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He’s known people to get hurt, seen folks at their worst and families divided.
It’s all a gamble, but tricks are to keep optimistic but be vigilant, make bold but calculated moves, and trust no one. All folk for themselves, because it’s either sink or get sunk. There is no room for mistakes or civility if the aim is to conquer all.
“I’m buyin’ it.” Rick says after his miniature metallic shoe has dropped into the little blue box entitled Boardwalk.
“Fuck, ya know I was gunnin’ for that.” Daryl says, running a hand over his hair. He exchanges the small card with Rick’s beige 100s.
“And I’ll be happy enough to rent it out to you in the near future.” Rick says, lying his new property down. He needs “Park Place” to complete the set now.
“That right?” Daryl says.
He doesn’t sound too sure or trusting. Rick doesn’t blame him.
“Mhm, for a considerable sum.” Rick offers.
Daryl snorts.
Glenn’s eyebrows raise, flickering a glance between them. He shuffles the dice in his hand and holds the pair up to Maggie’s lips—who gives a reluctantly fond good-luck blow and promptly rolls her eyes right after—before he actually gets to throwing them. He gets a seven, shuffles his tiny thimble forward, lands on a community chest, and is forced to pay taxes to the bank. He slumps into Maggie’s embrace. Luckily enough for him, he’s got a few hotels in some underdeveloped neighborhoods that might earn him back the money.
“Babe, you’re really no good at this.” Maggie says.
“Feel free to help at any time, Mags.” Glenn says, as he’s handing Daryl his neon pink 50s to be sorted back into the bank lot.
“Was thinkin’, we merge companies, right?” Daryl proposes. “And we can take down the Grimes empire—”
“Whoa now, there’s nothin’ in the game about acquisition!” Rick protest, gesturing towards the rule book.
“Nothin’ in the game says you can’t. Capitalism’s a dog eat dog.” Daryl says, taking a sip of the wine they all found earlier that day.
His lips stain purple, before Daryl licks it pink again. Rick’s so busy watching the change in color that he hadn’t notice Daryl’d collected the dice until he’s throwing them unto the board.
Glenn laughs, finishes off his own wine and then yawns behind his palm.
“Know what? You’re on. What do you suggest, Mr Dixon?”
“Glad you asked, Mr. Rhee, ‘cause I propose we consolidate our properties and slaughter the competition.”
“Me.” Rick says, rubbing at his chin with a thumb and forefinger, wiping away a smile.
“Want my Baltic Avenue? You got Mediterranean right?” Daryl continues instead of confirming.
“Sure, yeah, and you can take Marvin Gardens.”
“This is ridiculous.” Rick says, laughing into his wine.
“Any profit here after will be split equally between the two CEO?”Glenn asks.
“CEO?” Daryl laughs, “Like the ring of that. As well as any net loss, ‘course.”
“I can’t believe you two.” Rick says.
“I’ll take you up on that offer. Thanks.” Glenn says, throwing out a congenial hand.
“Pleasure.” Daryl says, shaking it in earnest before setting his eyes back to the board.
Rick shrugs.
The game drags on, as it tends to do, but eventually Rick’s predictably gotten Park Place, half the board, both utility companies, and nearly all his properties are thriving. Daryl and Glenn’s company falls victim to the rent hikes that Rick’s implemented with his most recent housing developments and soon, they are both nearly bankrupt. They need something close to a miracle to recover from such an economic downturn.
Rick leans forward a little, yawning into his shoulder. He closes his eyes sleepily and then opens them.
“This is looking bad.” He says.
“We can still make a come back.” Glenn says, yawning too.
“Should fire your CFO.” Rick smirks.
“That was on Maggie, but —“ Glenn waves vaguely behind him, where Maggie’s fallen asleep against the pillar she’d be propped up against. Her arms clutch tighter around Glenn’s at the call of her name.
“Look, there’s a thousand dollars between the pair of you. Might as well start selling off houses to the bank right now.”
“Didn’t peg ya for a sore winner.” Daryl says, rolling his dice. He ends up on the electric company, and Rick’s laughing when Daryl shoves over dues and shuffles them into his hand of cash.
“You’re the one sulking. What does that make you?” Rick asks.
“Cheated.” Daryl says.
“Says the man who made up a rule mid-game. How’d that work out by the way?” Rick asks.
Daryl yawns loudly, grabbing the wine bottle they all shared and finishes it off.
“What you think, little man, ready to call it?” Daryl asks Glenn instead of acknowledging Rick.
“Yeah, okay. Yeah. I’m beat.” Glenn says, stretching and handing over his money. He gives Maggie a shake and kiss on her cheek, and she stands to yawn too.
“You both were.” Rick says, packing away the game. Maggie waves goodnight, and Glenn throws him a finger.
“Quit it.” Daryl says, and pinches Rick’s waist. Rick chuckles.
“Let’s go back to my cell.”
—
Daryl raises a brow, but follows.
Something new itches at him. He can’t place it. Not until they’ve gotten up the stairs and into Rick’s cell. Rick’s. Cell.
The space has become a mess of the two men, and it’s nomenclature, the fact that it’d always been referred to as Rick’s cell ain’t ever been discussed much less debated. Those two words shouldn’t mean anything, don’t usually, but today it’s got a funny lilt. Sounded wrong when Rick said them passively before they marched up here, my cell, sounds wrong over and again in the different ways Daryl’s repeating it in his head, Rick’s cell. Not all the way wrong, he tries to reason, just not right.
They been going together for what might account for years, if calendars were reliable. Prison has been strong. Where threat once snarled brazenly at their door step, is now more muted, a fuzzy echo rolling round far away hills and their trees. They’ve taken stock in the land within the prison gates. Cultivated food, stock-piled weapons, fortified their walls and strengthened relationships—made a damn life worth living in this prison. They made home in its concrete walls. And it’s all so good. Rick and Daryl fall into the same bed every night, in this cell, Rick’s cell or whatever. And it’s good. It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t. No, it shouldn’t. But damn, it does, doesn’t it? It’s not that he doesn’t feel out of place, that ain’t it.
He thinks, watching Rick move around the cell, sitting on their bed and untying a boot, maybe there was some lingering insecurity. Just like that biting kind that used to hurt him in the beginning of them, but then Rick’s smiling at him from where he’s sat, now unbottoning his flannel. No, nah, it’s not that. It’s no question of what he means to Rick, it’s more that he’s just curious about what that might constitute. What it might come to or how it’ll end up? Feels like he’s handed a playing piece and die, but he don’t know the rules of the game. Glenn calls Maggie wife. He calls Rick partner. It’s the same meaning, that much is sure, but when Glenn and Maggie say they’re going to bed it’s their cell they head towards. Daryl chews on thumb nail.
“Should go back to my cell, seeing as ya own everythin’.”
“Oh, we goin’ back there tonight?” Rick say dismissively, pausing his work on his shirt.
“Why, so ya can survey the location for your next hotel? Ya keep your money grubbing beak off my land, ya vulture.” Daryl says, narrowing his eyes.
“Warned you I was good, didn’ I?” Rick smiles.
“Guess. But that’s not what I’m getting at.” Daryl says and goes to sit next to him. He looks down at his shoes and Rick leans into the movement, tilting head until Daryl’s force to keep eye contact with him.
“And what you getting at?” Rick asks.
“We’re partner’s right?” Daryl says.
“‘Course.” Rick scoffs.
“Then why’s it your cell?”
“What?”
“Mean, why’s it we call this your cell. When we left mess, ya said, ‘let’s go back to my cell.’ When Carl asks where to find some socks because he’s out Carol says, ‘up in Rick’s cell.’ Been here for what gotta be years and some change? My socks are in that drawer too. You getting me?”
“You’re saying you wanna move in? Make it our cell.”
“That’s the thing. I already have, right? So It’ suppose to be—“
“And it is. Or, I’ve always thought it as much. Daryl, it’s just words.”
“Just words.” Daryl raises his eye brows and heaves in a large breath before letting it out.
He stands, kicks off his boots, shucks off his shirt and hangs it over the railing. He lies down without taking another look at Rick. He faces the wall, pokes at chipped paint in the cell wall and closes his eyes.
“Alright, man, I don’t even know why I brought this up. Damn game. Got me all messed up. Let’s just get some sleep.”
“You’re mad.” Rick says softly. It’s not really a question.
“No.” Daryl says shortly.
“That no sounds awfully like fuck off.”
“Know what, whatever. If ya ain’t coming to bed right now, ‘least shut down the light so I could. Go check on Judy.”
“Hmm.”
“That was fuck off.” Daryl says over his shoulder.
Rick does.
Daryl falls unto his back. He wasn’t really expecting nor wanted Rick to leave. Daryl doesn’t get any closer to sleep, of course. He never feels right going to sleep pissed. Rick doesn’t either. He considers getting up, setting out for Rick so they could talk, but before he knows it the man in question is back and turning up their lantern. Daryl feels the dip of the bed as Rick sits down. He’s about to admonish Rick for turning the light back on, pivoting in place, when he gets sight of a paper littered with hastily scrawled ink.
“What’s this?” Daryl says.
“A letter of intent.” Rick says. “Go on.”
“A what?” Daryl says, unfolding it and angling under the light of the lantern.
“It is here by recognized by the Council of Prison Affairs that:
Prison cell 145, Cell Block C is to be allocated for the use of storage;
Prison cell 100, Cell Block C is to be renamed and re-furbished for housing;
Prison cell 100, Cell Block C shall be residence of the following parties:
Rick Grimes __________
Daryl Dixon __________
Any assets that either of the two parties acquire, while residing in Prison Cell 100, Cell Block C—including Monopoly equities and investments, mergers and acquisitions—shall be shared by the two parties effective immediately.”
“What’s all that mess at the bottom?” Daryl says, as he props himself up with an elbow.
“Glenn, Maggie, Hershel, Sasha and Carol—their signatures. Full disclosure and in all fairness, they were all half-asleep.”
“You woke ‘em up for this shit?”
“And Glenn was the only one that wasn’t pissed.” Rick ducks his head towards Daryl as if whispering a secret.
“Idiot.” Daryl moves to kiss Rick but Rick dodges him and stands, almost bumping his head on the bunk frame with how fast he’d shuffled out.
“Hold on, you gotta get to signing before any…consummation.” Rick whistles and Glenn shuffles inside the cell looking sleep-mused but determined.
“What’re you doing here?” Daryl asks.
“Witness.” Glenn shrugs, “I’ve been in the dog house before.”
“Right.” Daryl says, shaking his head. “If I sign this, it means what exactly?”
“What’s mine is yours and vice versa. So…” Rick hands him the pen.
Daryl sits up and examines the paper again, lips curling on one side.
“Maybe I should get my lawyer to look this over ‘fore I…”
“Dude, just sign the stupid thing, some people got watch in the A.M.!” Glenn says, wiping into his eyes with his palm.
“You’re the nut job who agree to this.” Daryl points out.
“What can I say, I felt for the guy.” Glenn says.
Daryl signs it first, then after Rick does, Glenn mumbles “Mazel tov” through a yawn.
“Thanks. I owe you one, Glenn.” Rick says.
“Yeah, yeah. Remember that the next time I get in trouble with Maggie.” Glenn says as Rick sees him out the door.
“Deal. ‘night.” Rick says.
“Goodnight.” He yells back.
Daryl’s a little embarrassed, because Rick’s such a damn sap, and he didn’t think it was necessary to involve the whole damn prison, christ. Nonetheless, he can’t seem to control the laughter any longer. It’s so ridiculous. Rick. This whole night. Loving like this, being loved like this. And here now, Rick’s got on the same look he had on when he’d won earlier. That’s just the bullshit, sappy feeling inducing something Daryl ain’t gunna stand for.
“You’re an idiot.” Daryl says, steeling his face.
“You hold rights to half my fictional assets and still with the abuse, huh?” Rick says, falling into the bed and not bothering to undress again.
Daryl leans over Rick and studies him. He's got his eyes half-closed. A smile that's up to no good. His hair’s gotten longer. Beard unbearable. Daryl shakes his head, can't believing the man in front of him. He unbuttons Rick’s shirt, lies a palm flat against the newly exposed skin, fingers curved in the dip of his collar. Then Daryl leans in and kisses the corner of Rick’s mouth, in no rush or aim, but no less working Rick’s lips open and Rick’s straining his neck up, inviting Daryl in, slowly asking to get closer, to be at home, so Daryl pushes him away. He retreats with his best shit-eating grin. Rick pants, waiting silently. Daryl smiles.
“Got Boardwalk in the end, so I guess I’ll call it even.”