It had been a long day for Rick Grimes, newly appointed police officer of Alexandria. As he walked the quiet streets on his way back to his family's new home, Rick reflected on the day he'd had; in hindsight, confronting Pete hadn't been his brightest idea, but he just couldn't abide by the injustice of the town doctor hitting his wife, his children, just because he was a nasty drunk. Hell, if anyone tried to do that to his kids, he'd tear them apart limb by limb and make sure they suffered the whole time.
Rick took a breath, straightened his uniform sleeve to remind himself of what he represented now, and tried to reign that temper back in. He ihad/i made a group of men suffer only a couple months ago for threatening and trying to do unspeakable things to his son. Carl's shock and discomfort around him following the incident featuring Rick biting a man's jugular had been hard to witness and accept, but Rick didn't regret his decision; no one messed with the Grimes family. No one.
Of course, Rick hadn't planned on going up against Pete so soon after arriving in Alexandria. His group were keen to settle down and stop spending every meal wondering if it would be their last. The sheriff himself wasn't convinced Alexandria held all it promised yet, but he was making a deliberate effort to try to give it his best shot. Carol had told him yesterday that he'd have to kill Pete to stop the cycle of violence she'd stumbled across, but he didn't want to see the heartache in Jessie's eyes if he shot her husband in cold blood.
Rick sighed as he strolled up the street, one hand settled comfortably on his gun belt before he remembered that the weapon itself was safely stored in the armoury. Well damn, that was annoying. He passed Michonne in the centre of town and gave her a nod and smile. He was glad Deanna had asked the samurai-sword wielding woman to assist him in protecting the town; aside from Daryl, there was no one he'd rather have by his side. Now that he knew she would be making the rounds, he knew he could head home for the day. He'd already been away from his offspring too long, dinner aside, and he was keen to spend some time with his family now that he could afford to give them his full attention for a few hours.
Arriving at the house he was sharing with some of the group, Rick stepped inside through the door leading from the porch to the kitchen, heading to one of the overhead cupboards to remove a glass and fill it with water. He sighed in satisfaction as he sipped on the cold, fresh beverage, savouring the taste of tap water that he knew was safe. It had been a tiring day and he was glad to be home with his family. His family. He realised with concern that Carl hadn't appeared in the doorway to greet him yet. That was unlike his son these days. Things had drastically improved between the males of the Grimes family over the past 12 months and the silence in the house quickly started to worry him.
Rick made his way towards the living room, glass in hand, listening carefully for sounds of movement upstairs. "Carl? Carol?" he called tentatively after a moment, concern growing as he wandered the darkened house. He flicked the light switch and was headed for the stairs when he heard the kitchen door close quietly behind him. He turned, free hand going to his gun belt so he could grab his revolver if he needed to. His heart skipped a beat as his hand closed around nothing, and he felt a great sense of relief when Daryl appeared, Judith in his arms surrounded by a blanket.
"Daryl, hey," Rick greeted, relaxing and wiping his now sweaty palm on his pants while Daryl watched with eyebrows raised.
"I thought I'd steal the lil' ass kicker away from Carol tonight," Daryl said, bouncing the bundle on his hip. "Figured I was due a turn with her…"
Rick grinned, chuckling. He didn't even need to take a closer look to know his daughter was in good hands. "She sure does bring out the protective side in people. Carol's been great with her…" Rick frowned as realization hit him. "I thought Carl was minding her." I damned well told him to mind her, he added in his head in irritation.
Daryl shrugged, unable to tear his eyes away from the little girl slumbering in his arms. Carol had warned him she'd probably wake for a bottle soon, as her bedtime was drawing close, and he wasn't about to miss the opportunity to enjoy seeing her eyes close as she relaxed in his hold once more, safe from the horrors of the world around her. Daryl hadn't known anyone could bring out such protective instincts in him. Not even Beth had turned his tough guy act to shit like lil' ass kicker could. Daryl forced himself to answer his friend's unspoken question. "Carol said she'd take Judith so Carl could chill. I dunno."
Rick's jaw clenched. It was good to see Daryl looking so relaxed, but damn it Carl was missing and Rick wanted - no, needed- to know his son was okay. Then again, if he was okay, Rick was gonna kill him. He'd told his son to stay home tonight. Things were… tense right now and Rick didn't want his son wandering the streets of Alexandria after dark. He knew Carl could protect himself; his son had proven that time and time again, but it wasn't Walkers that worried him. They'd seen people attack when they thought they were safe and Rick wasn't ready to let his guard down yet. They'd lost too many people when the eldest Grimes had let his guard down before, which was exactly why he was trying to establish a few more rules.
Rick wanted his son to get some semblance of a normal childhood, especially if they were safe now. He was under no illusions that Carl would probably push the boundaries a little, to see where they stood since they were no longer on the road wondering where their next meal would come from or whether they'd live to see the end of the day. Rick was going to have to sit down and discuss some new rules with his son, and the consequences for breaking them. Just like he would under normal teenage circumstances. Not that that wasn't an oxymoron in itself. He just hoped this was a cut-and-dry situation, with his son disobeying his orders, just for the hell of it, and not something more sinister…
Daryl seemed to sense his tension from across the room and glanced up, scrutinizing him thoughtfully. "The kid can handle himself, Rick." He had been so looking forward to feeding the baby tonight, he was almost glad his friend seemed too distracted to want to do it himself.
Rick rubbed at the back of his neck, unable to hide his agitation. "I know that. I do. But I told him to stay home tonight. He knows about staying in after dark. It's more dangerous after dark… Maybe I should…" His eyes darted to the door, intentions clear.
"No." Daryl shook his head firmly. "You wait till he walks through that door. Ain't no need to embarrass him in front of these people. Chances are he had to go do summin' and he just got caught up. I'm sure it's nothin'."
Rick cocked his head to one side curiously. Daryl never usually stepped in or questioned him. Sure, Rick knew when his friend didn't agree with him, and more often than not the quiet disagreement in Daryl's posture was enough to make him stop and think. So much had happened since the beginning, and Rick knew the other man always had his back. When they'd met, Daryl had been the hothead prone to action and Rick the calm one, but now… Well, it seemed like a lot of things had been switched around in this outbreak. He wasn't sure what Daryl was trying to say this time though. Was he questioning Rick's parenting skills? The thought of that got Rick's back up. Daryl could put himself in Rick's damned shoes if he thought that. In fact…
Daryl seemed to be particularly sensitive to the emotions in the room tonight. "Hey man. Rick. Chill man, I'm not sayin' you're wrong. Just trust me. Boys his age… They don't need no embarrassment off their daddies in front of no one..."
Rick heard the hint of desperation in Daryl's tone and nodded. Suddenly, the penny dropped. Daryl iknew/i where his son was at, and that he was safe, but for some reason he didn't want to go out and just spill the beans. Probably because they weren't his beans to spill. Despite himself, Rick felt some of the anger dissipate. Sometimes talking iwas/i better than going out half-cocked. And Daryl would know all about embarrassment, Rick surmised further. Although his redneck friend didn't say much about it, still, Rick knew his dad had hurt him badly. Rick knew it would be different if he were to find Carl and haul his ass back home, but he trusted Daryl's judgement and he really didn't want to take steps backwards with his son. Besides, he'd always tried to maintain his privacy with Carl, despite the close confines of being in such a small group and spending time on the road. There was no need to change those habits now.
"Jeesh, Daryl, it's just…" Rick rubbed his hand across his face, making a mental note to shave in the morning, then drowned the remainder of his glass. "It's been a long day. For once, I'd like to just come home, leave my troubles at the door, and find all my ducks in a row, where I put them, and not wandering off all over the place."
"Your Daddy just called you a duck coz he wants to eat you," Daryl stage-whispered to the sleeping bundle in his arms, pretending not to see the reaction he got from his audience.
"I get it. You think I'm over-reacting," Rick concluded.
Daryl gave a noncommittal shrug, but the grin on his face was obvious. He watched for a moment longer until he was content that Rick wouldn't do anything rash, then gave his friend a small smile and nod of acknowledgement. Despite his flaws, Rick Grimes was very easy to like. Growing up with Merle, Daryl had to triple-think everything he said, just to avoid upsetting the apple cart. But with Rick, he could be honest, and even if they disagreed, nobody got butt-hurt and went off in a huff just for the sake of it. Rick was different, he understood. Rick always understood what he was trying to say. Daryl cuddled Judith a little closer, giving her his full attention even as he muttered an innocent, "Hey Rick? I saw some cocoa in one of those cupboards. I know it's a pussy's drink, but y'know, might do Carl some good… When you're done talkin' an' all…"
Rick rolled his eyes but nodded with a shrug. He could manage that. It surprised him a little that Daryl was suggesting it, but he couldn't fault the idea. Now that they had a roof over their heads, Rick was trying to convince himself it was okay to slow down and try to lead some semblance of a normal life. The distraction might calm him down so that when Carl did reappear -when, not if, Rick reminded himself - he would be calm enough to talk with his son without ripping his head off. He made his way through to the kitchen and reached up to search the cupboards in search of the ingredients he was likely to need, surprised by how soothing the manual task was. It wasn't like he could do much else until his son reappeared, but he would feel better knowing that at least these ducks were definitely lined up in a row. The quiet cooing of Judith in the other room - "That was a quick nap," he thought - interspersed with Daryl's besotted fussing also helped the ex-cop relax a little further, and by the time he heard footsteps coming down the stairs, he was feeling much more in control.
He set everything he would need on the counter-top so it would be there when he was ready, then filled the kettle and set it back on its stand. Satisfied that one job of the evening had been prepared for, he made his way back to the living room in time to see Carl appear in the doorway. The teen managed to hide his shock at seeing his dad home already with a casual, "Oh! Hey, Dad. You're back early."
Carl had heard Daryl with Judith when he climbed in through his window and had figured he could talk the older man 'round if Daryl realized he'd snuck out. It had been the sight of Daryl rocking Judith by the couch near the back window that had greeted him, but as he'd stepped down the last few steps, Dad had appeared from the kitchen and his plan had become a lot less fool-proof. Now that he knew his dad had beaten him home, his mind was switched to auto-pilot, trying to figure out how to talk his way out of the upcoming shit-storm. His best MO would of course be to pretend nothing untoward had happened at all. Right?
"Hey yourself. Where were you?" Rick asked, deciding to take the same approach as his son.
"I was upstairs. I just…" Carl trailed off, not really convinced by the lie himself.
"Don't lie to me, Carl. If you'd been home you'd have heard me…" Much sooner than Carl had been hoping, Rick had closed the distance between them. His dad leaned down into his face, placing both hands on his shoulders firmly. "Let's try that again. Where were you? And this time, think before you answer. I'll know if you're spinning me lies."
Carl didn't speak at first, unsure what to say. He had a feeling he knew where this was going and he didn't want/i to lie, but he didn't want to face his dad's wrath in close proximity to a man he idolised… He was uncomfortably aware of the hunter standing across the room, pacing slowly and rocking Judith to dispel the mounting tension in the room. Besides, if Dad got mad then they might upset Judith, who was curled up snug and quiet in Daryl's arms, one small thumb in her mouth… He was torn out of his thoughts when his dad squeezed his shoulders, eyebrows raised impatiently.
"Uh… Dad, I just went out… It wasn't a big deal. I wasn't gone long. And Judith was with Carol…"
"Not a big deal?" Rick stepped back, physically putting some distance between them and trying not to raise his voice. "What did I tell you before I went out, Carl? Hmm? What did I say?"
"You… You said I was to stay in tonight…," he replied sheepishly.
Rick nodded. "Right. And did you stay in?"
"Dad, it was only…"
"Carl, stop talking for a second and think. Did you stay in?"
Carl hung his head, knowing he was caught like a squirrel in one of Daryl's traps. When he'd been sitting on the garage roof across the road with Enid, it had seemed so worth the risk of being caught, but now that his dad stood in front of him with ithat/i look on his face, it sure as hell seemed a lot more questionable.
"Rick." Daryl's quiet voice cut through the tense silence, causing both of the Grimes' to swing round in frustration. Daryl bit back a smile at how much like his daddy Carl could be at times. Kid practically worshipped Grimes Senior.
Rick grunted, running a hand through his hair. "Right," he agreed, recognizing that this was Daryl's way of telling him to back off before he lost his temper. Carl looked back and forth between the two of them, wondering how Daryl had managed to get his dad to back down so easily. He didn't have long to ponder, though. "Carl, upstairs," Rick said with a certain edge to his voice "Get ready for bed and then we'll talk. Go on."
Carl didn't move immediately, torn between looking worried and being stubborn as a mule. Rick suppressed an eye-roll, but the look on his son's face did bring out his protective instincts enough to make him relax his posture and give Carl a small, reassuring smile. "You got fifteen minutes, son. I'll be up soon."
Carl sighed and nodded, pausing to lean into his dad's solid chest for a moment despite the tension they were both feeling. It had been a while since they'd butted heads over something Carl had done wrong, and he'd forgotten how much it sucked to be on the wrong side of his dad's approval. Back at the prison, when Dad had first properly given him trouble by introducing some more hands-on parenting, Carl had been almost immune to his dad's words, but now… Now it mattered what the older man thought, and Carl was desperate to fix things between them. Rick didn't really show it on the outside, but Carl knew for a fact his dad knew him well enough to recognize how he was feeling.
As if on cue, his dad spoke quietly against his hair. "It'll be alright, Carl. We'll be fine. Go on up now…"
Carl nodded, shooting an embarrassed smile of silent gratitude Daryl's way for diffusing the situation before Dad got too frustrated, and disappeared upstairs. He hoped Daryl could talk Dad 'round because it always really sucked when his dad delivered one of his hard-ass speeches about letting him down, or broken trust. Carl wanted to say that the actual punishments were worse, but in his heart he knew that wasn't true.
Rick Grimes was a man of few words, but he had always had a way with them, making what he said count even more. The whole apocalypse had changed him so much. Carl didn't always understand why he did the things he did and often disagreed with his methods. Before his dad had been patient about Carl's misbehaviour, explaining things calmly and giving him time to process matters safely, but now he had a tendency to say his piece and move on, leaving Carl feeling lost at sea. At the same time, the horrible things they'd overcome ihad/i drawn them closer together. Having an actual home was nice, and he knew they both had to make an effort in order to make things work.
Rick watched his son go, shoulders drooping a little when Carl was out of sight. He walked back into the living room, moved towards the nearest couch, stretched with a sigh and sank down into the cushions. He made a deliberate effort to not make eye contact with Daryl, and let his head fall back, eyes closed. Sometimes it was really hard to play Dad, especially with Lori no longer in the picture. She'd been gone for over 12 months now, but Rick still expected her to walk through the door sometimes, laughing at him for saying something stupid, or telling him some observation she'd made about their son. She'd always wanted to live in a house like this; that had been her dream for Carl and all their future children, and now he had the house but not his wife. He knew that Carl and Judith needed him to be their parent more than their leader, but he'd never been confident with words and there were more times than he cared to admit when he tried to avoid tension with his son instead of adding yet another argument to their list. Thankfully, Judith was still young enough that he didn't have to worry about his words with her quite so much.
He cracked one eye open a fraction when Daryl spoke from the other couch, tilting his head to eye him suspiciously. He hadn't even noticed him sitting down with Judith.
"Hey, ain't no need to worry. He's fine. You did fine…"
Rick sat up. "I dunno… He just knows how to push my buttons." Rick was quiet for a few minutes but then he glanced back at his friend with a rueful smile, "Cocoa, Daryl? Where the hell did that come from?"
"The cupboard," the other man shot back. It took Rick a moment to get the joke before they both shared a chuckle. Then Daryl shrugged and said, "My daddy wasn't big on comfort. You've been keeping this group in line for a long enough time, and things have been pretty rough. But now that we're not on the run anymore, I figured we oughta' change some things…"
Rick blinked in surprise at the veiled reference to the particular method of discipline he had introduced and upheld over the last couple of years. He'd never needed to have one of his ispecial chats/i with his friend, so how did the hunter know about Rick's methods?
"Change things? Like what?" Rick all but blurted out, unable to mask his confusion.
Daryl paused again, considering what he was trying to say. Eventually it crossed his mind that Rick would never laugh at him for expressing his opinions so he allowed himself to use a phrase he never would have before this all began. "Y'know, maybe add some of those creature comforts."
Daryl didn't miss the change in his friend's demeanor and smiled at him, cat-like and smug. "Like giving your boy some cocoa," he expanded simply, giving Rick a smirk that made it obvious he thought the other man was a bit thick for not working that one out himself.
Rick huffed, shaking his head in response. Before he could mutter something more intelligent and vocal, Judith let out a wail and began to squirm in Daryl's hold. Both men reacted simultaneously, Rick moving towards her instinctively, but stopping mid-lean as he saw the situation was well in control. Daryl was already soothing her, murmuring to her patiently and patting her back. Rick settled back against the couch with a smile, relieved he hadn't even needed to get up.
Daryl was in full-blown mom mode. The end of the world had led to so much heartache for everyone involved, but in moments like this Rick was reminded that he'd gained a family despite all this mess; a family who he could trust with his life and the life of his children.
Daryl glanced over with a smile and a brief nod in Rick's direction then stood and carried the gurning baby towards the kitchen so he could fix her formula and settle her down for the night. "Shh, lil asskicker. You're okay. Somebody's hungry, huh? Don't want ya wastin' away now. Here…"
The shower was running upstairs in the background and the scent of the cookies Carol had baked that afternoon still lingered in the house. Rick followed Daryl towards the kitchen, poured himself a mug of hot water and made himself some cocoa in a moment of impulse. After all, he deserved a pick-me-up, too. On his way back to the living room and the welcoming sanctuary of the couch, he noted absentmindedly that toys littered the living room floor from where Judith had been playing earlier in the day, and that Carl's comics covered the coffee table in a messy heap. He really needed to tidy up, but right now he was bone tired and just wanted to sip his drink and figure out how best to tackle Carl's latest act of rebellion.
Long before he was ready, Rick heard the shower stop upstairs and he knew his son would be be ready soon, no doubt with his hair still damp as he wandered back to his bedroom, barefoot and in pyjamas too big for him. Since arriving in Alexandria, where they had more clothes to wear and washing machines for doing their laundry, Carl had taken to wearing one of Rick's T-shirts from on the road. Rick didn't mind; after months of living in the same couple of outfits, it was a nice change to wear something completely different.
With a sigh, he stood and carried his now empty mug to the kitchen sink, cogs turning in his mind as he debated his next move. He'd been hoping to bounce his thoughts off of Daryl before Carl came downstairs, but time had just slipped away from him. Plus, Daryl was busy with little Judith, and paying attention to her during feeding time was important, otherwise she got indigestion, which wasn't fair for her either.
Of course, now that Rick could easily have done with more time, the teen was sticking to the timetable his father had set out for him. Rick could hear doors upstairs opening and closing, which left him with little time to mull his thoughts over. The thing was, usually when he had to set Carl straight, it was often in the aftermath of some unnecessarily dangerous situation Carl had put himself into, and Rick would use his belt because disobedience like that needed to be dealt with swiftly on the road.
Back at the prison, and particularly with Carl, he'd tried to use less harsh implements; his son's infractions had more often than not been related to his attitude, so Rick had tried to take a more parental approach when he could. He'd often just used his hand for a more personal spanking, but Carl was getting bigger now, so that might not have the desired effect. During the last couple of times Rick had needed to take his son in hand they'd been on the road, so Rick had used his belt while Michonne went ahead to scout their surroundings and give them some much needed privacy.
He thought back on his own childhood, hoping to find some inspiration. Growing up in the South, Rick had had plenty of experience on the receiving end of his dad's discipline. Dad had instilled a strong moral code within him, one which Rick knew he still carried closely with him today. Unfortunately, Rick's moral code had often gotten him into trouble at school, because time and again he'd stepped up to defend his little brother. Jeff was two years younger than him, and for some reason, bullies just liked to pick on him. Dad had been proud of the older Grimes son for defending his brother, but the actual fighting hadn't been looked upon with quite as much approval. He'd also taught his sons that men didn't cry, something Rick wished he hadn't inadvertently projected onto his own son growing up. Carl had taken more after Lori in that department, although he'd become more like Rick over time. Rick suspected it had been his words in the loft of the barn that had compelled his son to change and he mentally berated himself for not choosing those words more carefully. He knew it had been necessary to toughen his son up, but he wished he'd gone about it differently. While it was true that both Lori and he would die at some point, there had been no need to tell it to Carl quite so bluntly. The pep talk had had the desired effect and Carl had surprised everyone by how quickly he'd matured, but the teen had switched off emotionally in the process.
As he mulled things over in his mind, Rick absentmindedly looked around the kitchen. Daryl was feeding Judith while leaning against the opposite row of counters, watching him curiously. Rick vaguely remembered one incident where his dad had given Jeff trouble for coming home after curfew and Dad had used something wooden from the kitchen. Maybe that could work? Rick opened the kitchen drawer and rifled through it for a minute, eventually tugging out a sturdy looking wooden spatula. He brought it down against his thigh with a sharp crack, grimacing at the sharp sting it produced. Yep, that would do the trick.
He caught Daryl's eyes as he slid the utensil into his back pocket, relieved to see the archer offer a small nod of approval. Daryl liked to give the impression that he didn't care very much about anything, but Rick had realised otherwise over time. He knew his friend probably found it hard to accept that Rick used physical discipline with his family, given his own childhood experiences, but they trusted one another with their lives and Rick was honoured that his friend's trust stretched to accepting the ex-cop's methods.
"You go take care of Carl," Daryl instructed quietly by way of warning that Rick not be too hard on his son. "I'll take her upstairs and see to it she's settled for the night. You want me to send him down so you two don't wake her?" The bundle in his arms let out a quite unladylike little burp, agreeing she was in capable hands.
Rick nodded in acknowledgement. "Yeah. Thanks, Daryl. We shouldn't be long, uh…" Rick rubbed at his stubble a little awkwardly, not really sure what else to say, then shrugged. One of the greatest things about their friendship was the lack of need for words between them. They shared a brief nod then Rick leaned over to give his daughter a quick kiss goodnight. Judith smiled at him, blinking and rubbing her eyes in obvious fatigue. Daryl moved her bottle back towards her mouth gently and carried her out of the kitchen, leaving Rick alone. He washed up the mug he'd just used then went back to the living room, arriving just as Carl appeared downstairs. The father couldn't hide his smile at the sight of his son looking younger than his age as he rubbed his damp hair with a towel, and padded through the room in bare feet and baggy clothes. "Alright?"
Carl glanced over with a shrug. "I guess. Bit of a stupid question considering…"
Rick cocked his head to the side, eventually shaking it with a huffed out laugh. "Alright, wise guy. We still got some things to talk about."
Rick noticed with a small measure of satisfaction that Carl straightened up a little at that, tossing the towel he'd been using towards the couch nearest the front door, then turned his piercing blue eyes up to meet his father's, clearly taking the talk seriously. The older man scrutinised his son silently for a moment, briefly considering pointing out they weren't living in a barn, before deciding against it. It wasn't worth the extra conflict. Instead he sighed and opted to move things along. "Carl, you disobeyed me tonight." Carl started to protest. "No, hear me out… You did disobey me. There's a lot going on in this place right now and I need to know you're safe."
Carl had to make an effort not to roll his eyes in disbelief. "Dad, you're overreacting. I could still see the house. It's not like I went over the wall or anything. I just went out for some fresh air. We're supposed to be safe here. We could make a home here. It shouldn't be a big issue. You shouldn't have to keep us safe here, not with these people. They're my friends."
Rick frowned, considering Carl's words. He didn't agree; it was his responsibility to protect his children wherever they were, but he did try to have mature discussions with his son instead of just playing dictator. He'd played the dictator in the year between the Greene farm and the battle with Woodbury, and it was a role that had sucked the life out of him and left the people around him feeling underappreciated. He didn't want to leave his son feeling like the teen's opinion wasn't important. That meant walking a fine line now because Rick had no intentions of letting this go, yet at the same time he needed to get Carl on board with his way of thinking.
"I know they're your friends and I want this to work, Carl. I do. I just need to work this place out before we get too relaxed…"
"No, you don't," Carl declared. Seeing an opportunity to reason with the dad he knew best, he softened his plea. "Dad, this place'll work. These people are good people. You can't always expect the worst. These people want to survive and build a life together. Not everyone's bad."
But not everyone's good either, Rick added in his mind as he ran a hand through his hair, huffing out a breath. "People haven't exactly proven you right there." Rick didn't specify exactly iwho/i he was thinking of in front of his son, but Pete and Jessie briefly returned to his thoughts before he forced himself to focus his full attention on his son again. He had no intention of discussing domestic violence with Carl, as he intended to solve that issue himself. With a shovel and a shallow grave, if need be.
"They can't prove me right if we won't even give them a chance!" Carl's voice had risen as he spoke and now he stood breathing harder, eyes boring holes through his father.
Rick raised his eyebrows, folding his arms across his chest. "Carl, I don't like this attitude of yours. I'm still your father. There's no need to shout. This isn't about me giving them a chance." Rick paused, gesturing towards the windows before waving a hand between them and stepping closer, leaning down towards the teen. "This is about you ignoring my instructions because you didn't feel like listening to me. You think it's okay just 'cause you were across the road? What? Because you could see the house? Clearly that means nothing because you failed to see both Daryl and me coming into the house. That is why it was a big deal. You know better, Carl."
Carl was silent for a while and Rick swore he could hear the cogs turning in his son's mind. They both knew that Carl couldn't dispute his father's words, no matter how much he wanted to. "I… Oh, come on! It was half an hour!"
"I wanna know why, Carl. What could be worth ignoring me?" Rick asked curiously. "You knew I'd be disappointed." Rick watched with surprise as colour crept up Carl's neck, turning him a rosy pink. His son looked away in obvious discomfort. Rick rarely saw Carl looking vulnerable so he wasn't really sure how to respond. He almost wished Michonne was in the house now and not out on patrol as Alexandria's other police officer; she was much better with emotions than he or Daryl. That was why the three of them were such a good team, they balanced one another out. Carl had come out of his shell so much in the past few months because Michonne could relate to the teen on a level his parents never could… Rick waited silently for an answer but Carl didn't supply one and eventually the cop sighed. "Carl, we can drag this out all night but you'll lose patience before I do. Talk to me."
"I… It… Um…" Carl swallowed nervously and forced himself to stand up straighter, starting to construct potential arguments in his head in case Dad questioned him more or started to lecture. After all, the fifteen-year-old had noticed the hurried glances or rubbish excuses his dad had used in order to 'come round' and visit Jessie... At least Carl wasn't doing anything with the teenager who'd captivated his attention since arriving in Alexandria. He didn't want to admit the reason he'd snuck out while the house seemed quiet. He doubted Dad was going to back down now, particularly if the extent of his explanation was 'I wanted to be with a girl' who would still be there in the morning.
And yet, his dad had surprised him before by being uncharacteristically patient - like he'd been in the old days before all this happened - when he provided a motive for previous transgressions, so maybe this conversation would improve again if he was honest… "Uh, Enid was up there. I just went to say hi and I guess we got carried away talking. She's been kinda lonely, I think. I just wanted to look out for her. I know you said to stay home, but I just… I had to."
"You had to? Why was that?" Rick tried hard to sound more patient than he felt.
"I just did, Dad. Okay? Why won't you just trust me?"
"It's a little hard to trust you if you ignore what I say, Carl. I trusted you to stay home, but you didn't." They were just going around in circles here, and the spatula in his back pocket was itching to make an appearance.
Carl didn't even realise he was rolling his eyes as he shot back a frustrated, "I trust you all the time, even though you do things without explaining them. How is this any different?"
"It's different because I'm your father. Sure, sometimes I don't explain why until after the situation is resolved, but I only do that when I need to. Besides, have I ever not listened when you had issues with one of my orders? Have I been unreasonable about things?"
Carl grimaced, looking down at his hands thoughtfully. Dad was right, but that didn't mean he was going to admit it. He didn't want this conversation to go on any further, because he honestly didn't think they'd resolve anything. Then again, he definitely didn't want to face the poorly veiled consequences his dad was probably leaning towards. After all, he hadn't said he planned to spank him, but his body language sure wasn't suggesting he'd be patting Carl on the back and telling him they were 'all good' any time soon. "I guess not," Carl admitted after a moment's consideration, lifting his gaze to his father's. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I didn't think it would be an issue now that we're in a safe community."
Rick sighed, rubbing at his stubble with one hand. "Carl, I know you want to settle here and yes, it seems a lot safer than we're used to, but I need to be sure this place is safe, I can't just go by what your gut tells you. I can't… We've lost so much already, I won't let that happen again. I need you to trust my judgement on this, son. I need to be certain."
Carl nodded once, but otherwise didn't react to his father's words. He felt ten types of dick right now for not doing as his dad had asked, and he guessed technically he should have stayed with Judith anyway. Carol had offered to take her out for some fresh air, and she looked like she'd really enjoy her company, so he'd agreed. It would have been selfish not to let her have her, if she was clearly craving some quality time with the toddler. Carl had noticed that Carol seemed most at ease when Judith was nearby. Besides, Carol had baked them all cookies, so he clearly owed her big time for that. When he'd opened the door to let them out, he'd seen Enid outside, so it had all seemed to just fall into place. He thought it was so simple and harmless; he'd just gone along without thinking it through, which, in retrospect, might not have been too smart, but he also wasn't completely convinced it was serious enough to deserve getting his butt-roasted. He really didn't see why his Dad was making such a big deal out of this. Instead of manning up, he would rather just boy down and go back up to his room and read comics; agree to disagree, as it were, but he didn't think his dad would go for that one.
Rick watched him silently for a couple of moments, glad Daryl was taking care of the youngest member of the Grimes' family, and eventually spoke with his hands hooked in his gun belt. "Alright then. I'm glad we're on the same page now. You still haven't told me why it was worth it though," the older man said with underlying steel in his voice. When Carl blushed again and shrugged, his face scrunched into a thoughtful frown. "Wait, you said you snuck out to see Enid… Surely you're not that, uh, close already? We've only been here a few days."
Carl scowled at him, shaking his head in teenage frustration. Parents could be so thick at times. His fists clenched reflexively and Rick held up one hand in a placating manner. "Easy there. I didn't mean anything by it. I was just surprised. It's good that you two are getting on so well, I'm glad you've made, uh, friends," Rick cocked his head as he reassumed his stern position. "That doesn't excuse your disobedience though. You should have been at home keeping an eye on Judith until I got back."
"Wait - you can't punish me for not taking care of Judith, she was-"
"Carl." The warning was clear in Rick's voice.
Okay, so that hadn't worked, so Carl thought he'd try a different approach. "You wouldn't have let me go anyway…," he said sullenly.
"No, probably not," Rick agreed easily. "But you should have at least waited to find out. I deserve more respect than coming home with no idea where you are. If you'd been home when I got in, I might have changed my mind and let you hang out with your friends for a while. Or we could have played one of those video games you like. Instead, we need to clear the air between us because you made a poor decision and took advantage of my trust. I know which choice sounds more fun to me."
Silence greeted his statement. Finally, they were getting somewhere. "Hey, look at me…" Rick waited until his stubborn teenager complied before continuing, "You got anything to say for yourself before we settle things?"
Carl shrugged, determined not to look petulant but feeling limited by the edge to his dad's tone. He hated being chastised like this. Deciding to swallow his pride, Carl glanced up at his dad as non-confrontationally as he could manage. "Do you really have to do this? Surely there's some other option…"
Rick shook his head in amusement. "What am I gonna do, Carl? Ground you so you're out of my sight even more? Take away your allowance? Confiscate your weapons? There aren't many alternatives. Besides, you earned it fair and square. Now, quit stallin'. You acted out easily enough so now you can pay the price. Actions have consequences, son."
"Yeah, don't I know it…," Carl muttered under his breath, frustration painted all over his features.
Rick raised his eyebrows, stepping closer to his son in disbelief. "You want to say that again?" Rick asked with grit in his voice.
"No…," Carl grumbled back, adding a hasty, "sorry," reminding himself that now was not the time to sass his father.
Rick nodded, reaching to remove his gun belt and moving to place it on the coffee table. "That's what I thought…" He made a note to himself to stop wearing the stupid gun belt at home, since he had no gun to holster on it anyway. He pinned Carl with a strict look, squaring his shoulders and standing up straight. "Get over here, then…"
Carl swallowed nervously in spite of himself as he watched the older Grimes step back to stand between the coffee table and one of the couches. He ireally/i didn't want to acknowledge the warning he'd heard in Dad's voice. On the plus side, Dad hadn't moved to take off his belt while watching him expectantly and Carl clutched onto the hope that this would be a conversation between his father's palm and his backside. Dad's hand hurt but it was better than that belt, despite being more humbling.
Carl had only experienced Dad's belt a couple of times and it had been hellish. Walking for hours a day with your ass aching was not fun. Michonne had tried to cheer him up and distract him after those run-ins between the Grimes men on the road, but it had taken a while for Carl to bounce back. He was just glad that even though Dad was tough, he didn't hold grudges. At least, not where Carl was concerned… Carl was glad; if Dad reacted to some of Carl's shit the way he did to other people's? Well, Carl doubted he'd be still be here to tell the tale. He knew he wasn't proud of some of the bad choices he'd made in the past, so he could only imagine how displeased Dad was about them.
A pointed throat-clearing attracted his attention and he sighed as he caught sight of the impatience in his father's eyes. Seeing that expression made Carl realise he wasn't going to change Rick's mind and he was just getting himself in more shit the longer he dragged this out. Dad might be forgiving, but he wasn't a patient man, at least not in situations like this.
Rick waited while his son processed what was about to happen, trying to remind himself to be patient and not rush Carl. Carl needed to accept the situation, otherwise the discipline would not have the desired effect. He knew his son well, and also where parts of his headstrong personality originated - from the example Rick had set for him. So, if Carl didn't agree that he was at fault here, he would fight his father tooth and nail and become increasingly belligerent. Neither of them had the stamina for a long battle tonight, and Rick had no intention of letting this particular argument go down that route. "Come here, you know the drill," he said expectantly.
When Carl started to walk towards him, Rick had to suppress a sigh of relief. He coached himself to remain firm and not relax his posture at all so that his son knew he meant business. His patience lasted until Carl stepped within arm's reach, by which point Rick decided his son had dragged his heels for long enough. Carl grunted as his dad reached out to catch his wrist, simultaneously propping a foot on the lower shelf of the coffee table and tugging his son closer. Before Carl could protest, Dad was hauling him over his knee, pushing him further forward so that his toes barely brushed the floor and the fifteen-year-old had to grab hold of his father's bent leg in a desperate attempt to balance.
"Dad!" Carl hollered in protest.
"Yeah, Carl?"
"What did you do that for? I was coming!"
"Not fast enough. Now, less talking. Think about why we're here."
Without giving Carl more time to complain, his dad wrapped one arm securely around his waist, and gave his backside a loud slap. The teen instantly realized that was inot/i his father's hand. Dad's hand did not have such a fierce sting to it. The kid tried - and failed - to hide his gasp, thrown by whatever detail he'd missed on his way over to the coffee table.
"What the hell is that?" Carl called from his disadvantageous position, craning his head for a better look.
"Something that clearly got your attention," Rick shot back, not skipping a beat. "Now zip it."
Years of physically demanding situations had developed Rick's forearms so it didn't take long before his son was squirming in his hold. The wooden spatula had proven to be a pretty sturdy choice; Carl's reactions were appropriate considering his transgression, and Rick liked not getting a sore palm for his troubles. Although there had been potential danger in the situation, Rick's instincts told him that his son was safe in the town and hadn't deliberately put himself in any real danger. That said, Rick did have an issue with the boy's blatant and repeated disobedience. Rick couldn't keep his son safe if Carl didn't listen to his instructions. This wasn't the first time they'd had a disagreement because Carl had decided to ignore Rick and just do his own damn thing. Rick had almost lost his son a few times over the years as a result of Carl's total disregard for authority, and Rick was determined to put an end to this destructive pattern. Carl was considerably more attentive to his dad's orders than he had been at the prison, and particularly when they'd been staying on the farm, but every so often brattish behaviour flared up, despite Rick's efforts.
Rick set a brisk pace with the spatula, glad for his increased fitness and stamina. For a few minutes the only sounds in the room were that of the spatula finding its target and Carl's subsequent gasps and groans. The kid always tried to remain stoic, and instead of submitting to the pain, he always tried to grit his teeth and hold out as long as he could before getting vocal. Rick was never sure if his son did it because he didn't want to add to the noise level, or because he didn't want to openly admit it hurt. Both made sense, though it wasn't a question Rick felt he should ask.
Rick really hated having to do this but dang, the kid needed someone to be firm with him... Back at the farm, when Lori was alive, and even before the outbreak started, Carl had gotten lucky and fallen between his parents' differing viewpoints on discipline. Lori hadn't liked the idea of anyone hurting her baby and had appealed to Rick's patient side when Carl started school. Although Rick didn't like it, he'd agreed to discuss things with his son in a mature manner. Lori had assured him that giving Carl time to reason things out should help him to adapt in all sorts of situations, and he'd agreed, because back then, it had worked. Rick had grown so accustomed to the gentlemanly approach that he'd become blind to the reality that his son now needed a much more hands-on approach of parenting. By the time they reached the farm, Rick had been so focused on keeping the group safe and well that he'd lost sight of what Carl needed. Even Lori had seen what he hadn't, and Rick knew that Shane had been more aware of his son's needs.
He regretted that it had taken him so long to return to the parenting he'd grown up with. He liked to think he was a good man. Or at least he had been a good man before the shoot-out that changed his life forever. It had been Hershel who'd suggested that it was time to play a more active role in his son's life, much to Rick's chagrin at the time. The old vet had been right though; Rick was still surprised by how effective a sound spanking was in correcting his son's attitude and penchant for trouble.
As he worked his way across the whole of his son's backside in sharp, methodical swats, Rick thought back on that first time in the prison, after Carl had shot another kid. That day hadn't been easy on either father or son… Rick had been convinced his son was going to hate him, and Carl had gone from so cold and unresponsive to furious. Eventually they'd made it through though and Rick was glad that he'd trusted his instincts before he lost Carl to the bitterness inside the teenager for good.
A particularly frustrated grunt from Carl brought Rick back to the present and he watched in disbelief as Carl tried to manoeuvre off his muscular thigh. "Ah-ah, don't even think about it. Carl!"
"Dad, please!" Carl gasped. "Not so…," Carl grunted in frustration. "You don't even use your belt this hard…"
Rick blinked down in surprise at Carl. His son rarely reacted this quickly, even when he applied his belt. He thought for a moment, letting the spatula rest against Carl's pyjamas for a couple of moments before eventually coming to a decision. Carl tried to stop him when he gave the baggy trousers a tug, but Rick was stronger and had a considerable advantage on his boy. "Hey there, easy now. I need to see what I'm doing, Carl. If it's doing as much damage as you say, we might need to change plans here. Just breathe…"
It took a couple of moments, but eventually Carl relaxed enough for Rick to easily shuck his pyjamas down his slim legs. He was a little surprised by how angry the pattern of red squares scattered across his son's backside and upper thighs was. After giving himself a good smack on the thigh through his jeans he was pretty sure he knew what kind of impact he was dealing with here, but he took a moment to evaluate his options. He knew he had a reputation as a hard-ass, but he couldn't override the protective instincts that kicked in whenever Carl was involved and he couldn't bring himself to leave bruises. Carl had been breathing pretty rapidly, and he was pretty sure the lesson was sinking in. Yes, Carl had made some stupid choices tonight, but Rick had discussed far worse with him without leaving lasting damage. He didn't plan to change that habit now.
Carl waited silently, trying to predict his dad's next move. The problem was that Dad could be pretty unpredictable and the teen's pride wouldn't allow him to turn around to see what would happen next; he was a Grimes after all. He was surprised when he felt his father move around a bit, readjusting him, before he heard the tell-tale clatter of wood hitting wood as the spatula landed on the coffee table. He felt unbearably relieved knowing that evil thing was gone, and the next thing he noticed was Rick's hand coming back down to pat his thigh in a gesture of reassurance. "You'll be alright. I want you to learn from this, and I don't want you to get the wrong message here. The point of this ain't to hurt you."
Carl barely managed to bite back the sarcastic response threatening to escape in his discomfort. It sure didn't feel like this wasn't meant to hurt him; his ass was burning and Dad clearly had no intention of letting him up anytime soon. Carl was relieved that Daryl was the only other person who knew this was happening; he knew the older man wouldn't say anything about Carl inevitably crying like a girl or his attitude or how he should show his dad more respect. The redneck would probably just reach out and silently tousle his hair or squeeze his shoulder with a quiet nod, his eyes doing all the speaking for him. Daryl was great that way; Carl knew he would always be there to protect them, but in his own unique way.
Then again, Carl mused as he waited for his dad to get on with whatever was going to happen next, Daryl was not the kind of man you got on the wrong side of. He didn't say much because he didn't have to say anything to let you know exactly what he thought. Carl had seen Daryl get pissed and the truth was, it scared him a little. He didn't really know much about Daryl's background, but having met Merle he had a few ideas about Daryl's childhood years. It was clear, even to a fifteen-year-old, that Daryl made a marked effort to control his temper because he knew he could easily show the same contempt his older brother had. Carl was glad that it was Daryl who'd survived and become like an Uncle or older brother to him. He had a lot of respect for the man currently looking after his baby sister. But he would still very much prefer him not to walk in while his bare ass was on display.
Rick took some time to inspect his handiwork. His son's skin felt hot and the cotton fabric had evidently - and understandably - provided less protection than his jeans. "So, I take it you like it when I listen to what you have to say?" Rick asked softly, rubbing his soothing palm against a particularly red spot on his son's backside.
"Yes," Carl bit back between clenched teeth. The first tears had already escaped despite his best efforts to hold them back, and now he just wanted this whole thing over and to curl up in bed. Preferably on his side, away from everyone, so he could lick his wounds in peace.
"Well, then I guess there's a lesson in here somewhere," Rick replied sarcastically, not impressed by the defiance he could still hear in his son's voice. Without further ado, he picked up where he had left off earlier, landing heavy-handed swats in rapid succession. It didn't take much longer for Carl's resolve to break, and Rick could feel him squirming in his grasp. Not that it did him much good, as the hold he had on him was pretty tight.
Rick pulled his son back into a standing position and lifted his leg off the coffee table. The kid's hands instinctively reached back to give his punished backside a much needed rub.
"Carl?" Rick leant closer so he'd be able to hear his son's response. "Have I made my point clear? Will you listen the next time I tell you to do something?"
"I'm sorry. I should have stayed home," Carl managed to say between hiccups. He also wanted to say, Can we please stop now? but as all his past pleas had fallen on deaf ears - Dad always made a point to remind him who was in charge in situations like this - so he held his tongue.
"Okay then." Rick stretched his leg and rubbed at his own thigh for a moment. Kid was getting pretty heavy, to be honest. He retrieved the spatula and smacked it lightly against Carl's already red backside, effectively shooing his hands away. "Fifteen more, and we're done."
Carl wished he was six again, because that number seemed a lot easier to stomach. But they'd been there before. One for each year he ihadn't/i learnt to do as he was told. If he argued, he'd get more, so it wasn't exactly rocket science.
The kid took a deep breath and nodded. He hadn't dared to move after being put back on the floor, knowing his father well enough to be aware that they weren't quite done. He couldn't help but wince as the older man added, "And we both know I'm gonna make 'em count."
Carl had trouble swallowing, the lump in his throat felt the size of an apple. The spatula had felt awful enough against his PJs, and he really wasn't looking forward to feeling it applied to his bare skin.
Rick bent the kid back down, this time just over his hip. His hand found his son's wrist and held it tight, to make sure it would stay in place. Carl was crying pretty hard by the time the last swat came down, and his free hand was gripping his father's leg tight, but Rick was pretty sure that he was genuinely sorry for disobeying. He'd gone pretty weak in the legs, and was still pretty shaky even after Rick pulled him up and towards his chest. "It's alright," he said soothingly. "We're done here."
It took Carl a while to compose himself, but eventually he was ready and pulled back. He wiped at his face with his sleeve and quickly ducked down to retrieve his PJ pants. He drew in a shaky breath and forced himself to glance up at his dad sheepishly, unsure what to expect there. Relief coursed through him as he clocked forgiveness in the older man's eyes.
They stood awkwardly for a moment, neither quite sure what to say, but eventually Rick seemed to rouse himself. "You alright?"
Carl shrugged. "I'll survive…"
Rick smiled softly despite the guilt that was settling in his stomach over causing Carl pain and he reached out to tousle his son's hair fondly. "You will. You're pretty good at that. I'm proud of you, Carl. You know that, right? You've grown into a great young man."
Carl blushed and gave his dad a quick smile, leaning in closer. Rick chuckled, reminded of a puppy seeking out attention. More than happy to put this latest conflict behind them, he willingly obliged, rubbing a reassuring hand over his son's shoulder blades in a loose hug. He suddenly thought back to Daryl's earlier suggestion about comfort and he reminded himself he owed his son a hot cocoa, maybe even with milk since he knew Carl took after Lori and preferred milky cocoa to Rick's water-based choice. Milk was hard to come by nowadays, but somehow Alexandria had some of that too… He could see Carl was still unsettled and didn't want to walk off and just leave him alone feeling like a stick in the mud.
Before he could worry too much about his next move, Carl spoke quietly against his shoulder. "Is Judith alright? I shouldn't have left her... "
Rick rested his chin on the top of Carl's head for a moment then nodded briefly. "She's good, Daryl's got her. You wanna go and check on her? I'll come up soon." Carl nodded sincerely, giving his dad a grateful smile. "Alright. And Carl? Take these comics up with you… I can't stand all this mess sitting around."
Carl sighed dramatically, but nodded as he broke the hug and moved to collect the assortment of comic books scattered across the coffee table. He paused to offer the spatula a disdainful scowl when he spotted it on the floor beside the table, but decided he was too tired to make any flippant comments tonight… Besides, getting your ass whaled on took it out of you and he knew that Dad wouldn't have any issue giving him another round if he pushed his buttons too much.
He could feel Rick's eyes on his back as he headed towards the stairs, balancing the comics in one hand and swiping a hand across his face again once he was halfway up the stairs where Dad wouldn't see. He wasn't even really sure why he felt the need to be so stoic and strong around the older man, but guessed it was probably because his father always seemed so strong and sure and in control. He looked up to him and although he knew it was ridiculous, he felt embarrassed looking like a dumb kid in front of him.
Carl continued to ponder the slightly strained relationship he had with his Dad, when he walked passed Judith's room and lost his train of thought. Daryl was still holding her as she was trying to fall asleep, gazing down at her with a gentleness that made Carl blink. He still wasn't used to seeing the hunter showing such tenderness. Daryl had his own way of expressing how much he cared about people. Usually, it was as 'simple' as being in the right place at the right time, and saving people's asses, but he'd just taken to Judith like a duck to water, and it had such a calming effect on the group because it was so unexpected
The older Georgian looked up with a smile when he recognized the sound of Carl's breathing, giving him a nod of reassurance and beckoning him over with a tilt of his head. His lips quirked into a smile as he glanced between Carl and Judith. He considered how best to cheer the teen up without embarrassing him, relieved and amused when Judith squirmed in his grasp, apparently sensing her older sibling's presence. "Looks like she can smell her big brother…," Daryl joked, looking at Carl questioningly.
Carl flushed but nodded eagerly, glad he hadn't had to ask. "Last time I'm having a shower this week, if she can still smell me," he joked back. Daryl cackled, and carefully transferred the sleepy bundle to Carl's arms. His own felt empty at the sudden lack of weight resting in them, but the embarrassed delight in Carl's eyes made it worth the loss. Daryl had never had people rely on him the way Carl and Judith and the others did. It was a good feeling. He reached out to rest a hand on Carl's shoulder, squeezing gently before letting his hand drop to his thigh, fingers spread as if to hold on for support, as he leaned back against the sturdy wooden crib.
"Y'know," he said after a moment's silence, avoiding looking at Carl for a while longer by lifting his hand to scrutinise his fingernails thoughtfully, "It's alright to be upset. I'm betting your daddy lit into you good, kid, and there ain't nobody here judgin'. It don't make you anyone's bitch if you don't exactly feel happy about it."
Colour wound its way up Carl's neck and it took a few seconds before he cleared his throat and cast wide eyes at Daryl. "I… Uh… You heard that, huh?"
Daryl nodded, shrugging. "I wasn't born yesterday either. Way I see it, you earned that one fair and square. Rick can be tough, but it's just cuz he wants to protect you. And really, that ain't such a bad thing. Uh, look…" Daryl trailed off for a moment and turned quiet as he thought about his own father. "I ain't one for wearing my heart on my sleeve, but your Dad… Well, you could do a lot worse. Might be an idea to start listening to him better. It ain't worth getting a sore ass for doing something dumb just for the hell of it."
Carl nodded silently, keeping his eyes focused on Judith so the older survivor wouldn't see the tears that had welled up in his eyes and were threatening to spill over. He already felt like plenty of a dick after the dressing-down from his father, and he knew Daryl was trying to help, but it still made him feel worse. Anyone who'd somehow seen the scars on his back had figured out Daryl had been abused as a child. And yet, throughout the apocalypse, he'd unearthed a very sweet man under all the layers of grit and anger. Carl hugged his sister closer, trying to at least let his tears fall on her blanket, and not her head. Daryl reached out a hand to gently stroke Judith's soft hair from her forehead, while putting his other on Carl's back. "It's okay, kid. We ain't gonna judge. Neither will your dad.. We've all got feelings, and there ain't nothing dumb about that. Take as long as you need, you don't have to be strong all the time…," the redneck reassured quietly, deciding that some cocoa was definitely in order to boost morale around here.
Carl looked a little skeptical about Daryl's reassurances, but right now he was too emotionally spent to care too much about his image. Sometimes it was really hard being the man his father expected him to be. It was easy to forget he was only fifteen, given all the horror they'd seen the past few years, and sometimes he wished he could just be carefree and young. The problem was, he wasn't really sure how to hang up all his responsibilities for a while and just be Carl Grimes, the teenager. Not Carl the soldier, or Carl the strategist, or Carl the babysitter; just Carl Grimes.
Daryl's quiet words were soothing to him and he sagged a little, dropping his face to kiss Judith's forehead as he felt Daryl pat his shoulder. "Thanks…," he whispered to the now sleeping bundle.
Daryl waited a moment longer, then quietly slipped out of the room and went downstairs to make sure Rick was getting ready for the comfort part of this experience. Rick's moral compass was dead-set; he was very good at pulling people back in line, but he could be somewhat clumsy when it came to offering reassurance. Probably not something they taught at the Police Academy. The archer watched in the kitchen doorway as his friend heated up milk over the stove, stirring meticulously. The fact Rick didn't notice him immediately was testament to how distracted the father of two must be feeling.
Daryl waited a minute before speaking, stepping inside and leaning against the countertop to Rick's left. "Hey," he greeted quietly. He grinned when Rick blinked in surprise and looked over at him before turning back to the stove; it wasn't easy to catch the cop unawares. "Carl's got Judith. He looked like he could use a hug," Daryl continued, voice a little rough as he thought of the miserable teen upstairs. Heaven knew the Dixons weren't good with communicating, but the males of the Grimes family were almost as good at inot/i talking about anything, and Daryl just didn't understand how they'd gotten to this point where they felt they couldn't talk. If he'd had a dad like Rick Grimes… Well, let's just say he would have been a different man before everything went to shit.
Rick nodded thoughtfully, eyes trained on the bubbling milk as he considered his response. "I guess he was pretty upset, huh?"
"Nah. Least, not on the outside. Inside, I think he needs a bit longer with his daddy. Told him it was alright to not be the tough guy all the time, at least not around us. Then I figured I'd make sure you remembered the cocoa…"
Rick rolled his eyes. "You think I could forget? As if you'd let me… I'm doing it, it's just been a while."
Daryl watched him in silence, offering his friend some moral support without needing to use words. He knew Rick'd talk if he wanted to anyway. Silence stretched out between them as Rick turned off the hot plate and poured the liquid into the mug, while Daryl stood quietly with his back against the doorframe. Eventually Rick's voice cut through the quiet. "I hate doing that," he admitted, looking down at his palms with a frown. "He's so independent, I know he hates being vulnerable and I hate being the bad guy. Maybe I did overreact, but… Things are dangerous enough out there without making stupid choices. He needs to remember that. He didn't even see you or me comin' into the house and he was only across the road…"
Daryl shrugged. "You ain't gotta explain nothing to me. You're doing your best. Rick, man, he knows that. We all know you're doin' your best."
Rick's gaze stayed on the countertop as he considered his friend's words. He wasn't stupid; he knew Daryl wasn't just talking about Carl. Trust the hunter to get to the heart of the matter. The truth was, Rick had no idea what he was doing. He was trying to adjust to the change of living beyond just surviving, but it was hard. Carl, Michonne, the others… They were all so desperate to believe they could stay and settle here. Rick did want that, especially for his kids, but he was scared. He was scared it would go wrong and they'd get hurt. He'd made so many decisions that had seemed like the best option at the time, but so many of them had backfired, so could he really trust his gut feeling?.
He let out a heavy sigh just thinking about it all. Then again, at the end of the day, he'd brought them this far, and that was clearly something. But the people they'd lost weighed heavily on his mind. He couldn't let that happen to Carl. Daryl said he didn't need to justify himself, but in his mind, he did. He needed to know he'd done right by the people he was determined to protect.
Rick scratched at his stubble, "Maybe. Guess things have just changed a lot recently. I just want to do right by everyone. I guess I should…"
Daryl nodded, smiling when Rick caught his eye. "You should, 'fore the kid falls asleep. You'll be alright. I'll, uh, be around."
Rick picked up the mug of cocoa he'd allowed to cool off a little, although steam was still wafting over the cup, and started towards the doorway, pausing by Daryl to give his shoulder a light punch with his free hand. "Thanks Daryl. I owe you one."
"Uh-huh," Daryl replied. "And don't you forget it."
"Wise-ass," Rick muttered under his breath as he made his way out the kitchen door. As he headed towards the stairs and his son's bedroom he already felt better, so all he had to do now was cheer up Carl. And he had cocoa for that, so as far as preparations were concerned, he was all set.
Carl still stood by Judith's crib with his little sister in his arms, talking quietly to her and blinking back tears. Rick watched from the doorway for a moment, heart thumping miserably at the scene before him. "Hey," he greeted quietly, keen not to startle Carl or inadvertently wake Judith. He smiled when Carl looked up at him, sleeved wrist instantly moving up to mop up stray tears from his face.
Wow, the damn really had burst, Rick mused to himself sadly. "I brought you something…" He held the mug of cocoa up as a silent peace offering.
"Did Daryl find more moonshine?" Carl made an attempt at joking. Dad was trying, so maybe he should, too.
Rick made a face, but decided not to rise to the bait. "Haha," he said drily, crossing the distance between them. "Close second. And you don't have to wait six years to be of age."
The kid eyed the cup for a moment, ere he caught on. "You... made me cocoa?" he finally said, trying not so sound disgusted. How in hell Michonne, who really had great taste all in all, could bear the taste of soy milk was beyond him. He'd rather drink his own barf.
"With milk, from cows, just the way you like it…," Rick coaxed, sad he didn't have a camera at the ready. The look on his son's face was priceless. "I figured you could use a little pick-me-up. Go on, before it gets cold…"
"You found milk?" Carl all but squealed in delight. "How'd you manage that?"
"A magician never reveals his secrets," Rick cracked one of his notoriously bad Dad jokes. Carl just gave him the stink-eye. "Right. You want to do a swap?" Rick asked, gesturing towards his sleeping daughter.
Carl glanced down and then back at him and smiled softly. "Yeah. Uh…"
Rick looked around the small bedroom. They had been thrilled to find an empty house that actually had a crib already in it, but they guessed that either the former infant occupant of this room either shared it with an older sibling or the room doubled as a guest room because of the full-sized bed that shared the space. Rick settled on using the nightstand that was next to the bed. "I'll put this on the stand and then take her and get her settled. That's it…" They moved closer to the bed, juggling things around until they could swap cargo, then Rick settled on one side, propping his feet up on the soft mattress as he gingerly held on to Judith until he could rest back and put her on his lap. He patted the spot beside him. Carl couldn't recall the last time his dad sat in bed with him. Long before the world went to hell; that was for sure. Probably one of those rare times his dad wasn't at work and could read a bedtime story to him when he was little. He was glad to get another chance.
Carl carefully sat and kicked up his own feet before leaning over to retrieve his drink then snuggling in closer to his dad. Mug retrieved, Carl took his first sip of cocoa, savouring the rare treat. Then he slid a little further down on the bed, propping up his knees to make himself comfortable, and rested his head on his father's shoulder.
Rick noted that his son's butt was thus no longer making contact with the bed in this position, but he wisely chose not to acknowledge it. "You good?" Rick asked, adjusting Judith's head on his arm as her eyes started to close like one of those dolls with eyelids that responded to the position they are in.
"All good," Carl replied. "You gonna tell us a story?" he joked.
Rick smiled and thought a moment. "How about the one when my dad caught me sneaking in after curfew one night when I was supposed to be grounded for ditching school the previous day to take my new girlfriend to the movies?" Carl had to be careful not to spit his hot drink onto his lap.
"You didn't," he said in surprise.
"I had to make a good impression," Rick answered. "She was the most popular girl in school. But let me tell you, my dad made an impression on me instead."
The End.