I'm sorry for the long wait. This chapter got to be even longer than what I had anticipated (it's currently 30 pages long, containing over 11.600 words) and I wanted to get things as right as possible.

Next chapter will be something of an epilogue, and it should be short.

Daryl's always such a challenge for me to write. I always analyze my feelings and try to figure out why I do things. And I like talking about feelings and ideas and shit. He's just the opposite. He's my favorite, though, and I keep trying, even if (obviously) there are people who can write him way better than I do.

An interview with Norman Reedus about Daryl that I saw the other day helped me a great deal, I think.

This one contains a lot more slash than the last one. Nothing graphic. I've got the feeling I got a little sidetracked, though, like I had too much to tell.

Thanks to Lady Impala, Dropkicking Bullet Shells and velvetemr73 for your reviews, here and in my other ficts. You are great, and this is for you.


You Lost Sight On Me

And don't lead me on
And don't break my heart
You know it's breakable
You know it's sweet

–––

Part 2: Daryl.

"That which does not kill us makes us stronger."
(Friedrich Nietzsche)

–––

They never talked about the thing going on between them. They just danced around the fact that they grew uncannily close, just like they had ended up having each other's backs. And if Daryl had wanted to have Rick's back for a long time… well, he never ever mentioned that to anyone.

They danced around the fact that, when Daryl started drifting away from the group, when he started growling and kicking things, Rick was the one who got him to get back to his senses faster than anyone else. And Rick didn't do much besides approaching him calmly and letting him lash out. Rick simply took Daryl's anger and let it drift away. And then, when he deemed appropriated, Rick changed the subject into something Daryl would have something to say about and Daryl found himself snorting and making smart-ass retorts. Before he knew it, he was talking to Rick like his bad temper hadn't grabbed hold of him once again.

And if Daryl's eyes lingered a little too long, and if Rick smiled a little more sweetly, they never discussed it. Daryl was never completely sure he wasn't imagining it all, anyway.

They danced around the fact that Rick broke the contact barrier at some random point. Before any of them noticed, he was clasping Daryl's shoulder, grabbing his arm to stop him from doing something or even just to offer comfort like he had always done this, like it was his God-given right. And Daryl was just too surprised when he realized this, because he had never been the touchy-feely type. He still wasn't sure about what surprised him most: that it didn't bother him or that he hadn't noticed immediately. And that first time he observed it, he had lifted his eyebrows and made a double take of Rick's hand on his arm, just above the elbow, before moving his eyes to Rick's. The deputy had let go, with a deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression and swiftly apologized. Daryl hadn't protested.

And they danced around the fact that they had become best friends out of the blue, without a reason to it other than they liked each other. They didn't have the background that Rick and Shane had. They barely knew each other, and in that time they had threatened each other and aimed guns at each other's heads. Daryl had tried to punch Rick and the deputy had handcuffed his brother to a roof and stood on Daryl's way every time he was trying to pick up a fight with someone or drive an axe into someone's head. They had every reason to dislike each other, even to hate each other's guts, but they didn't. Daryl trusted Rick to a point it hurt, and he couldn't believe he had gained Rick's trust as well. He approached slowly, like a wild animal, trying to see if it was for real. And Rick had been patient enough to prove it to him instead of just saying so.

They stood side by side on many occasions. Daryl was always better off fighting and fending on his own, but when it was them against a whole herd or another group of survivors, Daryl would always end up next to Rick. When he didn't or couldn't, Rick was the one who found him. And they would keep an eye on the other just to make sure, even if they were on opposite sides of the fight.

Maybe it was because they were the strongest. Maybe it was because they had become both the leader and his right hand. Maybe it was because Daryl admired Rick and Rick admired Daryl – for very different reasons.

The first time Daryl thought about the word 'love' it was too soon. He had been wounded, Rick had almost died again and Lori was about to give birth. And they were just friends and the timing couldn't be worst, so obviously he kept his mouth shut. They wouldn't make him say it, even under torture.

The second time, his timing hadn't been better. They had lost most of their group, including Lori and little Judith, and Rick was crumbling. So Daryl had just came and sat next to Rick, trying hard to conjure the same peaceful aura that the deputy did when he was trying to get Daryl to calm down. He didn't think he was succeeding until Rick had softly gripped Daryl's arm once again and squeezed. It meant 'thank you' and it was all Daryl wanted. He thought he would do it a thousand times again if needed, without hesitating.

And so, it had been somehow wordlessly established that they would turn to each other every time they needed. Rick sometimes talked about Lori, and even though it killed Daryl to listen to that, he stood strong - mostly, because Rick never talked about her with anyone else. Rick seemed to pick up on that soon, though, because he stopped bringing her up.

"I never asked… what about you? Did you have anyone… before this?" Rick asked quietly one time.

Daryl almost chocked in surprise.

"No." He answered promptly. "No. Was… was about to marry once. Long time ago. Didn't end well."

Rick had arched his eyebrows and nudged him.

"You never told." He teased lightly, testing his ground. It could be a sensitive matter. "What happened? If I may ask."

"Ya may." Daryl snorted. He scratched his neck awkwardly. "She, uh… she caught me… cheatin' on her. With a friend of hers."

"You're kidding." Rick laughed. Daryl shrugged and smiled lightly. "That ended it?"

"Yep."

"Was she pretty?" Rick asked.

"She was." Daryl replied a little stiffly.

"I mean the friend."

"He wasn't bad." Daryl muttered.

Rick blinked and kept quiet for half a second and Daryl prepared for whatever outcome.

"You dog!" Rick had finally chuckled.

"Can't get 'em off me." Daryl had smirked, deeply relieved. His heart was hammering inside his chest.

"Never took the plunge after that?" Rick inquired.

"Nah. No point."

"How so?"

"Didn't found a girl I wanted to marry. And with a… man just wasn't legal."

"Not in Georgia." Rick pointed out.

"Nah. Merle would've killed me, anyway." Daryl shrugged.

They stayed quiet for a few moments. Daryl shifted under Rick's stare and then turned to ask him what the hell he had lost in his face when Rick spoke again.

"It's weird to think about that. Daryl Dixon, family man. Father of two." Rick commented with the slightest grin. "Ain't a bad picture, though."

Daryl blinked, because it couldn't be. Rick couldn't be flirting with him. He probably had just gotten it wrong.

"Father of none. It never held in court." Daryl replied a little awkwardly.

Rick had laughed – something he was doing increasingly those days as the death of Lori was being left behind.

"Didn't hang on that team long enough, anyway." Daryl added with a nervous smile, keeping his eyes carefully away.

"Huh, the plot thickens!" Rick exclaimed, amused.

"Shut up." Daryl mumbled, but couldn't hold back a smile.

They had danced around that too, the way they sought consolation in the other. The way Daryl offered his shoulder to be Rick's crutch and Rick tried to cheer up and make him laugh in return. The way the stuck together, come hell or high water, or brothers long-given-for-dead and dead wives.

At some point, it became a small joke among the rest, though, that they were attached at the hip. Which wasn't the case at all, because Daryl still spent a lot of time on his own or hanging around the others. Sure, he did take Rick and Carl out to teach those two city boys how to hunt, but it wasn't all the time!

Rick didn't seem nearly as fazed about that as Daryl. Daryl never got the courage to ask him why, because he had a bad feeling about talking about those things, like they would either come true or be proven wrong. And, as much as he denied it, he would've been crushed to learn it wasn't true, that they weren't close.

Then the rest decided to move on. Head east, Glenn had said. Like T-Dog had wanted.

It turned out to be hell. They lost Maggie first, and almost immediately Glenn. Daryl cringed when he remembered that, because he had honestly cared for the boy. It was like his little brother in a way.

When they lost Andrea, though, Daryl had wanted to kick every single undead ass in the country and yell his head off. It was too much, too soon. He did none, of course, and retired to his tent to mourn on his own.

He had taken the second shift of night watch. Rick, who was sitting on the roof of one of their cars told him to go back to sleep. Daryl said he couldn't and after a painful moment of indecision, he lay down on the roof next to Rick and watched the stars.

Daryl had never liked to be around someone else when he felt bad. Rick, though, was quiet and didn't tell him to speak his mind or something. He didn't ask stupid ass questions or made stupid ass comments. He was barely there, to be honest, and that was as much company as Daryl could bear at the moment.

And then, after a long, long while, Rick sighed and lay next to Daryl, with one hand behind his neck so their shoulders were touching. Daryl tensed up, but Rick didn't try to engage in conversation, so they just stayed there for a few minutes, just watching the starts together.

"Ya ain't keepin' watch." Daryl had suddenly said.

"It ain't my turn." Rick smiled, with his eyes fixed in the sky.

Daryl had huffed and made to sit up, but Rick's hand had stopped him.

"I though… Today, I thought you were gonna die too." Rick muttered. His face was dead serious now, but his gaze was still glued to some random star. "When you jumped off after her. To get her back. I thought I wouldn't… I thought I wouldn't be fast enough to catch you and they would get to you too."

Daryl looked at him out the corner of his eye and waited for something else to come, because he had the feeling he should. And he had no idea what to say, anyway.

"I saw it in my head. I saw it happening." Rick continued. Then he finally turned his head and met Daryl's eyes, and his voice changed, it became more determined and husky. "Fuck, Daryl, I don't want you to die. I don't want anyone else to die, but I especially don't want you to die. You're important to me."

Something inside Daryl's chest swelled up and made it hard to breathe. He felt insanely happy. More happy than he should be after a good friend had just died, but he was a selfish man on occasions. And this was a good chance to be.

Daryl tried to say it back – God knew he felt that too – , but the words caught in his throat and died there. So he hesitantly extended a hand and rubbed his knuckles awkwardly against Rick's shoulder.

"Ditto." He finally was able to whisper. It was lame, but it was better than nothing.

Rick had nodded and closed his eyes. He looked sad and weary. Daryl had started to sit up again but he stopped himself this time.

"I don't think we should keep travelling. Was a bad idea from the start." He said.

"True." Rick nodded.

"We should find a place. Settle down."

Rick had laughed quietly. "Yeah. That's a little forward of you, but you're right." Daryl struggled to find a reply. "Just us three and Michonne. Sounds like we're her harem."

Daryl was speechless again.

"Yer mind freaks me out, sometimes." He had finally managed to say.

"Well, it's either that or blowing my brains out."

Daryl shifted. Rick didn't make a big thing out of that statement, but he was way too serious for his liking.

"Don't ya dare." He growled on instinct. Then he relaxed a little. "Keep saying weird shit all ya want, then."

Daryl sat up and looked around. They'd been a little too caught into their conversation and a pack of walkers could've snuck in without them noticing. But there was no movement in their little camp and that was fine.

Rick sat up a few moments later too. He was close to Daryl's side, and his body heat felt good. Like a reassurance he was still there.

"Gonna go sleep?" Daryl asked quietly.

"No." Rick answered with defeat. "I can't sleep."

Then he did something Daryl had never once seen him do. Rick leaned his face against Daryl's shoulder, half hiding and half asking for comfort. And Daryl, once again, though 'love' without meaning to. He lifted a hand to cover Rick's head and then placed a flutter, chaste kiss on his hair.

Daryl was never an expert on handling emotions, not even his own, but it seemed only natural to do that.

Rick was never like this, he was never this low, this overwhelmed. He was never vulnerable, for Christ's sake. He was tall and strong and determined. He kept on hoping, on dreaming, even if he hardly believed it himself, because the others needed him to do that.

Then Rick lifted his head again and smiled with a coy yet thankful expression.

"You're a good man, Daryl." He whispered, and his fingers started tracing the line of Daryl's jaw.

Daryl stopped breathing for a moment. A long, heavily charged silence fell between them, and when Daryl was backing off, mumbling some excuse, Rick kissed him.

It was far from perfect. Their teeth clashed and their noses bumped. Daryl didn't mind and his hands tangled in Rick's hair on their own accord. Rick shifted in order to make it just a little better.

Daryl didn't remember the last time he had whole-heartedly kissed anyone.

Then, way too soon, Rick pulled apart. They looked at each other.

Daryl suddenly felt scared.

"Ima… I'm sorry." He muttered, starting to move away, avoiding Rick's eyes and feeling his face turning bright red.

"Don't." Rick said simply, holding him in place. "I don't know about you, but I've wanted to do that for a while."

It was that slightly cocky, yet gentle honesty what got Daryl every time. Rick could make him do anything just by saying it like that. That was fucked up, but he didn't care.

So he nodded, keeping his eyes down. Rick let go of his arm and seemed to wait for something. Daryl looked back up after a while and saw that Rick was smiling at him, but his eyes were sad. That made up him mind and kissed the deputy again.

In the next few days they had found and established in a farm house. They put up barricades, blocked the windows and did everything they could think of to make it a safer place.

Someone had said 'be careful what you wish for, because it may come true'. It had never made more sense to Daryl than in that moment. After longing for the deputy for, what, a year?, he suddenly found his days, his hands, his mind and his bed filling up with Rick. And the reality of it scared the crap out of him.

It wasn't like Rick had taken over his life; in fact things changed at an extremely slow pace. They didn't dive head first into whatever was that was happening between them because they were both a little scared and a lot scarred – they had lost people, most of their people. And they were just too close, jeopardizing what had been a very good friendship, sharing the same house and table and space.

They took their time, and even that way, Daryl was growing terrified of it.

He didn't say it, of course. How could he go and say 'Hey, I'm happy we're finally together, and I think I've loved you for a while, but I'm freakin' scared and I don't want you around me even though all I want is to be near you. So, yeah, go away. And don't go away.'?

So, instead, he ran.

He had grown more irritable, and started snapping at Rick for stupid things. He knew they were stupid things, but he couldn't help it. The deputy, who wasn't getting any of this, snapped back. And so things had escalated, and Daryl had stormed out after a fight over something he never really remembered.

He thought Rick would kick his ass for doing it – rightfully so. So he had delayed his return a little more, and a little more. He needed a little time on his own, and he needed to think, but he used that as an excuse until he realized a week had passed and he headed back home, taking as many preys as he could hunt as some kind of a peace offer.

Rick hadn't even looked at the peace offer and started to yell at him for disappearing and making him worry and thinking he was dead and whatnot. Daryl fought back – he had the right to disappear on his own! Rick stayed mad for days and Michonne scolded Daryl for being such an ass.

After they reconciled, things had gotten a little better. Then, it had gone back to normal, and Daryl ran again.

"Why the hell do you have to do that?" Rick had asked when he came back, in a low voice, but it was still filled with anger.

"I can fuckin' do that if I fuckin' want to."

"You can. But how the hell I'm supposed to know ya ain't dead somewhere out there?"

"When did ya turn into a woman, Rick?" Daryl snarled. "I can fend for myself, better than any of ya."

Rick's eyes had flashed, but then he took a deep breath.

"You…" He trailed off. "I know you can survive on your own, damn it. That's not the frikin' point. The point is why do you need to do that? I can understand you need to be alone for a while, but why a whole week? And I know you're tough, but not even you can fight a whole heard if it came at you."

"So, what, yer tyin' me up to the house? Last time I checked, you didn't own me."

Rick had looked like he wanted to punch him.

"You're such an idiot, sometimes." He growled and then walked into the house, slamming the door shut.

They had stayed mad at each other a little longer this time. A few weeks went by, and they were still barely talking. It made Daryl sad and happy. Maybe he was right in being scared and they were really not meant to be. Maybe they were just afraid and alone, and they had never had a thing in common; maybe they were together only because there was no one else around.

Maybe things could end then, and he wouldn't have to lose Rick later.

Michonne disappeared and they stopped avoiding each other, and tried to find her desperately. Even when two weeks had passed, and Rick said they had looked everywhere, Daryl kept on searching.

Every day, when he came back, Rick hugged him and didn't say a word, and Daryl held on tight and didn't want to let go. All of his doubts evaporated for a while, beneath the gripping fear for Michonne's life.

He never found her. He only found a trail of dead, headless walkers and a broken katana, and had wanted to throw up. It had been a large group and she had dispatched most of them while luring them away from the house. Then, apparently, her sword broke.

Daryl stopped searching.

She never came back.

When Daryl ran away next time (after they'd moved to a new house), something had changed. Michonne's death was still hanging heavily on him. She had been a survivor, just like him, and she'd been overrun.

Daryl always thought he was ready to die. He had repeated it to himself every day, even before the end of the world. He had lived day by day and made no big plans for the future. To be honest, he felt he didn't have any – future, that is. Of course, he did his best to stay alive, because he basically liked staying alive and there were things he wanted to do, but he knew death was hanging close to all of them and he'd accepted it just like he'd accepted that the Earth was round and the sky was blue.

Now, though… Now it scared him. Getting mauled by a pack of undead creatures seemed somehow worse than it did before.

He wasn't ready to die. And it wasn't just plain fear of death (which was only natural), it was the feeling that he would lose something more than just his life - that if he died out there, alone, it would mean nothing.

He had never thought that his death could actually mean anything before this. Death was death, and it happened to everybody.

It took Daryl two days, and almost meeting face to face with a herd, to finally realize he was running from the last good thing he was ever going to have, and that he wouldn't want to go without Rick knowing that.

So he'd come back and, after hearing Rick's ultimatum, Daryl agreed not to run away again – which he hadn't been planning on doing anyway.

There had been (almost) no harsh words between them that time. Rick seemed to have understood something, just like Daryl did, and they made up and made love and Daryl carefully admitted he was feeling something close to peace.

And his mind hushed 'love', but he still wasn't sure that it wasn't only that they were the only survivors from their group and said nothing. And he certainly wasn't sure what 'love' really meant.

Days started to melt together. At first it was unnerving, like an unreachable itch on his mind, and he wanted to make something happen. Then he just resigned himself to it.

He taught Carl everything he knew about hunting and tracking and how to handle dead animals. There was something off with the boy, though, like he wasn't actually there. Ever. He was mostly hiding in some imaginary place inside his mind; he looked at Daryl and Rick and the things surrounding them like they weren't completely real. It gave Daryl the creeps sometimes. Mostly, it just made him worry.

Daryl had never lived with someone from outside his family this long. And, even if it seemed hard to believe at first, the empty routine started to make almost everything dull. After one, two, three years sharing everything, from house to bed, Rick's presence had lost its novelty. Which didn't mean he didn't want to be with Rick anymore; he just… wished that something would happen, that the days stopped being so fucking alike. Though, last time something had happened, they'd lost Michonne.

"You're awake." Rick's voice suddenly had pulled Daryl out of his thoughts. It was the middle of the night and Daryl should have been asleep for a few hours now, but sleep evaded him. It was winter; the days were short and there weren't many things to do and that was probably the reason Daryl's thoughts were running around and keeping him up.

"Yeah."

"… That was supposed to be a question." Rick smiled. "Why are you awake?"

"Just thinkin'."

Daryl felt Rick's weight shifting next to him and a warm hand rested on his chest.

"A penny for your thoughts?" Rick offered.

Daryl hesitated. He wasn't used to talk about what he was thinking, even after all this time. He did it just a little more than before because Rick asked him from time to time to speak when something was bothering him. Thankfully, the deputy never pushed too hard.

Daryl took a deep breath.

"Just thinkin'… Thinkin' how… if world hadn't gone to shit, there'd be a lot more people. You had yer job, I had mine… Just that."

Rick came closer and kissed him briefly.

"Now, what were you really thinkin'?" He insisted patiently.

Daryl frowned, but he should have known better than try and dodge the question so lamely. That man had been a cop, and they knew each other too well to play that game.

"Nothin' much." Daryl muttered. "That. Thinkin' about people. Our people. All the rest. Just how crowded it always was, and how there'd be people at work and everywhere else. I didn't have many friends, but… would be nice to see some of those folks again." Rick was quiet, waiting for him to go on. "And we met after this whole shit happened, and we've seen each other almost every day after that." There was a short pause, during which Daryl chewed on his lip, thinking. "It'd be nice to have a few people back. Glenn and Michonne and Andrea. T-Dog too, and even Carol."

Rick didn't say anything, and Daryl realized that he had probably screwed up unwantedly.

"What?" He asked a little too briskly.

Rick shook his head and the hand on Daryl's chest moved away. He missed it.

He'd definitely screwed up.

"You asked." Daryl protested. It sounded too much like a whine and he hated himself for it.

"'S fine." Rick replied. He sounded tired and a little distant, but not really mad. "I miss them too. And the rest of the world. Most of them."

As always, he had managed to put in a few words Daryl's entire awkward ramble. But, truthfully, Daryl had never been good with words.

"Ya miss her?" He dared ask in a low voice. It was pretty obvious Rick was thinking about his late wife. Probably.

"Yeah." Rick admitted with a sigh. Daryl had been right. "Not so much anymore, 'course, but from time to time."

Daryl closed his eyes and wished he hadn't said a thing. Somehow sleep had found him again, so he could at least switch off his mind and forget about all this.

"What is it?" Rick asked, suddenly.

"Whatcha mean?" Daryl asked back evasively, turning his back on Rick and wishing himself asleep. This is what happened when he spoke his mind, and he made a mental note not to do it again soon.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothin'. 'M tired." Daryl lied.

He sensed it was one of those critical points: Rick could either push it and try and get the truth out of him, or let it go. If he let it go, he could either believe Daryl and forget the whole thing or try to ask again the next day when they were more relaxed and rested.

Knowing Rick, he'd probably let it slide until tomorrow.

But when enough time had passed and Daryl was certain that the other man had decided just that, the idea stuck in his head and wouldn't let go. This was his own critical moment: he could either give in and blurt it out, or hold the words back and snap at Rick when he tried to ask.

"Was thinkin'…" Daryl heard his own voice and realized his mouth had made the decision for him. It was too late to back up now. "Was thinkin' ain't no way you'd be here if this hadn't happened. The walkers. And the rest of the group."

No answer came and Daryl begun to wonder if Rick hadn't fallen asleep again. He rolled so he was lying on his back.

"I wouldn't be here?" Rick asked slowly and quietly. Daryl could hear that he was frowning, trying to understand.

"Yeah. If she was alive. Or the world still was normal."

Rick kept quiet. Daryl started losing his nerve and could've hit himself because this was one of those things you are not supposed to talk about; even if you've been wondering the same damn thing over and over for the past three years, you still weren't supposed to show your weak points like that. It was almost asking for people to use them against you.

He was about to take it all back or simply roll over and die (the second option sounded better, somehow) when Rick finally answered.

"I'd be here. I can't prove it, but I'm sure I'd be here."

Daryl hummed something and decided to roll over and die anyway, because he wasn't up to discuss this. Stupid, stupid Rick that got him to talk too much; stupid, stupid Daryl and his soft spot for this man.

Carl knocked on their door and said it was Daryl's turn to watch and it was freezing out there before going to his room.

Saved by the bell.

Daryl sat up, removed the covers with a little too much relief and put his clothes on, trying to let this embarrassing thing behind.

He should've known Rick wouldn't make it so easy on him.

"Daryl?" The deputy called.

"Mmh?"

"I love you."

Daryl froze.

He was only able to move again when he felt Rick coming closer. Daryl left his shoes untied, grabbed his jacket and left the room.

He kept watch until dawn. After a while he hid his head between his arms and hated himself for his panic reflex. He hadn't been expecting that, and it was hard for him to believe it, anyway. He knew he was being a coward, a pussy, a fucking boneless chicken, but it couldn't be true; he had been believing it for the past three years, that it would never be like that between them, that it wasn't really 'love' or anything similar to it, and he was fine with it – that was what he told himself, anyway. And along came Rick and dropped the L-word like a bomb.

He should've been happy. And he was. But he was more scared than anything else.

Daryl remembered how he'd seen Lori and Rick interact, they were always touching and talking, and she was always supporting him and reassuring him and he was always protecting her. In their own way, they were a team. Not as in fighting team, but as in family team.

And he would never be anything like her, that couldn't be more obvious. So how could Rick say he loved him?

Rick showed up a little after dawn with two hot cups of coffee (or something that was supposed to be coffee, anyway, and was all they had left). He brought another blanket for Daryl and one for him and sat next to the redneck who couldn't look at him in the eye.

They simply stayed in silence for a while. Daryl held his cup tight, and it was so hot his palms turned angry red, but his body welcomed the warmth.

"You didn't wake me." Rick finally commented. He didn't sound angry or upset or anything.

Daryl shrugged and drank a little more of that "coffee".

"I guess I should take this turn, then. You can go to bed if you like." Rick added.

Daryl nodded, but didn't move. He squinted under the pale sunlight and looked around the house again. Nothing had changed.

Rick's warm hand closed around his wrist and he stroked the back of his hand.

"Go to bed. Sleep." He insisted.

Daryl looked at him, out the corner of his eye at first, but then he grew bolder and turned to face him fully.

Rick's face was perfectly calm and straight. Only his eyes seemed sad, and they were the only ones who betrayed him every time. Rick wasn't trying to get a reply from him; he was fine without getting one. As fine as he could be. As fine as Daryl thought he was before today.

He let his coffee mug on the floor and cupped Rick's face as gently as he could. Daryl studied the other man's face between his hands and once again he was surprised of how much Rick trusted him because he leaned into the touch silently, with little reserves. It made him a tiny bit envious.

"Thank you." He said, avoiding his eyes as he said it, but then fixing his gaze there. He wished Rick got just how much he meant with those two words.

Rick nodded solemnly and put his hands on top of Daryl's.

"Anytime." He said. He smiled slightly, even though it seemed a little pained.

They kissed, and then Daryl gave in into an impulse (something he rarely did) and moved to place himself between Rick and the wall, so that the deputy was leaning against his chest.

Rick gave a content hum when Daryl's arms closed around his waist and his body relaxed visibly.

"I… I really do love you, y'know?" Rick said in a small voice, as if not to startle Daryl again.

Daryl nodded – there was no way he could not believe Rick now, even if he didn't understand how or why and the tiniest part of his mind remained skeptical – and hid his face against Rick's neck, unable to say it back. He had been pushing those words back for so long that they refused to leave his mouth now.

"I realized you were something else from the beginning. Almost. When we started to talk more." Rick went on, and his hand started running through Daryl's hair. "I realized I liked you too much. It had happened to me before, to click with someone just like that, so quickly. But this was different. So, yeah, I'd be here. I am here."

"Good." Daryl replied in a husky voice and Rick squirmed a bit when hot breath tickled the spot behind his ear. "'Cause I'm sure as hell I'd be here too."

"Good." Rick repeated. And there was deep relief in his voice.

His smile was real for the first time that day.

Daryl never got the nerve to say it, that scary little word, until the moment he realized Rick was dying. He never felt too compelled to do it, mostly because Rick knew it and that was enough, and because he showed it in other ways.

It started after they had moved yet again and had been living in the new house for something close to two years. Suddenly, Rick started to lose weight for no apparent reason. Then, one morning, he was having breakfast when his stomach had started to hurt so bad he had to run into the nearest bathroom and throw up.

Daryl followed him, disconcerted, and made a face when he heard the gagging and splashing noises.

"Yer not pregnant, right?" He joked, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed. "'Cause I don't think I'm the father."

Rick only huffed, without enough energy to make a coherent reply. Another a few moments, when his stomach seemed to have settled, he stood up and rinsed his mouth.

"Whatcha eat?" Daryl asked, curiously.

"Nothin'. Same as you." Rick answered, wiping his forehead. He still looked a little pale and weak, especially since he had lost a few pounds.

"Seriously, if yer pregnant, I'm hitting the bricks."

"I'd find you and sue your ass off. Child support and alimony." Rick shot back. He sighed and rested his weight in the sink and dropped his head.

"You ok?" Daryl asked, placing his hands on Rick's hips. After what should've been over six years now, he'd grown a lot more confident about doing that kind of thing. He frowned when he noticed once again how thinner the other man was.

"Yeah." Rick nodded. He leaned back, grimaced and rubbed a hand over his stomach.

"What baby names you like?" Daryl kept on teasing after a silence, because he didn't knew how else to help. He sneaked a hand and put it over Rick's own hand that rested on his abdomen. "I'd say Dean, but with 'Dixon' it sounds funny."

"It's 'Grimes', thank you very much. You gave away any right you had when you hit the bricks." Rick replied between clenched teeth because of the pain. He moved away from Daryl's touch and the redneck backed off to give him some space.

"Gonna throw up again?" He asked, growing a little concerned.

Rick shook his head. The tendons in his neck were showing because of how tight he was biting down. After a moment, he waved Daryl away.

"I'll be right there." He hissed.

Daryl agreed and walked back, figuring he couldn't do much for Rick right now.

Finally, after half an hour, Rick showed up again and promptly left himself fall on a couch and curled on himself by bringing his knees to his chest.

"It hurts a little less when I'm not standing straight." He said.

Daryl, who was getting ready to go fix a few loose boards on the roof, stood next to him.

"Go to bed." He said plainly.

"In a minute." Rick muttered with his face hidden between his legs.

Daryl frowned again, but then he stood back and went his way. Rick could take care of himself.

When he came back forty five minutes later, Rick was getting upstairs. His face was still too white but he wasn't clenching his teeth so hard anymore.

"Feel better?" Daryl asked, feeling a little bad for letting Rick downstairs like that. It had taken him this long to stand up and move.

"A little, yeah." Rick nodded.

Daryl threw one of Rick's arms over his shoulders and helped him get to bed. Rick curled like a little shrimp once again.

"I'll be fine by noon." He assured Daryl.

The redneck knew he was lying. He went downstairs and looked around their stuff until he found Merle's old drug stash.

"Take one of these. It's a kick ass painkiller." He told Rick, handing him a bottle.

"I'm not gonna do a bad trip with one of these, right?"

Daryl shrugged.

"Ya should've asked Merle that." He said dismissively.

"If I start to shave my head like the guy from The Wall, I'm holding you responsible." Rick warned before drowning one pill.

"Never saw it. But I'll keep ya away from razors and guns if you start acting weird." Daryl promised.

"Good man." Rick nodded in approval. "I love you, you drug-handler though guy."

"Was supposed to take longer 'fore makin' you talk shit." Daryl snorted and kissed the top of Rick's head.

"You always make me talk shit." Rick huffed. "That's why I keep you around."

"Thought it was my good looks." Daryl said, crossing his arms.

"That too, but it's always been your ability to make me ramble."

"I'm sure I have other abilities you like too."

Rick laughed and then grimaced.

"If I wasn't in so much pain, I'd take you up on that. You can go now and leave me trip in peace."

Daryl did that and let Rick to rest. The deputy was a little groggy during the afternoon, with a comic grin plastered in his face, but the pain had disappeared.

"I get why people get addicted to these things." Rick had said when the effect had almost completely worn off. "I felt in peace with the universe. Reaching Nirvana along with Buddha, Jimmy Hendrix and Kurt Kobain. Good stuff."

"Ima keep these things away from you." Daryl warned, narrowing his eyes.

"Sure, keep 'em all to yourself." Rick rolled his eyes playfully.

It didn't happen again for a few days, that awful pain. Then it did and Daryl gave Rick another painkiller, only it didn't work quite as well as the first time. Rick mentioned his father had Gallbladder disease and that he should be more careful about what he ate. Daryl asked what should he take and Rick named a couple of things that he remembered his father using, for example, peppermint and olive oil. Daryl could've cracked a joke, but the warning look Rick shot him and the way his fists were clenched as he endured the pain made him refrain.

Things got better for a while. The third time it happened, Daryl started to get worried. It wasn't the same as before, the pain wasn't so severe and Rick didn't throw up, but Rick was so careful about the whole thing (if the ache was so bad, Daryl completely understood he didn't want to go through it again) that it seemed weird it wasn't working.

Maybe they were doing it wrong. None of them were doctors, so maybe it was something else.

Daryl drove into the nearest town. Rick insisted that he took Carl, but Daryl didn't (and fully expected to be scolded when he got back, but didn't care). He was sure he could do it on his own, and he didn't like the thought of leaving Rick alone.

Carl didn't even ask to tag along, anyway.

Daryl reminded himself he should be careful. After all those years of staying mostly in their farm houses, he felt out of shape. And – even if he hated to admit it – also a little old. But there weren't many walkers in sight, and as soon as he took the first shot with is dear old crossbow and he used his knife once again he fell back into training and it was like he had dropped ten years off his back.

He got as much medical supplies as he could find and had to look hard for some kind of medical handbook – that almost cost him getting trapped inside the little local library, but that was the part he wasn't about to tell Rick.

In the end he got away fairly unscathed.

The book didn't help at all, and Daryl would've burned the damn thing if he could've. Rick didn't let him – he claimed it was better than nothing and shot Daryl a dirty look, probably (again) for going on his own.

Rick's health didn't seem to be improving, but it wasn't dramatically worst either and Daryl kept on repeating himself that. And then, one day, Rick's face and eyes turned yellow and Daryl almost freaked out.

He tried to read the book again and ended up throwing it across the room in frustration. Daryl pulled up his knees into his chest and put his hands in his hair and just sat there, glaring at the book he couldn't begin to understand (he could barely pronounce half of the words written in it) and feeling the fear creep slowly into him. It wasn't fast, it wasn't overwhelming; it was slow and deliberate, like drowning, like the fear was choking him little by little, eating him up limb by limb while he couldn't do a thing to fight it off.

He had tried to deny it this all this time. He had suspected it, known it, but he'd refused to accept it. Now he couldn't anymore and had to surrender to that fear.

He stayed there for a long, long time.

When he could push the slow dread again and was able to move, he took the book and opened it once more, this time forcing himself to be patient and concentrate on the strange words instead of blindly panicking.

What he found wasn't very useful, and even less encouraging. He knew that people suffering from hepatitis turned yellow, and that gave him a place to start. But, apparently turning yellow could mean all kinds of things, none of which were good.

He dropped the book and walked upstairs. He found Rick in their bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror like he didn't recognize himself. Daryl couldn't blame him; he looked a lot different when his skin color looked like it should belong to a Simpson's character.

Daryl gazed at the Rick reflected in the mirror, and Rick's face softened when he noticed his presence. Daryl hesitated and then slowly came closer, feeling like his knees were about to give in, and leaned his forehead on the back of Rick's neck, hiding.

He hugged the deputy tight and Rick placed his cold hands on top of Daryl's.

They didn't move for a while.

"I love you." Daryl whispered.

Rick went still. When Daryl gathered the courage to lift his head up, he put his chin on Rick's shoulder. He looked in the mirror and saw them, both of them, not for the first time. But it felt like a first time somehow. He took in the scene like had done many times before – Daryl didn't consider himself to be especially sentimental, but he did make a couple of things like that, keeping memories he considered ought to be remembered. Like this, like how he had somehow earned the right to be this close the Rick, hold him in his arms or be held, or making Rick laugh and see up close how the little lines formed around his big blue eyes, hide his face in the crook of Rick's neck.

Rick seemed surprised. Not shocked, not sad, not happy, not confused or disbelieving. Only surprised. And that somehow worsened the tight feeling inside Daryl's chest.

Rick opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Then his expression changed and his eyes welled up. Daryl couldn't stand it. He stumbled back and walked away blindly and ended up on the roof, in the place he usually sat when he needed to be alone.

Daryl didn't remember when was the last time he had cried this hard. Probably not since he was in his twenties and his heart had been sort of broken. Well, seemed like he hadn't know a thing about heartbreak back then, because Daryl didn't remember ever feeling so much pain and despair.

He wanted to run. His first impulse was as coward and selfish as ever; he wanted to run far, far away and not see this, not witness this, not to remember this. Because if he was going to lose Rick, then he could at least keep good memories and not the ones of illness and death.

For a moment he was about to do just that, pick up his shit and leave. He wasn't cut up for this, he didn't know how to handle this, how to take care of someone. He would probably just mess things up even more, anyway. He'd just snap or break things like he used to do, he'd probably say or do the wrong thing and then Rick would be even worse than if he wasn't there, because how could Rick be better with him, him, there?

Daryl went back inside and walked downstairs and started pacing. When he felt he was about to start smashing every single object in the house he ran outside and almost into the woods.

He stopped there, breathing heavily and letting his gaze wonder into the dark allure of the forest, smelling the familiar and comforting scent of rain and trees and just nature. It always soothed him like anything else could. It felt like the only place he had ever belonged, the only place he had ever been able to be himself, the only place he felt free.

But he couldn't go there.

Daryl sighed deeply. He put his hands on his still wet face and looked at the moist covering his fingers with a distant amazement. He was crying. He was finally starting to understand that, yes, it would soon be over. Way too soon. He wasn't ready for it. He needed to be ready for it, he needed more time, damn it.

Time was the only thing he didn't have, though. Without any real medical test, treatment or even a frickin' nurse or something, what could they do? What could they do? Besides praying (yeah, right, Daryl was pretty sure J.C. was busy and amused torturing humans somewhere, like a little kid scorching ants with a magnifying glass) and hoping it would get better. Prayers and hopes had clearly never worked for any of them, why would it start now?

But he wasn't up to this task, of helping someone through a bad illness; an illness that would end up in death. Daryl wasn't a comforting person. He had grown used to dealing with Rick and Carl and he'd become a lot more aware of who he was and how the other people was feeling, but this was something else; Daryl had never dealt with a dying person before.

"Oh, God." He muttered. An old habit, really, because God wasn't going to come and help him and save Rick. "Oh, fuck."

He couldn't leave. Rick was already weak, and he was going to get even weaker. His life wasn't going to end up nicely. And as much as it terrified Daryl to face this, the thought of Rick being left behind was worst. Daryl would lose it if Rick did that to him – he would end up shooting himself either way, that part was clear, but being tossed aside like a broken toy? He wouldn't stand it. It would break him even worse than a disease.

But Rick would never do that to him.

Curiously enough, Daryl always thought he'd be the first one to die. He had never pictured something like this (sickness) taking them away; he had always assumed it would be walkers or other people or a bad accident. But he always thought he would go first. He was a little older – only four years, but that seemed like enough to justify it. And for whatever reason he'd imagined himself going down with guns blazing, taking as many walkers or other people as possible. Hopefully, if that helped Rick and Carl get away.

His imagination was corny and he had some kind of lone hero complex. But he would've been happy to go like that. This, however… this seemed stupid and unfair and ironic and ordinary.

What was he supposed to do now? How was he supposed to help? And afterwards?

Before Rick, before letting the man under his skin, Daryl hadn't needed an excuse to survive. He wanted to live and he tried his best; he'd always been alone and that wasn't a problem. But now he'd let this – them – rule his life, he had built the few things he had around Rick. So what was he supposed to do?

Most of his life, he'd firmly believed that what didn't kill you could make you stronger. He had always been able to move on easily; when Rick handcuffed Merle to a roof, he hadn't mourned for long. He hadn't grieved long for Sophia or any of the others. He hadn't even fallen into shock after killing his own brother later on (though it still haunted him at night sometimes). Not for Glenn or Maggie. Not for Andrea or Michonne. He had hardened after losing his group and his brother both times, he had taken it and let it make him more ruthless, more determined. He'd tried to make his peace with every loss, grab what he needed, bury the memories far away, and keep going. But it had been harder every time; like every person he'd let in and had later died had taken a piece of him.

Daryl knew he probably would be able of moving on now as well. He would be able to take all those things, all those feelings, and shove them away of his mind. But this was different, this was Rick. And, after all that had happened, after the end of the world, the death of every single person he'd ever met… why?

He'd always believed that what doesn't kill you will make you stronger; it had been his life-long motto. But he had never counted with this, with the fact that endurance had a limit, with the fact that 'what doesn't kill you will make you stronger' only worked for a while because there was only so much someone could take before breaking. It didn't mean you couldn't pull yourself together again, but it made you wonder "why bother?"

This whole thing made him just so… mad. It wasn't fair. It simply wasn't. And it was even worst that it was happening to them, to Rick, after all they had been through and all the things they had to do to stay alive this long. Just another proof that fate had a twisted sense of humor.

Rick was sitting on the porch with the medical book in his hands when Daryl got back. He stopped a couple of feet away and rubbed his neck, trying to decide what to say. He wasn't proud of his reaction. Rick didn't look upset, though, only tired.

They simply looked at each other for a few moments.

"My father… he died of pancreatic cancer like two years before the walkers." Rick finally said.

Daryl's eyes widened.

"You knew." He stated rather than asked. It sounded like an accusation.

It was pretty obvious, really, because Rick had just said so.

"Yes." Rick nodded, running a hand through his hair.

"And you couldn't tell me?" Daryl asked, suddenly getting angry. He heated to be blindsided.

"What for?" Rick asked back, shrugging. "I wasn't sure. And I didn't think it would be… There were a thousand other things trying to kill us. I didn't even remember it until… until it started to hurt."

"You could've still… said somethin'!"

"What for, Daryl? Can you cure cancer?" Rick snapped. "Can you even tell me if it is that or just, I don't know, anything else?"

Daryl narrowed his eyes at him. He knew he was right, Rick could've told him something, but it lacked of importance next to the fact that, whatever it was, Rick wouldn't make it. He took a deep breath and let it go, lifting his face towards the sky.

He tried to ease down his anger, to stop the need to yell and smash things. After a while, he licked his lips and talked, still looking up.

"You read that thing, right? What does it say?"

"Nothin' useful. Pancreatic cancer is one of the worst. My father didn't last a whole year, even with the therapy." Rick answered, and it sounded like he was playing with the book. "I'm… There's nothing to do. Even if the world hadn't ended, it would still be…"

His voice broke, he couldn't say it.

Daryl shut his eyes as tight as he could, and when that failed to contain a few more tears he dried them away briskly.

"Whatcha wanna do, then?" He asked, forcing his voice through the lump in his throat.

Rick didn't answer immediately and Daryl finally faced him again. Rick was looking at the book, but he didn't seem to see it at all.

"This says that my kidneys should fail. From then on… it's just going to be worst. There's no need for that, is it? I'm not sure how long I could last like that, anyway." Rick replied with a distant voice.

Daryl backed up a few steps. He hadn't been waiting for any other answer, but it still felt… wrong. Surreal.

"I guess… I'm guessing you don't like sick people, do you? Not that anyone does." Rick asked suddenly.

Daryl shook his head. He saw the lost look on Rick's face and it reminded him again of what he had thought about being left behind, of being discarded. How it would be too much.

He bit his lip and forced himself to go and sit next to Rick.

"I ain't… used to it." He said. "Don't know what to do."

"Me neither." Rick admitted.

"But I ain't going nowhere." Daryl added on impulse.

Rick nodded and didn't respond.

Slowly Daryl put an arm around Rick and pulled him into a hug. He hated how the other man clung to him; he hated how weak this thing made him. Rick was never like this.

"I love you." He repeated without thinking. "'M sorry I didn't say that sooner."

Rick didn't answer.

It took a while, but they slowly got used to the idea. As much as they could, that is. Carl didn't take it too bad. He barely reacted, in fact. Daryl later saw him with red, swollen eyes, but it never happened again and the boy kept calm and collected.

It gave Daryl a strange feeling - a mixture of alarm and anger and disgust. But also a little bit of envy. He sometimes wished he could keep a cool head about things, especially this, but that was never his nature.

After he'd accepted things a little more, after he'd grown past his anger just enough to be able not to start barking at Rick for whatever reason, Daryl suddenly found himself talking to Rick about things he'd never told him before. Some things, he'd never told anyone.

He found himself telling him about his family. He never talked much about them, but now he started filling in the gaps. He spoke about his mother, who had the softest hands and the sweetest little voice and had died when he was a kid. His father, who loved cheap booze and fast women and was never around. When he was around, though, it was better not to make loud noises or complain too much. That's how he ended up with the scar on his chest, and a few others.

Rick had never asked about those scars, even though from time to time he obviously had wanted to. He rand cold fingers on top of them when Daryl told him that story and tightened his lips but he didn't make a comment other than one sincere "I'm sorry".

Daryl was grateful for that.

It had been a long time ago, anyway. In another life.

He told Rick of how he had dreamed of becoming a soldier or even a cop for a while, back after the death of his mother. She would've liked it.

"Really?" Rick asked smiling. Daryl nodded. "That would've been weird. And fun. We could've been partners."

Daryl huffed, but laughed a little.

"I don't think so." He replied. "When Merle got back from juvy he talked about cops and all that… He hated them. He would've thrown me out if I'd said anythin'."

Rick had muttered something, but didn't argue.

Daryl told him about some odd habits he had developed, like spying on their few neighbors, especially their kids, following their routines like he was a spy or a hunter – how he had discovered that the mother had a lover and the older sister snuck out the house every Thursday to meet her boyfriend. Or following people's tracks for as long as he could (that had caused him to get lost several times). How he filled jars with fireflies or grasshoppers. How he had liked to draw, but he never showed his drawings to anyone other than his teacher at school, until he'd offered to get him into an art club and Daryl had refused; the teacher tried to insist and Daryl had never talked to him again. Or how he had learnt to play guitar behind Merle's back and his brother had only found out after almost three years.

Daryl told Rick about how many problems Merle had gotten himself into, hanging with his friends, stealing things, selling drugs now and then, picking fights with other army members and getting discharged. But he also told him of how Merle would sometimes remember about his little brother and teach him hunting tricks, or how to fix engines, or how to pick up chicks on the best Merle-style that only worked on extremely dumb, ignorant women with no self-respect.

Rick laughed at that part.

"It really worked then?" He asked, bowing his head and grinning.

Daryl was lying next to him, with his head on his chest.

"Sometimes. Those girls never lasted long, though."

"And you did that too?"

Daryl gnawed on his lip and shook his head.

"Nah. Was too busy tryin' to keep my brotha from bein' beaten or getting bitch-slapped."

"That's a lame excuse." Rick muttered with a smile, playing with the too-long fringe on Daryl's forehead. "What about that girl you were gonna marry?"

Daryl groaned, in obvious discomfort, but didn't move away.

"She was a… friend of mine. Of some sort." He started, a little begrudgingly. "She got knocked up an' needed a husband fer that. I said yes."

"Huh." Rick mumbled. "That's a new one. So she just asked for your help? You sure you weren't the father, anyway?"

Daryl didn't reply immediately. Rick seemed to think he had screwed up, because he started taking the question back, but Daryl made a gesture for him to shut up.

"'M sure. We never, uh, did it. So, no way." He said, noting how the tips of his ears started to burn.

"Why you said yes, then?" Rick wondered.

"'Cause she needed help." Daryl shrugged.

"And you were willing to marry just for that?" Rick asked, disbelieving.

"Was the only way to get away."

Rick said "oh" and kept quiet for a while.

"Then she found her with her friend, right? Called off the deal?" He finally asked to get the conversation back in track.

"Yep." Daryl nodded, shifting a little.

"Sorry, bad memory?" Rick apologized.

"No… Could've been worst. She never told Merle. He woulda beaten the crap outta me." Daryl answered. "He gave me a hard time for backing up and leavin' 'my' kid, but that was all."

"And then?"

Daryl shifted again. He had kind of sworn to himself not to mention this to Rick, but now… he wanted to, for some reason. It was embarrassing, but he wanted Rick to know.

"Nothin' much. Went out with a girl once, for a while. Nothin' happened. And I… went to this bars… a couple times… but…" He shrugged and chewed on his thumbnail, hoping Rick got it.

It took the deputy almost a whole minute the caught up with what he was implying.

"What are ya sayin'?" He inquired, stunned. "You never…?"

"Not really." Daryl gave an uncomfortable nod and kept on chewing his nail.

"But…"Rick hesitated, then let out a small chuckle. "I don't believe that. You, looking like this? Never slept with anyone? Really?"

"Ain't somethin' to brag about." Daryl pointed out, although a little bashful due to the compliment about his appearance.

"Well… yeah." Rick conceded. He chuckled again and shook his head. "Go figure. And to think I though you knew what you were doing."

"Ya never complained." Daryl reminded him.

For a while, Daryl started to believe it wouldn't get worst. Again. And again he was wrong. Rick was having bad days increasingly now – those days when the pain was too strong to get up. Daryl saw their painkillers disappearing at an alarming rate. Rick spent most of those days in a half asleep state; he barely noted the things happening around him. It broke Daryl's heart. It wasn't every day, but it was getting closer to it.

The day that Rick had to get up to go to the bathroom and he almost fall head first into the floor because of the mixture of dizziness and pain, though, Daryl knew things had gone too far. And he knew Rick knew that too.

Daryl didn't ask what he was planning to do. He didn't want to know. He pretended he didn't notice the long stares Rick gave him which seemed too much like a goodbye. He pretended he didn't know Rick was scribbling in an old notebook that was lying around the house.

He stayed up for hours watching him sleep, though, and tried to ease away the lines of tension that now were around Rick's mouth even when he was unconscious. It was his own kind of goodbye.

Days dragged away, filled with the same feeling of decay and pain and misery. Daryl was almost starting to wish he would just do it already. Almost.

It would be easier for everybody involved.

It was Daryl's turn on the roof again. He was getting ready, but didn't want to leave just yet. He sat next to Rick and looked in the other direction; he stared at the wall for a long, long time.

Rick's hand fell on his shoulder.

"You should go." He said with an almost perfectly calm voice.

"You sure?" Daryl asked. He didn't turn to look at the deputy. He felt if he did, he wouldn't leave.

"Yeah. Go keep watch."

Daryl nodded and stood up. Rick's hand dropped from his shoulder and closed around Daryl's own hand. They held on tight for a moment, and then Daryl cleared his throat and left the room. For some reason, he felt the need to make as little sound as possible. Like it was already a funeral.

He sat on the roof and stared at the woods. He was waiting to hear Rick's gun, the same way he had been waiting to hear it for the past few days. Today, though, he was pretty sure it was the day.

He wished he had said something, but it wouldn't have made a difference, would it?

The gunshot never came, and he knew why when he got the courage to go back, a couple of hours after dawn. Rick's revolver was on the nightstand, and it glowed in the sunlight. Beneath it there were two folded sheets of paper. Rick seemed to be asleep, only he wasn't breathing and he was still gripping an empty pill bottle.

Daryl leaned against the door and looked at him for a while, half hoping to see his chest move again, hoping to see him open his eyes. It didn't happen.

And he was… relieved.

He went outside, cut a few wild flowers that grew around the house and wondered vaguely why Rick hadn't used his gun. He was curious about that. Why not? It would be easier, because that way Daryl wouldn't have to kill him again.

Daryl set the flowers on the bed and pulled up a chair next to it. He ran his fingers on top of Rick's hand, and Rick's face and found he didn't really care waiting for him to come back and dealing with it. Rick was gone. He had known that for a while, he had made some sort of truce with it already.

Maybe he could just sit there and let it happen, let himself get bit.

"Might as well quit." Daryl muttered, remembering a suicide note he had once seen. Back when they still believed things would work out and they would survive. Back when he believed he could find Sophia.

He took the revolver from the nightstand and looked at it. It was clean and well-kept and there were only five bullets left. Maybe that was the reason Rick hadn't used it. Or maybe he had decided to force Daryl to do this to get over things.

Either way, the result was the same.

Daryl looked at the letters Rick had left and took them. Obviously, one was addressed to him and one to Carl. Daryl opened his letter but couldn't read it. He just looked at it for a moment and then he folded it and put it in his breast pocket. He would read it later. Perhaps. If he lived long enough that he felt capable of dealing with it.

Daryl took out his hunting knife and placed it on top of the bed. He tried to make himself a little comfortable in that chair, still undecided about what was he going to do when something happened.

He guessed he would have to wait and see.

–––

"The heart was made to be broken."
(Oscar Wilde)


Reviews, anyone C:?

I can't seem to be able to stop writing these two as a fun couple, exchanging comments and jokes easily. But I think that in this case it only added a contrast to the angsty parts in the end.

I know Carl was mostly absent from this. That was on purpose. Partially, because this was Daryl and Rick's side of the story, and also because of Carl distancing himself from everything.

I've seen pancreatic cancer up close. Kind of. It's a terrible thing and it's really one of the worst kinds of cancer, with little chances of survival. I tried to research it through Wikipedia, but things weren't all that clear. I did my best, though, to make it as close to reality as possible.

About Daryl killing Merle, I've had this feeling that it might happen at some point and probably in defense of Daryl's group. I read this amazing fict called Iron & Steel, by Sandwich Shop Mayo, that is centered in that and was absolutely breathtaking. Daryl and Michonne are beautifully written and perfectly captured.