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It's quiet tonight, one of those nights when Rick can almost pretend that everything is okay. The cicadas are buzzing and the stars are a dazzling wash overhead. It's like a dream in the middle of a nightmare, and he wishes that this dream could be the one that lasts even though he knows it will crumble up and die in the end.
He watches the fireflies flitting in the woods and considers it a good sign for the shelter they've chosen. He's never seen that many fireflies without water nearby, and he hopes there's enough game in the woods for them to stay here for a while.
Behind him, the house grows quieter and quieter as people start to settle in, and he decides he'd better go take Judith off of Aaron or whoever has her now so they can grab a few winks.
“You good?” he asks, turning to Michonne who's been perched quietly on the railing the whole time.
“Get some rest,” is all she says in return. Rick heads inside, up the stairs to the second floor of the small country home they've overtaken. He passes Aaron on the way, probably headed toward the walk-in closet on the first floor that he and Eric have converted into a small bedroom.
“Who has Judith?” he asks, feeling a small twinge of panic even though he knows it's illogical. It's peaceful, and there's no one here but his family.
“Daryl took her.”
Rick nods and heads for his bedroom, their bedroom. Everyone had to share, and Daryl flat-out refused to bunk with anyone else. He'd made a nest on the floor between the bed and the wall, ignoring Rick no matter how many times he insisted that the bed was big enough for both of them or that they could trade off so he didn't have to spend every night on the floor. Daryl kept saying it was more important to the group that Rick be rested up. Rick kept saying it was bullshit, still does, but it doesn't matter. It's just one of those things Daryl's stubborn streak refuses to budge on.
He gets to the door of the bedroom. It's cracked and a sliver of warm lantern light leaks out onto the warped wooden floors of the hallway. Inside, he can hear Judith babbling on softly about something. He pauses to listen.
“Please, Uncle Daryl. You promised.” Her voice is tiny and sweet, the gentle buzz of a hummingbird's wings personified. She always seems too pure to be allowed in this world, and Rick hates how often he wonders when exactly reality will rise up and snuff her light.
“Alright, alright. But if you don't lay down and let me tuck you in, I ain't doin' it.”
“Where's daddy?”
“Probably making sure everything's safe so you can have sweet dreams tonight without anything getting in the way. Now settle down.”
Rick smiles. He contemplates walking in, but there's something about the scene that he can't bring himself to interrupt. Instead he pushes the door open another hair so he can watch Daryl tucking the little pink princess blanket around his daughter in her makeshift toddler bed.
“You forgetted my feeties, Uncle Daryl.”
“You're spoiled, you know that?” But he tucks the blanket around her feet too, giving them a little tickle that makes Judy giggle and tell him to “quit it.”
“Okay. I'm tucked. Now you have to,” she says.
“Our secret, okay?” There's a pinky swear between them, and Rick's not sure exactly what to expect until Daryl opens his mouth and lets out the first notes of an old, familiar tune.
“Hey, Jude, don't make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better.” Daryl's voice is gruff and low and nothing near perfect, but the smile on Judith's face is as big and bright as the summer sun, and he can feel the warmth of it from where he stands.
“Remember to let her into your heart. Then you can start to make it better.” Daryl motions over his own eyes to demonstrate that she needs to shut hers if she wants him to keep going, and she does, closing them tight and squeezing a homemade stuffed bear against her side.
“Hey, Jude, don't be afraid.”
Rick watches Daryl softly stroke her hair while he sings on, and something inside of him stirs, warm and quiet and almost painful. It starts in his stomach and wraps around his heart like the tendrils of a strawberry vine.
“And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain. Don't carry the world upon your shoulders.”
The vine bears fruit, and the years since the quarry come rushing back to Rick in flashes, and he wonders how long he's actually felt like this and why it took an off-key Beatles song for him to realize it.
“Remember to let her under your skin. Then you'll begin to make it better.”
Daryl ends it there on a soft note, not bothering to launch into the infinite “nah”s, not that he really even needed to take it this far since Judith fell asleep several lines before, her head of light curls lolling slightly to the side. Daryl smooths it away from her face one more time and stands up.
“You gonna stare all night, Rick, or you gonna come in?” he asks softly. Rick pushes the door open and slips in, shutting it behind him and locking it just in case anything gets inside and somehow makes it this far without someone else noticing.
“How long have you known I was there?”
“Since I heard your boots in the hallway,” Daryl says. He's already getting ready for bed, pulling off his leather vest and untying his shoes. Rick feels a blush creep up on his cheeks when Daryl starts unbuttoning his shirt. He searches through all of his memories again. How long? How long has he been in love with Daryl Dixon, and why didn't he know it?
“You don't have to keep sleeping on the floor,” Rick says.
“How many times we gonna have this conversation, Rick?” Daryl keeps his voice soft so he doesn't wake Judith, but Rick can hear the flash of irritation there.
Rick looks down at his shoes. He thinks about saying something. Maybe if he tells Daryl...
Tells him what though? I just realized I'm in love with you? I don't even know when it started but it's there, and I know it didn't just happen?
And then what? Daryl will suddenly stop being stubborn and sleep in the damn bed?
He thinks about saying it anyway, because now that he knows it, it seems inevitable that it'll come out eventually, but the very idea of saying “I love you” turns his stomach into a butterfly sanctuary. He settles for fighting stubborn with stubborn instead.
“Until you stop sleeping on the floor, more than likely.”
Daryl glares at him and finishes pulling his shirt off, revealing a worn tank top underneath. He lays down in his nest without another word. Rick sighs and strips down and gets as comfortable as he'll allow himself before dousing the lantern and crawling into his own bed. He stares up at the ceiling, trying to let it go, but Daryl is there just two feet away and he can hear him breathing and if he'd only get in the damn bed then maybe... then maybe something.
Was it at the prison? When Daryl stepped up as a leader, not because he wanted to but because Rick needed it? Was it after, when those men were threatening their lives and Daryl offered himself up instead? Was it that second day at the quarry when he recognized that there was a lot more to Daryl than the redneck asshole brother of another redneck asshole? Before or after Lori? Hell, hadn't all of this been after Lori really?
“Thank you for singing to her.”
“Heard Glenn singin' the nice parts of Maggie May and asked if there were any songs about Judy's. Close enough.”
The room falls silent except for the sounds of everyone breathing and the cicadas outside. Rick can feel the tension between himself and Daryl, invisible rubber strings twining around him and curling over the side of the mattress. He knows it's just him. It has to be, right? Didn't Daryl used to have a thing with Carol?
Then again, he used to have a thing with Lori. Is it statistically possible for there to be two bisexuals in their group? Shit, is it statistically possible for there to be a bisexual, two gay men, a lesbian, and another bisexual in their group?
Something occurs to him, latching onto his brain and racing through it like water rapidly coursing through a newly-made inlet. The proverbial light bulb goes off, and he opens his mouth.
“Why did you let me listen?” Rick asks, because he can't think of any conceivable version of reality in which Daryl Dixon just up and decides to be a social butterfly who likes for people to hear him sing.
There's no answer for the longest time, and Rick can feel his stomach tightening, and his heart seems to migrate into his neck, thumping harder than it should be allowed to when there's not a threat.
“Why did you?” Daryl finally asks.
Rick thinks about it and tries to come up with a good reason, but there's really only one he can think of in the end.
“Because I didn't want you to stop.”
“Merle always said my singin' sounded like two hyenas doin' it.”
“It's not that bad,” Rick says with a smile. “Maybe just one hyena taking care of himself.”
“Screw you, Rick.”
Rick laughs softly, and then the room is quiet again. He misses Alexandria. He misses the option of background noise, because right now he's acutely aware of every single breath Daryl takes, and he realizes how much he's tuned himself to listen for Daryl, to look for him, to make sure he was still there no matter what. He tries to shift focus to Judith's deep sleepy breathing, but he can't.
“It's a big bed,” he finally says, unable to stop himself, and Daryl sighs.
“If I come up there just this once, will you promise to shut the hell up about it?”
Rick thinks about, and he knows the honest answer is no, but if a yes will get Daryl close enough that he can feel the heat radiating off his skin, then he'll take it.
“Alright.”
With an angry grumble that puts Rick in the mind of a growling puppy, Daryl climbs up off the floor and into the bed. Rick regrets it instantly, because if anything the closeness is only making the tension worse. Every nerve, organ, and cell he has is screaming at him to close the gap between his body and Daryl's. It settles into his bones, heavy and wanting.
He contemplates the worst possible case scenario of just rolling over and... and what? He doesn't even know what he wants to do, only that he has an overwhelming urge to do it.
“Are you gay?” he blurts out, eyes going wide as soon as he realizes what he's said. Immediately his stomach turns over. He wants to cut out his tongue for betraying him like that. “Or.. or bi. Or what I mean is...”
“Is what? Can't sing a song to a little girl without being queer?”
“No, no, you can. I wasn't asking because of the song.”
“Then why were you askin'?”
Rick doesn't say anything, because the only thing he can even think of is the truth, and there's no way he can bring himself to put that out there. He presses his lips tightly together.
“Rick, why were you askin'?”
“Never mind, Daryl. Just... just get some sleep.”
“Not til you tell me what made you ask me that. Think a little too hard about stuff once you got me up in the bed?”
“Jesus, Daryl, it's me you're talking to here.” Rick rolls over and faces him, and he can't believe Daryl can't see it right away. Just looking Daryl in the eye has his stomach spinning.
And it's bothering him for what feels like the hundredth time that night. When? When had he started to feel this? Why does it feel like a freight train that smacked into him as soon as he looked up and realized it was there? Why does it feel like he's always vaguely heard the whistle and the chug-chug of it approaching but that it got buried under all the other noise in this world?
“Tell me why you give a shit.” Because I do.
“It was just a question.” But it wasn't.
“Ain't the kinda question someone just asks, Rick.” No, it's not.
“Why are you so defensive?”
Daryl huffs through his nose and brings his thumb to his mouth, chewing away at the skin there, and Rick can tell even in the silver moonlight filtering in from outside that Daryl is looking anywhere but at him.
Finally, when Rick's sure his insides are going to claw their way up out of his mouth, Daryl speaks.
“Just thought I hid it better is all. Does everyone know?”
Rick can't say anything. His brain speeds along faster than light, thinking of every single time he's ever touched Daryl and every single time they've ever even looked at each other. He knows the question he's asking himself by dredging up those memories: Is there the smallest chance that it's not just me?
“I didn't even know,” Rick says.
“Then why did you ask?”
“Because I wanted to.”
“Why would you care?”
More silence. Outside, a wolf howls. Another one answers in kind. Rick can't help but silently thank them both, because if there are walkers anywhere near them tonight, he knows they'll head straight for those sounds.
“Don't tell anyone,” Daryl says.
“Not mine to tell, though I don't know why you'd think anyone would care. They don't care about any of the others.”
“Ain't their damn business.”
“Alright.”
Beside him, Daryl fidgets.
“Want me to get back on the floor?”
“You ever been interested in anyone? In the group, I mean?” Rick asks.
“Rick, don't.”
Rick starts to say it. Some macabre part of him reminds him that tomorrow they could all die and that he doesn't want to tell Daryl he loves him right before he has to put a bullet through his own skull. But he can't get the words to form right on his tongue. He swallows.
“Shane was the first person I ever kissed,” Rick says, because it's somehow easier to talk about. “He was on the football team. Always went to the games to be a good friend. My dad arrested the coach's son when I was a kid, so I stayed away from sports myself. But I always got invited to the parties.”
He rolls back over and stares up at the dark ceiling. Beside him, he knows Daryl is listening. Because Daryl always does.
“Homecoming sophomore year. Shane was one of the few in our grade to make varsity. Made him hot shit with all the girls in our class. We were at a party, can't even remember the name of the girl hosting it, but she wanted him to make out with her in the closet. He dragged me outside to get away from her.”
Judith lets out a little murmur in her sleep, and Rick waits for her to finish, making sure her breathing is still deep and even before he goes on.
“We ended up hiding behind the damn hedges in the back yard. She came out cooing his name and looking for him, and I asked him why he didn't just go with her. I mean, as soon as we hit middle school, Shane was with one girl or another. He'd already made second base before we even got to high school. I didn't get it.”
“He said he'd been thinking maybe he liked more than just girls, that he'd been thinking maybe he wanted me to be more than his best friend. And before I could even process it, he had me pinned against the house. I didn't know what to do, but I didn't want him to stop either. And he knew how to kiss, Daryl, even at fifteen, like he'd been born to do it.”
“What happened with Lori then?” Daryl asks.
“I never meant to fall in love with Lori. I always found it so funny that they... he hated her. We'd been broken up for a little while before I got together with her, but when he got drunk, he'd always talk about how she took me from him, how he would've gotten me back if she hadn't come along.”
“Why'd you break up?”
“Because Shane was an even bigger asshole in high school if you can believe that. I think he was probably right though. The man I worked with, my partner... I could've made that work. There was more than once when things got bad with Lori that I thought about having an affair with him even though I never did.”
“Did you and him... did you ever...you know?”
“I lost my virginity to Shane if that's what you're asking.”
“So you're...”
“Bisexual? Yes.”
“And you?” Daryl asks.
“And me what?”
“You ever been into anyone in the group? 'Sides Shane, I guess.”
It's the perfect opening, and he knows it. Downstairs, the front door opens and shuts quietly, and Rick checks the faintly glowing dials of his watch. Just Carol switching out with Michonne on guard duty. Rick's hands shake.
“The funny thing about that kiss was that I didn't realize how into Shane I was until he did it. As soon as his lips were on mine, everything was butterflies. Same thing with Lori the first time she reached for my hand—I thought we were just friends up until then. I've always been bad about noticing how I feel about people.”
“What's that got to do with anything?” Daryl asks.
“Because I am into someone in the group, only I didn't know it until today.”
“Male or female?”
“Definitely male.”
“Aaron?” Daryl asks.
“Aaron isn't available.”
“Doesn't mean you can't like him.”
“It's not Aaron,” Rick says.
“Glenn ain't so bad on the eyes.”
“Glenn's not available either. Also fairly sure Glenn is straight. Then again, I guess I thought you were too.”
“Gonna tell me who it is, or do I have to keep guessin'?”
“You'll be out of guesses soon.” And again there's that feeling that he should just tell him. It's more inevitable now than it was moments ago. There's no avoiding, only delaying.
“Don't know if I wanna know,” Daryl says.
“I don't know if you do either.”
“What made you realize it?”
Rick swallows and his heart works a little harder to pump the blood through his veins. Whenever it started happening doesn't matter anymore because it starts anew here one way or another.
“I heard him sing to my daughter.”
There's a split second where time stops and Rick braces himself for Daryl's reaction. He closes his eyes and waits. As long as Daryl doesn't leave them, he can deal with any other outcome. Or at least that's what he tells himself. He's survived the end of the world. He can survive a broken heart.
But then all of the air seems to leave Daryl's lungs at once, and he lets out a small whimpering sound at the end.
“Are you okay?” Rick asks.
“You don't,” Daryl says before repeating it. “You can't.”
“I don't what?”
“You don't mean that.”
“That I love you? No, I'm pretty sure I do.” And even pretty sure is an understatement.
“Love?” Daryl asks.
“Love,” Rick confirms.
“You're sure?” Daryl's breathing is uneven. Unsteady. Uncertain.
“I'm sure. It sneaks up on me, but I'm always sure.”
“I don't know what to do, Rick.” And he sounds desperate. Agonized.
“What do you mean?”
“Do I.. do we kiss? Or..”
“Do you want to?” Rick asks, praying for a miracle in a broken world.
“Rick, I've never done any of that shit except with drunk-as-shit girls Merle tossed on me in slumbag motels. I don't even know what to do except lay there.”
“But do you want to?”
“I've wanted to kiss you since I saw you, Rick. Hell, I'm probably not even awake right now. This is some dream I'm gonna wake up from in the morning and be disappointed as hell.” Like he's checking, Daryl slaps himself gently with both hands, tapping his face and rubbing his eyes.
“Do you dream about me a lot?”
“Yes.”
“Close your eyes and tell me about one. One where we're doing something simple.”
He can't see if Daryl shuts his eyes, but he knows that he probably does, because it's Daryl, and Daryl always does what he tells him as long as it's reasonable.
“One where we're at the prison in the guard tower, and the sun is setting, and I can see animals playing in the woods. Lots of 'em. And I tell you I know it's gonna be a good hunt tomorrow morning, that we're gonna have plenty to eat for a while. And you look at me, tell me you're glad I'm around. That I... That I'm useful. Important. And you... And you grab my hand and just kinda hold it there, starin' out at the woods next to me, watchin' foxes run circles 'round each other.”
Rick reaches over and feels around for Daryl's hand, finding it on the mattress and twining their fingers together. It feels more right than anything has since he came back from his dark place at the prison and held his daughter for the first time.
“Another one,” Rick says.
“Kept having ones in Alexandria where you went out on runs with me instead of Aaron. And we'd never find anybody, and I'd be pissed about it. And you'd reach over in the car and grab my chin and look me in the eyes and tell me it wasn't my fault and...”
Rick gives Daryl's hand a little squeeze and let go, following his arm up his body and finding his chin.
“And?”
Daryl's trembling. Rick wouldn't need to be touching him to know it, because the bed is shaking and so is Daryl's breath. It's a beautiful kind of nervous that does all kinds of things to Rick's insides.
“And you'd kiss me softer than I thought anyone ever could.”
Rick leans forward. His nose hits Daryl's before he finds his lips, and he nuzzles against it, quietly enjoying the way Daryl's breath hitches and sputters in anticipation.
The first brush of lips against lips makes Rick's stomach drop like he's on a roller coaster. Daryl lets out another soft whimper and pushes back a little too forcefully, the pressure almost bruising, their teeth clicking violently together. He attacks his mouth with all the fury of a whirlwind, and even though the execution isn't wonderful, the passion behind it makes Rick a little dizzy.
“Easy,” he says, pulling away from Daryl's assaulting mouth and resting their foreheads together. “It's a dance, not a war.”
“Sorry.”
“Don't be.” Rick takes his chin more firmly, holding him in place, and closes the distance between them again. Daryl's calmer this time. He opens his mouth to Rick's tongue and lets him lead, finding the rhythm that he sets and falling into it easily. And it's beautiful and passionate and symbiotic and Rick feels like a thousand stars die and explode and form new ones in the time that it takes him to finally pull away from Daryl Dixon.
“You gonna stay in the bed now?” Rick asks, gently thumbing the scruff on Daryl's chin.
“You'll have to kill me to make me leave.”
Rick kisses him once more, a soft little peck on the lips, and then he wraps Daryl up in his arms, holding him tight and feeling like maybe the vine around his heart has a partner and that he'll awake for his morning watch shift to find they've grown together between them, binding them with intricate organic knots.
And as he finds himself curling naturally against Daryl's frame, like they've slept this way a thousand times before, like their souls are not two separate entities at all but two halves of one being; he wonders, would that really be so bad?