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He’s not really sure how the conversation began. He remembers sitting alone, separated from the group, peeling his third apple — at least he thinks it’s an apple — of the day and just minding his own business. He’s never been good at socializing, or very big on it, especially nowadays, with Saviors sharing the same space as him. He prefers his quiet time.
It got interrupted though, because Rick started walking towards him about halfway through the apple peeling session, and he knew right then that it was gonna be another little lecture about him being closed off. Even still, he wanted to smile when he saw him. Show him that even if he hates everyone else, he still enjoys Officer Friendly’s presence.
He doesn’t, though. He never has. Maybe it’s because he knows Rick doesn’t need a happy face to know he’s wanted, or because he just doesn’t really know how to smile right. Might be both.
“Only one I got ‘s you.” Is the last thing he can vividly remember saying, because up until this point, he’d barely been there. It’s like his mind has been somewhere else, somewhere separate. The apple is long gone at this point. He probably threw it away whenever Rick crouched down next to him. Because yeah, that’s what Rick is doing. Not sitting. Not standing. Leveling with him. Like he’s fragile or something. Bastard.
“That ain’t true. You have the whole group here, Daryl. Lotsa people care about you.” Rick is so genuine, so hopeful as he says it, and all Daryl can do is grimace. Rick is an idiot. Through and through, he’s as blind as a bat. There isn’t a thing this man does that would be considered apocalypse-appropriate.
And yet he’s still alive. And Daryl’s only alive because Rick is alive. So maybe there’s something to it all.
“But it,” He stops, taking a second to control his tone, to keep from yelling and getting irrationally worked up. Rick’s been trying to get him out of that habit. It’s been working. He just has more trouble when Rick isn’t listening to him. “It ain’t the same, Rick.”
“Yeah it is.” Rick huffs, and it sounds like a laugh, and Daryl feels that simmering in his blood again. The urge to fight. Because he’s never been the flight type. “We’re all family here. You’re my brother.”
The simmer ceases to a light burn, and then it feels like his blood runs cold as soon as he hears that word.
‘Brother’.
He hates that word. He used to love it, revel in it, treasure it, because that meant that he was Rick’s in some way. He started liking it less, when Michonne got the words he actually wanted.
Partner.
Lover.
Soulmate.
All the whispered ‘I love you’s and gentle words of affirmation that Daryl can’t help but hear, because he can’t escape those two, no matter how hard he tries.
“But what we got, it ain’t..” Daryl trailed off, unwilling to finish his sentence.
Rick will always love Michonne. He knows that. He’s known since the first time those two met up. And he was too scared to even confess to himself back then that he was gay, let alone to tell Rick that he had deeper feelings. Besides, Rick is straight anyways, so it doesn’t make a damn difference. He never had a chance.
He wants to tell Rick he loves him. Wants to tell him that his undying devotion is from an undying affection for Rick, and not just a found-family bond. He wants to tell Rick the real reason that he stopped sleeping on his porch in Alexandria, because he couldn’t keep watching Michonne and Rick flirting all the time. He wants to tell him that the reason he doesn’t sleep in Rick’s tent with him anymore on supply runs, is because he’s scared that he’ll push things too far.
But he doesn’t. Because that’s not fair to Rick. Or Michonne. Or anyone.
Rick is doing that thing with his head, giving him that look, and it feels scrutinizing. He feels like he’s being looked down on, like a child or wounded animal. And he ain’t an animal.
The child part on the other hand is…debatable, because all those child psychology booklets he read once kept talking about trauma and an inner child and whatever, but that’s probably all just mumbo jumbo.
When Rick speaks again, it’s just as soft as before, just as quiet, and Daryl wants to melt into it and crawl away at the same time. “Hey.” Is all the other starts with as he places a gentle, firm hand on Daryl’s shoulder, a silent request for Daryl to look at him. Daryl does so reluctantly. “You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”
He has a few responses in mind for that.
‘No I can’t.’ and ‘But I’m scared to.’ being a few of them. Another one he almost blurts out, a firm ‘Bullshit.’, but of course, he can’t say that. Not to Rick. Never to Rick.
“Yeah. Yeah I know.” He grumbles, and looks away again, staring at his hands as they absently fiddle with one of his knives. Rick’s hand squeezes his shoulder, lightly but with enough pressure to almost feel comforting, before it’s gone entirely.
He’s expecting Rick to get up now; walk away and leave Daryl to wallow in the pit that’s been forming in his stomach. But Rick just shifts into more of an actual sitting position, arms rested on his knees, and leans back with a sigh.
This isn’t how their talks go. This isn’t what they do, unless one of them had just been knocking on death’s door beforehand. Usually, there’s force. There’s a punch or Rick hauling him around and grabbing him to cool him down and tame him. Or maybe a harsh tone and some reprimanding or demands. Then after the force, there’s some gentler words, some kinder touches, and some remorse, and then it’s all fine again.
There’s no power involved here. There’s no shoving or firm voices or the forceful pushing down of Daryl’s emotions. It’s just them. Sitting. Together. Like the world didn’t end a few years back, and like they’ve known each other forever.
He hates it.
He loves it.
He wants Rick to leave.
He never wants to let Rick go.
Fuck.
Daryl grumbles, more pointless sounds than words, and drops his knife so he doesn’t accidentally cut himself during his fidgeting. His friend says nothing, just continues to sit in silence as Daryl settles into his own more comfortable position.
Knees up to his chest, arms folded on top of them with his head resting in the space where they meet. Comfortable. Protective. Safe.
He doesn’t look at Rick, because accidental eye contact would be too much right now. Instead, he glares at the ground, that boil back in his veins as he asks a question that he tried so hard to push down.
“How’s Michonne ‘n the kid?” He doesn’t wanna know the answer. He doesn’t want to hear Rick drone on and on about his perfect little life. But damn him, he’s always been a fool.
Rick chuckles, and Daryl makes an effort to keep his hair well placed over his eyes so the fearless leader can’t see the tears in them when their eyes meet. “You mean Michonne an ‘Lil’ Ass Kicker?’” He grins, and Daryl,
Daryl smiles. Because Rick remembered. And the tears dried as soon as they formed.
“Yeah.” That’s the only response he can get out, feeling a little like his own body is trying to strangle him at the moment, with his throat feeling tight and his chest aching like the aftermath from a bar fight.
“They’re good, they’re good.” Rick nods, looking away to look at the camp in front of them. His smile grows wider as he says, “Judith still asks to see Uncle Daryl almost every day.”
Daryl snorts, and shakes his head, looking down again, but he feels lighter this time than before. God, he loves that kid. “Man, your kid is just ‘bout as clingy with me as you are.” He teases, an undertone of a flirt in there somewhere, and he’s expecting a shove to his shoulder or something.
He doesn’t get that.
Instead, Rick laughs, and sighs. “Well, all things considered, she’s just as much your kid as she is mine, ain’t she?” Daryl shouldn’t have looked up as quickly as he did, but when he does, he’s looking at a very sincere — almost vulnerable, kind of — Rick. “You were holdin’ her before I ever could. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if she thought you were her dad first.”
Daryl frowns, and shakes his head, a puddle of guilt mingling in his stomach’s aforementioned pit. “Nah, man. ‘S always been you. Babies just know that stuff.” He sounded like he actually knew what he was talking about, and Rick raised a brow at him. “I read it in a magazine..” He mumbled with a shrug, feeling a little embarrassed with himself.
Rick holds back a laugh and just nods, patting Daryl’s shoulder playfully. “Didn’t know you knew how to read.” He jabs, a very clear joke, and it pulls a snicker out of Daryl. The other slaps Rick’s hand away, an unforced grin taking over.
“Watch your mouth, sheriff.” He laughs, and shoves lightly at Rick. He gets a shove back, which of course, means he retaliates by full-on tackling his friend.
The wrestling back was probably witnessed by the whole camp, and had to be the least mature, leader-y thing Rick has ever done in the public eye. But it made Daryl feel just a little special, because Rick was doing that very childish thing with him. Not anyone else.
Him.
Only him.
Maybe he can survive being purely platonic with Rick, as long as they keep having moments like this. As long as he can live his life as Rick’s closest companion, romantic or not, maybe he can be happy. Yeah, he’ll never get to kiss him, or cuddle with him, or be graced with the title of being his partner, but…
That’s better than Rick being gone. Anything is better than Rick being gone. Because he doesn’t think he can live without him.