Chapter Six

Six Ways to Friday

Saturday

Daryl was leaning over, tying his boots, when he heard the springs of the mattress across from him creak. It was still early morning; the sun had not yet risen and the early dawn painted the room in calm blues. He bit the inside of his cheek, focusing on looping his laces together. Once he was done, he had no choice but to look up. His eyes connected immediately with Rick's hazy gaze. They stared at each other for a few moments. Daryl couldn't look away, caught mildly off guard by the fact that Rick was awake.

Finally, Rick blinked, severing the contact to roll onto his back and stretch beneath the quilt that had tangled around his waist. "Wha' happened las' night?" he asked around a yawn, looking groggily up at the ceiling.

Daryl snorted. "More like what didn' happen."

Rick turned towards him, forehead creased looking as alarmed as he could in his half-awake state. "What d'ya mean?"

Daryl shrugged and stood, stretching his arms up over his head. His spine cracked audibly and he sighed as he turned to grab his backpack, shouldering it. He heard Rick shifting around behind him, followed by a pained groan. He looked over to see Rick sitting on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands.

"Jesus, how much did I drink?"

"I ain't really sure, came later than you. Though, the weed pro'ly didn' help."

Rick glanced through his fingers up at Daryl. "Excuse me?"

Daryl bit the inside of his cheek. "Ya really don' remember nothin'?"

Rick was quiet for a bit, dropping his hands to hang between his knees.

Daryl took another step towards the door, remembering the final words that Rick had mumbled in the darkness.

"Lori—"

Daryl paused mid-step, turning back around to face Rick, only to find that he was already looking at him. His eyes were slightly unfocused still and shimmering in the dim light.

"I…I remember Lori and I. We had a fight." His voice was defeated.

Daryl pressed his lips together, humming slightly. "Don' know nothin' 'bout that. I musta came after."

Rick groaned again.

"Look, Rick, I gotta…go. I'll talk to ya' later. Drink some water, and take off tha' stupid ass outfit." He took a few more steps towards the door. His hand closed around the doorknob when Rick blurted out:

"Wait—Daryl!"

Daryl turned around to see that Rick had sprung to his feet, swaying unsteadily and looking completely ridiculous in his costume from the night before. His eyes were wide and his chest was rising and falling quickly beneath the felt outfit. One hand was reached out towards Daryl, like he could stop him from leaving all the way on the other side of the room. Daryl's heart jumped into his throat, he felt his palm begin to sweat against the cool metal of the doorknob. The only sound in the room was Rick's harsh breathing returning to normal. He blinked after a few moments, curling his hand into a fist before dropping it, along with his eyes, downwards.

"Are we…good?"

Daryl's heart stuttered, the same words echoed back to him from the night before. He nodded his head in one, sharp movement before realizing that Rick wasn't looking at him. He cleared his throat, which caused Rick to raise his eyes to Daryl's. Daryl flashed a small, closed-lipped smile at him. "We're good." With that he slipped out of the room before Rick had a chance to respond.

IIIII IIIII

Monday

Saturday had passed slowly and painfully for Rick, who spent the day in bed alternating between sleeping and nursing a massive headache. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so absolutely wasted; it must've been sometime in his freshman year. Rick loved a good party, but he normally knew his limits and stayed well within them. The worst part was he couldn't quite seem to place where his sudden need for binge drinking came from. Was it his fight with Lori? Which had something to do with sharks eating mermaids but was blurry at best. Or was it his bereavement of his and Daryl's infantile friendship that seemed like it had been snuffed out before it even had a chance to prosper?

The day sulking in bed had led to a pile up of homework waiting for him on Sunday morning. The massive amount of reading, responses, and worksheets lasted him well into the night and by the time he woke up on Monday morning to the sound of Daryl's alarm he was fifteen minutes behind in getting ready. As he searched under his bed for one of his tennis shoes he berated his roommate who was just coming out of the bathroom, rubbing a towel through his hair.

"Why the hell didn't you wake me up?" Rick asked from position on the floor, muffled by the cavernous underside of his bunk.

Rick felt something hit his calf and carefully maneuvered out from under the bunk, twisting around to see his missing shoe laying on the floor by his leg. Daryl was turned away from him, buttoning a grey plaid shirt over his wife-beater.

"You gonna answer? Or keep pretendin' you didn't hear me?" Rick snapped as he sat on his bed and pulled his shoe on.

"Ya seemed like ya could use it. No offense, man, but you still kinda look like shit," Daryl said nonchalantly, turning and ducking to look in the mirror, attempting to smooth his hair down before giving up and moving to sit across from Rick.

"Well…you should've woken me up." Rick got up and crossed over to his satchel, scooping up the books off his desk and shoving them into his bag before turning on his heel and leaving before Daryl could say anything else. Rick's walk across campus had him breathing unevenly by the time he reached the stairs of Lincoln Hall. He stood outside for a minute, catching his breath and trying to calm his rapid heartbeat. Checking his watch he realized he only had two minutes to get to class. With a curse he bounded up the stairs two at a time and crashed through the doors. As he was weaving in and out of the crowd of people making their way to class, he spotted a familiar head of black hair.

"Shane!" Rick called over the din of conversation in the hallway.

Shane looked up, oak-brown eyes finding Rick's before cutting quickly away as he ducked his head and moved to the opposite side of the hallway.

Rick frowned and his heart stuttered in his chest. "Shane," he said quietly, the name getting stuck in his throat. He turned to get to Shane, reaching out to grab his arm and get him to stop. Shane was too quick for him though, had seen him coming, had obviously been watching because he twisted away so smoothly and kept walking without even glancing in Rick's direction.

He watched Shane disappear out the front doors, his shoulders tense beneath his brown t-shirt. Rick stood, frozen in the hallway after the door swung shut behind Shane's form. Someone bumped into him causing him to jump slightly, snapping him out of his confusion. He looked around the hallway, disoriented, realizing that most people had vanished into the various classrooms. It dawned on him that he was late for class and with an internal shudder he took off down the hallway. He skidded to a stop outside his lecture, palm sweaty as he turned the golden knob and pushed the heavy oak door open.

It creaked audibly, and he flinched, all hope of being able to sneak in evaporating completely as he made direct eye contact with his professor, who was looking at him with a pinched expression.

"Mr. Grimes, how nice of you to join us," the woman drawled sarcastically.

Rick immediately dropped his eyes, feeling his shoulders hunch around his ears as he fidgeted with the strap of his satchel. There was a long, drawn out pause where Rick could hear the shuffling of his classmates only barely over the rush of blood pounding in his ears. He opened his mouth, trying to force out some excuse, but nothing was forthcoming. Instead, he stood in the front of the room like a complete idiot.

"Take a seat, Grimes." The teacher commanded, turning to the whiteboard and writing his name down in the top corner, obviously marking him as tardy.

With a quiet exhale, Rick finally managed to look up, quickly scanning the auditorium for Michonne, finding her stoic gaze easily among his classmates. He was off like a shot, sliding in next to his friend, who moved her stuff over with a calm hand, obviously having saved him a seat. He felt like he could feel the burn of everyone's curious eyes on him, but it was nothing compared to the intense waves of concern emanating from Michonne. She wasn't looking at him. Instead, she stared ahead, with the guise of paying attention to the professor droning on in front of the class. Yet, Rick knew her better, and as he took out his materials, laying his notebook open and arranging it so that it sat perfectly straight and centered, he thought of something to say.

"'m fine," he whispered to her as he finally settled, picking up his pencil and tapping it absentmindedly against his notebook.

Michonne's eyes flicked to the movement, which made Rick's hand still as if it had been turned off. Michonne shifted so that she was lounging more casually in her seat. "Mmhmm," she hummed at him, with a tone of someone who definitely not convinced.

Rick ran a hand through his hair. "Really. Fine," he repeated.

"Whatever you say." Michonne's mouth barely moved as she answered.

Rick sighed harshly and went back to tapping his pencil. He tried to fruitlessly pay attention to what the teacher at the front of the class had to say, ignoring the nosy friend sitting to his left. He attempted to shut out the thoughts of his friend who had just disregarded him, the useless roommate back at home, his aloof girlfriend, and the amount of work that had begun piling up on him…with little success. He spent most of class watching those exact things float in front of his mind's eye.

When the bustle of the students clearing from their seats at the end of class, Rick jumped slightly. He looked down at his notes, which were nonexistent except for several marks where he'd struck his pencil fretfully against the white paper.

IIIII IIIII

Tuesday

He took a deep breath before reaching up to knock on the door in front of him. His heart was pounding in his chest as he heard shuffling coming from inside the room. A few minutes later the door opened, revealing Lori in a messy bun and pajamas.

"Rick?" She blinked, wide eyes only taking in his face for a brief moment before flicking down to the bouquet of flowers in his hands. "What're those?"

"F—flowers," Rick swallowed and then cleared his throat. "For you." He held them out towards her, a petal from one of the daisies tangling in a loose piece of her hair.

She stepped backwards slightly before taking the flowers from him. She held them up to her nose and inhaled, closing her eyes as she did so. The pink from the petals reflected on her cheeks. "They're lovely," she said after a moment, smiling gently.

"Not as—lovely as y—ya'," Rick mumbled, avoided her gaze, instead focusing on the bouquet in between them. "I know…I've been a—a downright…well," he glanced up at her, "I've been an asshole. And I's just—just won'erin' if ya'd let me make it up t'ya?" Rick finally managed to keep his eyes above her collarbone, taking in the conflicted look on her face.

"I don't know, Rick." The hand that was holding the bouquet dropped down so it hung limply in by her side.

He watched as one of the petals was shaken from the group and fell to the ground.

"I'm kind of busy right now...homework."

"I didn't—mean now." Rick flicked his eyes back up to hers. "I've been tryin'a text ya', ya' phone been work a'righ'?"

"Yeah, Rick." She breathed through her nose sharply. "I just haven't had time to get back to you."

"I just—I mean, I ain't heard from ya' since Friday night. I know—know ya' mad. And—and I know I fucked up...just, lemme make it up to you. Please," he reached out to her, but she stepped further into her room. A sudden tide of anger welled up inside of him. He had the urge to just walk into her room, invited or not—but, in the end, he held is spot, clenched down so hard he felt the ache in his jaw.

She ran a hand through her hair, seeming to forget that it was pulled back. "I'm just—I'm busy, Rick."

"Lor—look, I know—I just—I'm sorry about the party. I didn't—I've been—I've been havin' a bit of a rough time about it." Rick scratched at his face, itching from where stubble had begun to grow, much to Rick's surprise. He rubbed over the rough texture of his cheek like he had forgotten it was on his face.

"Anythin' else you gotta say, Rick? I need to get back to my homework." Lori looked pointedly over her shoulder towards her bed, which was hidden behind the angle of the open door.

"Could ya' just—just think about it? Maggie was tellin' me there's this Thai place Glenn 'n' her went to. I thought maybe—"

"I'll let you know. Thanks for the flowers." Lori closed the door without another word.

Rick stood outside her door, staring at the place where his girlfriend's face had been just moments before. After a moment, he rested his forehead against the wall next to Lori's door, trying to regain control of his breathing. The frustration inside him was overpowering, but not as strong as the utter defeat he felt. Lori was stable, she was familiar. She had been with him for seven years. If they were heading towards the end of them—a realization that had suck into Rick's gut, settling deep and cold—Rick wasn't sure what to do about it.

He didn't know how long he stood there, attempting to take shuddering, gasping breaths, feeling the sting of tears behind his eyes—from lack of oxygen or fear, he wasn't sure. Nothing was making sense, like every part of his life was sand in an hourglass, every second burying him further.

"Rick?"

He felt a gentle touch on his shoulder and sprang backwards.

Andrea's concerned gaze was watching him steadily, blonde strands wet from what he assumed must be shower water. He focused on where they were making dark circles on her blue t-shirt. She was standing with her arms crossed under her breasts. His eyes travelled down her legs, she was barefoot, and Rick was slightly suspicious that she wasn't wearing pants underneath her large shirt.

"What are you doing out here?" Andrea asked softly.

Rick looked back up from where he'd been staring at her blue-painted toenails. "'m fine."

"That's not what I—"

"Night, Andrea," Rick muttered as he walked past her, heading towards his room.

IIIII IIIII

Wednesday

Daryl waved good night to Tyreese as he lit a cigarette and hopped up into the cab of his truck. He left both the windows rolled down as he made his way back to campus. The night sky was dark, the clock on his dashboard blinked 1:57AM in glaring blue iridescent. He sighed and rubbed his face. There had been a four car pile-up on the freeway near the shop and it had taken him and Ty, along with Martinez, all day to fix up two that hadn't been beat to hell. Between that, taking on walk-ins, and organizing the paperwork in the back room (which always seemed to take forever), it had been a long day. Daryl's bones were aching and he could barely keep his eyes open.

He parked in the student lot, hefting his book-bag over his shoulder before heading across campus towards Horvath Hall. It was sleepy and quiet when he entered, the young girl running the desk gave him a cursory glance as he made his way through the lobby. He nodded his head at her as he waited on the elevator. As soon as he was in it, he slumped against the fake wood paneling, already half asleep by the time the elevator jolted to a halt on his floor. Dragging his feet sluggishly, he followed the eerie red light towards the exit sign outside his room. His keys jingled garishly in the quiet of the hallway and he cursed under his breath as he squinted to find the right one as quickly as possible, hoping that he hadn't woken Rick.

The poor kid seemed like he hadn't been sleeping at all lately, Daryl thought Rick was trying to hide it from him, but he was a pretty light sleeper. Rick would wait until a good while after they'd said goodnight and turned off the lights before crawling out of bed again and sitting at his desk, toiling over one thing or another. Daryl had fallen asleep more than one night this week to the ruffling of paper and rhythmic scratch of a pencil against paper.

Sure enough, when he opened the door, he was bathed in the warm golden light of Rick's desk lamp. Slouched in his chair, with his face planted in the middle of his textbook, Rick was fast asleep, though the crease in his forehead and the slight part of his lips led Daryl to believe it wasn't the most peaceful of slumbers.

Daryl dropped his bag quietly onto his own desk before going back over to Rick, leaning against the door to their closet and watching as Rick's breath fluttered the pages of his notes. He chewed on his lip as he watched his roommate sleep, wondering what to do. On one hand, he was glad that Rick was finally sleeping, but on the other, he knew that position was going to leave him with a nasty knot in his back the next morning. Daryl sighed through his nose before reaching out and clicking Rick's lamp off.

Rick's face was plunged into darkness, the only light coming from the large windows above their beds, where moonlight streamed in. After a moment, Daryl stepped forward, resting a heavy hand on Rick's shoulder. He leaned down close, his lips just hovering over the curve of Rick's ear, closer than he'd meant, but in the dark it was hard to judge the distance. He swallowed thickly. "Rick," he whispered, giving his friend a gentle shake.

Daryl leaned back at the quiet tearing sound as Rick lifted his head slightly from the page, which had stuck to his cheek. It would've been funny if Daryl wasn't so concerned about Rick's sudden dedication to his impersonation of a nocturnal creature.

"Dare-?" Rick slurred, his eyes blinking open, their reflection caught in the moonlight.

"Mmhmm, c'mon let's get'cha to bed." Daryl leaned back down to wrap his arm behind Rick's back, maneuvering Rick's arm around his own neck.

"Wha' time 'sit?" Rick's head lolled to the side, probably to try and look at Daryl, but because of the angle his forehead came to rest against Daryl's collarbone.

"Late," Daryl managed to murmur into Rick's hair. Closing his eyes and biting his lip to keep himself from inhaling the clean scent of Rick's shampoo.

"Ya' smell like car—" Rick complained, using his forehead to push himself away from Daryl, which only lasted for a moment before it dropped back into its place.

"Been a' the shop all day, c'mon. Bedtime, for both of us." Daryl muffled a yawn in Rick's curls.

"Can' I gotta work," Rick tried to pull away from Daryl, almost toppling both of them over the other side of the chair, but Daryl managed to right them before Rick's dead weight sent them careening onto the floor. The hand not behind Rick's back had braced on the desk, with Rick hanging practically limp in Daryl's other arm.

"We really gotta stop makin' a habit of you fallin' all over ya' self," Daryl grunted as he hoisted Rick back into a more appropriate sitting position in the chair.

"But'cha catch me," Rick mumbled, turning his head to look at Daryl and giving him a sleep smile, patting him on the cheek sloppily with the hand that was hanging around Daryl's neck.

Daryl was pretty sure his heart stopped. His legs were shaking and he couldn't tell if it was from the strain of holding them both up, or the affect that Rick's words seemed to have had on his vital organs. He swallowed before shaking his head. "How much ya' had to drink?" He snorted, covering up his shock behind a laugh. He managed to heave Rick into a standing position, though Rick tried to pull away again at the last second, knocking Daryl in the back of his head with his elbow.

"Dammit!" Daryl gritted through his teeth as he managed to clamp his arms around Rick's ribcage before he face planted onto the ground.

Rick twisted around in Daryl's arms, straightening himself up so that they were face to face. They stared at each other for a moment, Daryl biting his lip slightly, attempting to ignore the press of their bodies together. Rick touched Daryl's cheek.

"Sorry I hit ya'," he muttered, gaze fluttering down guiltily.

Daryl huffed. "Well, that's a first."

"Mmm?" Rick yawned, dropping his forehead against Daryl's chest.

"Nothin', let's go." Daryl half dragged Rick towards his bed. He bent down to toss back the covers before depositing his delirious roommate onto the mattress.

Rick bounced for a moment, gangly limbs spread in all directions before he straightened himself out and rolled onto his side.

With a sigh, Daryl walked over and dropped his vest onto the back of his desk chair before sitting on his bed and removing his work boots. He considered for a moment changing into pajamas but after a moment decided to forgo his ancient, holey flannel bottoms and just kicked off his jeans. With a sigh he lay back in bed, glancing over at Rick.

Rick was facing him, his eyes closed. He looked like he was finally peacefully sleeping. Daryl tried to think back to the last time he'd seen him actually sleep, and the fact that he was coming up blank was worrying. He decided he'd ask Glenn in the morning if this was normal, or if he should be worried. It was an odd feeling—to be worried about someone else. Hell, he barely even worried about himself. He'd never worried about Merle, nothing could happen to that asshole unless he wanted it to. And Uncle Jesse, well, he'd always told Daryl not to worry about him.

Rick was different though, Daryl wanted to soothe the dark purple circles under his eyes away with his thumbs. He wanted to curl around him in bed, cover him like a blanket and made sure he got a peaceful night's sleep. Fuck, he had it so bad.

He tore his eyes away from the sharp angles of Rick's face, turning around so that he was facing the wall. And if he pretended the place where his nose rested on top of his pillow smelled sharply of Rick's shampoo, well, no one had to know that.

IIIII IIIII

Thursday

"I can't believe I forgot." Rick sat at Michonne's kitchen counter with his head in his hands.

"You've had a lot on your mind," Michonne looked at him sympathetically from the couch where she was finishing off a bowl of popcorn.

Rick nodded and looked over at Michonne, exhaling out of his nose harshly, trying to clear his head. It had been a shit day. He'd woken up realizing that he hadn't stayed up and studied like he'd meant to and then in class they'd had a pop quiz that apparently had been announced at the beginning of his class on Monday when he'd been late, of course. He and Michonne had come back to her place after class to watch movies and hang out after class but he couldn't keep his attention on Day of the Dead, for more than a few moments.

"Rick," Michonne barked.

He jumped slightly and turned towards her.

She was assessing him with that cool gaze of hers, which made him drop his eyes to the ground. "You haven't heard a word I've been saying, have you?"

Rick shook his head slightly. He heard Michonne sigh.

"Aright, well—it wasn't really important anyway. But, while I have your attention, will you get me some more popcorn?" She held up the bowl that had been in her lap, the sunlight caught the glass, which glinted in his line of vision. "You're closer."

He nodded slightly, keeping his eyes on the bowl, instead of her face, trying to beat back his panicked thoughts of failure and disappointment attempting to battle their way through. He stood up and moved towards her, taking the bowl and heading towards the microwave. It was just a moment, just a split second where his thoughts swelled like a crashing wave echoing quiz, Lori, Shane, quizLoriShane—loud and fast. His hands had begun to shaken and before he could react the bowl had slipped out of his hand. The shattering of the glass was like a gunshot ripping through his mind, bursting the carefully constructed dam around his thoughts.

He automatically dropped to his knees, hands still shaking and breath stuttering out like he had managed to swallow shards of the broken dish. Tears welled up in his eyes and he gritted his teeth against the tide of emotions. "I—I'm s-so so-sorry," he stuttered as he felt Michonne's presence behind him. His trembling fingers reached for a large piece of glass, twitching at just the wrong moment. He watched, detachedly, as bright red blood appeared around the pink flesh on the pad of his middle finger.

Michonne knelt down next to him, placing a hand of his shoulder and looking at the side of his face.

He ignored the weight on his shoulder in favor of focusing on his breathing and attempting not to burst into tears. "I—I'm sorry, I'll—I'll buy ya' a n—new one," he choked out through the panic rising in his throat like bile. God, he was such a shit friend. Michonne had done nothing but be kind to him, and this is how he repaid her. A strangled sob forced it way out of him. He bit down harder on the inside of his cheek, jaw muscle twitching painfully.

Michonne's hand squeezed his shoulder. "Rick, its fine. I have a broom. You don't have to pick it up."

"No—no, no, it's—I've got it—I can do it." Rick reached for another piece but Michonne's hand clamped down harder on the muscle between his neck and arm. He retracted his hand and finally looked at Michonne, though his gaze didn't stay there long when he saw the open concern in her brown eyes.

"Go sit down," Michonne ordered. "I've got this." She moved her hand under his arm swiftly and pulled him up.

He leaned against the counter, trying to conceal the fact that his breathing was coming in short, uneven breaths.

"Go sit, Rick," Michonne demanded as she came back from getting the broom out of the closet.

Rick hadn't even notice she'd left. He staggered over to the couch, collapsing down on it and leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees and dropping his head. He screwed his eyes shut, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth. Keeping quiet as he did so, listening to the sounds of Michonne sweeping up his mess. He heard the lid of the trashcan open and Michonne dump the glass before snapping the top closed again. She shuffle around in the kitchen, opening and closing a few cabinets. He felt more than heard her as she approached and sat down on the couch next to him.

"Here, eat this. You'll feel better."

A Hershey's chocolate bar appeared in his line of vision. Rick looked up and over to Michonne, roughly wiping a tear that had slipped out of one of his eyes. Michonne wiggle the bar in front of him enticingly.

"I—can't." Rick tried to push the candy back at Michonne but she held firm.

"Eat the chocolate, Rick. Don't let my reference go to waste."

Rick managed a small chuckle before sighing and taking the chocolate bar from her. He unwrapped it slowly, acutely aware of the way Michonne was watching him worriedly. He took a bit, letting the chocolate melt on his tongue, feeling a pleasant twinge at the back of his jaw from the taste. He sighed quietly before collapsing back into the couch cushions.

"Better?" Michonne asked, reaching out and resting her hand in Rick's curls, carding her hand through them once.

"Yeah, actually."

"Good, now, let me get back to my movie." Michonne settled back onto the couch, sitting cross-legged.

The black and white film flickered on the screen, lulling Rick into a stupor. He munched periodically on the chocolate, and before he knew it he was licking the remnants off his fingers, trying hard not to move too much as Michonne had fallen asleep; her head resting gently on his shoulder. He managed a small, watery smile, and for just a little while he felt…normal.

IIIII IIIII

Friday

Daryl was really looking forward to a shower. He was pretty sure he was wearing about four gallons of motor oil, and his hair smelled suspiciously like windshield washer fluid. He stomped into his and Rick's room, looking around briefly for Rick—who was no wear to be found—before going into the bathroom. When he was finally done with his shower it was dark outside the little bathroom window. He dried off and pulled on his clean t-shirt and jeans before going back into the dorm room. He stopped when he opened the door and noticed Rick standing at his desk, moving books and notes around in his satchel.

Rick had been distant the past week and Daryl couldn't figure out if it was him, or something totally different. Glenn had been no help, saying that sometimes Rick could get a little stressed and retreat into himself a bit and he probably shouldn't worry. For some reason, Daryl just hadn't quite believed Rick's former roommate. He chewed over something to say as he went over to his dresser, turning his back to rick and digging through his clothes to find the shirt he wanted.

"So, Rick, ya' talked to Lori recently? I jus' saw 'er yesterday, she seemed kinda pissed—" Daryl paused as he pulled an arm through his sleeve.

Rick had stop shuffling papers around.

Daryl took that as a good sign. "I mean—she always seems kinda pissed," he chuckled and then cleared his throat when Rick didn't join in. "I just know ya' had that fight at the party, and ya' haven't said anythin' 'bout her—and I know friends…talk about these—"

There was a sudden crash and Daryl whirled around in the middle of buttoning his shirt to see Rick collapsed on the floor with his head resting on the drawers of his desk, legs folded haphazardly under him like a newborn colt. He strode over to Rick's side after he began to make strange gasping noises.

"R—Rick?" Daryl maneuvered Rick into a more comfortable position, so that his back was against the drawers.

Rick immediately pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms around them, his chest shaking violently as tears ran down his face. His lips were parted but he'd stopped making any sound. Daryl didn't even know if he was breathing.

"Dammit—Rick, are ya' okay? Jesus—I didn' mean what I said 'bout Lori." Daryl chewed on his lip and then rested his hand in Rick's hair, though the contact seemed to do nothing but make Rick shake harder. Daryl removed his hand and sighed harshly through his nose. "Shit, man, shit. What do ya' need? What can I do? Should I call 991, I don't know if you're even breathin'. Rick, you gotta talk to me." Daryl moved so that he was crouched in front of Rick, attempting to connect their eyes but it was like Rick had rocketed off to some distant planet.

Suddenly, Rick's lips trembled and a strained sound passed through. "Sh—" The high pitched whine was indiscernible after the first syllable.

"Rick, c'mon man, breathe. Just—tell me what ya' need."

Rick's hand shot out and grabbed Daryl's wrist. "Sh—a—ne—" he gasped out between stuttering, pained breaths.

"Shane? Ya' wan' me to get'cha Shane?" Daryl asked, unsure if he'd heard correctly.

Rick managed a small nod, staring intently at the hole in Daryl's torn jeans.

"'K, I can do that. I'll be right back." Daryl shot up and swiped his keys off his desk before bursting out of their room like his tail was on fire. His bare feet made no noise as he bolted down the hallway to Shane's door. It seemed like it was a mile away, instead of just four doors down. He skidded to a halt and pounded on the door, almost cracking the flimsy plywood.

Shane's mildly alarmed face appeared, masking over into one of severe dislike at the sight of Daryl.

"Rick—" Daryl panted, "dunno wha's wrong. Can' breathe—"

Shane's face immediately became serious. "Where?" He commanded.

"Our room, c'mon." Daryl didn't wait to see if Shane was following as he turned and dashed back down the hall, but the sound of Shane's boots thudding on the carpet told him that Shane was right behind him.

Daryl's hand, shaking from adrenaline, fumbled with the keys for a moment outside the door.

"Hurry up, asshole!" Shane snarled in his ear, his hot breath making Daryl's flesh crawl.

"'m tryin', dick," Daryl growled back before finally getting the key in the door and throwing it open.

Shane pushed past him into the room, dropping immediately to his knees in front of Rick. He caged Rick's head gently in his hands and tilted Rick forward so that their foreheads touched. Daryl leaned against the closet, watching. It felt almost too intimate for him to be watching, but he was transfixed and couldn't look away. Part of him was raging in jealously, while another was telling him this was for the best; Shane obviously knew what he was doing. Daryl was just not needed.

"Wha' did ya' say to him?" Shane shot at Daryl.

"I dunno, man! I was jus' askin' 'bout Lori and next thing I knew he was on the ground." Daryl shifted agitatedly, moving past Shane so that he pace between his and Rick's beds.

Shane had turned back to Rick and was muttering softly to him. Daryl sat heavily on his bed, twisting the dark blue sheets in his fingers, attempting to hear what Shane was saying.

"Hey, man, you know Lori loves ya'. I love ya. Ya' gonna be okay, Rick. Rick, ya' know you're gonna be okay, right?" Shane's hands were petting Rick's unruly curls with one hand, his gravelly voice soft and soothing. "Ya' gotta breathe, darlin', c'mon."

Daryl's own breath hitched at the term of endearment and he turned away from the two, staring out the window instead. This wasn't a time for jealously to take center stage, obviously something was seriously wrong with Rick. This wasn't about him.

He listened intently to the sound of Rick's breathing which had begun to become more regular. Shane was breathing deeply in and out, the rush of his breath being echoed by Rick. After a few moments, he heard Shane shift and he looked back over. Shane was holding Rick by the shoulders and they were staring at each other intently. Rick had stopped crying and Shane was smiling at him softly. The look was disarming, and gave Shane an almost charming appearance. Daryl was surprised by the gentle look gracing his face. Slowly, he watched as Rick's lips curled into a small smile.

"Ya' gonna be okay, darlin'?" Shane asked quietly, lowering his head so that he was exactly at eye level with Rick.

Rick sniffed and nodded.

"Ya' know the drill," Shane prodded lightly. "I ain't leavin' ya' alone till ya' say sumthin'."

"'m fine," Rick managed to croak out, his voice hoarse.

Shane ruffled Rick's hair. "Yeah, ya're." He smiled again, leaning forward on his haunches to brush a kiss against Rick's forehead before he stood and turned towards Daryl.

"Ya' make sure he eats sumthin' tonight, Dixon," he ordered before bending over to card his hands once more through Rick's hair. Without another word, he left.

It was quiet for a very long time. Rick still sat, resting against his desk, staring at a spot on the floor while Daryl watched him from the other side of the room. It couldn't have been more than a few feet, but it felt like a chasm had opened up between them. Daryl was sick of that feeling. It was strange to actually care about how someone else was, to want to make sure they were okay, to let them know you were here for them.

After a long, struggling internal debate Daryl moved off his bed and went over to Rick, sitting down on the floor beside him and stretching out his legs. He didn't say anything, unsure what there was to say, but knowing, somewhere in him, that Rick needed something…and even if he didn't know what it was, he was damned sure he wasn't leaving Rick's side till he figured it out.

Finally, Rick moved his arms, his knees dropped down to either side of him, so that he was sitting cross-legged. The knee closest to Daryl folded over Daryl's thigh. Rick's head dropped back against the desk with a dull thunk. "Ow," Rick chuckled slightly, bringing his head forward so he rub it.

Daryl snorted but didn't say anything. He wanted to take Rick's face in his hands like Shane had, wanted to kiss his forehead and run his fingers through his hair. But Rick probably didn't want that. Compared to Shane, Daryl was practically a stranger. Instead he settled on putting his hand on Rick's knee and squeezing gently. It felt pretty stupid but Rick sighed and closed his eyes, resting his head back against the desk, more gently this time.

"I—have anxiety," Rick admitted after a while.

"Nah, ya' don't say?" Daryl chuckled.

Rick snorted and knocked against Daryl's leg with the knee that was resting there. "Ya' don't gotta be an asshole about it."

Daryl huffed a breath and then frowned slightly, looking at Rick out of the corner of his eye. "Sorry I couldn't do nothin' about it."

Rick dropped his head forward and tilted it to catch Daryl's eye. "Hey, it's not on you."

Daryl hummed noncommittally, chewing on his lip and avoiding Rick's gaze by looking straight ahead. He felt the heaviness of Rick pressing his knee down on Daryl's thigh.

"It's not on you," Rick said, his voice rich with the quiet, dependable confidence that Daryl had come to know from him.

And for a moment, he almost allowed himself to believe it.