They all knew Rick had gone off the deep end, and badly. After Maggie and Carl came back with the baby but without Lori Rick disappeared into the bowels of the prison. When he was gone there was an awkward silence. Nobody quite knew what to do next. Finally they gathered their weapons and moved inside.

Daryl knew he'd have to go after Rick, and soon, but he didn't relish the thought. He felt distraught about Carol, and there was so much to do. They would need to dig several graves, and find formula for an infant. Feeling overwhelmed Daryl went and sat down by himself on the metal steps leading to the upper cells. His head was pounding, and he felt the now so familiar nausea welling up.

The headaches had started again a few days before they'd found the prison. He'd been mostly all right for the couple months before that. They'd found some Relpax not long after the episode with Rick's broken leg, which had helped on the odd occasion when he'd had a bad day. The pills had run out two weeks before the prison, and as much as they'd hoped to find medical supplies at their new stronghold so far they had been disappointed. There probably were supplies somewhere, but other things had kept them busy.

Daryl took a deep breath. He decided everything, including his headache, would have to wait. It had to be Rick first. Maybe, if Daryl went after him right now he could head off the worst of the storm, let Rick know he wasn't alone. Daryl made his way down the stairs and picked up his crossbow. When he passed Hershel he said quietly, "I'll go after him. See what's what."

Hershel nodded. For a moment he looked like he was going to say something, but then seemed to think better of it. Daryl had suspected some of the others had guessed his and Rick's secret, but so far nobody had said anything. Daryl wasn't sorry it hadn't come up, life was complicated enough.

He moved on to the gate that led from their part of the prison down to the dungeons. He still carried the keys for the block and used them to unlock the gate.

Getting into the near total darkness was almost a relief for Daryl's head. He moved slowly, alert for any noise or movement. He found that he was having trouble distinguishing sounds again, his ears were filled with the buzzing he remembered from previous migraine attacks. He knew he didn't have much time before he'd be useless again, and he wanted to at least talk to Rick before the headache laid him flat again.

It wasn't difficult locating Rick, all Daryl had to do was follow the trail of butchered walkers the other man had left in his wake. Usually not squeamish around blood and decay Daryl had to fight hard to keep himself in check as he slipped and slid on the blood soaked patches around the piles of walkers. The smell was getting to him, and he nearly turned around, but he forced himself to keep going. It was now or not at all.

Finally he came to what looked like a boiler room. The door stood ajar and Daryl could definitely hear movement inside. He peered round the door carefully, crossbow at the ready. Rick was crouching on the floor next to a reddish-black and glistening patch of concrete. The stench of fresh and old blood mingled sickeningly around Daryl and he gagged. Nevertheless, he stepped into the room and descended a short flight of stairs to the main level.

"Rick," he kept his voice low as he approached the other man. A few months ago he would have probably kept his distance but after what they'd shared, and what Daryl was sure they were becoming, he didn't even think about stepping right up to Rick and putting a hand on his lover's shoulder.

For a second Daryl didn't know what was happening. Then he collided painfully with the wall and the back of his aching head hit concrete hard enough to make him bite his tongue. He could taste blood, and saw nothing for several moments but exploding lights. The pain was excruciating and Daryl gave an involuntary groan. He'd closed his eyes at the impact and kept them closed now, willing the room to stop spinning.

One moment Rick was pinning Daryl against the wall where he'd just slammed him into it, weirdly helping Daryl to stay on his feet as his knees threatened to buckle. The next moment the pressure against Daryl's chest vanished and he could hear Rick's footsteps receding.

"I'm sorry…"

The words were barely audible and already far away. Daryl opened his eyes, but it still took a moment to blink away the wildly flashing pinprick lights. His ears were ringing now and he felt extremely sick. Each heartbeat sent a wave of pain and nausea straight from his head all the way down to his gut.

When his vision cleared Daryl could see Rick disappearing behind the boiler that filled up most of the room. For a moment he considered following him, but quickly decided against it. Daryl felt actually afraid. Who knew what Rick could be capable of in this state, and Daryl had no strength left to hold him in check.

And anyway, Daryl had to get out of the cloying stench as quickly as possible. Still half blind with pain he stumbled back up the stairs. Navigating the walker piles in the corridor was harder than on the way in and he dropped his crossbow twice. Luckily Rick had cleared up thoroughly between their block and the place where Lori had died, and Daryl didn't encounter any undead that were still walking.

He fumbled with the keys to the cell block gate and almost dropped them, his hands were shaking so much. Daryl could feel sweat beading on his face and his vision was starting to narrow. He had to use all his willpower to prevent himself from vomiting, or fainting on the spot. He finally got the gate unlocked and stumbled through. The others looked up when he came in but he didn't look at any of them.

He dropped the keys on the floor together with his crossbow and hurried up the last flight of stairs. If he could just get out and into fresher air…

The light outside was blinding, and Daryl staggered when he stepped through the door. He lifted one hand to shield his eyes, but even behind closed lids the sun seemed to be slicing into his brain. He had never felt so sick in his life. His stomach was roiling and he only managed a few steps to one side before he lost all control. Daryl flung out a hand to keep on his feet, hoping to be close enough to a wall to catch himself. His hand connected with stone the second his willpower lost the battle and everything came up in a rush.

His legs wouldn't hold him up any longer. He crumpled to his knees, trying, but not quite managing, to avoid the pool of sick. He kneeled, bent over, for a long time, retching even when his stomach had nothing left to give. When he finally managed to regain some control he let his shoulder sink against the wall, panting hard. He wanted nothing more than get out of the light, but he felt utterly unable to move. He was afraid even to open his eyes, the light just hurt too much.

There was movement behind him, then a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Let's get you inside."

Daryl squinted round and saw Maggie holding out a hand. Daryl nodded, but, not wanting to get sick on her he ignored her offer and tried to get himself off the floor by holding on to the wall. That wasn't working very well so Maggie stepped up and supported him by the elbow. Daryl felt so weak and shaky he could hardly stand, and when Maggie slipped his arm over her shoulder to support him he didn't protest.

Together they managed to get back into the cell block. Maggie looked up the metal stairs and at the cell Daryl had chosen for himself up there.

"Never mind that," she said, half to herself, and guided Daryl to one of the cells along the bottom row that was still unoccupied. "We can bring you anything you might need from upstairs later." Daryl didn't care, he just had to lie down, and soon. He was sure the others were all staring but even that didn't faze him much at that moment.

The dimmer light inside helped his head but moving around had made the nausea worse again. He wondered how long he could keep himself from throwing up all over Maggie. She got him into the cell furthest away from the communal area, and Daryl, supporting himself against the bunk beds, sat down onto the lower one.

"Be right back."

And she was. Daryl had closed his eyes again, battling down the sickness that was threatening just off-stage now. When he opened them again Maggie had come back with a wet cloth and a metal basin. Giving him one look she held out the latter.

"You look like you'll need that soon."

She'd hardly finished the sentence when she was proved right. Hunched over the basin Daryl felt miserable and embarrassed. His stomach was tying itself in more and more impossible knots even though there was nothing but bile left now. That in turn was burning his throat fiercely, and tears started running down his face.

Maggie sat down next to him and pressed the cool cloth against his forehead. She was clearly not fazed by the vomiting and stayed close, even gently rested her hand on his back, which Daryl found surprisingly comforting.

Finally the sickness abated. Daryl could breathe again, and did so gratefully. Maggie took the basin away and he didn't protest, simply accepted her kindness. All he wanted now was sleep. He struggled clumsily to get out of his jacket, and Maggie again came to his rescue.

"You want to take your pants off, too. There's puke all over them."

Daryl didn't protest and let her help him again. He was past even feeling embarrassed now, even when she helped him stand briefly so he could pull off the soiled clothes. And then, finally, Daryl was able to lie back on the bunk. It was gloomy enough here so that closing his eyes actually brought some relief. He exhaled slowly and tried to relax. His whole body felt sore from the tension, first of trying to control himself then from the force of the vomiting.

Maggie returned with a fresh cool cloth, and a glass of water. She put the glass on the small table suspended from the wall and put the cloth on his forehead again. Then she held out something else in the palm of her hand.

"Dad found a few Tylenol rattling around the bottom of his kit. Take them. We'll start looking for more meds as soon as we can, but what with everything it might be a while, I'm sorry."

"Don' apologize, you didn't do this..."

And neither, Daryl thought, did Rick. He might have been the one who'd slammed Daryl into the wall but in truth he was at fault for being an idiot and ignoring the warning signs, from his own body and from Rick. Daryl hated being weak, but he realized he'd have to accept that he would be, sometimes.

He gingerly raised himself enough to swallow the pills and wash them down with the water Maggie handed him. She waited a few moments, looking at him critically as if to see whether the Tylenol would stay put.

"Thanks." He looked at her. "I mean it."

Maggie smiled and turned to go. "Sleep now. The basin's on the floor right next to you. I'll hang up a blanket over the door to shut out some more light. We'll be right outside, call if you need anything. Don't be the hero, ok?"

Daryl nodded reluctantly. "Ok."