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Rick looks up from his onions with a start when a door slams behind him and Daryl comes barreling out of the church. He sees the moment Daryl realizes he’s there and he waves, more in reassurance than greeting.
His reaction to loud, sudden noises is an issue sometimes—one of many issues he’s had since Carl got bit and Negan’s sniper took out Michonne a year ago.
“Sorry,” Daryl grunts. “Just…” and he jerks his thumb back to the church, where he, Rosita, and Gabriel had been meeting with Maggie, Jesus, Dwight, Laura, Ezekiel, Carol, Tara, and Cyndie. The assembled leaders.
Rick loves when the family is all in one place, but he’s glad not to be in that room.
“Anything wrong?” he asks, wiping the dirt from his hands onto his jeans.
Daryl shrugs with one shoulder. That means yes.
“C’mon, was just gonna go get some lunch,” Rick says, and they start back to the house together.
—
“How’re the crops?” Daryl asks. He starts reheating yesterday’s soup, then takes out his pocket knife and hacks a couple of pieces of bread from the loaf.
There aren’t any knives in the kitchen, and haven’t been since the second time Rick tried to kill himself, sometime around Carl’s birthday the previous autumn.
“Same as yesterday. Hope you like beets.” It’s a stupid question, but Rick doesn’t mind. He’s proud of those damn crops. It had taken months for him to get to the point where he was contributing again at all—including weeks when Daryl would have been spoon-feeding him this soup instead of sitting with him to eat it.
They begin eating in silence. Rick is patient; he knows Daryl will talk to him eventually.
Finally, halfway through his bowl, Daryl cracks. “Maggie and Paul want to start a fucking school at Hilltop.”
“A school?” That is a surprise. “Are things really that- that settled?”
“Not by a long shot,” Daryl says. “Try telling them that, though.”
Rick mulls over the thought a little. “Teaching what? Like… history? Chemistry?”
Daryl snorts. “Knowing Paul, it’ll be fucking… philosophy. Shit, literature and art fucking history.” He shakes his head. “Maggie pitched it as seventy percent survival and skills training, thirty percent basic academics. Elementary school stuff. Some of these kids are almost ten and can’t hardly read.”
Rick just hums in response. They’ve been teaching Judy some things off and on, math and writing, but he supposes some of the other parents and guardians don’t see much point in things like that.
“They’re thinking they could have Carson teach first aid, maybe even train up a couple of teens as replacement doctors. He’s started with Enid already. And Dante would do car mechanics. Eugene’ll cover some other science stuff, hopefully only the useful shit, but knowing that guy…” Daryl frowns. “Maggie wants ‘em to try to teach everything the kids need to know to be out there, all in one place. Ezekiel’s already said he’ll send the Kingdom’s kids, if their parents will let ‘em go.”
“Sounds like you don’t think it’d be all bad.”
Daryl glances at him from behind his overlong bangs, so much more gray now than when they first met. “Maggie wants me to teach tracking, hunting, that kind of thing.”
Oh.
Rick’s heart starts pounding faster.
“Told ‘em they were being ridiculous. What the hell kind of teacher would I be?” Daryl says quickly.
“A damn good one. You’ve taught most of the family already.” Rick is getting dizzy even though he’s still sitting down.
“Ain’t happening.”
Rick hears it for the reassurance it is. Daryl isn’t going to leave him.
“It’s a good idea,” he says, past the lump in his throat.
“Said it ain’t happening,” Daryl growls, then lightly touches his shoulder, and Rick knows he must look almost as spooked as he feels. “Don’t worry about it, man. I’m just pissed cause Paul’s being a prick about it.”
They don’t really talk about Daryl’s thing with Paul, so Rick is cautious when he says, “Guessing he wants you to move in, huh?”
Daryl looks away, then back down at his soup, and Rick knows they’ve hit the crux of it.
“You should do it,” he forces himself to say. He even tries to sound cheerful when he says it. “Teaching the kids to survive, it’s smart. They need to know. And.. and you two, you and Jes- you and Paul, I mean, you seem to have a good thing-”
“Shut up,” Daryl snaps.
“Christ, we can talk about him, Daryl. It’s not like I have a problem with-”
“I meant, shut up about me leaving, like I’d ever-”
“Like you'd ever what? Have your own life?” Rick is panicking and it’s making him reckless, his voice rising. “You can’t babysit me forever-”
“Watch me,” Daryl nearly shouts, slamming his fist on the table, and Rick jerks so badly he nearly falls off his chair.
Then, as calmly as he can, Rick stands up. He knows if he acts erratically at all right now, if he rushes off or even simply looks upset, Daryl will spend the rest of the day trailing him. “I’m going back to the garden.”
“Rick…”
“I’m ok,” Rick says, meeting the other man’s worried eyes. “I am. Just need to be outside.”
“Yeah,” Daryl says heavily, and lets him leave.
—
In the onion patch, he thinks about Daryl.
They give each other almost everything, and have for years now. Daryl’s basically a second father to Judy. He’s Rick’s partner in every way but one.
For that, he has Jesus.
It’s not fair to Daryl, it sure as hell isn’t fair to Jesus, and it’s gone on far longer than Rick should have allowed.
So Rick is going to fix it.
—
At midnight Daryl comes down from his room smelling like sex and cigarettes, and Rick is glad he and Jesus have patched things up that far, at least.
“Does Hilltop have hot showers?”
“Huh?” Daryl asks, cracking open one of the disgusting beers the Kingdom has started bottling. Rick had thought maybe Daryl hadn’t seen him perched in the dark on a couch, but he doesn’t sound startled at all. Daryl’s night vision is excellent.
“Hot showers. Isn’t that what Earl and Dante were working on last?”
Daryl narrows his eyes—Rick sees it in the light of the refrigerator before it closes. “Already said I ain’t leaving.”
Rick ignores him. “Judy should go to school.”
“What, now you’re trying to send us both away?” Daryl collapses next to him on the couch. “Cut it out. I shouldn’t have said anything-”
“I can farm anywhere.”
Daryl pauses, beer halfway to his mouth.
“Don’t know how I’d do without hot showers, though. I've gotten spoiled, living here.”
“They’re… warm-ish,” Daryl replies, offering Rick the beer instead of drinking more. Rick takes a swig. “Getting better. I bet they just need to tune up the propane tank.”
“Think you could help them with that?“
"Probably.” Daryl slouches so their shoulders are touching. They sit in silence for a moment. "You sure about this? Sure you could handle the change, I mean?"
"Think so. Got more family there than here, now, just about."
"Yeah." Daryl raises his thumb to his mouth, hiding a half smile. “Paul’s going to be really fucking happy.”
“I’m glad.”
“Nah. It’ll be goddamn annoying, you’ll see. Never shuts up when he’s in a good mood.”
“No offense, but does he… does he ever shut up, regardless?”
“Not really,” Daryl replies, and lets Rick lean his head against his shoulder.