When Daryl wakes up it's pitch black, and very quiet. No light is sneaking through the gaps in the curtains tonight. New moon. Daryl still takes note of these things.
At first, he can't figure out what woke him. He lies still, probing his body, his mind. His gut seems perfectly fine, there's no hollow pain, no cramps, no feeling that he'll make a mess any second if he doesn't get his ass on a toilet this very instant.
And there's no sense of horror, no sweaty, tangled sheets, no rapid heartbeat. So it's not nightmares, either.
Rick lies next to him, deeply asleep. As Daryl listens closely he can hear his lover's quiet, deep breaths. No nightmares there, either.
The only thing that seems off is that Daryl feels incredibly thirsty. He'd noticed it during the day already, that he'd had to take sips from his water flasks more frequently than usual while on patrol with Morgan.
He slips out from under the sheets carefully, not wanting to wake Rick. They're both finally getting a proper night's rest again, and there's no reason to disturb and worry Rick just cuz he's thirsty. Daryl can orient himself just fine in the dark. He visualizes where the water jug is on the table, and pours himself a glass slowly, making barely any noise.
He has just drunk it down and is pouring a second glass when he hears a snuffling sound from the bed, and sheets rustling. Rick sighs, and Daryl curses himself.
"Daryl?"
Dammit! "I'm here, man. Just drinking some water."
He quickly downs the second glass, feeling the liquid slosh in his stomach. Then he pads back to the bed. Rick reaches for him as he lies back down.
"What's up, buddy?" Rick's voice is full of concern, and Daryl hates himself for worrying his lover. He pulls Rick's hand against his chest and holds it there as he settles back down.
"Nuthin', I swear. Just thirsty."
"You sure?"
"Yeah."
"You'd tell me if it was something else, right?" The concern in Rick's voice is so urgent, it goes through Daryl like a lightning bolt of shame.
"I would, Rick. Seriously. Go back to sleep, man." Daryl tightens his grip on Rick's fingers. "I'm real sorry I woke ya up."
"'s okay," Rick says sleepily.
"'s not," Daryl insists. "Ya need yer sleep, I've kept ya up enough them last few months."
Rick ignores this. "You nervous about tomorrow? Those techniques he wants to teach us?"
Daryl considers for a moment. "A bit, I guess. Yer nervous, Rick?"
"Yeah," Rick says quietly. "The session today wasn't exactly fun." There's a pause. Daryl waits. He was a bit upset that Rick didn't volunteer anything about his first therapy session with Joel. When Daryl is half convinced Rick has fallen asleep again he suddenly says, "Was gonna tell you about it, but then we…"
"Did the other thing." Daryl grins at the memory. That was real nice, Rick jacking him off. He just wishes Rick would've let him do it back. But he doesn't dare reach for Rick now. Somehow, the mood feels wrong. Instead he says, "Ya can tell me now, if ya want. 'm not tired."
"No," Rick says quickly, and a little too loudly. "I am tired. It's late, and we'll need to be rested for tomorrow. I think we'll need all our strength for this therapy stuff."
"Alright," Daryl says reluctantly. Rick is making excuses. He feels suddenly hopeless again. It's his fault that Rick has shut off like this.
Rick picks up on Daryl's mood, like he always does. He gently untangles their fingers, then slides them up and onto Daryl's neck. He pulls gently, until Daryl rolls onto his side. In the dark, Rick brings their foreheads together with a sigh. "I promise, we'll talk real soon, buddy. I love you."
Daryl fights back the tears and swallows. His mouth is dry again. "Alright," he whispers.
Rick finds Daryl's hand again and intertwines their fingers, and that's how they fall asleep.
#
"Hey, guys," Joel greets them as they step into his office the next morning. "Come on in, have a seat!"
The doctor's office is familiar now, and Daryl feels at ease here most of the time. He trusts Joel, and while what they're doing isn't ever fun, he's feeling so much better since they got to the Kingdom. But he's nervous about today. What will Joel make them do? And can be bear to live through all those horrors again?
A hand alights on his thigh as soon as they're sitting down. Daryl looks up into Rick's gentle, loving gaze, and he can't help but smile. His mood lifts. They'll be okay. They've got each other, and they can do this.
"How're you guys doing today?" Joel wants to know.
Daryl is about to say fine, but Rick is quicker. "Daryl woke up really thirsty last night." Daryl glowers, but Rick ignores him. "Could that be the new meds?"
"Quite possible," Joel says, looking stricken. "Daryl, I'm so sorry. I should've explained about possible side effects; it completely slipped my mind. Have you noticed anything else? Drowsiness?"
"Maybe a bit," Daryl admits.
"Anything else? Nausea, constipation, insomnia, vertigo, erectile problems?" Joel ticks them off one by one.
Daryl shakes his head to everything, and blushes on the last. He glances at Rick, who gives him a grin and a wink.
If Joel notices, he doesn't let on. Satisfied that Daryl is doing mostly okay, he says, "Alright, if there's nothing else, here is our plan for today." He gives them a moment to raise other issues, and when they don't he carries on, "Today, I'll teach you some techniques for dealing with the stress and anxiety arising from PTSD. Rick, if you ever have another panic attack like yesterday, these will really help."
Daryl looks around sharply. "Ya didn't tell me," he says, hurt.
Rick's eyes are pleading. There's a sinking sensation in Daryl's stomach at the discomfort on his lover's face. "I'm sorry, buddy. I really wanted to. Then the other…thing happened, and I chickened out." He reaches out and grabs Daryl's knee again. "I won't let it happen again, I promise."
"'s alright," Daryl says quietly. He hates how miserable they both are. Why can't it just stop?
Joel looks from one to the other, but he doesn't comment. Daryl is grateful. Being overanalyzed by a shrink won't help. Joel's not like that, thank god. The doc continues with his explanation. "At the end of the session today, I'll do an exercise with Daryl, and based on that, I'll plan your next steps."
"Okay," Daryl nods.
Joel gets up, and motions to them to do the same. "The preparation for these exercises might seem a little odd. Once you're used to doing them, you can be upright in a chair, too. But for now, please lie down on your backs on the floor."
Rick considers Joel, then grins at Daryl. "Guess we've done much worse."
"Take off your shoes, please," Joel says.
Daryl gives the doctor a suspicious look. What is this nonsense? But Rick is already stepping out of his boots, so Daryl sits down again and unlaces his heavy boots with a huff.
It feels very strange, lying on the carpet and staring at the ceiling. There's a frieze all around the edge of the room, and the lamp looks old and expensive. For the first time, Daryl wonders what this place used to be before all this.
"Right, you both comfortable?" Joel says, bringing Daryl's attention back. "I'll teach you a technique called 'calm breathing' now."
Daryl glances up at Joel, who is standing by their side. He's not sure what to make of the idea of being taught how to breathe, but he doesn't say anything. The doctor has come through on his promises so far, so Daryl will just go with it. Rick is lying close by his side, their shoulders are almost touching. This is why we're doing this, he reminds himself. To get better, together.
"Put one hand on your chest, over your heart," Joel says, "and the other one on your belly."
Daryl does so, and out of the corner of his eye sees Rick moving his hands in place, too.
"The trick is," Joel continues, "to breathe into your belly. When we do the exercise, the hand on your chest shouldn't move. Try to get all the air into your diaphragm."
Did people really spend time learning this stuff in the world before? Daryl shifts uncomfortably. The carpet isn't as thick as it looked from standing on it. Something suddenly brushes his hip. He startles slightly and looks down. Rick's hand, twisting awkwardly, is giving his thigh a quick squeeze. Daryl finds Rick's eyes and smiles gratefully.
"Take a slow breath in through your nose." Joel's voice is calm and low. "This should take about four seconds. Then hold the breath for two seconds. Then exhale for four. Wait a few seconds before the next breath." Joel smiles down at Daryl. "Feeling okay?"
Daryl shrugs. He's trying to concentrate on his chest not moving. It's surprisingly hard.
"Keep going for a few more," Joel says, stepping over to the window and out of Daryl's line of sight. "And remember, always wait a few seconds between breaths. When you panic, your instincts will make you hyperventilate. The extra oxygen will make you feel dizzy, and might make your arms and legs tingle. That in turn makes the anxiety worse."
They breathe for another minute or two. It's actually quite pleasant. Daryl is starting to feel drowsy. Those meds Joel gave him for the anxiety are really starting to mess him about.
"Once you get the hang of it," Joel says after a while, "you can do this in any position. Sitting down, standing up. It takes practice to do it when you're actually panicking, but it becomes second nature quickly." He steps closer again so they can see him. "While I've got you down there, I want to do one other exercise. This one is called 'progressive muscle relaxation'. You can do it sitting up, too, which is better during the day. When you do it lying down the danger is that you fall asleep." He grins. "If you fall asleep now, I'll wake you, don't worry."
He disappears from their line of sight and returns to his seat behind his desk. "Close your eyes now."
Before Daryl does as told he glances at Rick. You okay? Rick mouthes. Daryl nods, grimacing. Hang in there, Rick adds, and touches the back of Daryl's hand with his pinkie. Daryl tries a smile, then closes his eyes.
"Concentrate on my voice," Joel says calmly. "Make a fist with your left hand, as hard as you can. Feel the tension in your fingers, your arm. Hold it for five seconds, then release all the tension at once. Do it as quickly as you can, and concentrate on the feeling of all that tightness flowing from your muscles. Now, tense your upper left arm, but don't let it lift off the floor."
It's a strange sensation, alright. But as Daryl focuses on Joel's voice, tensing one muscle at a time, he's feeling oddly peaceful. They move through all the body parts that can be tensed – shoulders, chest, stomach, butt, legs and feet – and when Daryl opens his eyes again, blinking at the brightness of the room, he realizes he's actually feeling really good.
Joel asks them to get up again. Daryl clambers to his feet, finding his limbs oddly heavy. He's not feeling bad, exactly, but there's a floaty, remote sensation in his head. As he straightens up the room suddenly seems to lurch slightly and he staggers. Rick grabs him by the upper arm. "Hey, buddy, you okay?"
"Bit dizzy," Daryl mumbles. Rick frowns and guide him back into his seat.
Joel pours them both a glass of water. "Probably another side effect from the SSRIs," he says. "They should fade after a few days. If they don't, tell me, okay? We can try a different treatment then, or I'll give you something for vertigo."
Daryl nods and drinks some water. He's feeling fine again. "It's alright now, actually." He smiles at Rick, who looks at him with a frown. "Really, I'm fine." He gives Rick another smile, and finally, Rick seems to accept Daryl's reassurance. Daryl has the sudden urge to curl up and go to sleep with his lover, just the way they did the day before. They pull their boots back on, and turn their attention back to Joel.
"How was that?" Joel asks. "Apart from the vertigo, I mean?"
"Relaxing," Daryl says at once.
"Pretty nice, actually," Rick adds.
"Good!" Joel nods. "Practice both the breathing and the muscle relaxation as often as you can. Do it before you got to sleep, together. That way, you can remind each other not to forget." Then he turns to Daryl. "The last thing I want to do for this session is an exercise for you. It'll help me plan the next steps. It's not as relaxing as what we've just done, but if it gets too upsetting we can use the breathing exercise again."
Daryl nods his understanding. Joel adds, "Are you okay for Rick to stay?"
"Yeah, course," Daryl says quickly. He still doesn't believe that he'd ever not want Rick around for any of this.
Joel nods, looking a little uncertain. "Okay, then. Daryl, lean back and close your eyes." Daryl does so, and Joel's soft voice flows through him like a dream. His mind is still a little foggy. "Feel those relaxed muscles," Joel murmurs. "You're safe here, Daryl. Nothing bad can happen. I want you to go deep inside, and stay very still. Listen to the silence." He pauses, and Daryl tries to do as he's been told. "You're safe, Daryl," Joel repeats. "But you haven't always been safe. Tell me about a time and place when you weren't safe. When you were scared, or sad."
Daryl's fists clench in his lap. He can feel Rick shifting nearby. A dozen situations spring to his mind. The burning of the farm. Woodbury, in the fighting arena. The fall of the prison. Joe and his men. The feral dogs. Alexandria under siege.
"Rail tracks," he whispers, to his own surprise. "They're shooting at us. Denise got shot through the eye, with my crossbow."
"Okay, that's…," Joel starts, but Daryl interrupts him.
"And…and…," he croaks, tasting bile at the back of his throat. Then Rick's hand is there and squeezes his, hard. Daryl's eyes fly open, his heart is racing.
"Cell," he finally manages. "Negan's cell."