comfortable, lopsided sort of smirk as you made your way over to him, clearly enjoying this view of you on all fours.

Not even a guillotine could take away the head you were about to give this man.

When you finally reached his knees and straightened up enough to reach for the zip of his brown slacks, you felt a hand catch you around the wrist. To your surprise, Daryl held you back and yanked you onto your feet.

“I wan’ my apology someplace else.”

That ‘place,’ you would come to learn, was simply on top of his car. Splayed out on the hood of his cruiser with your pants dragged all the way down to your ankles and kicked off at your feet. Daryl carried you there and stripped you down to your panties, leaving you all but naked and ogling him with keen, hungry eyes. Rick and Shane were quick to follow suit and seemed just as eager as you were to watch this scene unfold.

You reached for his clothed erection once more but found your hand swatted away.

“Nuh-uh,” Daryl shook his head.

You raised an eyebrow in question. You opened your mouth to speak but found yourself moaning instead when Daryl slipped a finger past your panties and between your folds. Somehow finding your clit quicker than you could even dream, he circled that tiny bundle of nerves with his thumb and teased the seal of your entrance with his middle and ring fingers.

You clawed at his wrist.

“But Dar— I-I wanna taste you so bad,” you pleaded.

Daryl grinned and plunged his two fingers deep inside you, holding your hip to the car to keep you from squirming. He nodded to Rick, who took that as his cue to press down on your other side. Together, they had you pinned to the hood and helpless under their touch.

Daryl curled his fingers up and caused you to moan.

“How bad?” he asked.

“So—” your voice broke off in a gasp when the pads of his fingers stroked your G spot, “So bad, Daryl, please.”

You could tell by the look in his eyes that he was savoring every second of this sight: you with your legs spread, begging and pathetic as he and Rick held you down. He probably would’ve liked to keep you there a little longer, maybe teased and fingerfucked you to the point of tears, but he got the sense that his friends weren’t possessed of quite the same patience. He’d just have to save the overstimulation for later.

Before you knew it, Daryl had given Rick another quick nod, released you from his hold, and pulled you off the car—before steadying you back on your feet, facing the vehicle.

Your hands flew out to catch yourself, but, before meeting metal, intercepted Daryl’s broad form instead. He took a seat on the front end of the car and caught you in both of his big, calloused palms.

“How ‘bout that taste, hm?” He was already starting to unbuckle his pants.

Finally. You promptly started to sink to your knees, when a light slap struck your cheek. You peeked up at its source and found Daryl shaking his head once more.

“Stay put,” he instructed as he started to pull his cock out of his boxers, “Rick’s gonna fuck tha’ slutty little cunt while ya suck me off, alright?”

It wasn’t so much a question as it was a signal—and an effective one at that—to get Rick off his ass and hurrying to get behind yours. In the next second, you felt a set of warm, calloused hands on your hips and a tender grip tugging you back to meet someone’s crotch.

Your pussy twitched with the realization of your current predicament: bent over between the two men, with Daryl’s cock mere inches from your face and Rick’s member throbbing above your heat. Never once had an image like this materialized in your mind’s wildest fantasies, but now that you were here, stuck between these two with Shane just then drawing closer, you found yourself turned on to no end.

You parted your lips to allow Daryl entry when Rick teased the head of his cock up your slit. You took just the tip of Daryl, trying to stifle a moan, and the man behind you rubbed the length of himself up and down the seam of your cunt to collect all your juices. Another inch of Daryl in your mouth and you were whimpering with the feeblest look up at him, needing Rick inside you too.

Daryl held your gaze and ran a hand over your head.

“Little slut needs her pussy fucked, does she?”

You nodded, bobbing gently over Daryl’s member. You were just preparing to ease him in another inch or two when all of a sudden, the head of his cock jumped to the back of your throat as Rick thrusted into you.

It was far less gentle than you’d expected, sending you deep down Daryl’s length and causing you to gag. You hardly had time to adjust, or pull off of the man in front of you to catch your breath, when Rick started pounding you from behind. Rutting his hips, grunting in time with his thrusts, and slapping your ass in quick, ruthless hits. Daryl groaned above you as you had no choice but to deepthroat him again and again.

Shane, ever impatient, approached your free hand and guided it toward his erection. He wrapped your fingers around his cock and helped you stroke him quick, all while your mouth and pussy were presently occupied by Daryl and Rick’s sloppy thrusts.

“Ya like gettin’ spitroasted, huh? Like gettin’ fucked in two holes at once?” Shane sneered.

“Fuckin’ loves it,” Rick answered for you with a smirk, “Never seen a pussy this wet in my life.”

You imagined all of them could see and hear the arousal oozing from your freshly-fucked cunt, but you sensed no one liked it better than Daryl. The man was entranced with the sight of your form getting fucked from behind, sucking him deeper, looking up through your wet, tear-stained lashes as you let him fuck your face. That pure euphoric look in his eyes was almost like a drug—you wanted nothing more than to keep it there as long as you could.

Mere minutes later, Rick’s hips were stuttering against your own and his cum was spraying all over your insides. You didn’t stop sucking Daryl.

Shane gladly switched places with Rick and took a greedy handful of your hips before pumping his cock once or twice. You flattened your tongue against Daryl’s member and took him even further down your throat.

The man behind you was panting, right about to breach your folds when a sight below him held him in place.

Rick’s load was just then starting to dribble out of your pussy, leaving a long white trail of milky residue down your slit.

Shane clenched his jaw.

“Still hungry for more, slut?” he said through gritted teeth. To your surprise, you felt his fingertips trace the outline of your cunt and start moving up toward your other hole.

He was coating your asshole with Rick’s cum, grinning when you flinched.

“Think she’s ever been fucked in the ass before?” Shane asked the others. He slipped a digit inside your hole and watched you moan on Daryl’s dick.

Daryl pulled you off his cock and held you by your hair, your mouth saturated with strings of fresh saliva.

“Have you?”

You swallowed and shook your head. Daryl didn’t let his gaze linger on you another second. He signaled to Rick.

“Right there,” he pointed with his chin.

You hardly knew what was going on or where Rick had hastened off to. All you could comprehend was the gruff tone of Daryl’s voice telling you to get up, now, and the feel of Shane’s hands still holding you, guiding you back to your feet. When you didn’t move fast enough for his liking, Shane simply swept you up in his arms bridal-style and started carrying you himself.

Over his shoulder, you spied Daryl and Rick exchanging words and the latter placing the blanket you’d worn earlier on the ground. You almost felt tempted to ask Shane what they were planning to do, just starting to speak, when the man brought you over to the spot and set you right down.

The three of them had you circled in an instant.

Before the question could even form on your lips, you watched Daryl join you on the blanket. His smirk was evident.

He patted his lap for you to come straddle him.

When he started to lie down, your hands followed suit, eager to rest on either side of his chest, but another touch held you back. Behind you, Shane had grabbed hold of your hair and turned your head to face him.

“Spit,” he ordered, holding his hand under your chin.

You did as you were told and watched him rub your spit all over his shaft, before bringing his hand up to your face again and repeating his command.

At the same time, Daryl had lifted his hips and was guiding you closer to his cock. Your gaze moved down, then up, then over at Rick with a look of confusion, only to dart back to Daryl when you felt him split you open with a single thrust.

You had just been impaled on Daryl’s cock, mind reeling at the stretch and sensation, when you felt two fingers slip between your legs from behind. Daryl gripped your face and brought it down to his—wouldn’t let you look over your shoulder as the other man’s hand started to traverse the contour of your ass.

You were pulled in for a kiss as Daryl bottomed out inside you. Tongue hardly able to keep up with his as moans and whimpers went bubbling up in your throat, you just sat there, straddled him, and let him use your pussy any way he pleased. He snapped his hips and groaned your name between your lips, while the hand that was prodding you from behind finally reached its intended destination.

You yelped into Daryl’s mouth the second you felt a full, hefty finger slip inside your ass. Officer Walsh, no doubt.

The two men at your rear all but moaned as your tight little hole contracted around Shane’s finger and Daryl continued to pound you from below. It was odd, that sharp, disparate feeling of Daryl’s cock drilling your pussy while Shane’s digit pumped a much slower pace in your ass. Your senses had kicked into overdrive, and you couldn’t keep from showing your pleasure with every sound that you made.

Shane withdrew just long enough to add another finger, smearing a mixture of cum, spit, and your own juices all over your walls for lubrication. You sensed him moving closer, when Rick grabbed hold of his shoulder.

“Give her a minute,” he muttered.

Shane scoffed, shaking him off.

“Little whore looks plenty ready to me,” he retorted as he eyed your slick, sensitive hole.

Suddenly, your throat was clasped in Shane’s big hand and your head pulled tight against his chest. He had taken his cock in his other hand and was angling his length just right to press the head between your cheeks. Daryl had slowed almost completely.

“C’mere.” Daryl beckoned you closer with a tender look. When you leaned down to lay flat on his chest, he smiled, stroked your hair, “Jus’ hold on ta me, alright?”

Your walls were already squeezing his cock like a vice and your fingernails making white-hot crescents in his shoulders—you couldn’t hold him tighter if you tried—but you nodded. You let him kiss you again, felt a little more fit to take his tongue this time, and eased down along his shaft until you were filled to the brim with nothing but him.

That last part changed as soon as Shane thrust into your ass.

You jolted forward and instinctively tried to pull off his cock, but Daryl held you tight. Brushed a few stray strands of hair from your face and started peppering your skin with kisses the louder you whimpered.

“Doin’ so good for us, baby— takin’ our cocks so well,” he cooed in your ear.

You whined at the fierce burn between your legs as both Daryl and Shane pushed inside you. Rough fucking was one thing, but being penetrated in both holes simultaneously while sandwiched between two men just brought the sensations to entirely new heights. You clawed at Daryl’s shoulders and damn near sunk your teeth straight through your bottom lip.

“Good girl,” the man below you mumbled as he watched your face contort in a medley of pleasure and pain, “Tha’s my good girl.”

“Fuckin’ whore,” Shane spat, shoving his cock even deeper. Clearly not one for tender anal training.

Now it was Daryl going slow and sweet, just barely stirring his cock inside you while Shane slapped your ass and yanked your hips over his own. You saw Rick’s previously-deflated cock grow hard in his hands, and you proceeded to watch him watch you as he stroked himself a few feet away.

You needed another distraction. You caught Rick’s eye and simply licked your lips in silent invitation. He was filling your mouth in a matter of seconds.

With three cocks pumping in and out of you, you felt every bit the fucked-out brat you knew they’d wanted to claim. Your brain had all but melted to mush in their hands, your body manhandled and fucked every which way while your thoughts yielded, in turn, to pure anoesis.

There was something unusually freeing about being a living, breathing fuckdoll for these three King County cops. You couldn’t get enough.

Rick pulled his dick out of your mouth just long enough to slap you with it.

“This what ya needed?” he teased, tapping the head of his cock on your spit-painted cheeks, “A good fucking in all your holes to make you behave?”

You stuck out your tongue and tried to nod, your body still shaking with every thrust from Daryl and Shane. Instead of pushing back in, Rick simply rubbed his cock all over your face and shot you a look that was soaked to the core with condescension. Somewhere below, Daryl began toying with your clit.

You sucked in a breath between broken moans and clenched harder around both men inside you.

“Think she wants a switch,” Rick grinned.

In a minute, you felt yourself hoisted back up—Shane pulling out and Daryl rising swiftly to his feet. Two sets of hands helped maneuver your body to a position you’d never tried, never even seen before as your legs hooked over either one of Daryl’s arms and your ass was thrust back. Then, to your relief, it was Rick at your rear this time, rubbing his tip along your red and stretched out hole while your head came to rest on his shoulder.

You were pressed between the men once more and cradled comfortably in their arms. Daryl took care not to rut into you too hard while Rick was still coating your arousal across the hole Shane had just fucked raw.

“Shh, shh,” Rick’s lips dropped close to your ear while he pressed a wet finger inside, trying to relubricate the area.

You wiggled and squirmed, a bit too sensitive to keep still at this point, so Shane reached in and took you by the throat.

“Hold still,” he snapped. Stroking himself with his free hand.

You watched his eyes drift down to the spot where he’d just been, where Rick was trying to squeeze into, and felt the first real twinge of bliss when you felt the head of his cock tease your entrance. This was softer, even sweet. Paired with Daryl’s extra slow thrusts and the sounds all three were making as you spread your legs even wider, you first became aware of a knot in your tummy.

When the warmth of your ass enveloped just the tip of him, you felt it constrict even tighter.

Rick let out a groan and struggled to keep from thrusting too hard. Shane tightened his grip on your neck.

“C’mon now, sugar tits, don’t act like you ain’t just—”

“Shane,” Daryl growled.

Rick didn’t stop. You squeezed both cocks and moaned.

“I’m just sayin’ if the slut could fit my cock in and—”

“Fuck,” Rick hissed.

You were bouncing in between them now, head lolled back on Rick’s shoulder and hand pressed flush against Daryl’s chest. Steeped in pleasure as they stood and fucked you stupid.

Shane continued to tug his cock and stare you down with hungry, possessive eyes.

Daryl’s moans turned to shallow grunts while Rick’s breath fanned soft across your cheeks in ragged breaths. You writhed and you grinded between their two bodies, too lost in your own ascent to pleasure to sense anything else. Your skin was wet with a sheen of sweat and both holes all but soaked between the two men. Their cocks plunging in and out at a vicious pace until the coil in your stomach was nearly starting to ache.

“Feelin’ good?” Rick hummed in your ear.

“Gettin’ close?” Daryl joined.

Shane’s hand closed around your throat until your lungs could scarcely breathe and your vision blurred with stars. Making one last strangled moan, you rolled your hips and felt something taut and tight and blisteringly hot break loose across your abdomen—and not just the ropes of cum shooting deep inside you.

Alongside that tiny eruption came a blitz of pleasure unlike anything you’d ever felt before. Your body went haywire, every square inch of your skin alight with ecstasy and your mind going numb in a surge of bliss. You moaned and felt the walls of both holes spasm desperately over Daryl and Rick alike, and suddenly, something far beyond your control seemed ready to tear your body in two.

A beat of silence. Your consciousness gradually returned.

When you opened your eyes, the first thing to grace your sight was Daryl’s shining face, grinning ear to ear with the happiest expression.

You blinked and watched him closer.

As your vision adjusted and the world came clearer into view, you caught a glimpse of what seemed to have stretched Daryl’s smile so wide—and what had made his features so unusually luminous in this light.

Your eyes widened.

Daryl glanced to Rick, then Shane.

“Who knew she’d be a squirter?”

Presently, your juices were coating Daryl’s face and chest, having spurted straight from your cunt in the throes of climax and spraying all over his front.

Your pussy still clenched and convulsed as the cum from either man went seeping out of both holes.

Even Shane was left speechless, having just milked the last of his own release and watched you come undone in near-pornographic fashion. His chest was still heaving, blinking in disbelief and exchanging sly looks with Daryl and Rick every now and then. Rick pressed a kiss to your shoulder and smiled.

And, just when it seemed any one of you were liable to break that spell of silence with a laugh, the rattle of radio feedback startled you all.

Somewhere amidst the articles of clothing strewn around you, a walkie talkie clipped to one officer’s belt rang loud with the sound of a voice from a neighboring county’s dispatcher.

“All available units, high-speed pursuit in progress— Linden County units request local assistance. Highway 18 eastbound, GTA, ADW, 2-17, 2-4-3. Advise extreme caution.”

All three men stood to attention. Daryl and Rick lowered you quickly to the ground while Shane went scrambling for his clothes.

“Suspects are two male Caucasians. Be advised they have fired upon police officers. One Linden County officer is wounded.”

“Shit!” Rick hissed.

“Unit 1, unit 3, to eastbound Route 18. Two miles west of Interstate 85. Will patch in Linden County sheriff radio.”

“Is tha’—” Daryl started.

“We need to go,” Shane interrupted.

Another voice broke out over the line,

“Roger that. We’re five minutes south of the Route 18 intersection.”

Daryl tossed you what garments of yours he could find and snatched your arm in a breakneck haste. Before you could so much as slip your shirt over your head, though, you found yourself carted back over to his squad car and pushed toward an open door.

“What’s—”

“I’ll explain on the way.”

For reasons you couldn’t yet understand, you knew this call didn’t bode well for any of you. You took one last look at Officer Grimes and felt a twist in your stomach.

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