Daryl's lips tasted like bitter smoke and sweet wine, and Rick was losing himself in the moment. He had expected many things of Daryl, but never this, never lips to lips, tentative and hesitant, never Rick's fingers curled around a bony wrist. Rick felt brave, reckless. There was something about the way that Daryl had been looking at him - tonight, the night before, all the ones before that - that instilled such feelings inside Rick.

He wasn't kidding himself; he knew that he was permitted these touches only because Daryl was allowing it.

Though he wasn't exactly responsive, and that had Rick recoiling, drawing away from Daryl. He was shocked by how much he missed the contact. His fingers withdrew from Daryl's skin, his wrist, and his lips broke from Daryl's almost reluctantly. It left him feeling cold, and almost like all of the warmth and courage he once held had been drained from him.

First, he felt reckless. But now, under the pale light of the moon, and under Daryl's unwavering stare, Rick felt foolish.

Daryl, with all his walls built so high, with all the effort he put into hiding and deflecting, was painfully easy to read. It was almost too easy. His expression was open, and he almost looked vulnerable, but his stare was bordering on accusatory. It burnt into Rick's skin.

For a moment, the archer just stared and stared, his mouth working soundlessly as he struggled with a response. Rick faintly wondered whether his actions had warranted a punch to the face, and judging by the way that Daryl's jaw locked into a hard line, he guessed that the answer was yes, it did warrant a punch to the face.

"Listen, Daryl," Rick began cautiously. "I didn't-"

"Thought you were a sad drunk, not a handsy one." Daryl said.

Rick lifted a hand to his face, as if to pinch the bridge of his nose, but he aborted the movement and dropped his hand away. Daryl's eyes followed the movement. Rick opened and closed his mouth, unable to form the words he really wanted to say. He couldn't lie to Daryl, couldn't tell him that it was the alcohol, when maybe it wasn't, maybe it was something else.

"That your way of thankin me?"

"For what? For walkin me home safely?" Rick asked, and almost smile. Almost.

The look Daryl threw him was enough of a warning. He drew a sharp breath and waited, waited for it to come - whatever it was. A punch, a curse, another sharp, withering look. He just wanted something from Daryl. Any sort of reaction he was willing to give would be enough, but he just jerked away from Rick abruptly,

Daryl shook his head and when he spoke, the words hit Rick as hard as a punch, and they hurt twice as much. "Ain't nobody's bitch. Not even yours, Rick." he said, pausing for a breath. There was something sad, almost defeated, about the way he said that. Not even yours, Rick. "And I sure ain't interested in playin house."

"That's not - no, Daryl, that's not what this is." he stammered.

"Should go home, Rick." Daryl said, not quite looking at him. "Ain't gonna be responsible for what happens if you stay."

Rick considered Daryl's words. In his mind, he was already gone - already upstairs, checking on Judith and Carl before settling in for the night. That was the smart option here; it would be cleaner that way, there wouldn't be any of this confusion, or a risk of getting hurt. And yet, Rick lingered. He kept replaying Daryl's words over and over again in his head - ain't gonna be responsible for what happens if you stay - and Rick couldn't decide if they were a threat or a challenge.

He took it as a challenge.

Daryl raised his head slightly as Rick took a small step closer, then another.

"You were different with me, Daryl. Last night on the porch." Rick murmured. He remembered it only too well; remembered the way Daryl had looked at him, all dark eyes and sharply twisted lips, before he crowded Rick up against the railings, barely inches away from his face, his breath warm on Rick's skin. "Don't say it's not personal, 'cause it sure feels it."

"Said I wasn't playin no damn role." Daryl jutted his chin out. "I ain't like you, Rick. Can't pretend to be somethin I'm not."

Rick stilled, stopping his advance on Daryl. His pause was brief, though. For his blood was buzzing and his lips still tingled from where they had touched Daryl's, and maybe he was crazy or stupid, or both, for thinking that Daryl wanted this, wanted him, but there was something dark in Daryl's eyes that had been there on the porch that night and Rick couldn't seem to keep his hands to himself.

He gripped the lapels of Daryl's leather jacket tightly, tugging him closer, closer. And there it was - that challenge in Daryl's eyes, the look that dared Rick to prove that he wasn't just playing another role, that he wasn't just drunk and lonely. Rick crushed his mouth against Daryl's, then told himself to be gentle, to slow down, but Daryl's hands were fisting in Rick's hair, pulling so hard it almost hurt.

Rick bit back a groan when Daryl started to respond, his lips moving against Rick's - he wasn't gentle or slow, wasn't even hesitant.

There was something in the way that Daryl kissed back that somehow represented who he was; calloused fingers dug into the back of Rick's neck, pulling him closer, if that was somehow possible. Rick guided them towards the side of the house, urging Daryl back until he was pressed against the wall and Rick was bearing down on him, his lips still locked on Daryl's, still moving against his, or together, he wasn't sure.

Slender hands roamed from the lapels of Daryl's jacket, moving towards his torso, stopping only when Daryl's hand flew out and caught Rick's left one abruptly, his fingers curling tight around Rick's wrist. Rick broke away from the kiss, and it wasn't until that very moment that he realized how heavily he was breathing - how heavily they were both breathing, chests heaving up and down erratically, and Rick couldn't help it, it felt as if his heart was pounding against his chest.

"Shit." Daryl panted, pupils blown wide, lips red and slightly swollen from the kiss.

Rick felt a smile creep over his face, unbidden. He was almost chest to chest with Daryl, with only inches between them, stopping them from being pressed flat against each other. Tempted to erase that distance, Rick leant closer, eager to feel the warmth of Daryl's lips, and the rush that came with being this close. One knee slipped in between Daryl's, and the archer made a small noise at that.

"You told me to figure it out," Rick said. "To figure out what I wanted. What I want. It's this."

Daryl tensed at that, pulling back as Rick moved forward to press their lips together. Something in his jaw twitched.

"Think you better get home," Daryl finally spoke, something closed off in his voice. The walls were back up, and Rick was beginning to wonder if they had ever truly been down to begin with, or if it was just another act. As much as he preached about not being a pretender, Daryl sure did like to act like he felt nothing.

Rick backed off immediately, slipping out of Daryl's reach. He ran a hand over his face, feeling every bit as foolish as he had earlier.

"You had too much to drink," the archer continued. "That's all it is."

"If that's my excuse," Rick asked. What's yours?"

"Ain't makin excuses for myself."

"You kissed me back, Daryl."

"You did it first."

"I wanted to."

"Don't know what you want." Daryl said.

"What, and you do? You got it all figured out? "

Daryl pushed himself off of the wall, without so much as a word. He kept his head bowed as he stepped around Rick, eyes fixed on a spot on the ground. He headed towards the house without so much as another word. Rick stared after him, long after he disappeared inside. Scrubbing a hand over his face, Rick let out a heavy sigh and moved to slump against the side of the house.

Maybe it would have been better for the both of them if Rick had never left his post by the window. If he had just waited and wondered, and didn't act, didn't screw up. Rick wanted, but didn't know what it was he longed for. He wanted, but didn't deserve to have, to touch. He told himself to leave it be, to chalk it up to booze and loneliness, but it was more than that. The odd, tight feeling in his chest told him as much.

The first thing Rick noticed was how quiet it was.

It was hard not to notice, really. Rick swung his legs over the edge of the bed, pushing himself up off of the bed with a sigh. He moved slowly, joints clicking and popping. This, he thought, was something he couldn't get used to. Everything felt too still. He swiped his gun off of the nightstand and holstered it before making a beeline for the door, feeling every bit as on edge as he had the very moment they stepped through those gates.

Rick reached for the handle, only to jerk his hand away when the door opened suddenly from the other side. He recoiled as if he had been stung, staggering back. Rick's fingers flexed by his side, clenching and unclenching. He thought about reaching for his gun.

And then Glenn's head popped out from behind the door, and he held his hands up, smiling almost apologetically.

"Easy there, Eastwood." he said, stepping further into the room. "It's just me."

"You checking up on me or something?"

"Or something. Big night last night, huh?"

Rick frowned and scratched at his jaw. "Why do you say that?"

"I-um, because of the party." Glenn nodded. "So. I'll just - yeah."

"Did something happen?" Rick asked, something like panic creeping up into his chest. "Was someone-"

"We're good, Rick. Really. I was just checking in. It's what we do. We check in on each other." Glenn glanced back over his shoulder, out into the hall, then back toward Rick. "I wasn't going to say anything, because Maggie told me not to," he said. "But something seemed off. Last night. She said you're just adjusting, like we all are."

Something in Rick's jaw twitched. He forced a smile. "I think I had too much to drink, that's all."

"That's what Daryl said." Glenn snorted. "He said he found you wandering around on your own. Lucky he found you, right? All these houses look the same, especially at night." a pause. "As nice as this place is, Rick, we need to stay alert. After-" he stopped abruptly, trailing off.

Terminus.

It went unspoken between them, and just like that, the memories came rushing back to Rick, unbidden. He set his gun down on a nearby dresser, and turned back to Glenn slowly - and just like that, he was back there, lined up at the trough, and Glenn was so close, he was next in line. Sometimes, when he slept, Rick would dream of Terminus, of what nearly happened to Glenn. He couldn't stop it from playing over and over again on loop.

The sound of the bat cracking Glenn's skull open was enough to wake Rick, most nights. If not, he saw everything that came after; the knife at Glenn's throat, the blood that gushed beneath them, the choked off noises Glenn made, his final breath. Rick looked up at the younger man now, and felt an overwhelming rush of relief flood through his body.

"Hey," Rick said, pointedly meeting Glenn's gaze. "We're not going back to that. I won't let it happen."

"It was so close. Last time. And the time before that. And the time before that, too."

Rick felt his fingers twitch by his side again and it was like they were longing for something - a purpose, maybe. Maybe he needed to be out with his gun, taking down walkers, feeling like he was actually achieving something. Not just wasting away, letting his guard down. The Prison. The Farm.

"We won't lose this place." Rick said firmly, and shit, he meant it.

But he knew it didn't always work out like that. Even if they had the best intentions, they still lost. Lost and lost until they had nothing left to lose but each other, but even then it was like they hadn't lost enough, so the world kept taking. There were so many bodies piled up in Rick's dreams; so many faces, twisted and distorted. There were voices, too. Screaming and crying, and blaming him; why, why couldn't you save me?

A hand on Rick's forearm startled him. Glenn gave him a small smile, but it faded too quickly.

"There's some lunch downstairs, when you're ready." he said, hand falling from Rick's arm as he stepped towards the door.

"Lunch?" Rick frowned. "I slept that long?"

"We didn't want to wake you. You deserved to rest. Maybe just wash up before you come down," he said. "You smell like a bar. No offense."

Rick let out a small laugh. Glenn gave him one last smile before disappearing out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. Rick moved towards the pale wooden dresser, resting his hands on either side of it, gripping the edges tightly.

He glanced up at the mirror, half-expecting to find someone else standing in his place. Rick closed his eyes. Too much hit him at once: the sound of a baseball bat cracking against Glenn's skull; Lori's smile through the chain-link fence; the color of Judith's eyes; and then there was Daryl, but he was gone too soon, always seemed to be vanishing just as quickly as he appeared.

Rick's grip loosened on the dresser. He lifted his head slowly and opened his eyes, entire body going rigid when he heard that voice.

Restitution for your own lack of insight. For failing to see the devil beside you.

He spun around, hands clammy against the cool metal of his gun. The room was empty. Completely bare. Rick lowered his gun, checking that the safety was on before holstering it. Wiping the back of his hand across his forehead, Rick's eyes darted around the room once more. Empty. Alone. Nothing.

Rick pinched the bridge of his nose and told himself that it wouldn't happen again, it wouldn't. They wouldn't lose it all. He would sooner die before he let that happen. He would bleed and die and do whatever he had to if it meant they could live. Even if that meant living with ghosts and grief, and doing the worst possible things, then that's how it had to be.

A/N: Apologies for the late update, I've been sick! Hopefully the Rickyl kisses made up for it c: