In which Daryl almost dies.
Daryl leapt at the last second into the van, barely catching hold of Rick's hand as the van began to pull away. He felt a searing pull in his flank as he landed on the floorboards atop boxes of supplies and Rick's outstretched legs.
"Get us the hell out of here, Tyreese!" Rick got off one more shot before sliding the van door shut, dropping their last pursuer like a sack of potatoes. He collapsed back against the van door, panting and spitting blood. The van lurched forward, careening as Tyreese overcompensated and nearly rolled them into a ditch. It was deathly quiet for only a second.
"Fuck! Aaah!" Daryl clutched his side, feeling warm, sticky blood trickle between his fingers. Michonne scrabbled through the large first aid tub they kept in the van, while Carol did triage.
"Jesus Christ, Daryl." Carol's quiet curse caught everyone's attention. Daryl was by far the worst; beaten, shot in the leg, with a knife wound that twisted around his side up from one ass cheek damn near all the way to his navel. How he hadn't bled out yet, Carol wasn't sure. It didn't look deep enough to spill his bowels but there was no way to tell how bad it really was until they got him back to Hershel.
"M'okay. M'fine," he muttered before his body went limp.
"Like hell you are, you stupid bastard." She looked around the van, eyes frantic. "There, that shirt. Hand it here quick."
Carl grabbed the shredded flannel from behind Ty's seat and tossed it the short distance to where Daryl lay crumpled and bleeding. Carol rolled it quickly around her fist and pressed it into his belly. "I need help, I don't have enough hands!"
Michonne flicked open her butterfly knife and started slicing away what was left of Daryl's pants to check for an exit wound. "Through and through, single exit," she shouted. Carl handed her a fist full of small gauze squares which Michonne jammed against the front and back of his leg. She wavered for a moment, nearly passing out when Carl pulled a bandage tight around her own bleeding bicep.
"Fucking hell! Who were those assholes?" Ty shouted, turning the van onto the highway that led them back to the prison.
Rick snorted. "I don't know, but they sure didn't take kindly to strangers."
"I thought that town was empty?" Carl asked.
"It was the other day when Daryl and I scouted it."
Carol wiped her grimy cheek against her shoulder, keeping constant pressure on Daryl's belly. "Well, I guess we can mark this one off the map. I think we got everything we needed before the Welcome Wagon arrived."
"Dad? You okay? Dad?"
Rick, bleeding badly from a cut above his eye, placed his hand on Daryl's head and passed out.
…
Five Days Earlier
Daryl spread the Georgia Atlas and Gazetteer on the hood their sedan, flipping it open to a dog-eared page. "Main part of downtown should be just a few blocks north. The hardware store we found in the phone book should be right on the square, and the pharmacy's a block east on Decatur."
"Head there first and work our way back?"
Daryl fixed his crossbow over one shoulder and a backpack with a few tools over the other. "Yep."
Rick checked his weapon one last time, patted his pocket for the car keys, and adjusted his own small pack. "Lead the way, Pocahontas."
Looking over their shoulders one last time to memorize where they'd parked, they were relieved to be completely alone. "Creepy as fuck."
Rick agreed. "Neat as a pin. No graffiti, no bodies, no boarded windows. Just nothing but empty."
"Let's hope downtown is clear, too. We might get lucky and get everything we need in one run."
…
Present Day
"It missed his femur, but it's still plenty bad through the meat of his leg. It'll be a good while before he's ready to do much of anything useful." Hershel wiped his hands on a blood stained towel.
Rick was barely able to stand. He leaned over and rested his battered hands on the edge of Daryl's infirmary cot, surveying the bruises, blood, and bandages that covered his friend's body. "What about his side?"
"Well, if that crazy man had been as good with a sword as Michonne, Daryl would have died long before you got him home."
"Jesus."
"He's a lucky man, Rick, whether Jesus had anything to do with it or not. The sword was dull, the angle was bad, who knows. For whatever reason, he survived a wound would have killed most folk."
"Do you think he'll come around soon?" He looked up at Hershel for only a moment, hoping to hide his fear.
The old man smiled, patting Rick on the shoulder as he walked away. "He lost a lot of blood, and his body's got a lot of work to do. I expect a couple more days before we'll worry."
Rick couldn't speak, but coughed and nodded.
"You stay here if you like. I know you well enough to see you need to keep close. I'd rather you lay down, though. You got your own healin' to attend to. Won't do anyone any good if you collapse again."
"I'll be fi..."
"No, you won't. I'll have Carol and Beth drag another cot in, and no arguing. You hear?"
"Shouldn't we clean him up?"
"I'll see to it myself, son. You let Carl help you get washed, and I'll have a bed waitin' for you here when you're done."
Rick turned and saw Carl leaning against the doorway, arms crossed across his chest. "C'mon Dad. You look like hell, and smell worse."
Rick rested his palm gingerly on Daryl's chest, feeling his heartbeat strong and steady. "I'll be right back, buddy. I won't be far," he whispered.
…
Five Days Earlier
Daryl shone the flashlight through the front window of the hardware store and looked back at Rick with his mouth hanging open. "Untouched. Just like the others."
"I think the best plan is to leave it all as is for now, and come back with the big van. We could stockpile damn near everything we need for six months, if we plan it right."
"We need to come up with a better list than the usual smash-and-grab whatever's handy. Need to take our time. And we need more people," Daryl whispered.
"Yeah. We start breaking plate glass windows now, Lord knows what the noise'll bring down on top of us. I'd rather not turn this town into walker central before we have to."
"Yep." Rick looked up at the darkening sky. "Getting late. Let's find a place to bed down and poke through a few houses on the way back to the car in the morning."
"There's a little old hotel on the other side of the square. Top floor might give us a good vantage point to keep watch overnight."
They hit it lucky when they found the back alley service entrance unlocked. The metal door squeaked horribly, so they squeezed through without opening it all the way. Daryl eyed the antique front desk and the rack of skeleton keys behind it. He found the key to the highest numbered room and pointed with his chin toward the grand old staircase. "Three-ten."
Rick nodded and slowly made his way up the stairs to the second floor landing, pistol cocked and ready. "Clear," he called out.
Daryl followed him up and beyond to the third floor landing with his crossbow nocked against his shoulder. "Clear," he whispered. "Not a sign of anything but dust."
Rick hurried up the steps and took the room key from where it poked out of Daryl's back pocket. "Ooh. Bridal suite."
"If I'm lucky the plumbing'll work."
Rick unlocked the door and pushed it open softly. Warm evening light poured in four tall lace-covered windows facing the town square, coloring the walls a pale gold.
"No drapes," Daryl whispered. "Have to be careful with the flashlights." He heard water and spun around to find Rick dragging a wet washcloth across his face.
"Lucky you. We have water pressure, but who knows how long it will last."
Daryl grinned. "Is there a bath tub?"
…
Present Day
Rick stood under the shower head in the communal washroom, watching blood and grime trickle down his legs and toward the drain. He wondered how much of the blood was his own, and how much was Daryl's.
"You need help?" Carl asked from behind the partition.
"Nah. I'm achey and slow, but I'll manage."
"Well, speak up if you feel faint."
Rick dragged his soapy hands everywhere he could reach, careful not to disturb the stitches on his face more than necessary. He hated closing his eyes because the image of Daryl, his head cradled in Rick's lap while Carol and Michonne struggled to slow his bleeding, was burned into his brain. He had to reach out his hand to the wall to keep from falling down sobbing, and Carl head him whimper.
"Dad?"
"I'm okay, son. Just found a new tender spot I wasn't careful with."
"He's gonna be okay, Dad. I know he is. Don't worry."
Rick cringed. "Who, Daryl?"
"Dad, I know you…"
Rick interrupted him, unwilling, or unable, to hear what Carl thought he knew. "Can you hand me my towel? I think I'm done here."
…
Five Days Earlier
"Canned peaches?" Rick put the lid down on the toilet and sat, tucking the corner of his towel in tighter.
Daryl laughed. "Just like mamma used to make." He sloshed forward in the tub and took the can of peaches from Rick's hand, stabbing a slice with the tip of his knife blade.
"How's the water?" Rick asked, taking the can back.
"Fucking cold, but it feels good."
"I could barely stand it long enough to shower. I don't know how you can soak in it." He speared a peach and handed them back to Daryl.
"Hot blooded." Even in the dim light from the single flashlight they'd propped in front of the bathroom mirror, Rick could see Daryl smirk.
"Damn you, now I'm gonna have that song stuck in my head. Who was it? Journey?"
"Foreigner."
"Foreigner, right." Rick reached down absently to scratch his balls.
Daryl cleared his throat. "What do you think they're doing back home?"
"Hmm. It's late. Beth's putting Jude down for the night, or trying to. Carl is following Michonne around, pestering her with questions. Ty is helping Carol clean up dinner, and Sasha is reading to the girls. The others, who knows."
"Maggie and Glenn are shagging their brains out. Hershel is trying to pretend he can't hear them," Daryl offered.
Rick laughed. "I think we all try to pretend we don't hear them."
Daryl's head fell back against the tub with a thunk. "I don't know what that's like."
"You haven't heard them? Good God, that boy is loud."
"Not what I meant. Never mind."
"What?" Rick tipped the can up to his lips, drinking down the peachy syrup.
Daryl sighed. He was already in over his head, with no idea what he'd started down this road. It wasn't gonna end anywhere good. "Do you miss Lori, like that? I mean, having someone like that?"
"Sex? Are you asking me if I miss sex?"
"Fuck. No, that's not what I – having someone. Of your own. I've never had that."
It was Rick's turn to sigh. "Down to the end there, we didn't have much left but history. It hadn't been right between us for some time and there was no way to fix it. So yeah, I guess I miss it, but it was gone long before Lori was."
The only sound was water dripping form the tap into Daryl's cold tub. He moved around a bit, dragging a washcloth across his face and chest. "I'm not the kind of man most people want to get close to. Most people have better sense than that."
"Whenever there's a run, they all want you there with them."
"That's cuz I can shoot."
"No, it's because they trust you. They value you. But you keep them at arm's length. All of them. You're always runnin' off."
Daryl looked right at him then. Straight in the eye, unflinching. Rick had to look away after a moment, unable to stand the look on Daryl's face that made no sense.
"I've never had anything that was just mine. Never had someone, someone worth fighting to keep, someone I could drop the armor for. I was never allowed to have what I truly wanted. Sometimes I see Maggie and Glenn, and I just can't stay. Sometimes, I don't want to come back."
"Don't talk like that."
"I'm alone, Rick. All the rest of you have somebody. With Merle gone, as shitty a brother as he was, I'm alone."
Rick crouched down beside the tub and put his hand on Daryl's shoulder. "You're not alone. You're family. We couldn't make it without you. I couldn't."
Daryl's pulse kicked up a notch at the feel of Rick's warm palm on his shoulder, and it scared him. He knew he was playing with fire, toying with half formed ideas born of loneliness and fatigue, and would end up alienating the one man he considered a true friend.
Rick squeezed his shoulder, rubbing tiny soothing circles with his thumb. As Rick began to pull away, Daryl dropped his head to the side, trapping Rick's hand under his cheek.
"Daryl…"
He looked up at Rick, eyes burning with longing. Rick flipped his hand and cupped Daryl's face, running his thumb along his cheekbone.
Daryl closed his eyes and turned away before he made a bigger ass of himself. "Go to bed, Rick."
…
Present Day
Rick walked back to the infirmary, exhausted and light headed. Hershel stood by Daryl's beside with a small lantern in his hand, waiting for Rick.
"Here, I want you to take these." Hershel held out a pair of pills and a cup of water. "It won't knock you out, but it should ease the ache."
Rick did as Hershel asked while the old man pulled back the sheet and blanket on the narrow cot pulled up alongside Daryl's. Only a small gap separated them. "C'mon over here now and lay down. You won't get spoiling like this often, so enjoy it while you can."
Rick lay down on the cool sheets and melted into them. Hershel dragged the covers up and over him, tucking him in like a child. "Rest, now. He'll be fine." Hershel patted him softly on the shoulder, turned down the lamp, and walked out of the infirmary.
There was enough moonlight shining in the high windows to illuminate Daryl's face. One eye was nearly swollen shut, his lip was split, and there was a dark bruise blooming on his jaw. True to his word, Hershel had bathed him, removing all traces of the fight they'd narrowly escaped. Rick reached one had out from under the heavy will blanket and rested it on Daryl's bed. His fingertips just barely grazed the other man's arm. His skin was warm, and Rick thought it wouldn't hurt anyone if he held Daryl's hand. Just for comfort, he thought, as he wove their fingers together. In case part of Daryl was still awake in there, still aware, maybe Rick's hand could remind him he wasn't alone.
He looked at Daryl in the moonlight, remembering the night in the hotel. It had made him uncomfortable to hear him talk like that, to hear Daryl of all people talk about loneliness, and to see him look at Rick in a way that made him think about things no straight man had any business considering.
In that moment though, with the moonlight on his battered face, knowing what he'd risked to keep Rick safe? All he wanted to do was pull him into his arms and hold him.
…
Five Days Ago
Rick woke up to the bed jostling. He was wide awake instantly, reaching for his sidearm on the nightstand.
"S'just me. Tried not to wake you."
"Everything okay?" Rick rubbed his palm over his face, willing his heart to slow down after the burst of panicked adrenalin.
"Yeah. Quiet as fuck out there."
"I'll take over. You get some rest." Rick threw back the covers and sat up.
"Nah. Go back to sleep. If there were walkers in the neighborhood, we'd have seen them by now."
Rick paused a moment before laying back down. It was highly unusual that Daryl would sleep without someone on watch, especially outside the prison walls. "You sure?"
"Big ass bed looks too good to pass up. Scoot over."
Rick rolled to face the far side of the bed while Daryl situated himself, tossing and turning for several minutes before he finally settled with a deep sigh. With Daryl beside him, he allowed himself to drift back to sleep.
Rick spread his cape, sheltering the others. It was tattered and filthy, but continued to be big enough even as more and more people flocked to his side. They clamored around him, their voices bleeding into a needy hum. He was frantic to tend to them all, doling out food and guns and trying to establish order.
One voice rose above them, distant and mournful. Daryl stood bleeding before him, nude but for the weapons in his hands. Tears streamed down his face.
Rick tried to rush to him, but the weight of his cape pulled him back. He spun around and saw that all the others gathered at his feet did not see Daryl, could not hear him. Each held onto the cape with one hand, even as they comforted one another.
"Alone, alone, alone," Daryl's voice echoed weakly, from farther and farther away.
Rick scrabbled at his neck to unfasten the cape's clasp and threw it off behind him. It covered them all still, and they made little notice that Rick had cast it off. He ran to Daryl, and embraced him, pushing his weapons to the ground and pulling him into his arms.
Daryl's skin was cold beneath his hands, his body stone-hard and corded with sinew. "I'm here," Rick repeated, over and over. The words came alive around them, echoing and covering them like a blanket, warming them.
Daryl buried his nose in the warm skin beneath his cheek and tightened his arms around… Rick? He was gently rutting against him from within the fog of sleep. Daryl closed his eyes and rolled onto his back away from Rick, but Rick followed, awake enough to plunder his mouth with needy kisses. Daryl grabbed his face with both hands and pushed him back, but Rick persisted.
"You're not alone, damn you."
A/N I've had this on my desktop for probably a year, unfinished and sad. I can't bear to delete it, so here it is in all its pitiful unfinished glory. I had intended to write a love scene, but never could get past this point of momentary vulnerability.