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Rick had been engrossed, or rather engrossing himself in the grading of his sophomores’ latest essays for hours. At least that's what it felt like, what with him looking at the clock every two seconds as it hung, ignorant of his turmoil, on the wall opposite the dining table he'd settled at. Where was Daryl?
It was well past one in the morning and even though Rick knew how ‘havin’ a drink with Merle’ could go, and just how long it could take, the man couldn't help but worry. He'd expected a call, maybe a text, whatever proof Daryl could send him that would reassure Rick his husband was still very much alive and just spending some quality time with his brother. He'd received neither. And maybe, just maybe, he had a flair for the dramatic. But hell, Daryl knew that, he knew it better than anyone.
And so, instead of going to bed like he might have if he'd been sure Daryl was okay, the teacher was waiting.
He fiddled with his glasses, rearranged the pens and pencils he'd got out, played with the various stacks of papers he'd piled up and glared at the clock, stared at it while his phone remained dead silent.
He'd called Daryl when he thought he might be out of work earlier in the afternoon and had had no answer. He'd texted him twice just to ask how his day had been and to wish him a nice night out. Both had gone unanswered.
The only thing keeping him from doing the stupidest thing, namely, call Merle, was the thought that it was Michonne’s bar the brothers were hanging out at and that if any trouble arose, he could trust her to handle it and reach out to him.
But still, one in the damn morning was late enough a time to warrant some nail-biting and hole-in-the-flooring-pacing, he thought.
When two o’clock struck, Rick decided he'd had enough of the hard wooden kitchen chair and moved to the couch, his last stack of assignments in hand. He put his feet up on the coffee table and made himself a makeshift desk out of a throw pillow.
He was reading the same paragraph of a not-so-brilliant essay for the third time when finally, finally , he heard the door open and Daryl stumbling in the hallway.
Letting a sigh of relief escape him, Rick pushed his glasses off his nose and up to his hair, placed his students’ papers on the table carefully and got up.
He found Daryl in the kitchen and even though he was a little mad at him for not keeping him posted, seeing him, inebriated and hopelessly trying to noiselessly toe off his boots was too precious not to smile.
“How was the drink?” Rick asked and chuckled at the little startle his unannounced question gave his husband.
“Know what ya thinkin’, ain't drunk.” Daryl slurred as he turned, his feet tripping over each other in the process.
“Oh,” Rick smirked, “So, you're sober ?”
“I am mod--moderately functional,” the man frowned, “Can ya lose the grin?”
“Dunno, does it piss you off?” Rick grinned.
“Yes.” Daryl grunted.
“Gonna keep it on a little longer then. Serves you right for not letting me know how you were, or when you were coming home, or anything at all , for the whole evening,” and there it was, the edge of irritation and worry he could not keep inside, it slipped and colored his tone in a way that was impossible not to recognize.
“Should I call ya ‘Daddy’? Or you done with the fussin’?” Daryl gruffed out, but he was taking the few steps that separated them and taking Rick in his arms for the bear-est of bear hugs before the other man could think of an answer. “Sorry,” he whispered into the man's curls and yes, it was only then that Rick felt his shoulders relaxing a bit.
“You worried me to pieces, you, drunk,” Rick nuzzled his husband’s hair and neck, breathing him in and scrunching up his nose as he stepped away, “I'm not kidding: you need to brush your teeth or something, that beer smell is horrendous.”
“ ‘Horrendous’ , huh?” Daryl imitated with shaky air quotes and a silly voice.
“Uh, huh.” Rick stubbornly nodded, tapping his foot on the floor and grinning again. Daryl was back and even though he'd most probably have a hell of a headache in the morning he was fine, so Rick was, too.
“Fine,” he stomped out but just as he began to go up the stairs, taking the steps one by one, he slipped. “Fucking hell!”
Rick was looking down at his sprawled out husband, red with laughter and wiping the corners of his watering eyes. “You gotta stop going out with Merle, I’m telling you, you turn into him every time you come home.” and even with the glowering look and loud snarl he was given, Rick’s laughter only redoubled and Daryl eventually joined him.
“Ass hurts.”
“C’mon,” Rick extended him his arm to get up and together they went up the stairs. “You should probably sleep now.” Rick kissed the crown of Daryl’s disgruntled head. “Just...brush your teeth first?”
“Fine.”
Once Rick was sure his husband was indeed in the process of getting rid of the foul beer breath he was sporting, he went down to the living-room again. He gathered his scattered essays and put them back in his suitcase, where they belonged at least till morning.
When he came back, the sight of Daryl asleep and drooling on his pillows was all at once expected, amusing and endearing. Stupid man got himself drunker than he usually did and he most certainly wouldn't like the sunlight too much in the morning. Rick made sure to pull the blinds all the way down before he slithered down under the covers. The fresh smell of toothpaste and the sweet sound of his husband's faint snoring lulled him to sleep.