He sits in the cozy window nook of their bedroom and savors the peace. It's barely daybreak, and nobody is in sight in the street down below. He loves the light this early in the day. It feels fresh and unsullied, somehow, newly made and golden. Nothing bad has yet happened on this day, and the light seems to reflect that state of affairs.
If he opened the window now he'd be able to smell the fresh air; free as it is these days of pollutants it's the most delicious thing in the world. He can't wait to get outside. But it's still too early, and there are many things on the agenda before he gets to set a foot out of the door.
Daryl sighs and shifts a little.
Yes, agenda for the day. It's strange how full his days seem now, considering how little changes from one to the next. He doesn't mind any of his duties, not really, but duties they are, all the same. And they are repetitive, even if not easy. No, not easy by a long stretch.
The truth is, the repetitiveness is not the biggest problem. No, that prize goes to the overall despondency that seems to have settled over them. Fighting that mood, keeping the darkness at bay, not just for himself but for them both, is at the same time never-ending and endlessly exhausting.
For most of their group, a certain routine is part of the rediscovery of a safe, more secure life, something to be cherished, never taken for granted. For him and Rick, though, this new routine is nothing like what they expected from their new existence, and not something either of them would have considered worth fighting for before all of this began.
But it's the only life they have, and Daryl is damned if they don't make the best of it, together.
A rustle of the bedsheets draws his attention. He looks over at the bed where Rick is still lying prone, fast asleep. He's familiar enough with his man now to know it'll be a good ten minutes still before Rick wakes up, from that first stirring in the morning. And they have nowhere to be, so he lets him sleep.
Daryl watches the peaceful, so familiar features with tenderness. After all this time he still loves doing this. Sit quietly, study Rick's face, his movements. Him. So very familiar, yet a miracle to Daryl to think of their leader as his. Their leader. His man. Even now, with all that's happened, and forever, if he has anything to do with it. They belong together, him and the former cop. The hunter and the leader. The redneck and…
But that's no accurate description, hasn't been for a long time. Redneck, cop. What does that even mean, in the world now? Leader, or hunter... Who is a leader in this freshly minted democracy? And who needs a hunter when almost all their food comes from scavenging, foraging and their not even so new and innovative crops?
Maybe they need new descriptors for people. Or, maybe, Daryl thinks for the hundredth time or more, people just set entirely too much store by words and what they could mean.
Cos what has happened to them, and what they're living through now, are there really words that can accurately describe that? Their feelings? What they've seen, what they've done. Does listing the sacrifices, the things they've lost, naming the pain all of it has caused, really mean anything, in the end?
Daryl doesn't mind words. He quite likes them, actually. He loves to read, something he's picked up from Merle long ago, and something people always seem to find surprising when he mentions it. But when it comes to solving problems, getting things done, words are as useful as a two-legged horse. Especially when people insist on talking instead of actually doing something about those problems.
He has to admit, though, words have been useful to him in one new and unexpected way since everything changed: they are essential for the checklists by which they now organize their days. Even though their days are routine, the tasks have many aspects. Daryl realized early on that having a list of things to tick off makes the days easier to manage.
It means fewer mistakes are being made, and less suffering has to be endured. With Carol's help he started writing lists for all kinds of things, but now most routine procedures don't need written lists. Daryl still keeps a mental tally, though, and ticks things off as he goes.
Rick is definitely stirring now and Daryl straightens up from where he's sitting comfortably. Wake up, tick. Next, bathroom, getting washed, getting dressed, getting them downstairs. Then making breakfast, eating together. Taking meds and prepping the rest of the morning.
As he goes through that mental list to make sure it's all thought of he gets up and steps over to the bed. He glances down with a half-smile as his lover opens his eyes.
"Mornin'. Sleep ok?"
Rick rubs his face, grunts from behind his hands.
"Yeah, not bad. You?"
He starts pushing himself up. Daryl half shrugs in reply to the question and makes an indistinct noise. Then he bends down to help Rick sit up fully.
A new day has begun.
