"No," Jesus' voice cut through the room at his suggestion without a hint of hesitation, and his tone is as calm as it is dismissive.

And Daryl might've not been keen on the plan himself but he knows he can do it, he knows it. Even with his still healing knee and busted shoulder— and why is it always his shoulder anyway? Daryl's getting sick and tired of it already— he's still the best tracker of all the communities and one of the best fighters they have. He can handle a couple of rogue Saviours without a problem, there's no need to risk more people that should be otherwise focusing on more important and deeply needed shit, and so that's why he suggested himself for the job in the first place to track them down on his own.

But having it just brushed off like that, right off the bat without thinking twice about it, pisses him off more than anything else and before he knows it Daryl already has his hands holding into a tight fist as anger floods through him.

"What?"

Jesus looks up at him, dead in the eye. "You're still healing, and they might be in a larger group than we think," he points out as if it was obvious in a tired voice, and though his tone didn't seem cruel it still got to Daryl anyway. "It's not worth the risk."

"I agree," says Rosita from where she's looking at the map. "We still don't know enough."

Maggie nods at her advisor, considering it, and even the sight of her rocking baby Gracie in her hands doesn't diminish the authority and strength emanating from her as they all plan on taking out an enemy. Daryl can't help but be reminded of Rick— a baby in one hand and a gun in another, yet still looking just as dangerous. Natural leaders.

The man himself sits back in a corner, looking deep in thoughts. He hasn't been the same since they all almost lost Carl and the War ended.

But Daryl ignores all of that, focusing instead on the scout that still has his eyes locked on his.

"What, you think I can't do it?" he asks him.

"I know you're capable, Daryl. I've seen you fight," reminds him Jesus, ever the diplomat, picking his words deliberately as he speaks. "I've fought by your side," he says with more strength."But this? It's just suicidal. I won't help you get yourself killed."

"So you don't think I can do it."

Jesus shakes his head. "No. I don't think you should do it, that's different. It wouldn't do any good."

"We can't spare people for it," Daryl argues stubborn, ignoring his answer. "We need scavengers out, and all the help we can get to build the communities back up again. I can do it, I can take out those assholes by myself."

"You're still healing—"

He scoffs. "I'm fine."

"What if you go and instead there's the double of Saviours, what then?" questions Jesus in a harsh tone. "It's too big of a risk."

Worst part is, it's not that Jesus is wrong. He's not.

Daryl knows it's not a good plan; hell, he wouldn't even kick up a fuss if it'd been someone else pointing it out, and he certainly would argue if it was another in his place suggesting it. But something about Jesus dismissing him so readily, about him not thinking him capable of getting the job done, makes his mind cloud with anger and hurt and so he argues.

"You don't know that—"

"Daryl, you can barely handle the kick of your own bow right now—!"

"— Bullshit, I can do it!"

Someone interrupts in the background: "You two…"

"We've made that mistake before, Daryl," Jesus says, paying Gabriel no mind as they stare at each other still, and it's clear he's gotten the scout riled up. "I've made that mistake before. Let's not repeat it, shall we? We all remember the cost."

Maggie looks up sharply, though her eyes are kind. "That was not on you," she tells him. "You didn't know."

"No," he agrees. "It was on Negan, and he's dead now. I know that. But we can't repeat it. We didn't know enough then, and we don't know enough now. We can't keep doing the same thing over and over again and expect different results."

"He's right," says Rosita. "We gotta think this through."

Jesus looks at him again. "You going alone and wounded won't help, it'll only make things worse. What if you get killed?"

Better me than someone else, Daryl doesn't say out loud. He knows it won't help his case here, only make it worse for him. Neither his family nor Jesus would agree with him. So instead he just scoffs and looks at the ground irritated, refusing to maintain eye contact with the prick as both frustration and a pinch of guilt hits him.

He's being unfair and making this harder than it has to be, he knows that, but the worst part is that he doesn't even know why.

"Jesus has a point on this one, brother," Rick points out, and Daryl in his anger hadn't even noticed him get up until there was a hand on his shoulder and a body by his side. "We can't afford to lose you too. We need you here… I need you."

And just like that his anger deflates and is replaced entirely by guilt. Shit, now he's gone and made Rick sad again too.

Daryl shifts, uncomfortable with the sincerity of his brother's words and all the attention on him. He lets the hand stay on his shoulder for a couple more seconds, just to let the other know he's heard him and understands, before he shrugs it off with a nod— he's not looking him in the eyes, but it's sincere. He won't do it to him, to any of them.

"Yeah, alright," he agrees so softly Rick barely even hears it, though he understands it all the same and gives Daryl a small smile.

They've all lost too much of their family already.

"Well now that's finally over with, can we please continue with the meeting now?" Jesus asked with a clap, his tone forcibly casual though there was some strain there. Some bite. "I'd like for us to at least agree on a plan before it's over. An actual plan."

Doesn't mean he will just take Jesus' shit, though. Nah, no way in hell.

Daryl looks up in a snap, and he hears someone else let out a small "Oh, shit!" as he crosses the room in a second and gets on Jesus' face— almost in a dare, fuming with rage as the comment riles him up all over again. He can feel Rick trying to grab for him but he pulls his arm away before he's able to, not wanting to be stopped.

"What's your problem anyway?!"

Jesus holds the eye contact though; his head high and staring right back at him.

"Excuse me?" he says, not looking the slightest intimidated by a pissed off Daryl looming over him, and in that exact moment Daryl is reminded that the other can kick his ass without breaking a sweat. Shit.

A tiny voice in his head tells him to stop and let it go, to forget it, but Daryl's never been good with listening to that voice anyway.

"You heard me."

Jesus scoffs. "You want to know my problem is, Daryl? Really?" he asks, and suddenly Daryl realizes the scout's not nearly as unaffected as he appears; his words are dry and sarcastic yet they sound just as enraged as Daryl's hostiles ones. "My problem?!" Jesus repeated and yep, he pissed him off.

He's never seen the man lose his shit before.

"My problem is you wanting to sacrifice yourself every three seconds with some dumb half-assed plan, that's my problem," came the angry answer. "My problem is you getting so focused on blaming yourself for every single thing that goes wrong that you forget that there's people that care about you! People that want you happy and alive!"

There's a hand on Jesus' shoulder now, and he can hear Rick behind him telling them to stop it at the same time a feminine voice by their left curses them, but neither pays it any mind as they continue to stare at each other with narrowed eyes.

"How about that, huh? Is that answer enough?" asks Jesus with a sneer. "My problem is you, Daryl.You impulsive, selfless—!"

"Jesus!" Maggie shouts, interrupting whatever the man was going to say next, but Daryl just keeps going— too angry to even consider stopping now, ready to shout words he doesn't mean just for the sake of his anger.

"Why do you even give a shit?!"

"How can you even ask me that?!" the other counters.

And there's something about an angry Jesus though that makes him pause for a second.

Even when you know what he's capable of, even after seeing him fight, it's easy to underestimate Jesus. To take his calmness for granted, to think you've seen it all. Now though… now he looks dangerous. Without any of his bullshit zen act or the infuriating mischievous smirks, with his face serious and completely fucking pissed off, no pretense in his voice.

He looks beautiful.

The sight makes something else entirely warm over Daryl, something so different from anger yet just as hot and intense. Something that isn't new, not really, but that he simply always avoided admitting even to himself. Though maybe that was always inevitable.

But maybe Daryl hesitated for too long, because it makes the other stop too. He looks at Daryl, seeming to search for something in his face before his eyes end up focusing on his lips, anger slowly leaving him. Jesus absently licks his own lips before looking up again, their eyes locking together. Oh.

Oh.

He's not sure who actually started the kiss, except one second they were staring at each other not sure how to proceed and the next both had leaned in until their mouths smashed together in an intense kiss, a hint of violence in it. There are hands on his vest pulling him down, mindful of his hurt shoulder, and without thinking about it Daryl repays by sticking one of his own through the other's hair, almost desperate. Nothing in his mind except how right it all feels, too good to stop.

When they break apart— too soon, far too soon for any of them to think it was enough— there's a determined look in Jesus' eyes.

"Of course I care," he ends up saying after a few seconds of stunned silence, startling Daryl with how out of breath he sounds. I caused that, he thinks, with something akin of pride warming his chest. "How can you even ask me that? Of course I do."

It takes Daryl a moment to remember what Jesus was talking about, and when he does all he can manage to say is:

"Oh."

Which, is a great answer. Smart. Quite profound, really.

Fuckin' dumbass.

"I thought you knew," Jesus continues, as if Daryl wasn't gaping at him like an idiotic fish just now, though he does seems a little amused at it. Prick. "That's why it hurts me when you keep treating yourself like nothing. I thought you knew that I…"

Daryl shakes his head, softly. "I didn't."

And it's true, he had no idea. Not about Jesus' part in it. They'd become close after the war, but Daryl never dared to think Jesus would look twice at him— that Jesus would care. Not that deeply, and not just because he's part of their little misfit family now.

"I didn't know," he repeats, still trying to wrap his head around it. "'M sorry."

"But you…?"

"Yeah." There's a hand against his now, still barely touching as if afraid to overstep somehow. Daryl turns his around until they're clasped firmly together, saying through actions what he can't do with words. Not yet, anyway. "Yeah, I do."

Jesus smiles happily, as if that's the best thing he's ever heard.

"Good."

Someone next to them cleans their throat, making both jump startled. Daryl looks around, facing heating up as he remembers that they are not, in fact, alone in the room— Maggie has a knowing smile, staring at them proudly, while Rick seems more amused than anything. Tara's eyes are so wild they look about to pop at any second, and the rest of the room isn't too different with some few exceptions.

"Well, so that just happened," Tara ends up saying, probably trying to break the awkward mood but only making it worse, as usual with her. It seems to at least pull the rest out of their shocked state, though Daryl's not so sure that's a good thing. "Can't say I saw it coming."

Behind her, Michonne sighs and gives Carol a small package of mints, who only smiles smugly.

"Speak for yourself."

"Ugh, screw y'all," Daryl grumbles, hiding his face away with his hands. And if there's a small smile threatening to show, well, that's not anyone's business but his own. "I hate all of you."

Jesus just laughs, though the tips of his ears are bright red too.

"That's great and all, I'm happy for you two tontos, but we have Saviours to kill so can we please go back to it?"

See, Daryl knew there was a reason why he likes Rosita so much. He nods, almost desperate for the attention to leave him, and slowly they all get back to work. Though it doesn't stop the looks his family keeps throwing at them, nor the chuckles.

Goddammit, they'll never let him forget it, will they?