He comes back after thirty minutes. He felt guilty after ten, but couldn't face the house just yet. He'd not gone anywhere, really, just up the little path between the two properties their group still share.
There's a blind spot back there, between the wall and the garden shed at the back of the corner house. As far as Daryl knows nobody can see that spot, not from the houses, the guard tower or any other vantage point he's ever tried. He knows Enid hides there sometimes, recently more often than not with Carl. Daryl's never shared their secret hideout with anyone, and has used it himself a few times, when he needed to decompress for a bit, but didn't have the time to leave Alexandria.
Just now he paced the small space for a while, smoking a cigarette, then lighting another but just crumbling it between his fingers. His tears never really spilled over on this occasion, and he's grateful. Not that he minds crying, or thinks it's a sign of weakness. He's cried plenty in the last few months, and a fair few times in front of people. But Rick can always tell when there've been tears, and right now he just wants to go back to the house and not even mention what led to their fight for the rest of the day.
When he enters the house through the front door he feels subdued but no longer angry. Rick didn't mean to hurt him, it's a visceral reaction, Daryl knows that. Frustration with his own impossible situation sometimes bubbles over, and he has no outlet for it, and no prospect of ever recovering from what the doctor thinks is paralysis below the T9 or T10 Thoracic vertebra. His condition improved with time, especially early on, but as things are now, the doc is quite certain, is as good as it's likely ever gonna get.
And really, Daryl thinks, Rick snapping at him today is his own fault. He'd brought the council up again, and hadn't done what Rick wanted. And he won't do it, he's still adamant about that. Daryl has no intention of supporting his lover's wish, which amounts to a blanket refusal of ever again being involved with the government of Alexandria. But Daryl knows, his own refusal to convince the council of this means that sometimes he and Rick will have disagreements, at least until Rick changes his mind. Daryl will just have to learn to deal with it. Grow some thick skin already, Dixon!
Carol is in the kitchen, making lunch. Daryl is grateful Carol is there. It means some of his work has been taken off his hands for the day, whether he wants it to be or not. Carol genuinely likes cooking for people, and Daryl tries not to feel too guilty when she takes over that duty for a day.
Maybe, Daryl thinks, he and Rick can use the spare time that afternoon and go out on a foray together. It might not be the wisest thing they do, taking a paralyzed man out into this dangerous world, but Rick is at least sometimes up for it, so Daryl has decided not to let the dangers worry him too much. Anything Rick is still willing to do needs to be supported. And on a day when they had a disagreement Rick might feel guilty enough to give in quickly to Daryl's pleas.
"He in the library?"
It's a joke between all of the inhabitants of the house, coming up with grand names for that multi-purpose room. Sometimes it's the oval office or the ballroom. Right now, library is a favorite.
"He is. Daryl…" She sounds apprehensive and he stops mid-turn to the back room. "He's in a funny mood. Don't let him push you around, ok?"
Carol looks so worried Daryl actually feels touched. He gives her a quick half-smile. "I won't. Don' worry, 'm used to it…"
She looks like she wants to say something more, but then doesn't. He thinks he knows what she's holding back. They all think that Rick takes Daryl's help too much for granted. What they don't seem to ever remember is that Daryl fights tooth and nail whenever someone, Rick included, suggests that he let someone else take over some of his lover's care. It's not Rick who wants this arrangement to stay the way it is, it's Daryl.
He doesn't need constant thanks or even acknowledgement for doing his duty by the man he loves. It's his job, and it always will be, no buts and ifs. Just his responsibility. Daryl could no less decide to stop breathing as decide not to be at Rick's side every step of the way for however long they have been granted to live.
Daryl glances through the open door to the back room, then enters. He know his lover is aware of his presence even though he gives no indication anyone else could spot. He is sitting with the back to the door, facing the window, hands in his lap. Daryl thinks he's probably not moved since he came in here after their argument. He's never known anyone who can sit as still as Rick for such extended lengths of time. Just watching him do it can make Daryl antsy. He makes a mental note to coax Rick out of this room and get him to stretch out on the sofa as soon as possible, to ward off another incidence of pressure sores.
Daryl says nothing for a moment, just looks over at Rick. He finds his lover looking oddly shrunken in his wheelchair lately. Rick isn't saying anything either, and Daryl is starting to get restless. The silent treatment isn't usually Rick's way of punishing him, but if he's annoyed enough…
"I think it would be good for both of us if we spent some time apart."
Daryl's heart seems to stop beating, the world lurches to a halt. Surely he misheard? What did Rick just say? Where did that come from? It doesn't make sense… His mind is racing, his brain refuses to even contemplate taking this in. Daryl swallows, his mouth is so dry his tongue feels like sandpaper, but he knows he has to speak.
"Wha… what d'ya mean?"
Daryl takes another step into the room but Rick half looks over his shoulder, shakes his head jerkily.
"What I said. We won't see each other for a while. I want you to move out, today."
Daryl is reeling, he grips the doorframe for balance. His heart is hammering wildly now, he feels dizzy, close to fainting.
"Rick, no…"
Rick turns his face back towards the window. Surely this is a cruel joke? Daryl feels sick to his stomach. He swallows with difficulty, tastes bile.
He's stuck to the spot. Doesn't know what to do, say. Why is Rick doing this? His man. His Rick. Would he do this, if he were truly his? To punish him, maybe…
Suddenly, Daryl feels hate bubble up, like acid, burning his insides. He's aware how much he's shaking only when he lets go of the doorframe, turns around. Staggers on the first couple of steps. Then he increases his stride, is hardly aware of the room flashing by, of Carol coming closer, face creased in worry. He steps around her, avoids her eyes, is by the door before she can even speak. Yanks the door open and hurries through.
"Daryl, what ha…"
The door falls shut. He's standing on the porch, breathing heavily, sucking air into his lungs like he's drowning. There's a rushing noise in his ears, it swells and abates in sickening waves. He's still shaking, so deep inside his muscles it's hurting all over.
Daryl starts moving without conscious thought. He's down the steps and on the pavement. He's hurrying down the road. By the time he reaches the gates he's running as if for his life.
