Sitting alone in front of Joel's desk is slightly unnerving. Rick crosses his legs, first that way then the other. He shifts a little, and Joel looks up from his file. He smiles.

"I know this feels weird, Rick. I'll be really gentle. Tell me if I go too fast." He points at the file in front of him. "Okay if I take notes?"

"Sure," Rick says. He's still not entirely sold on this. It feels like an indulgence, to sit here and engage in this navel-gazing exercise while his family and friends work every second of every day to keep everyone alive. You're doing this for Daryl, Rick reminds himself. Don't mess it up.

Joel ends Rick's self-doubting internal monologue. "How're you doing today? More bad dreams last night?"

"None," Rick says. "We both slept through, actually. First time in, I don't know how long. Daryl's belly is definitely getting better. He was pretty cheerful this morning, and he looked really well and rested. He's gone with Morgan to do some guard duty on the perimeter." Rick hadn't been enamored with the idea, but hadn't said anything. "He likes to pay his way."

"That's really good," Joel says. "And I know Daryl is your priority." He lets a few moments pass. "But, Rick, right now I want to know how you are."

Rick's eyes narrow, and Joel raises his hands as if to surrender. "Guilty, I'm afraid. Yes, I'll make you talk about yourself."

That makes Rick grin against his will. He rubs his face. "Fair enough, I suppose." Daryl wants him to talk about what's going on, too. Rick wonders when exactly he's fallen out of the habit. He used to spill his guts every opportunity he got. Now, the thought to dig into that mountain of coalescing emotions inside him makes him panic.

"Why did you come here, Rick?" Joel asks gently. It's not a provocation.

"For Daryl," Rick says quietly. "So he gets well again."

"And do you want to get well, too?" Joel's voice is still gentle, and Rick knows the doctor means to help. He nods.

"For Daryl." Joel's words aren't a question.

"Yeah," Rick says, staring at his folded hands in his lap. "And for our family." When he looks up again Joel is fixing him with such an intense look it makes Rick squirm.

"You know what I'm gonna say, Rick," the doctor says. "Don't you deserve being well just for yourself?"

Rick wants to scoff at that. Maybe, if the world hadn't gone to shit, he could be so self-indulgent. But people depend on him. He needs to function so they have a chance of survival. Daryl needs him to be strong, needs his support. And he needs Daryl, oh, how much he needs him…

But Joel wouldn't like any of that. "Course I deserve it," he says, voice rough.

Joel doesn't look convinced. Rick tries to hold his gaze. His head is starting to hurt. Finally, the doctor gives a sigh. "We'll get there, I'm sure." He makes a small note on his file, then looks up again. "I can't promise that what we'll do won't hurt. It'll be scary, and it'll take a lot out of you, Rick. And," he adds with another sigh. "We're on the clock. Let's see how far we can get in two weeks, alright? That's the minimum I'm recommending. For you, but also for Daryl. His body will need the rest, in any case, and that's how long he can take the steroids."

Rick nods. "Two weeks," he agrees.

"Here is my plan in a nutshell," Joel says. "We'll work on ways to deal with the trauma you have experienced. There are techniques you can use, and I'll teach them to you both. And in our solo sessions, Rick, we'll talk. I think, from what the others have said and from talking to you, that this will be the cornerstone to your healing. You need to mull it all over, out loud. Well," he amends, rubbing his face. "When I say 'all' what I mean is that we'll talk about the things that have affected you the most. We don't have time to work through the last two years, not in a couple of weeks."

"No," Rick agrees. "We definitely don't."

"We'll concentrate on what's happened since you ran into Negan, and on Daryl being his prisoner. And," Joel says with emphasis, "I don't disagree with you. Your own recovery is inextricably linked with Daryl's, and we will address what his trauma has done to you."

"Alright," Rick says. Whatever the doc says will help him help Daryl is okay with Rick.

"Let's start with today," Joel continues. "What do you want to get out of today?"

Rick is thrown for a moment. What does he know about therapy? Shouldn't the doctor set the goals? But there's a certain logic here. They don't have a lot of time, it makes sense to tackle the things that are most crucial to Rick.

So he tries to come up with a manageable goal for the day. Finally he says, "I want to start talking about the things that scare me. And I want to tell Daryl I'm talking about them. He's really stressed about how I'm bottling everything up."

"Sounds good," Joel says. "Let's see how far we can get." He pauses, then asks, "What is it that scares you, Rick? What are your nightmares about?"

"That Daryl…," Rick starts, but then everything goes wrong.

The air in his lungs is suddenly like glue. He can barely think clearly enough to remember to exhale, inhale, exhale again. Joel looks alarmed and is half out of his seat, but Rick manages to shake his head, gripping the armrests of his chair hard.

There are stars before his eyes, but Rick refuses to yield to the darkness that wants to engulf him. He can do this, he must. If he goes to pieces before this has even started then what hope is there?

He forces in another lungful of air, and slowly, things start to right themselves. "That…," he croaks, breathing slowly. "That Daryl is lost to me forever." Joel pours him a glass of water, and Rick waits for his heartrate to slow down. He seizes the glass and gulps some water. "Wow," he manages. "Scary."

Joel motions to Rick to drink more water. "Take it real slow. This isn't as unusual as you'd think. Maybe you've had enough for one day."

Rick shakes his head. "No. I've started now, it'll be easier. And…and I really need this."

"Okay," Joel says. "But take your time."

"Everything scares me, I suppose," Rick says slowly. "That something happens to my kids, that my family is attacked again, that more people die. But losing Daryl…" He grips the armrests hard again. "The thought alone makes me lose my mind." He laughs humorlessly. "As you just saw."

"What was it like," Joel asks. "When Daryl was taken? And when he came back, what's it been like since?"

"It was almost easier while he was gone," Rick says tonelessly, hating himself. "We were flat out, every day. I had no time to think of anything, except bringing Daryl back, and killing Negan. I was angry, and full of rage. And that was okay. I felt awful, but it was allowed, y'know?" He hides his face behind both hands. "That sounds crazy…"

"No, Rick," Joel says gently. "Not crazy at all."

Rick wants to get through this, now that he's started it. "When Daryl came back…" He shakes his head, feeling sick with the helplessness that's filled him since. "He was hurting so much. I…I wanted to help, but I didn't know how. He couldn't endure being around anyone. He hid it all away. He…he's so broken, and scared, and sick…"

He has to take a moment to breathe. A cottony feeling is pervading his head. Joel tops up his glass. "Drink."

Rick does, then goes on. "I couldn't touch him. He tried, so hard. But he just kept getting sicker, with his gut, and that really knocked him sideways. And he never speaks. He asked me not to make him talk about it. There was nowhere to turn, nothing I could do…"

"And now, Rick?" Joel's voice is very quiet. "How do you feel now?"

Rick thinks for a moment. The despair that's coursing through his mind when he remembers the last few months is still strong, but a new feeling is peeking out of the burned ash. He looks at the doctor.

"I feel like there's hope again."

#

After the therapy, Rick goes looking for Daryl. It's another beautiful day, and he reasons that his hunter won't stay cooped up if he doesn't have to. He finds Morgan coming out of Ezekiel's house.

"Hey, Morgan," he calls, and the man stops and turns.

"Rick."

"Daryl come back with you?" Rick asks.

Morgan nods. "He went to your room."

A bad feeling starts in Rick's stomach. Why would Daryl be inside on a day like this? "Did he seem okay?"

Morgan nods again. "Just a bit tired. Wouldn't be surprised if he's napping."

Rick wants to ask more questions, but feels guilty discussing Daryl like this. "I'll go see if he wants to have lunch," he says instead. "Thanks, Morgan."

As he retraces his steps toward the hospital Rick tries not to run. Most likely Daryl is fine. He's had naps every day since they got here, and Rick has encouraged it. The added rest has been doing him good.

With a gentle knock Rick sticks his head around the door to their room. He breathes a sigh of relief. Daryl is lying on the bed, on top of the covers, wearing only boxer shorts. His smile is a little sleepy, but he looks relaxed. There's no trace of pain or discomfort on his face.

"Hey, Rick."

"Hey, buddy. You okay?" Rick steps into the room and closes the door.

"Yeah, 'm real good." Daryl is still looking at him, his eyes gleaming. Rick feels a heat build behind his navel that he hasn't felt in a long time.

"Why're you in here?" he asks. "I was worried you were feeling sick again… you're not, are you?"

"Nah," Daryl says. "'m a bit tired, but…" He breaks off, looking sheepish.

"What, buddy?" Rick goes over to the bed and perches by Daryl's side. "You can tell me."

Daryl grins, then blushes scarlet. "Felt like jacking a bit."

Rick grins too. "And did you?"

"Not yet…," Daryl says, still red. "Was gonna wait for ya."

There's something in Daryl's eyes that makes Rick feel weak and strange inside. He was going to tell Daryl about his session, about his panic attack, and how, despite the horror of it all, he finally feels ready to start healing. But now is not the time for talking.

Daryl looks both sexy and vulnerable, the way he's lying there in just his boxers. He's too thin, still too pale, but the broad shoulders, the smooth, freckled skin of his chest, and the hair that becomes almost ginger where it disappears into the waistband of Daryl's underpants makes Rick's dick grow hard.

He lifts his hand instinctively, but then remembers. "Can…can I touch you?"

Daryl nods, and Rick strokes his chest gently, traces the warm skin to the collarbone, then lets his fingers glide down until they come to rest lightly on the front of Daryl's boxer shorts. Daryl hums, then his hand joins Rick's. He rubs his dick through the fabric, and the outline of his erection grows more prominent.

Then Daryl's fingers slide past the waistband and he takes hold of his dick.

As Daryl starts stroking himself Rick gets up. He undoes his belt, steps out of his shoes and takes off his pants and t-shirt. He goes around the bed and stretches out by Daryl's side.

Daryl glances at him, and slowly wriggles the boxer shorts over his hips, exposing pale thighs and hip bones that are more prominent than Rick remembers. His erection lies dark and heavy against the soft hairs of his treasure trail.

He reaches out and brings Rick's hand to lie on his dick. Rick strokes the warm, silken length against Daryl's belly, feeling a lump form in his throat. How he's missed touching Daryl in this way!

Daryl hums again and scoots closer, resting his head against Rick's shoulder. When he reaches for Rick's boxer shorts, Rick stops his hand. "Not today, buddy. Let me concentrate on you."

"Rick," Daryl whispers. His breath is hot against Rick's naked chest, and he gasps as Rick's hand picks up speed. The first few drops of pre-cum are sticky on Rick's fingers.

Daryl's hand finds purchase on his balls. He tugs, none too gently, then moans. "Oh, god…"

Rick feels the hunter shiver and tense against him, and he tightens his fingers, picks up speed on his shaft once again. With a whimper Daryl comes, spurting onto his belly and over Rick's hand.

Daryl's face is buried in the crook of Rick's neck; he's breathing hard. After a minute of riding the wave he rolls over onto his side, shivering deliciously. His arm drapes loosely over Rick's middle.

"You okay, buddy?" Rick enquires quietly.

"'m great," Daryl murmurs, sounding close to sleep. "What 'bout yerself, tho?"

Rick glances behind him, then twists around until he can fish a few tissues from a box on the bedside table. "I'm good for now, buddy." He kisses Daryl's hair, feeling self-conscious at the tender gesture. Daryl hums again, and his arm around Rick tightens. Rick does his best to wipe the spunk off his fingers and Daryl's belly. "How about a nap, huh?"

"Yeah, alright." Daryl sounds like he's not satisfied with Rick's refusal of a hand job.

"Don't you think this was a free favor, dude," Rick teases. "You owe me one."

That makes Daryl laugh. "Fair enough." He yawns widely, and settles more comfortably against Rick. Within the minute he's asleep.

Rick drops the sticky tissues over the side of the bed. Paper tissues, he thinks idly. What a luxury. He rests his head against Daryl's and closes his eyes.

His groin is very hot, and his erection lies heavy against his leg. The smell of Daryl – his cum, his slightly sweaty, musky hair – is doing nothing to lessen Rick's arousal. He rubs himself through the fabric of his boxers. What a strange day.

Maybe, Rick thinks, all we needed was the magic of the Kingdom to finally start healing.