Waking up with Daryl in bed beside him was a luxury Rick had feared he'd never experience. For many long days he'd spent his time steeped in sorrow: mourning the loss of friends, his past life; missing Daryl so much it felt like he was missing a part of himself. A newly expressed desire for his friend, long simmering but only recently admitted to, had only just begun to gain momentum before Daryl was taken - from a shared hug lingering longer than usual to a single sweet, clumsy kiss, suddenly unable to help themselves.

Now, with the first show of morning light seeping through the window, Rick could see the man he loved was beside him, sleeping soundly maybe for the frst time in weeks. Rick had been given a brief glimpse of what Negan and his men had done to him, but when it came to it they hadn't been much in the mood for talking about it: both tired, overwhelmed; devastated and elated all at once.

Seeing Daryl walking towards him - flesh and blood, real, alive!- Rick had felt his soul rise up to meet him. And when they'd embraced, it had felt as though heaven had come down to earth and he was holding it in his hands.

The group, reunited and gaining strength, had spent that evening breaking bread and remembering absent friends. The gladness of finding one another again had been heavily coloured by their deep sadness and sense of loss, but they'd each made a pact to avenge those lost to Negan, and to rise up and reclaim their liberty.

The battle was on.

Daryl had been the first to turn in, withdrawn and weary. Rick had followed him soon afterwards: concerned for his welfare, but also longing to be near him, to be just 'them', alone again for a while.

He'd approached him gingerly, moving slowly towards him, trying to judge it right. Then he'd held out his arms in invitation. "Daryl?"

After just the tiniest moment of hesitation, Daryl had fallen into the embrace, burying his face in Rick's neck as they held each other close. "It's okay," Rick had said, his voice low and soft. "You're home now. With me. With your family."

And Daryl had nodded. And soon after that they'd sunk down onto the bed and fallen asleep, curled up front to back like spoons.

Rick shifted on that same bed carefully now, trying not to wake his companion. But it was in vain; when Rick looked across again, Daryl's eyes had opened and they were fixed on Rick's face. He was very much awake.

"'Mornin," Rick said, his steady voice belying the overwhelming gratitude welling in his chest.

"Mornin'."

"You sleep alright?"

"I guess."

"Are you feeling okay?"

"Uh-huh."

Rick turned on his side to face Daryl. "You sure?"

"Yeah."

Rick was about to say something else when Daryl dropped his gaze and started chewing at his bottom lip. He was obviously far from okay.

"Daryl?"

"Mm?"

"Tell me. What's on your mind?"

"It's nothin'."

"Daryl-"

"They gave me... a photograph."

"Of what?"

"Of what happened after... To break me. Almost worked."

"But they didn't break you."

"It's my fault though. Glenn. It happened 'cause o'me."

Rick cupped Daryl's cheek in his palm. "Daryl. You know damn well that son of a bitch woulda done it anyway. If it hadn't been Glenn, it woulda been somebody else. Me, you... Any one of us. You can't let yourself get beaten down by this. It's not yours to carry. Not alone. I sure as hell know I made mistakes. But that's not what we need to focus on now. Okay?"

A small nod was all he got in reply, but it was better than nothing; he leaned in and kissed his friend's forehead, and then - suddenly emboldened - he gently touched his lips to Daryl's.

It was a moment or two before his answer came: a press back, a murmur of approval. They were getting their second kiss at last. And this time they were alone, in bed, and the door was locked.

They embraced fiercely then, a bear hug that almost squeezed the breath from their lungs, then rolled over so that Rick was atop Daryl. He took a moment to take in the features of this man he now loved - had surely always loved? - and then with a small smile he dipped down again, his tongue flicking teasingly across and between Daryl's lips. The answer this time was bolder, more certain... and soon their tongues were lending the kiss a slick heat as it grew deeper.

"Daryl..." Rick breathed. "Oh god, Daryl... I want you so much."

"You got me," Daryl said, his eyes filled with a deep and tender longing; Rick caught his breath at the sight of him.

The clothes they'd fallen asleep in came away bit by bit as they kissed again, never getting enough of each other's mouths and tongues and teeth - nipping, licking, pressing tenderly, then harder. Rick felt like a teenager again, here with Daryl. And Daryl himself: what a dazzling mix of shyness and boldness, strength and vulnerablity. He turned Rick on in a way that Rick didn't even bother to analyse. At the end of the world, who the hell cared anyway? It was what it was...

He loved Daryl Dixon.

With their mouths and their fingers, spurred on by murmured endearments and gently falling curses, they made love with a sweet, slow passion that first time, as the new day began in earnest and the sun grew stronger and brighter in the sky. Rick took care of Daryl, his lust coupled with a need to cherish, to soothe. Some day they would have so much more; they'd be free to love and to heal, with a room and a bed much like this but in their own safe place.

But for now, this was all they needed.

For now, this was everything.