Author's Notes: Like the previous chapter, this one does not follow the same timeline as chapters 5 and 6. This takes place the morning before Murphy and Daryl have that passionate sex session. This is occurring around the same time as Connor and Daryl's encounter from the previous chapter.
Chapter 8: No Games
Rick wakes when the mattress shifts under him. He's become a rather light sleeper of late, and even the slightest movement or sound can rouse him from dreams; it's a trait he picked up from Daryl, though he won't ever admit that.
Daryl stands bare-chested at the corner of their cell where they've started throwing clothes, clean or dirty. He pulls on his pair of tattered gray trousers, his hips shifting back and forth as he slides into the garment, and Rick can't help but stare at the man while he does so. Next he wraps a sleeveless, dark-gray button-up around his shoulders, quickly shoving the buttons through their respective holes. He follows that with his angel-wing vest, the one article of clothing he is never without these days, and Rick can't stop himself from thinking how ironic it is that Daryl continues to wear that vest when he's been a lot less than angelic lately, especially concerning their relationship.
Daryl is about to grab his boots and haul them back to the edge of the bed with him when Rick speaks. "You're up early."
Daryl isn't startled by the man's hushed words; chances are he knew Rick was awake the second the man's eyes opened, even if he wasn't looking at the sheriff. He just plunks himself down on the edge of their bed and undoes the laces on his boots. "Gonna go out an' check the traps, see if any rabbits 'r squirrels wandered in. If 'm lucky maybe I'll come 'cross a deer, feed us all fer the next two 'r three days."
Rick nods, though he knows the other man can't see him, his eyes fixing on the redneck's bare arms. Those arms are beautiful in their own way, tan and muscular yet still lithe, able to haul a buck on his shoulders for miles or gently caress Rick's bearded jawline when it's late at night and neither of them can sleep.
Rick loves those arms, but he hates them, too. He hates them because now they've started to encircle Murphy when they should be encircling him. He hates them because as strong as they are they weren't strong enough to resist Murphy's tempting ways.
Rick reaches out, placing a cautious palm on Daryl's shoulder, squeezes the muscle there. "Want me to come out with you? If you do happen to nab a deer I could help you carry it back. Could help with the other kills, at least, even if you don't find a deer."
Daryl tenses just slightly at Rick's touch, something he hasn't done to the man in a while. Rick used to be the only person in the world who could touch Daryl without him flinching, but now it appears that the timid side of Daryl is making another appearance; or maybe he's just feeling guilty for what he's been doing with Murphy.
"Nah, don't worry 'bout it. You can tend to your garden; I know that's been calmin' ya lately. 'Sides, I kinda just wanna be alone with the forest; might help me clear my thoughts." Daryl shrugs, inadvertently pushing Rick's hand away.
Rick lets his arm drop back to the bed. He misses the way he used to be able to just touch the man without being pushed away or shrugged off. He misses the way those touches would often be returned, even if just a brush of fingertips against the back of his hand.
Daryl might be right in front of him, but damn if Rick doesn't just miss Daryl.
Rick sighs, scrubbing one hand over his beard. "You been hearing Merle again?"
Daryl freezes in his tracks, the arm that had been outstretched toward his crossbow now falling slack against his side. Rick knows he's just crossed the line, but some part of him enjoys the way the man before him flounders. Payback for what Daryl's been doing with Murphy; that's what Rick'll call it.
Daryl shakes his head once, something terse and jerky that Rick doesn't believe in the slightest. "Nah, just been feelin' kinda foggy lately."
"Yeah, me too." Rick chuckles, but it doesn't sound real, doesn't sound all the way there.
Daryl pauses just outside the threshold of their cell, throws a glance back at Rick. "Let's hope Lori don't appear when yer out in yer garden." And then he leaves, as quick and silent as a disappearing shadow.
Rick's breath hitches in his throat, his eyes unable to leave the spot Daryl has just vacated. Daryl always knows just where to hit him, knows how to make him hurt in ways no other can.
They've both lost someone, and both heard or seen that person when they knew damn well they shouldn't have been there. It's a subject they stay far away from, unless they absolutely have to talk about it to avoid a breakdown, or they're in a fight.
And in a way this whole ordeal is a fight, it's just much subtler than flying fists and shouting until your voice is raw. It's not the kind of fight that's going to end in tender kisses and rough make-up sex either. This fight will end when one of them finally snaps, leaves the other a broken, emotional wreck in their wake.
Either that or Rick will finally break and one of them, Murphy or Daryl. And that's what scares him most about this whole situation. He can feel his insides clenching into tighter and tighter knots, can feel his grip on sanity starting to slip. He's keeping calm and collected for now, but he doesn't know how long it'll be before he just loses it and beats one of them into the ground in a fit of rage.
But for now he must try to win the war with his words. He's always been good at talking, persuading, making people see his side of things and do what he wants. Maybe a calm discussion with Murphy will make the man back off and leave Daryl alone, and then boom, problem solved.
Rick takes a deep breath as he slides out of bed, going to the clothing corner to grab his black jeans and beige service shirt. It no longer has the sheriff badges and patches on it, but he feels more authoritative in it, and people seem to respond better to him when he's wearing it, as if they can tell that he used to be of high stature and deserves respect.
The words are already forming themselves in his head as he slides his gun belt around his hips, buckles it into place. His fingers go to his gun, stroking over the shiny, cool metal.
He plans on having a calm discussion, but it never hurts to have a little protection.
Rick wanders through the cell blocks nonchalantly, acting as if he's just going around on a quiet check of the inner workings of the prison rather than trying to track down one of its inmates. He smiles politely at the Woodbury people he's not yet very close to, gives more genuine smiles to those of his own group, even pausing to ask Hershel if he wouldn't mind helping him tend to a few things in the garden later. Hershel accepts with a nod and a fatherly smile, then shuffles away to spend some time with Beth and Judith and read his Bible in a quieter area.
Rick wanders into D Block, where they've been housing all of the Woodbury people, and Connor and Murphy; basically anyone who isn't part of Rick's group gets put into D Block until they're more well known, or until they can prove themselves enough to be a more needed and respected member of the group, as Tyreese and Sasha had done.
D Block is empty for once, all of its occupants currently in the library or the yards, enjoying another peaceful day. Rick almost turns around and leaves, figuring that Murphy must be elsewhere, too, when he hears a faint sniffle and a hiccup of a sob. Rick can't be certain that it's Murphy who's crying; after all, a lot of the members from Woodbury have lost loved ones and are still grieving. But somehow he just knows, without a doubt, that it is Murphy. And though he usually prefers to give crying people their space, he has no qualms about walking right up to Murphy's cell and knocking quietly on the wall beside the curtained bars.
He even notes that the number outside of the cell is #13; figures that Murphy would be living in a cell with such a portentous number, regardless of the fact that Connor lives there, too.
There is a muffled cough from inside the cell, the clearing of a throat, and then, "Yeah?"
Rick pushes the curtain aside and steps into the cell, looking down at Murphy with the least amount of contempt that he can possibly erase from his gaze. The contempt wavers, however, when Murphy looks up at him, eyes wide and blue and watery and as gorgeous as the ocean, eyes that look like Daryl's.
"This a bad time?" Rick asks, unable to not be polite to this man who looks so much like the one he loves; if he were rude to Murphy it'd feel like he were being rude to Daryl, and that's something Rick can't do in good conscience.
Murphy shakes his head and wipes away a stray tear. "No, it's fine. What can I do for ye?"
Rick hesitates, suddenly unsure of his words. He'd been all ready to come in here like a raging storm, tell Murphy to stay the hell away from Daryl and let that be the end of the discussion. Now he sees that he has to choose his words carefully, because Murphy isn't Daryl, and Murphy isn't Connor. Murphy is more sensitive than either of them, though he tries like hell not to let that show. That gives Rick a bit of hope, though, because hopefully that soft side will be more receptive to reason and to Rick's emotions, and maybe Murphy really will back off.
"I just wanted to talk to you… about Daryl." Rick pushes that out of his suddenly tight throat.
Murphy understands instantly. "What about 'im?"
Rick huffs out a breath through his nose. "I just… Look, me and Daryl have been together for quite a while now. It took a long time for us to be comfortable with each other, with what we'd become, but we did it. He used to be so enclosed from me, from everyone, like he was surrounded by a giant brick wall at all times. But it's not like that anymore. Daryl's let that wall down for me, and we were doing so well, but now… it's like he's putting that wall up again."
Murphy listens patiently, absorbing every word Rick says. But Rick's not really making sense. "I don't think I follow ye, sheriff."
Rick shakes his head with a small smile, one that doesn't touch his eyes. "What I'm trying to say is I love Daryl. And Daryl loves me. But I think he's starting to forget that, because of you."
"What do ye mean 'cause of me?" Murphy's eyes narrow slightly, his jaw clenching.
Rick can see that this is already spinning out of control, but he has no way to stop it. Unfortunately this discussion is going to have to take a turn; it can't be calm, not under these circumstances. Rick has to be firm, has to tell it like it is.
"You're the one he's been fucking behind my back, and I'd like that to stop." Rick's eyes harden, and he levels Murphy with an intense gaze.
Murphy matches his gaze, seeming unfazed by Rick's attempt at intimidation. "Ain't exactly my fault if your boy comes t' me, lookin' t' get laid by someone other 'n you, now is it?"
Rick squeezes his eyes shut, letting out a slow exhale through his nostrils. His fingers twitch, longing to curve into a fist, and slam that fist into Murphy's pretty little face.
"He never would have sought you out on his own. You came to him first, cheating on your own boyfriend and bringing him down in the process." Rick spits the words out, having to control himself from damn near growling them.
And Murphy has the balls to smirk at Rick. "He coulda told me no, coulda told me t' leave 'im the fuck alone, coulda punched me right in the face fer offering in the first place. But he didn't, Rick; he went along wit it, and what's more, he liked it. He liked it s'much he came back for seconds an' thirds an' even more'n that. So don't come in here, bearin' down on me for offering him a change of pace when he's the one who accepted it."
Rick sees red. The color is dousing his vision, making it look like everything is covered in blood. Because he knows Murphy is right, and he just doesn't want to admit it. Daryl is halfway to blame here, because Daryl willingly fucked Murphy, and then continued to do so. But to realize that is to realize that Daryl doesn't love him, and that he can no longer love Daryl.
So Rick rears back, throws a punch instead. Murphy dodges him easily, grabs him by the wrist, squeezes too tightly. Rick tries to pull his arm back, but Murphy's grip is tight as a vice, and he can't so much as squirm out of it. Murphy shoves Rick back against the wall, presses their chests together, gets so close that their noses are an inch apart, at best.
Murphy surprises Rick by placing his free hand over his mouth, and then kissing the back of said hand. He pulls back after just a moment, a wry smirk curving up his lips. "I respect ye, Rick. Takes a lot t' come an' confront yer lover's side-dish, try 'n make 'em see the light."
Murphy's eyes lose their light, and Rick swears the man is about to cry again. But he doesn't cry, he just continues speaking. "But much as I respect ye I'm not gonna tell Daryl t' stop seein' me. I can't. If he stops on his own that's his choice, an' I won't pursue him after that. But there's just somethin' so special 'bout him, somethin' I just can't give up on my own. An' I know you understand that, otherwise ye wouldn't be fightin' so hard for him."
Murphy released Rick, takes a few steps back. Rick is stunned by the look on the man's face, by the honestly ringing through his words. The fight drains out of him as quickly as it had flared a few seconds before, and he slumps against the wall, almost on the verge of tears himself.
"I just can't lose him." Rick murmurs, his eyes brimming with the tears.
Murphy just nods. "I understand. But I'm not gonna stop from seein' 'im until he tells me otherwise. 'M sorry."
Though the fight in him is gone, Rick has one last tactic he can try to make things work in his favor. He draws the Colt from his holster, points it right between Murphy's eyes; Murphy doesn't even blink.
"The day he leaves me for you will be the day I squeeze this trigger." Rick says; he means every word.
Murphy doesn't speak; he doesn't need to. There is nothing left for either of them to say now.
Rick re-holsters his gun and exits the cell.