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Daryl already changed into sweats and had a cigarette hanging halfway out of his mouth when he decided that he was going no further than where he was all night. It certainly wasn’t the best quality of couches, judging by the tiny cigarette burns pinpricked all over, but it was where he planted himself and he wasn’t getting up. It was Friday night and the bottle of Jameson sitting on the coffee table was calling out to him to crack open. The game was on; he was only half paying attention, ready to channel surf to his heart’s content the moment things turned dry on the field. Not that he had any interest in whatever iteration of sportsball this was, but the sound mixed with the swirls of smoke that lifted from the cigarette filled the empty house and that was enough for him.
Suddenly, the landline went off in the kitchen making Daryl almost drop his glass. Who the fuck is calling at this time? He had half a mind to storm into the kitchen and give the telemarketer a piece of his mind for bothering him. Because that’s who it had to be, right? It’s not like he had many friends left with Merle not being around anymore. Correction: any friends at all.
Daryl let it ring and leaned back into the sofa once he was confident that it was through.
“Hey uhhh I’m trying to reach Daryl Dixon…? Dunno if you’re home right now or.…”
The answering machine. And the voice sounded familiar. His words filled the dead space around Daryl, making the silence just about deafening.
“This might be a long shot, but I’m hoping to talk to you, Daryl.”
A long pause.
Son of a bitch! It was the cop that arrested his brother and put him away for life. He could recognize that voice anywhere. Daryl shot to his feet; the half-smoked cigarette forgotten to the floor among a gathering of empty bottles and cans. He clung to the wall leading to the kitchen, out of view. As if peering into the kitchen would somehow conjure the cop into existence.
“So hey, if you’re around give me a buzz, alright? I’ve got the whole weekend off.”
Daryl decided enough was enough, marched right in there and whipped the phone off its stand.
“Rick Grimes? That you?!” His tone was angry, sharp.
The man on the other end was clearly surprised to hear Daryl pick up judging by another round of awkward silence following.
“Speak up! Can’t hear you.”
“Daryl?”
“The hell you want?”
“T-to talk.”
This time Daryl was the one who was stuck. Talk? What did that mean? Get him to confess to something? Probably. Everything in him was telling him to slam the phone back down and why he couldn’t bring himself to do it, he’ll never know.
“So, talk.”
“Oh. Uh… I was hoping we could meet up actually.”
Daryl sighed in utter frustration. “What? Am I under arrest too?” He wasn’t taking that bait. No way.
“No, not at all. I’m off duty right now. Like I said, I have the weekend off.
If Daryl could frown any harder, he’d be sure the lines in his face would stick permanently. Surely this cop was trying to bag him for something. He knew he was innocent. Hadn’t committed a serious damn crime in years. Either that, or Rick Grimes had completely lost his mind.
“Fuck no. Why’re you really calling? I haven’t done shit, man. Not since you put my fucking brother behind bars.” The urge to call him a certain dirty farm animal was hot on his tongue, but he held back.
Rick was silent for a while trying to think of the right thing to say.
“I really am off the clock, Daryl. Not trying to trick you or anything. Can you just hear me out?”
Not for the first time during the call, Daryl humored him. He was almost curious how dumb this cop thought he could be.
“Fine.”
“Look I know you got your problems with me--”
“Got that right.”
After Rick didn’t say anything, Daryl cleared his throat somewhat awkwardly.
“Anyways,” Rick continued, “I’d like to have a drink with you and just talk, man. I, uh, think you could benefit from what I have to say.”
Daryl’s first instinct was to of course say no. It would have been so easy to just throw the phone back down and get on with his night. But his hand was stuck again. He couldn’t even bring himself to move his entire body. Why bother listening to anything this cop had to say? He put Merle in prison, for fuck’s sake! What could he possibly have to say to Daryl? He was sure Rick didn’t think very highly of him to begin with. White trash brother to a meth dealer, doesn’t get any classier than that.
“Daryl?”
“Still here. Thinkin’.”
Silence on the other end.
“Fuck it.” He said it before the thought even fully registered. Before he had a chance to change his mind and stop himself. What the hell was he thinking? Man, if Merle could see him now, he’d never hear the end of it. It made him feel guilty as all hell. Conspiring with the enemy.
“Really? I mean, wow yeah, ok! Great!”
“Mmhm.”
“Promise it’ll be worth your time.”
“Fuckin better be. What bar?”
“It’s called The Quarry. Right on-”
“I know where it is. Meet there in fifteen.”
“See you there-” Daryl had already hung up.
Daryl sighed and almost wished he had dug into the beer sooner, so he’d have an excuse not to ride over there. But no, unfortunately he was stone cold sober. He substituted his sweats with real pants and swiped the keys off the countertop.
This better be worth it.
If the outside air didn’t have such a bitter chill to it, Daryl would have waited by the front entrance. He would see Rick pull up and Daryl probably would have decided to change his mind and bolt. Rick wouldn’t have even known he was there. Annoyingly, however, it was a cold night in January, and Daryl didn’t feel like freezing his ass off just standing around. Even the warmth of a cigarette around his fingers wasn’t motivation enough. He decided to go in and grab a drink at the bar to take the edge off slightly. He hoped Rick wouldn’t be able to find him and give up, or better yet, not even show at all.
When he was younger, he’d frequent places like this with his brother. Not much else to do in small-town Georgia. Nowadays, with Merle gone, Daryl never hung around bars. It was far too easy to spend a fortune here, not to mention the people sucked. Drunk assholes yelling at the top of their lungs and making fools of themselves. It certainly didn’t beat just relaxing at home. He was no stranger to getting drunk on nights like these and what’s better than being in the comfort of home?
He had downed just about all the beer in a few gulps when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Spinning around quickly, he was met face to face with Rick Grimes, the cop that did his brother in. Last time he saw him was in a courtroom where the prosecution made him testify against his own flesh and blood. White hot rage filled his fingertips and he had to curl them tight around the bottle to contain himself. Daryl thought he’d be able to handle seeing him again. Maybe he was wrong.
“Hey, Daryl.”
Rick looked out of place here. There was no doubt about it. The Quarry wasn’t the worst dive bar Daryl had ever been too, but it certainly wasn’t the scene for Rick. Even just judging by his clothes, it looked like he belonged in a corporate hotel bar at happy hour with his coworkers. Fuckin’ slacks and a button up long-sleeve shirt. Daryl must not have been hiding his scowl very well because Rick looked more than a little apprehensive and Daryl hoped he was regretting coming at all.
“This better be fuckin’ good.” His words had bite to them, as if he was challenging Rick to confront him.
Rick awkwardly shimmied around him and signaled the bartender for two more of the bottle Daryl had in his grip.
When the bartender placed the bottles down in front of them, Daryl arched his eyebrow and regarded Rick for a second. Somehow, he hadn’t anticipated Rick actually following through with this. “Thanks.”
He nodded and said, “Let’s grab a table.”
Daryl wanted to protest. Whatever Rick had to say he should just say it to his face right there. But the man did buy him a drink, he supposed he owed him that much. Taking a final swig and downing the rest from his first bottle, he sighed and lifted himself off the stool with his new beer in tow. Plopping down at one of the booths towards the back, he felt ridiculous. This man wasn’t his friend, yet he was sitting a few feet across from him like they were good pals drinking the night away. He downed a few gulps of the second beer at the sheer absurdity of it all. Almost a subconscious effort to rationalize even the smallest part of what was happening right now. Why could he not will his body to just get up and go back home?
“Thanks for meeting up with me. It means a lot.”
“Cut the crap, man. What do you want?”
Rick threw his hands up slightly in mock surrender. “I’d like to level with you.”
Daryl narrowed his eyes.
“Look, I’m just gonna say it. I know I don’t know you, but I think you’re a good man.”
Daryl hadn’t even processed Rick’s sentence fully before he started seeing red. He slammed his fist down on the table so hard both their drinks sloshed a little. It made such a loud WHACK that it was audible even over the dull pulse of the stereo speakers behind the bar. This was a huge mistake. Daryl could see it now and became even more pissed at himself for not just hanging up on Rick in the first place. None of this would be happening.
“The fuck does that supposed to mean? You don’t know shit about me!”
Rick’s eyebrows shot up and he looked side to side, but no one was watching them.
“That’s not what I meant-”
“Nah man, fuck you. You don’t know the shit I’ve had to do. All the shit I had to put up with because of you.” The words on his tongue were poison and he hoped they made their way straight into Rick’s heart. He was on his feet now, ready to storm away.
“Daryl! Will you just listen to me and shut up?” Rick’s boldness made Daryl freeze. He was seconds away from knocking the rest of his drink back and going the hell back home. Suddenly his shitty couch in front of the shitty TV didn’t sound too bad right now. If Daryl was being honest, he didn’t think Rick had the balls to talk to him like that. Probably had to channel his inner police officer for that one.
Slowly, Daryl sat his ass back down on the seat and scowled at him bitterly. This ought to be good.
Seemingly satisfied, Rick sighed and continued. “Like I said, I think you’re a good man, Daryl. You’re not like your brother. You know that, right?”
“What do you know about my brother? All you did was arrest him and throw him in prison for life,” Daryl muttered, almost meekly. The sting behind his words had turned numb.
“He got caught using and dealing methamphetamines. Multiple charges of breaking and entering. Illegal firearms. Assaulting an officer,” Rick vaguely gestured to himself and smirked, “Resisting arrest…should I go on?”
Daryl remained silent and suddenly the label on his bottle became very interesting.
“Merle Dixon wasn’t a good man. I think you know that to be true.”
Every part of Daryl wanted to bite back and argue. Because God damn it, Merle was his brother. He was family. But fuck, Rick’s technique of wearing him down was working as much as he hated to admit it. Merle had always been the more volatile, violent, and unpredictable sibling from the very start. And Merle’s impressive list of charges racked against him didn’t do him any favors. But despite all that, Daryl had little choice but to stick with his older brother through the thick and thin.
And that meant turning to a life of crime. Because that’s what being raised in a household like theirs was always destined to be.
“Point?”
“My point is….well I just don’t want to see that happen to you. You’re a good guy….You know, we did a background check on you and besides a few notices of petty larceny, your record is clean. And I know that he was your brother-”
“Is.”
“What?”
“Is my brother. As in still is. Just because he’s in prison don’t mean he’s fuckin’ dead.”
Rick cleared his throat. “You’re right, sorry.”
“You were sayin’?”
“I just don’t want to see you turn out like him. I know that’s hard to hear right now, but it’s true.”
Daryl’s fingers continued to pick at the label on the bottle. “Why do you care?”
“Because I saw how you were in that courtroom. Just couldn’t forget the look on your face. I dunno, man. Something about you really spoke to me. I saw the way you looked at your brother…the disappointment in your face. It was like you didn’t want to be associated with him anymore. That’s when I thought about trying to talk to you.”
Daryl’s mouth hung down, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak. Stunned into absolute silence. At first Daryl had been mad at the system for charging Merle. Saw no fault in him. And It wasn’t Merle’s first rodeo in the system. He had had a few stints in jail, none of them lasted all that long. They’d never been able to afford a good lawyer, let alone a lawyer in general, but somehow Merle dodged a life sentence for most of his adult life. And Daryl stuck with him through the thick and thin.
“You ain’t nothing without Merle, baby bro.”
Even after all this time, Merle’s voice lived in his head.
The only thing that seemed to make him go away was drowning his thoughts in booze. Daryl couldn’t, and certainly would not, admit to anybody but himself that he was becoming a budding alcoholic. The odd jobs he did to keep himself busy and pay the bills certainly didn’t help fund the six packs he’d come home to every day. But that didn’t stop him. Money was drying up but nothing else mattered when there was always a fresh can of something in the fridge that numbed the pain.
It had never been easy on Daryl. The first few months were completely new territory. Each day he’d expect to see Merle burst through the front door and their lives would return to normal. But when reality sunk in that his brother wasn’t coming back, he resigned his fate. Rick was right, as much as he hated to acknowledge it.
Daryl shook himself free of his spiraling thoughts. “What does it matter now that he’s away? So I’m not like him… so what?”
“I just don’t want to see you end up like him.”
Daryl couldn’t even pretend to hide the sigh that just emanated from him. “Tell me then. What the fuck am I supposed to do about it?” He hadn’t meant to sound so desperate, and he immediately bit his tongue to not allow any more words to escape. Man, if only Merle could see him now. He could almost hear his grating voice in his head telling him to get up and go the fuck home.
“Ain’t nobody gonna care about you but me.”
Rick was quiet for a long pause. He started picking at his own label and Daryl waited for an answer.
“A buddy of mine owns a mechanic shop downtown.” Rick swallowed the last of his drink. “He says there’s a spot opening up. Look, I dunno if it interests you but I’ve seen you with your bike more than a few times.”
Daryl bit back a scoff. Was it really that obvious that his bike was the most important thing he had in his life? Only piece of Merle he still had around.
“Yeah.”
“So, I dunno. I can put a good word in for you. Hershel’s a good man. He sees the best in everyone. Hell, he practically convinced me to keep going with this whole police thing.”
“You’re offering me a job?”
“Well, it’s up to Hershel but when I put in a good word, the job’s yours. I can call him tomorrow.”
Daryl scuffed his boot along the wood floor. Steady paycheck every week. Actual food in his cabinets. A real job sounded nice. It was about time he stopped fucking around and got back on with his life. It’s been almost a full year since Merle was sentenced. But all this seemed too good to be true and Daryl almost told Rick that he didn’t believe him.
Rick must have seen the hesitation and doubt in Daryl’s eyes, and he offered him a warm smile. “What do you say?”
“The hell you thinking you traitorous little-”
The ghost of Merle in Daryl’s mind vanished. And that was all Daryl needed.
“Alright.”
He said it so quietly, so subtly, that Rick had to slightly lean in. Recognition and relief slowly spread throughout his face. “Really? You’ll take the job?”
“That’s what I said, ain’t it?”
“Oh great! I’ll give him a call in the morning. I think this will be good, I really do.”
“If you say so.” Daryl peeked at him from beneath his hair and he saw the brightness on Rick’s face. He couldn’t help but let himself entertain the notion that everything might be ok after a while.
The pair didn’t have much to say after that. Daryl certainly wasn’t the type for small talk. And his beer was just about finished. There was little to do but stand up and throw his jacket on.
“Appreciate it.” Daryl said, gesturing with his bottle. His lips may have even cracked into a smirk.
They left The Quarry in unison. Rick shivered subtly, rubbing his hands together and then shoved them into his jacket pockets. Daryl’s bike shimmered under the streetlamp right next to the curb. He fished his cigarette pack out of his pocket and turned against the wind to light one up. Holding it out to Rick, he arched an eyebrow.
“Thanks. But I quit after high school.”
Daryl scoffed and shook his head with a smirk letting the pack fall back into his pocket. Puffs of smoke rose into the lamplight.
“Hey, don’t be a stranger, alright?” Rick said, his breath visible in the chilly air.
“Sure. Thanks again.”
Cigarette hanging out of his mouth once again, Daryl headed towards his bike. Despite having two beers in quick succession, his mind had never been clearer. He never even felt like this on a good day. There was a new kick in his step, something that he hadn’t felt in a very long time. A sudden motivation to readjust many things in his life. Maybe starting with the copious amount of beer bottles scattered around his house. Empty, full, and everything in between. It wasn’t going to be easy, but it was a start.
He was heading into unchartered territory. But maybe having a friend was just what he needed.