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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

Check out my bio for a link to my Masterlist!

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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