Daryl laid back on his mattress as his most recent customer, a blonde woman maybe in her mid-thirties, threw her clothes on as she spewed all sorts of angry grumbles that Daryl didn't bother listening to as he rubbed his eyes with his hand.

No doubt the woman would march right down stairs and demand a full refund. No doubt that Merle would put up a fight- it'd been longer than five minutes after all- until the woman recounted the session to him, then he'd begrudgingly agree to the refund. And then he'd head straight up to Daryl's room and tear his head off.

The woman stormed out and slammed the door behind her. Daryl took a deep breath and pushed himself up off the bed. He found his pants and pulled them on as he listened to the woman's annoying voice complain downstairs.

It had started just like any other session, and it was going just like any session, until it stopped being like any other session. He was halfway done by his judgment when he opened his eyes and looked at the woman below him. She wasn't the worst looking client he'd been with, not by a long shot.

And yet, he suddenly lost it.

Daryl walked over to his dresser and picked up the cigarette pack that he kept on top of it. He pulled one out and slipped it between his lips as he reached for his lighter. He lit the end of his cigarette and sucked a breath in as the front door of the Golden Blade opened and shut with a hearty slam.

A heavy foot took the first step up the staircase. Daryl walked to his bed and sat on the end of it as he waited for his brother to reach the top. He wasn't waiting long before Merle swung the door open and stepped inside, grinding his teeth as he stared down at his younger sibling.

"I don't give refunds," Merle ground slowly, emphasizing each word with a low drawl, "you do know that, dontcha boy?" his eyes stared down at Daryl darkly but Daryl couldn't find it in him to care much. He was more worried about other things.

"I don't give refunds," Merle repeated, "so you'd better find a way around your softie back up and running before your next customer or I swear to God I will let the governor have a go at you next." Merle turned to leave, but stopped in the doorway, suddenly struck with a thought. He turned back to his brother, "This wouldn't happen to have anything to do with Grimes, would it?"

Daryl bit the end of his cigarette a bit, he was wondering that himself and hadn't yet come up with a conclusion. Or maybe he just hadn't come up with a conclusion that satisfied him, and was trying to convince himself otherwise.

"No," Daryl mumbled finally, "it doesn't."

Merle lingered a few moments longer, "Good. Your next appointment is in two hours." He turned and slammed the door shut behind him, leaving Daryl to think about the lie he'd just told his brother.

The next morning, just like every morning, began with breakfast, and it was Daryl's turn to cook.

He stood behind the stove, flipping pieces of sausage in the large pan as the eggs solidified in the other. The housemates were all seated at the breakfast table, mostly silent. Which meant they all knew, because they were never quiet.

As if on cue, Shane cleared his throat and spoke up, "So, Daryl," he began, licking the corner of his mouth as he always did when he was trying to keep from smiling, "I heard you had some trouble last night."

"Shut the fuck up," Daryl mumbled grumpily.

Shane held his hands up innocently, "Hey, I'm just tryin' to help you out,"

"You know," Dale chimed in, "I have some pills, if you want-"

Daryl pointed his spatula threateningly at them both, "This is none of y'all's business, so all of you shut the fuck up." Dale looked down at the table and Shane looked to the side.

Glenn looked across at Tyreese, who looked even more out of it than he usually did these days. Dale noticed about the same time Glenn did and laid a hand on Tyreese's shoulder. "We know," he said quietly as Tyreese's lips quivered a bit.

Shane narrowed his eyes at the three of them before opening his arms wide, "What the hell is the issue with this guy? Why do you all act like-like- man I don't know," the three of them looked over at Shane with set jaws and wild eyes, Shane wisely changed the subject, "Hey Daryl, is that almost done?"

"Fuck you," came the reply. Shane closed his eyes and desperately tried to find some semblance of refuge from the three pairs of eyes locked on him at the moment.

"Aww, come on man, don't be like that," he said, turning in his chair to avoid looking at the other housemates to focus completely on Daryl, "listen, it happens, maybe you've just been working too much, ya know? I mean, you can't overuse a knife or you need to sharpen it, this isn't any different." Daryl stared at Shane, considering what he was saying.

Daryl shook his head a bit, "Yeah, maybe." he said, flipping the sausage patties a final time.

How the hell did someone 'sharpen' this 'knife'?

During his first appointment that night, Daryl once again had difficulty. Except this time, he found a way to push through it. The resolution he found just wasn't the resolution he'd hoped for.

He'd hoped that it was just what Shane had said; he was worn down a bit. But it wasn't like he was doing six customers a night like Shane, who was all but made to be a prostitute, he usually kept to three or four, so he'd doubted that right away.

He'd also hoped that maybe it was just something about that woman that just didn't appeal to him, even though she was good enough looking in comparison to some others he'd dealt with.

In a final lapse of wishful thinking, Daryl had hoped that it was just a onetime, physical lapse or maybe mental lapse that would never happen again.

There was a reason he didn't like wishful thinking, and that was because things rarely turned out the way you wish them to.

The painful, frustrating, and overall just ugly truth was that that night, when he was trying to get himself going, he closed his eyes and saw pale blue ones staring back at him.

He kept his eyes closed all through the sessions, seeing what he wanted to see.

And that was Rick.

And that was bad.

Bad for business and bad for him, too. If he couldn't get it up he couldn't do his job. What's worse, if he couldn't get it up without thinking of Rick it would mean he'd broken the basic rule of being a prostitute:

Do. Not. Get. Attached.

They kept emotions out of it, for the same kind of reason they wore condoms.

If you get a woman pregnant, you have a tie to them. Congrats, kid, you've got a prostitute as a dad. If you get attached to someone, you have a tie to them, just the same. You cannot be a significant other as well as a prostitute. It's impossible to be both. Pick one.

When his night was over, Daryl changed the sheets on his bed and laid down without bothering to straighten them out much, it's not like it mattered anyway; tomorrow he'd just have to change them again.

Daryl laid down on his bed and tried his best to convince himself out of the conclusion he'd reached. The conclusion that was that Rick was the only thing that seemed to excite him now.

He told himself that he'd been doing women for a long, long time. Rick was just like the new toy in the toy box; he'd get past the newness of it all and in the end, sex would just be sex all the same, whether it was with a man or a woman, Rick or not, it would hardly matter.

Daryl wondered how many times he'd lied this week, and didn't like the fact that he just seemed to have added another to the count.

Rick sat in his living room, just watching the fireplace as the flames consumed another piece of wood.

He bit his lip and laid back against the couch as he heard Lori shuffling around upstairs. He was sleeping in a different room as of late, and found that he slept better doing so.

In truth, he'd longed for someone to sleep next to him, just not her.

Rick covered his face with his hands and sighed; he couldn't keep doing this to himself. The entire thought was ridiculous. 'I've paid you to have meaningless sex with me. Twice. But I think there's a real connection here'.

Yeah, that'd work.

He was being an idiot.

Rick laid his arms back down at his sides and wondered just how many people Daryl had sex with a day. Rick told himself that he was just another customer to Daryl, and here he was, trying to put feelings in a business where feelings were by design not involved.

Or at least they weren't meant to be.

Of course, it might be that he was just lonely, what with his wife getting whatever the hell she needs from the same damn place.

Rick's thoughts paused for a second, waiting for a sharp drop in his gut at the thought of his wife with another man. He waited for the pang of jealousy, or maybe just anger.

He felt nothing.

Not a damn thing.

He wasn't quite sure when exactly he'd stopped caring, but apparently he had. Rick suddenly smiled and he couldn't help but laugh as thought about the irony of a husband and wife cheating on each other at the same whorehouse.

Maybe they'd run into each other sometime, Rick thought.

He chuckled a bit before the wood cracked and a piece that reminded Rick of an arrow sprung up from the main piece. Rick stared at it and thought he'd make another appointment for tomorrow. Or maybe the next day.

He didn't know how to schedule these things. For a doctor's visit, you go every couple of months, same with the dentist or something as equally annoying. For a haircut, maybe every two, three months or so.

Rick wondered what the appropriate amount of time was between appointments.

Though, he supposed nothing about this was meant to be appropriate, so he brushed the thought away and decided he'd go the day after tomorrow, just to be safe.