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Daryl opens the door leading out to the back porch of the house they'd just cleared and steps outside to see if anything useful was there. There isn't really anything practical to be found, just like he expected, but it’s a nice place to take a breather for a moment and just feel the wind in his hair.
Behind him, Daryl can hear Rick's slow, steady footsteps, bringing up the rear as he always did when they go on a run together. Daryl turns around to face the other man and before he can ask, Daryl answers, "Ain't nothin' out here worth anything."
Rick raises an eyebrow and lets his eyes drift over Daryl in that strange way he had--a look that always makes Daryl shiver and hope for things he had no right hoping for. "Think there's something out here worth something," he says, and Daryl hopes he isn't misinterpreting the tone in Rick's voice.
"Yeah?" Daryl says, daring, his voice pitched low, because they've been through this song and dance before and gotten nowhere. "What's that?"
Rick meets his eyes for a long, breathless moment, then his shoulders sag and he nods out to the yard behind Daryl. "Looks like a few apples left on that tree yet."
Daryl turns and stares at the tree, narrowing his eyes at it instead of Rick, "Yeah. We'll bring 'em back. Hell, might even plant a few damn trees for ourselves." He can think of a few other things he'd like to plant, but there's such a thing as coming on too strong. "Come on, then," Daryl grumbles, reaching out to clap a hand on Rick's shoulder because any contact with the man is better than none. "Let's go pick 'em."
Rick sighs, looking just as unhappy as Daryl feels, but he doesn't say anything else as they walk over to the tree.
All of a sudden, there's a rustling from the shoulder-high brush to the left, long overgrown hedges that used to form part of the fence. Daryl throws his arm out on instinct, flattening his palm on Rick's chest and shoving the man behind him and out of danger.
The walker is an old one, more hedge now than actual man, but it's been disturbed by their presence and moves toward them, breaking away from the fence that it had made its home. Daryl's already hitched his crossbow into position, aiming, ready, because it's an easy walker kill, but he should know nothing about them's easy these days--especially when it breaks away and lurches straight toward Rick.
"Get back, man," With one hand, Daryl pushes Rick back even further while he lets the arrow loose from his crossbow. He has no time to aim properly so the bolt flies a little wide, but it hits the walker in the chest and staggers it enough that Rick takes a chance and rushes at it with his knife.
"Goddammit, Rick!" Daryl yells, but he doesn't have time to do much else as Rick's knife connects, but the walker topples him and they go down just as Daryl's heart skips a beat in his chest.
And his breath, he can't catch it, not until he's seen Rick's all right, and he can finally draw breath again when Rick reaches out a palm, his smile weak, his words soothing--I'm fine, he repeats, into Daryl's ear, his hair, even as Daryl pulls him up--which is when Daryl sees that Rick is most decidedly not.
Upon a closer inspection, it looked like a stick of some sort, had been jabbed through the thin shirt and into the muscle of Rick's arm, blood already starting to flow and drip down. "Jesus Christ, man," Daryl says as he reaches up to tear the sleeve off at the shoulder seam and carefully peels the fabric down his arm. "Don't fucking scare me like that."
"Had worse," Rick says, trying to pull away from Daryl's grip and act like it's nothing.
And Daryl, who'd been staring down the bloodied stick, thinking Fuckin' flamingo, like he could it will it to catch fire on its own, finds himself staring into river-bright eyes instead, unable, unwilling to let go.
"Ya need to shut up and lemme get that tied off, ya stubborn jackass," Daryl challenges with his eyes, willing the man to listen for once before he jerks Rick back to the small porch by his other arm and sets him down on the step.
"Daryl," Rick murmurs, but Daryl shoots him a death glare that makes him stop speaking and then the archer whips his shop rag out of his back pocket and gently starts cleaning Rick's arm in preparation to bandage it.
"You're a stupid idiot," Daryl chastises, even as he sees that the stick won't be terribly hard to remove and the blood seems to at least be willing to stop. "You could have got yourself hurt worse than this and then I would have personally kicked your scrawny little ass from here all the way back to Georgia."
Rick gives a sheepish grin and catches Daryl's eye. "My foot slipped in the mud--kind of a rookie mistake."
Daryl just rolls his eyes. Finds that even as he's cleaning, the blood flow, while sluggish, isn't stopping, and he ties his shop rag around Rick's arm instead, red and filthy and dark, a brand of ownership--one Rick's not entirely aware of. Rick stares down at the rag tied around his arm, his gaze slowly lifting to meet the faded blue depths of Daryl's eyes.
Daryl looks back down quickly under the guise of checking the knot on the rag and mumbles, "Can't lose another brother, man. Not now."
Rick swallows hard and with his arm that isn't injured tilts Daryl's chin back up so that Daryl looks at him again. "I know. And you won't."
Daryl darts his eyes away, not wanting to look weak in front of Rick--he doesn't want to show the wetness in his eyes or the fear that had been there--but Rick won't have it, tilting his head to catch Daryl's eye again.
"You won't ," Rick says again, softly. And this time there's meaning behind the words, Daryl knows it, but it isn't until Rick leans in, his breath warm against Daryl's face, that every memory of you're family and you're my brother is blown away and Rick just closes the distance between the two of them, lips crashing into lips as Rick pulls Daryl closer to him.
Daryl struggles briefly, but it's a matter of instinct instead of resistance, and when Rick's hands loosen to let him go, he leans forward and continues the kiss, licking his way into Rick's mouth like he's been imagining forever. Hands find curls, tongues find tongues, and for one brief second the shop rag, the blood, and the entire outside world is forgotten and Daryl falls straight into Rick like he's always wanted to do.
"Omf!" Rick winces and pulls away as Daryl grazes the wood that is still sticking out of his arm, "Damn, forgot about that. Guess we'll have to come back to this later. But, we will Daryl, we will."
Daryl pauses, just long enough to brush his lips against Rick's once more. Takes hold of the wood in Rick's arm, even if there's another kind of wood he'd rather be holding, because they've got to set their priorities straight here, and pulls, reveling in the startled squawk Rick lets out.
"Damn right, we will," says Daryl. "Damn right."