Daryl lets his mind slip from time to time. It only happens during the weak hours of the day, when all jobs are finished for the day. Even so, his subconscious tries to convince himself that there's a lot left to accomplish... aching his brain with a never-ending flow of tasks which disturbs any effort towards peace within himself. Work, work, work. Collect supplies. Maintenance the vehicles. Check with the others. Help the others. Eat. Stress that he ate more than he should have. Stress on collecting more food. Check in with Rick.
Rick. That's the reason he sits here, from time to time, and lets his mind slip.
He stands there now, leaned against the side of the buildings wall. Rick is with Carl in the field, plucking and tossing the small amount of vegetation which they have managed to grow. Finally, something they are doing right. He watches Rick as he concentrates on his work. The man stoops low, inspects some vegetable growing on a vine, which Daryl cannot recognize. Rick explains something to his son, who nods in understanding of the knowledge being passed on. Who figured a sheriff could manage as a suitable farmer?
Rick stands up straight and wipes a streak of sweat from his brows. He looks up to see Daryl watching him. Their eyes meet for several seconds. It's riveting how eyes can lock and share a string of emotions and thoughts. That's what theirs do anyways. Their eyes meet, and Rick can sense the stress which Daryl never admits to –unless being pried open. Daryl can feel Rick's determination –the fierce look in his eyes.
Determination. One of the many things which has got them so far.
Funny anyone would call living this way as progressive to any standard they had before. Living in a jail, barred inside with little to eat and when they do eat, they never take the time to savor the meals. There's too much work to do, and too little will to enjoy any flavor. Eating the flesh from meat reminds them of the danger lurking outside. The meat caught outdoors is one of the requirements which chances the lives of those who are willing to risk it. Namely Daryl's for this matter.
Each time Daryl returns unharmed, Rick feels a weight removed from his shoulders. It weighs him down as the day sinks away and his partner does not return home. For some luck of his fate, he is usually granted relief. And even more so... a meal for their group. He'd be lying to himself if Daryl were second on his list.
Rick wishes he could accompany Daryl on his runs. If not to learn the skill, to be another set of eyes for him. But Michonne has taken to joining him, and she is quite skilled in learning Daryl's ways. The two make a great hunting team. If both were gone, it would take months to even begin to catch the amount they return home with.
It was hardly a full day earlier in which Rick actually feared Daryl would not return. He had gone alone this time. Rick would of never allowed this had he known, but no one said anything and by the time he found out, Daryl was likely a couple miles into the woods. Rick never let his emotions show, but only inquired to the group that next time they had better think twice about letting him go alone again. No one said much, and merely agreed.
To be fair, the ones who would of thought this as dangerous had no clue he left alone. This was the way of Daryl though. If he wanted to get something done, he would tell the right people. This also came into play when he wanted something accomplished without those breathing down his shoulders with their gasps of advice. Rick knew well enough that Daryl intentionally told only those who would not stop him from leaving.
This was one of the quirks of coming to care for someone. You learn their habits –both positive and negative.
Day began slipping away, and by the evening, the sickness of fear overwhelmed his gut. Stress. Stress has a way of making you feel sick to your stomach, and it causes you to lose sight of any sort of focus upon anything else. He tried to concentrate on planting, or cleaning the animal pens, but it was not helping subside his concerns. His mind kept wandering back to the gate. Waiting. Waiting.
Eventually, he gave up any ounce of distraction and permanently placed himself near the gates. Rick pretended to check the stability, or kill a walker that came close enough to jab through the gate with his knife. But his eyes constantly gazed to the road which led to their entrance. He never let it out of his range of vision.
By the time the sun had begun to sink behind the treeline, a figure carrying a large animal appeared walking down the road. It didn't take Rick long to slither his way through the entrance opening, and down the road to meet Daryl whose visible skin was covered in sweat.
"Got a big fat one," he triumphantly announced.
Rick ignored the doe which lay lifeless over the hunter's shoulder. Rick's arm instead raised and pointed to the forest over Daryl's frame. "What in the hell were you doing out there alone?"
Daryl stopped in his tracks and gazed into Rick's furious eyes. "Getting some damn dinner for everyone." He let the lifeless body slide off his shoulder and down onto the ground.
"You didn't think to take Michonne? Tyrese? Or even me with you?"
"Ya'll had your jobs to do."
"And you have yours too. Which none of us can hardly do without you!" It went unsaid what Rick was implying of –without Daryl, they would be worse off.
"What the hell is your problem? I can do just fine out there!" Their voices –though raising with anger, were just hushed enough to keep the conversation from drifting and attracting walkers.
"It's not smart, Daryl."
"What are you saying? I ain't stupid!" Daryl scoffed and rooted his foot into the ground. The two hardly butted heads, but when they did...
"You're nowhere near an idiot, but you know not to go out alone."
"We had hardly any food left, and I knew I could go in and out and catch something. I can't wait around all day to see who can or can't come with me."
"You never asked me."
It was true. Daryl didn't. Why, he did not know. Maybe he just wanted to clear his head from time to time and get out without the constant explaining of why he sets snares one way verse another. Or to tell someone to be quiet, constantly reminding them to keep their voice low. Michonne was always a good partner for this, except she had been sleeping when he walked by her cell. He could of woke her, but perhaps he unconsciously was hoping she wouldn't be available. To think of it, he hadn't really made an effort to get anyone else to join.
"I don't know. I just wanted to clear my head is all."
"Clear your head on your own time. In there-" once again his hand directed to a location- "where I know you're safe."
There. That was it.
The reason for his irritation. When it came down to it, the protectiveness Rick had over Daryl was more selfish than implying it was for the better of the group. Of course the group was important, but when that was out of the question, the reason for his worry was that he cared for Daryl too deeply to let him go unprotected.
Daryl couldn't say anything to that. He couldn't convince Rick that he in fact was fine, because they both knew that would be false. Instead, he let his head hang, deciding the best way to go about this was to admit his defeat.
But before he could get a chance, Rick stepped forward and roughly pushed Daryl by the shoulders to the back of a tree. It was as if an instant spark within their gut took over. The feeling took over all control as they let their mouths find contact with each others lips.
Daryl let out a moan of surprise when Rick pulled away and nipped at his neck. Their breaths began to pick up. Occasionally one would pull away and look around, before delving back into what they desired.
"Not here-"
"Shut up." Rick closed Daryl's protesting mouth with his lips. He pushed himself against the body which was trapped between him and the trunk of a tree. Daryl eventually gave into the insistence. His pulse quickened –eager to feel more of the man before him. A hand traced down to the outside of his pants, and firmly pushed up against his erection. A moan escaped, encouraging the hand to rub deeper. It had been so long since they had physical contact. His body rigid and eager for release.
Daryl pulled away from kissing Rick and rested his forehead on his shoulder. He let his hands drift up to Rick's shoulders and dig into his skin. Even though their wasn't much contact beyond a hand rubbing him through his pants, he still felt as though he could burst. Whenever him and Rick had their time together it was as if he lost all control.
Just when the pumping against his pants began to quicken and petty moans were escaping consistently, a snap in the woods sounded behind them. Of course. The smell of the dead deer was but an aroma to the walkers. Rick and Daryl both pulled away and with what little time they had, Daryl scooped up the doe with one arm as Rick looked around and guarded him. They made their way into the prison gates. One last glance between the two was shared, as if acknowledging 'that was close'.
And that was it. Daryl was left questioning their conversation well into the next day. It seemed that whenever they had any time for each other, the pattern was pretty much the same. They would blow some stress, then kiss. Never anything more, and never anything less. And it was eating him away. He just ached for 10 minutes alone with the man. That was all.
So he stood there now, lost in his thoughts, cleaning his knife as he occasionally looked down to the man in the field. If there was one thing he aimed to have accomplished tonight, was to have those 10 minutes alone with him. No fighting. No venting. Just the feeling of the two of them pushed against one another, doing what they had grown to become achingly addicted of.