just a small little thing to get season 5 off my chest omg

oOo

With time, Rick lingers less.

Looks away. Isn't there.

Head lost someplace.

Someplace far and unmeant for any of them.

And Rick seldom says much these days, talks only in the quickest way he can. Direct. Mandates. Gaze flat, inspecting always the abandoned nothings of the road with Judith cradled into the unwavering L-curve of his arm.

"Daryl. You've got a thing for this stuff. Glenn's been looking. Should be a stream nearby."

No stream. Not for at least some miles.

Smell of rain.

Best to stop. Best to wait for it with open bottles.

"Yeah," Daryl nods. "Should be."

Then he goes.

oOo

At first, Daryl doesn't think much of her.

She doesn't need it. Not when she's more of herself than anything else.

Not with her looking out for the others where the others shouldn't need much to look out for her.

From where she stands, this close to Rick, she's tall and strong of arm, sword-thing at her hip, with a voice that carries the heft of her faults, but also the sharp of her reason and cunning.

She swings and the air parts itself for her. She leans on one foot, and always a playful grin glimmers amid the brown dusk of her eyes, whispers things into the wind for only Rick to understand. Things that look to matter. Things Rick likes. Maggie trusts her. Carl likes her. Her hair falls, the night follows.

Much like Rick's eyes.

In Alexandria, Rick minds her more. Looks more, sees more.

At first, it's a splinter that only just itches. A thing made to ignore or discard. But then the sore digs in and the blister holes and reddens. And Daryl sees it now like he knows he's seen it quite often: the way Rick traces the careful length of her, the moon of her, as if a thirst were there where he knew well it shouldn't.

A need to touch or speak, but never doing one or the other.

oOo

They settle. Or at least try to. Most of them. Not all.

Days get longer, nights go faster.

And on the third, Daryl manages to see it for the first time.

The way Rick begins to go out of his way in setting his voice to a certain sort of way, just for Jessie.

The way Rick manages to get himself a bit closer to her each time whenever he does this. It's less than an inch for every incident. But soon, a half-inch becomes one. And Daryl's seen Rick talk to a lot of people in the past, talk to him in the past—same air, same space, like friends or brothers because that's what Rick called it once—but never like that.

So soft, as if the whole world were made of glass.

She's small and thin where Daryl's not. Quaint in all things she does with a feathery truss of yellow hair she ties into a single rope at the back. Daryl sees her now and then. Out at the front of her house, doing all sorts of things that will never come to matter.

So this time it hurts a little more than before. Bleeds a little more than before. Because at least Michonne, Daryl's known. Tough, smart. Even Merle thought so.

But now Rick checks up on Jessie so often, with her white skin and picture-perfect smile. Walking by, walking by—sometimes waving, sometimes not. But always looking. Looking hard. Even when the view gets cut, for her, Rick always looks back.

And Rick never looks back.

oOo

The next day, Daryl showers.

But only because Aaron keeps telling him to try and join the party everyone's going to be at that night.

"Who's 'everyone'?" Daryl asks.

"Everyone who is anyone." He laughs. "Here, at least. It's for you guys. Deanna thought it would—"

"Rick?"

Out of nowhere, Aaron pauses for a little too long. Clears his throat. Almost like he'd suddenly seen something big that'd been standing right there with them the whole time.

Daryl narrows his eyes, sharpens his voice. "I say something?"

"No—I mean.. Obviously, right? Rick, he's sort of the star of the show."

Daryl stops, looks at Aaron. He wants to say that no, there is no star. And if there were a star, Rick wouldn't just be any star. He'd be the sun. But even more than that, Daryl wants to tell Aaron to mind his own and fuck off.

Then again, maybe there's no point in saying any of that… Thinking any of that.

So Daryl just nods. Walks off.

oOo

That night, Daryl decides to go. Even makes it to the front yard.

He waits awhile. Tries twice for the door. But can't.

Inside, Rick hounds away at Jessie. Jessie smiles at him, holds Judith, giggles at anything he says.

There's a scratch thrumming at the back of Daryl's skull that hurts more than most things have, so he leaves his spot from the trees.

When he's at the end of the opposite street, he looks down and sees that his hands had been shaking, palms tight and rigid. He makes it halfway towards nowhere before Aaron stops him, arms crossed and with his back casually balanced against the front door of his house. Daryl just keeps walking.

"Hey, aren't you supposed to be at the party?"

Daryl shrugs one shoulder, slowing down. "Nah. Too loud."

Aaron chuckles. Lighthearted. Kind. But it's that sort of kindness that always gets you killed in the long run. Either way, Daryl stops. Turns around.

"Did you even make it inside? If it means anything, I saw Rick walk in there earlier."

Daryl looks to the side, a wet itch clawing at his eye. Something falls, slips. He tells himself its rain.

"Yeah," he says. It's all he can say.

He stands there, waiting for nothing. He thinks of the prison, of the evasive sort of half-looks Rick used give him. Just him. Of runs, of quiet evenings up at the tower. Gone, just like Rick's smile.

"Hey," Aaron calls. "Eric and I, we just got done cooking up way too much spaghetti. The sauce got a little sloppy, but the pasta itself didn't come out so bad."

For a moment, Daryl wants to run.

Because it must be so obvious.

Here, in the middle of the lamplight. The thoughts in his head. The shit tremble in his hands that never went away.

And if Aaron sees it, he doesn't say it. Doesn't pry. Just smiles, leaves the door open and welcomes him inside.

oOo