Notes:

I am so sorry this has taken so long. I really have no excuse. I'm just pathetic! Ah. Thank you for being so patient.

I'm going to add two chapters this round in a hope to appease you. Haha. ;D

Chapter 4:

After several more minutes of gentle prodding from Michone, she reluctantly let him escape to tend to his leadership duties. Rick feigned a good natured smile, greeted the Alexandria members he hadn't seen earlier that morning, and went to check on the state of the ramifications of the south wall. He lent a hand where he could, helped tighten a bolt on a section that needed it, held up a post as it was secured. All the while the pain lay bubbling beneath the surface, and Rick studiously ignored it, letting the hard work numb the ache that was spreading ever so slowly.

The routine work allowed him to keep his mind off Jesus. Whenever he even dared to think of his lover Rick went to find something else to do. At lunch time Rick went home to make sure Carl and Judith had a proper meal. He sat with them, smiling as he listened to Carl's tirade about Alexandria's weak points. His son was a child of the apocalypse, and his priorities were set on survival. Yet he had the know-it-all attitude of any teenager that had existed before the turn of the world. The thought brought a smile, and he watched Carl, trying to imagine the man he would someday be.

When the meal was over, Rick wiped at Judith's mouth with a damp cloth, nodding in agreement to whatever Carl was saying. To be honest, he wasn't quite sure. Something about the stockpile of gas for the vehicles or something. His attention had steadily turned inward throughout the meal (and Carl's repetitive, circular tirade) and he went over his argument with Paul over and over. He had totally been in the wrong, he knew that. Jesus hadn't done anything to deserve the cruelty. And where had that jealousy come from? Was it a result of Lori's betrayal, or something else altogether?

"Dad!"

As if stung, Rick pulled his hand away from his daughter's face, realizing he had been wiping at the same corner of her mouth over and over. Smiling weakly at Carl, Rick shrugged and threw the rag into the sink. "Stubborn crumbs."

"Right." Carl's arms were crossed, and the strong look of disapproval that was so often on his son's face these days was back.

He'd messed up again.

Rick sighed and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry. My mind's someplace else." Opening them slowly, he made eye contact with Carl once more. "Okay, tell me. What do we do to fix the problem?"

His son's stern stare wasn't gone, but it lessened ever so slightly.

He threw himself into manual labor the rest of the afternoon and early evening, exhausting his body in order to keep his mind occupied. Rick supposed it was a good thing in itself. The Alexandrians appreciated his presence and seemed to respect that he wasn't too good to get his hands dirty. He even got to know a few of the town's members better, engaging in small talk through all his tasks. Rick lost count of all the tasks he assisted with. He hoisted and hauled loads of supplies, propped up and steadied ladders, surveyed the horizon and took note of the number of visible walkers, and calculated food store numbers with Olivia – just to name a few. The lawman felt satisfied with how hard he had worked. It had been a long time since he'd been this productive. His body certainly didn't appreciate it, however. As the sun began to dip below the peaks of the roofs, signaling night's approach, Rick realized how sore he was. He was going to seriously regret working so hard when he woke up in the morning.

Figuring he deserved some down time, Rick trudged home, internally enjoying the words of thanks and pats on the back from his community members. He lumbered upstairs to the master bath, closing the door softly behind him and enveloping himself in comforting darkness. Breathing deep, Rick began to strip, throwing his sweat drenched clothes to the floor. He fumbled slightly as he felt his way along the bathroom wall, searching for the bath. When he found the faucet he turned both handles on full blast, adjusting the temperature after a few minutes. He kept the lights off, finding a sick pleasure in how accurate he was at finding the bubble bath and shampoo bottle without light. He set the shampoo on the edge of the bath, testing the water with his hand before nodding decisively.

Hissing as he entered the burning water, Rick forced himself to lower down, tensing as the water reached his chest. He had never been in a bath so large before. It didn't escape him how ironic it was that he was living in such luxury after the apocalypse had occurred. A snort of derision escaped him at the thought, but he refused to ruminate further and instead allowed his mind to mull over Jesus. As he thought, he let his body loosen, extending his fingers and toes. Wiggling his fingers under the water, he pictured his lover, a pained grimace curling his lips when he recalled the way he had manhandled Jesus up against the van.

Shame and grief were at the forefront of his mind, and a painful acidic burning in his throat made it hard to breathe. How could he have acted so irrationally? It wasn't like him. Rick groaned and submerged fully, enveloping himself in a watery cocoon. He lay on the tub's bottom until his lungs burned as fiercely as his guilt. Breaking the surface, Rick reached out for the shampoo bottle. He wasn't as graceful as before and knocked the container off the tub, and with a muttered curse felt along the tiled floor until he found it. Squeezing out the contents, Rick noted the masculine scent of the shampoo. He couldn't recall the brand, but it hadn't been one he used before. He liked it though, thought the bold scent matched his emerged leadership.

Rick went about his bathing routine with leisurely strokes. The water steadily cooled and still he remained, staring blankly into the dark at where he figured his submerged feet would be. It wasn't until Carl knocked on the door and announced that everyone had gathered in the living room that Rick finally got out of the tub quickly and dried off. Turning the lights on, Rick grabbed the clean clothes he'd actually remembered to bring in with him and got dressed.

He'd forgotten – twice a week his family met to discuss Alexandria and any news they had to make sure their new home remained as safe and secure as possible. Rick was absolutely not in the mood for it. Normally he enjoyed spending time with his family, loved the interactions between people that may have never come together if not for the tragedy of the apocalypse. But today… he just wanted to be alone. He needed to figure out a way to get Paul to forgive him. He needed to analyze himself, figure out why he had acted so insane. But he knew he couldn't cancel. He owed his family more than that. The meeting would be a good time to discuss taking on Negan, at least.

The lawman took a moment to stare at himself in the mirror. His scruff was at that perfect stage of not too long or too short. His hair matched – a perfect length, not too shaggy or cropped. His damp curls fell loosely across his forehead, sticking against his skin in what Rick was sure was not an attractive manner. He shook his head like a dog and pushed his bangs back, analytically sizing himself up. His eyes were still as blue as ever. He couldn't discern any extra lines. His frown wasn't any deeper. Rick couldn't see anything different about his appearance. It shocked him. Had he become that adept at hiding his emotions? A self-deprecating snort escaped before he flicked the light switch and headed downstairs.

"If a few of the Alexandrians join then we should have the numbers. Who would be willing? And helpful?"

"You mean useful," Abraham quipped, and a few smiled or chuckled. They all knew Abe was fond of the Alexandria citizens so his comment didn't come from a bad place. The humor couldn't break the tension in the room, however. They were all nervous by the prospect of taking on Negan's compound. So many had been lost in the past in far simpler battles. From the Hilltop's horror stories, they were about to fight with everything they had against the devil himself's army.

Tara piped up with, "I think Heath could do it. He seems capable."

A few nods, murmurs of agreement.

Rick took some notes over the suggested names, but he could tell his mind wasn't focused on the meeting. His eyes kept trailing over towards Daryl despite his intense desire not to. The archer never returned his gaze, and Rick wasn't sure if that was better or made it worse. His heart was shrieking, giving Rick the impression that perhaps it was not good.

Ever since he's entered the living room Daryl had seemed distant. He stood apart from the group, and while that in itself wasn't strange, the hunter's body language appeared stiff and rigid. He hadn't looked at Rick when he'd walked down the stairs, hadn't given him the mutual nod they always shared. Daryl hadn't looked this uncomfortable since before he'd come to accept the group as his family.

Rick could feel tears building up inside, pounding the backs of his eyes. Daryl's very stance hurt. He could tell it was because of him that Daryl was acting so strange. Somehow he held it together, however, and added his input whenever it was expected.

The meeting ended on a solemn note and an agreement to discuss the plan with the Hilltop. Rick had subtly made his intentions known – an outright attack was their best option. That would give Negan no warning, and would leave little time for a traitor to relay their plan to the Saviors. Whether his family had picked up on his intentions or not meant little to Rick. He knew they would stand behind his decision when the time came no matter what.

Glenn clapped him on the shoulder as he left, his lips turned down in a frown. Rick shared the look, nodding at the other man as he put his arm around Maggie. His other family members were quiet, murmuring soft goodbyes as they made their way upstairs or to the house next door. Rick felt badly that the plan was causing stress and he knew it was an unpleasant topic.

But it was necessary.

They sent a messenger out the next morning with the news they were ready to finalize the plan. Rick expected the Hilltop would either come that night or the following day. There was bustling around Alexandria, the citizens somehow picking up on the nervous energy his family exuded. Rick was too sore to help, having exerted himself too much the day before. He made his rounds though, knowing words of encouragement were sometimes just as good at boosting morale.

He had an ulterior motive as he made his way around the whole of Alexandria. He kept his eyes peeled for Daryl as he socialized. Rick hadn't intercepted the loner after the meeting, not wanting to make a scene. But he had tossed and turned the entire night, guilt and longing for Jesus mingling with his fear that Daryl was upset with him too. It would destroy him if both men had cast him out.

Daryl was a hard man to find when he didn't want to be found, but Rick knew him better than anyone else. After searching Aaron and Eric's garage (no sign of Daryl there working on his bike), he searched the lookout towers, and then Judith's room (Uncle Daryl had a soft spot for the child, whether he admitted it or not). He was nowhere to be found within the community walls.

And that's when it hit him.

He hadn't brought anything but a knife, deciding to leave his Colt at home. He wasn't quiet as he approached the clearing where the walker had almost killed Daryl, knew the hunter would hear him even if he was trying to be as silent as possible.

The archer was crouched, staring down at the bloody mess of walker that Rick had decimated. Shoulders hunched, body tense, hands clasped on his crossbow in a death grip. Rick almost thought about retreating at the sight, knew Daryl was closed off and in a mood that wouldn't appreciate Rick's disturbance. But he refused to back down. Taking a deep breath, he continued to approach, stopping when he was a good three yards away.

Silence reigned over the pair for a good minute, nothing but the insects and birds of summer filling the void. It was almost peaceful, and Rick was loathe to ruin it. But he had to do this, had to make Daryl forgive him. He couldn't lose him.

"It'll never happen again." It was a promise that he meant, but logically knew he couldn't keep. It made him feel better to say it though, and he was pleased with the amount of conviction in his voice.

Daryl didn't turn, just continued to stare down at the gore.

"I was stupid. I froze. I don't know why." Well, he did, but Daryl didn't need to know that. "I'm really sorry, Daryl. You could'a died an-"

His friend huffed, turning to stare at him over his shoulder. "I ain't mad atch' ya Rick. Quit blubberin'."

That derailed him. So why was Daryl acting so standoffish? Why was he out here staring at an annihilated corpse? If he wasn't upset, wasn't contemplating his own mortality, what was going on? Rick felt lost. All the things he had planned to say were gone, didn't matter in the face of this revelation.

He wasn't stupid enough to think Daryl was just placating him. Daryl didn't say things unless he meant them. Every word out of the archer's mouth was precious and true. So what exactly was going on here? Rick scratched at the back of his head, digging his fingers in to ground himself.

"Well uh…What're you doin' out here then?" he asked, and Rick thought it was quite possibly the stupidest thing he had ever said.

Daryl finally stood, shaking his head before turning around. He glanced at Rick behind the curtain of his sweaty bangs before turning away, looking back towards Alexandria. Hoisting his crossbow, Daryl motioned with his head for Rick to follow him.

They walked in a perpendicular line towards Alexandria, but their pace was slow, a leisurely stroll that Rick didn't understand. Daryl was quiet for the longest time, leading the way. That in itself was peculiar. But Rick followed, happy that his friend was even allowing his company.

"I'm mad at myself."

He paused midstep, almost not sure that Daryl had even spoken. "Why?" he finally asked, staring intently at the back of the hunter's head.

Either Daryl didn't know the answer or didn't feel like responding. He suddenly took a sharp right away from Alexandria and Rick followed, feeling as if he were stepping further out onto a frozen lake and the ice was cracking all around him. This was uncharted territory. Feelings. Emotions. He'd never been good with them. And Daryl was even worse. How was he supposed to proceed here?

They walked for a good while, the silence anything but comfortable this time. Rick felt his hands fidgeting, didn't know if he should press Daryl for more or let him talk when he felt ready. When the archer finally stopped, he knelt down to inspect the dirt.

"Empty," Daryl grunted, and Rick realized he was inspecting a snare.

They followed the same pattern for another hour in what Rick began to realize was a large circle around the perimeter of their home. All of Daryl's traps were empty, some sprung but no catch. They didn't speak to one another, rather walked in a quiet that had once been companionable but was now strange. Yet there was comfort in it, and Rick hoped what he had with Daryl hadn't been broken. The awkwardness would pass with time. Or at least he hoped.

Finally they could see Alexandria's walls again and Daryl made a final tsk of disappointment checking his last trap. He shook his head, unkempt hair falling loosely around his face with the motion. Rick watched him, admiring the beauty that his friend so obviously didn't realize he possessed. He wanted so badly to reach out and touch him, to ask for forgiveness despite Daryl's assurance he wasn't upset. But he didn't, instead leaning against the trunk of a tree and continuing to quietly observe.

"It shouldn't a' got the jump on us." A short, deep breath. "On me."

Rick forced his outward expression to remain neutral, but inside he was jubilant that Daryl had shared more. And he could work with this. So the other man was feeling inadequate? Embarrassed?

"It wasn't your fault, Daryl. It happens to everyone." He was going for nonchalant, adding a shrug at the end of his words.

Apparently it wasn't the reaction his friend wanted. Daryl practically growled. "Don't happen to me."

"Everyone makes mistakes," Rick argued, shaking his head. "And when I froze, it jus-"

Daryl cut him off. "Rick, shut up."

And he did just that, closing his mouth slowly and staring at the archer, taking in the strained way his shoulders hunched. This conversation really had the other man riled up.

"I should'a heard it." His tone left no room for argument, and Rick decided it wasn't worth it to try and talk some sense into his friend. "And 'cause of my mistake I – we – could'a lost ya."

Rick's breath froze in his chest. Oh, he yearned for Daryl's words to mean more than they did. Rick pictured a scenario in which the hunter was awkwardly professing his love, little hints like the slip up of using "I" instead of "we" at first. It hurt his heart to think of it and he forced himself to focus, to stare into Daryl's eyes and remind himself that this man was his best friend and nothing more. And he had Paul. Why should he desire more?

He nodded, clearing his throat. "I feel the same way Daryl. If I hadn't killed the damn thing in time, ya might be gone. I couldn't live with that." It was a statement so full of truth he felt his heart swell with the grief of even imagining losing his friend.

"Wouldn't be the same," Daryl grumbled, so garbled and low Rick barely caught it.

Before he could argue, or make a counterpoint, Daryl moved forward. His movements were uncoordinated, jerky, like he was unsure how to proceed. But his friend continued to move closer, determined despite his discomfort. Rick tensed, unsure what was happening, but he did not back away when Daryl finally reached him. Muscular arms pulled Rick into an embrace, calloused hands clapping him on the back a few times. Rick felt shock zigzagging through his body. While Daryl always accepted Rick's touch, he never initiated their hugs. This was the first time the archer had ever done this.

He lightly returned the hug, wrapping his arms around the hunter and squeezing softly. It felt so good to hold Daryl, to feel his warmth and firm presence. Contentment was a warm blanket that settled over his mind, and Rick was struck with the feeling that all would be well.

The hug lasted seconds, but Rick felt that it went on an eternity. Like their words, or nods, or shared looks, this touch meant more than it would have revealed to onlookers. The strained silence had snapped and there was the easy companionable quiet between them. All the hurt and discomfort from before had disappeared.

When they separated, Daryl graced him with a small nod and Rick returned it, a smile slipping onto his lips. They understood how much they meant to one another. Daryl had never had a friend like him, someone who knew him on another level. And Rick had never had a man so loyal, someone who he trusted implicitly. They relied heavily on one another, and while Rick still felt that deep down yearning for their relationship to become something more, he cherished the connection they did have. He wasn't sure what he would do without it.

"Enough sappy shit," Daryl spit out, turning away. Rick felt his smile deepening. The moment couldn't last forever. Daryl could only deal with emotions for so long before he retreated. But Rick felt satisfied with their interaction, knew they had dealt with whatever had been driving a wedge between them. Their shared guilt, fear that death had been so close, realization how deep their connection was. It had been good for them to clear the air.

"Glad you're alive, sheriff," the archer added before he set out towards Alexandria.

Rick was certain that his smile couldn't get any wider.