Night fell and when it fell, it fell fast. The light bled from the store, casting vast shadows across the room behind the shelves, leaving only slivers where moonlight fell. Colour bleached from the walls. Birdsong dropped to mute. Nothing but walkers, crickets and their own voices if they chose to speak.

It was nights they were closest. It was cold and dark and neither trusted themselves to sleep in opposite ends of the store for the sake of – what, heteronormativity?

The two slept side by side, back to back, with old blankets over their legs. Gun and crossbow in retrospective laps. Some nights Rick would wake up with Daryl's head on his shoulder. One morning, even touching hands. Neither ever mentioned that if it happened. They would just get up and continue their day, nothing mentioned. Because it meant nothing.

That fine line we tread is going to meet in the middle.

"Man, it's fuckin' cold," Daryl said, his breath clouding as he went to check the window.

"Stop complainin' and help with this," Rick said, a smile gracing his eyes. He was struggling to light a fire from a pile of old newspaper and a half-empty lighter. Daryl strode across to him and crouched to his knees, taking the lighter. Knuckle brushed bruised knuckle. It only took a moment for Daryl to light it. Orange flared to life below their faces and brought heat. Despite themselves, both smiled.

"Never get enough of that satisfaction," Daryl said, sitting back on his haunches. He scratched the back of his head, meeting Rick's eyes. His smile slid away after a moment. They both sat by the fire, watching the tiny flames dance as the papers curled into black nothingness. Rick kept his eyes down, guarded, refusing to meet Daryl's. He was afraid of what would happen – what his face would give away – if he did.

"What do we got to eat?" he asked, attempting to get Daryl to speak more. He didn't want to do the talking. What would he say?

"Smeat. Not much, but enough," Daryl answered, pushing the can forwards. He finally sat back, relaxed. "Can a'peaches. Bottla sparklin' water."

Rick couldn't help a smile twisting his lips.

"Fancy," he said, grinning at Daryl. Daryl returned it before taking to the can, sticking the blade of his knife into the edge. Rick did likewise with the smeat. Something shot through his chest and sent a lump to his throat. He blinked away the thoughts.

"Somethin' on your mind?" Daryl asked, looking up from his can. The lid was half open. Peach juice ran down his knife. For a moment, word's rolled up in Rick's throat and threatened to spill out. He wasn't even sure what he wanted to say. So he lied.

"No. You?"

Pause.

"No."

Both went back to their cans without saying anymore. Both had lied. Neither would admit it.

"There we go," Daryl said, the can lid finally popping off. Rick prised the lid off the smeat. They took turns eating, swapping cans halfway. No words were said as they ate. The air was heavy with what went unspoken.

"So ... you still got nothin' to admit?" Daryl asked after an hour of silence. The fire was down to embers and he pushed more paper to it with his foot. Rick adamantly shook his head.

"No."

"Me neither," Daryl said under his breath.

"Stop," Rick said. Daryl looked up. "You keep asking me if I've got anything to say. And then agree. What, if I say yes, you'll say it too?"

Daryl narrowed his eyes.

"No. The hell are you on about?" he asked suspiciously. No reply. He didn't push for one.

"You should sleep."

Daryl looked up. Rick's eyes were half shut as he rubbed them with the heel of his hand.

"Man, don't wake up so you can tell me to sleep," he snorted.

"I woke up because you crinkled that bottle of water for the sixth time," Rick replied.

"So sorry my need for water disturbed your beauty sleep." Daryl stood as he spoke and scuffed the fire out with his heel, shifting his jacket onto his shoulders. Darkness enveloped the store instantly, the only light a chink of moonlight through the window near their heads. Rick heard Daryl moving, saw his shadow shift through the dark. A hand brushed his before it was pulled away.

"Sorry. Couldn't see it in the dark."

"S'fine."

"Didn't mean t –"

"I said, it's fine."

Daryl sat by Rick heavily, sighing. He slid the crossbow off his shoulder and put it by his legs.

"Fuck. I'm tired. If we're going tomorrow, we need to rise early to get all we need."

In the dark, Rick saw his eyes, a tiny shard of moonlight reflecting back. They were gazing steadily, narrowed as usual. The sheriff looked away.

"Well. Goodnight."

"... Night."

Rick fell asleep with his back to Daryl's. He dreamed of burning eyes and pupils the size of the moon.

Rick woke before Daryl did. Weak sunlight told him it wasn't even six in the morning. It was silent outside, with only occasional birdsong twittering. Beside him, Daryl was asleep. His fringe trailed over his eyes, hanging from his brow, his head tilted where it rested on Rick's shoulder.

This was keeping his mouth shut. This was Rick at his most painful, the feeling corroding him inside, burning in his stomach. This was not allowed.

This was keeping secrets.

Rick shut his eyes, slowing his racing heart with one, two, three deep breaths. The head on his shoulder shifted – a sleepy mumble, flutter of the eyelids – but didn't wake. Yet. The burning in his stomach was nauseous, knew this was wrong. For God's sake, remember Lori and Carl.

Still. Rick couldn't shake the feeling.

Beside him, Daryl kept his eyes shut. He had heard Rick wake, felt him shift, pulse picking up under his skin. Pounding. Panicked? Elated? Daryl wasn't sure he wanted to know. Could he confront Rick about it? Was he able to have that question aimed at him, too?

Surely ... with Rick's family, back at base ... he would never ...

Daryl's eyes flicked open. Sunlight was filtering through the windows. His hand rested on his crossbow, the other in the space between them. Rick's hands were resting on his knees. His head turned, eyes not reaching Daryl's.

"You're awake," he said quietly. I've been sitting with your head on my shoulder since I woke up.

"Only just woke," Daryl said. I've been awake for hours and felt your heartbeat.

Neither moved, suddenly bone-tired, half done with the lies and the denial. Rick got up first, moving across to the pack of cans and bars. He passed a cereal bar to Daryl, who leaned to take it.

Hand touched hand. Eyes met, closed off. Daryl's lips, just the corners, turning up into a silent, grateful smile. Rick letting go, his fingers numb where they had touched Daryl's.

Fuck.

"We gettin' out today?" Daryl asked, half a cereal bar in his mouth as he looked out of the window.

"If the walkers are clear enough, we can," Rick said, checking his holster as he swung the pack onto his back. Daryl squinted.

"Looks like we can get to that car. It doesn't run, we know to keep goin'. Right?" he asked.

"Yeah," Rick responded, his heart finally calming down. It was reassuring – maybe he had been reading into it too much. He was over it already. There was nothing between them.

"Back door or front door?" Daryl asked.

"Uh," Rick said. Daryl looked to him.

"It's quickest down there through the front, but we might get a stealth advantage if we sneak out back. What d'you think?" he explained.

"Oh. Uh. Back, we don't want to get swarmed," he answered. Daryl nodded and took up his crossbow, swinging it onto his back.

"Alright," he said, doing a final sweep of the store for anything they may have missed. He seemed satisfied as he went to wait by the back door, listening carefully. Rick took a deep breath and drew his knife, holding it tight, ready to strike if there was a walker right outside the door. He met Daryl's eyes, both of them by the door, and his head tipped. Signal.

Daryl drew the nightstick free, a metallic shing sound reverberating through the door, and Rick pushed it open. Peered out. No walkers. He and Daryl ran quick and low, Daryl with his crossbow up and Rick with his hand at his belt, at his gun. They stopped when they got to the end of the back wall, Rick leaning round to see the walker count. At least twenty, spaced out. He turned back to Daryl.

"If we run," he said breathlessly, "we could make it without wasting time or bullets. There are walkers, but they aren't in a solid group. Pairs at most."

"So we're runnin'?" Daryl asked. Rick confirmed it. Daryl drew his knife from his belt, just in case. Deep breath in and out. Rick said, "Ready?"

The two rounded the corner, sticking close to the wall of the store. Walkers lifted their heads instantly, eyes swivelling in hollow sockets, diseased pupils fixing on the two men. The raw growls hounded Daryl and Rick as they ran, ducking reaching arms and jagged fingernails. They barely got halfway to the car when walkers began swarming from the trees.

"Shit!" Rick gasped, halting his run, holding an arm out to stop Daryl. Walkers moved towards them in that unbelievably quick shuffling gait. They were surrounded.

"What now?" Daryl asked, his back to Rick's. "Those fuckers are everywhere. We gotta go back."

The car was so close – but if it didn't run, they were as good as dead. Rick cursed again, his heart hammering in his chest.

"Rick! We have to go back!" Daryl shouted above the cacophony of walker snarls. He grabbed Rick's arm to get his attention. "Come on!"

They began to make their way back to the store but the walker herd was growing, and it was getting harder to avoid being scratched or bitten. Daryl elbowed a walker in the chest and stabbed through its teeth, its eyeball bursting into bloody jelly. He freed the knife and continued on to the store. Then he turned. Where the hell was Rick?

"Rick!" Daryl shouted, panic blooming in his chest as he scanned the crowd for the sheriff. No way could he have left Rick for dead. No way was the man taken down by just another herd. "Rick!"

A flash of a knife and Rick's face. He was ducked low, taking out walkers as they tried to press him in. Daryl raced across, bow raised to his eye. Three went down with arrows in their skulls. Another fell from his kick, writhing until he half-decapitated it with his knife.

Inside the herd, Rick was finding it harder and harder to dodge the grasping hands and salivating mouths. All his calls for Daryl fell on deaf ears. Surely he wouldn't have been left behind? No, the crowd was thinning – he was being saved. Rick killed the three walkers in front of him, able to stand again. A hand grabbed onto his arm and he spun, stabbing out.

Daryl stared back at him. Rick's lungs stopped working. Neither moved. Then their eyes drifted down, to Daryl's arm, where the knife was buried.

"Oh, shit."

"We gotta – get to the store," Daryl said, wincing. "Man, it's not that bad, just get us in!"

Rick let go of the knife and drew his gun, covering them as they fought back to the store. He held the door open and practically pulled Daryl in, slamming it closed and holding it shut with his back.

"I need your nightstick, Daryl!" he exclaimed, his feet skidding on the dusty floor as walkers tried to force it open. Daryl tossed it to Rick, who jammed it through the handle. The door rattled but the nightstick held tight. On the floor in front of him, Daryl was looking at the knife in his arm. Rick saw it again and fear flooded through him.

"Daryl, let me –" he started. Daryl was holding his knife between his teeth, stretching out a length of bandage. The bow lay next to him.

"I'm just glad you didn't go for my head," he said, teeth gritted. Rick moved over and knelt so he was the same height as Daryl, reaching out.

"Let me, I did this," he said, taking the bandage. Daryl didn't protest. Even though his face was neutral, the sheen on his forehead gave away the pain he was feeling. The knife had pierced his upper left arm, not all the way through but deep enough to do damage. Rick held the bandage and folded a pad of cotton to soak the blood into it, holding a safety pin in his mouth. He met Daryl's eyes.

"Ready?" he asked. Daryl nodded, his free hand taking hold of the knife hilt. He breathed in through his nose. Preparing for the pain. Then he removed the knife.