Chapter Text
Rick liked to think of himself as a good family man.
He had been, once.
Had a wife. A son. A baby girl he barely got the chance to know before the world turned into what it was now. Everything he did—every call he made, every risk he took—it all came back to that. Protecting what was his.
Only now, what was his had gotten… bigger.
Messier.
Better, in some ways.
This place—the prison—it wasn’t just a safehold. Not anymore. It was people. People who looked to him, trusted him, leaned on him in ways he didn’t always feel steady enough to carry.
Family, whether they shared blood or not.
And somewhere along the way—
Daryl Dixon had become part of that in a way Rick hadn’t expected.
At first, Daryl had been all edges.
Sharp words. Sharper temper.
Always ready to snap, to push back, to make damn sure nobody got close enough to matter.
Rick hadn’t blamed him.
Men like Daryl didn’t come from nowhere. You could see it in the way he carried himself, the way he watched a room like he was expectin’ it to turn on him at any second.
But behind all that—
Rick had seen it early.
Loyalty.
The kind you didn’t question once you had it.
The kind that didn’t come easy, but once it was yours, it stayed.
Rick had thought Shane was that man, once.
His brother.
Turned out—
He’d been wrong.
Daryl filled that space now in a way that felt quieter, steadier. No competition, no ego.
Just… there.
Rick would die for him.
Knew, without a doubt, Daryl would do the same.
And that mattered more than anything.
They were out on a run when Rick first found himself thinkin’ about it.
Not walkers.
Not supplies.
Not routes or fallback points or any of the dozen things that usually filled his head.
No—
This was lighter.
Almost stupid.
Rick huffed a quiet laugh under his breath as he drove, one hand steady on the wheel.
Beside him, Daryl shifted slightly in the passenger seat.
“Somethin’ funny?” he muttered, voice low, already suspicious.
Rick glanced at him, grin pulling just a little.
“You got any idea,” he started, “how much attention you get back there?”
Daryl’s brow furrowed. “What’re you talkin’ ‘bout?”
Rick chuckled, shaking his head.
“The women,” he said plainly. “Whole damn prison’s got a case of what I’m callin’ Daryl Mania.”
Daryl scoffed immediately, turning his head toward the window.
“That’s bullshit.”
Rick laughed, fuller this time.
“Ain’t,” he said. “You just don’t hear it.”
“Don’t listen,” Daryl shot back.
“Same difference.”
There was a beat of silence, then Rick added, a little amused—
“Man, they talk about you like you’re the last good thing left walkin’.”
That earned him a look.
Sharp.
Annoyed.
Which only made Rick smile more.
“Proud of you,” he added, teasing, nudging his shoulder lightly. “Didn’t know I was ridin’ with a celebrity.”
Daryl just shook his head, muttering something under his breath that Rick didn’t bother catching.
But there was the faintest hint of something there.
Not pride.
Not embarrassment.
Just… dismissal.
Like it didn’t matter.
And maybe it didn’t.
Because Rick had heard something else.
Something a little more interesting.
He hadn’t meant to.
Wasn’t the type to go listenin’ in on people’s business.
But in a place like the prison, walls were thin, and voices carried.
Glenn and Maggie, one night. Talking low. Laughing about something.
Rick hadn’t caught all of it.
Didn’t need to.
Just enough.
Beth.
And Daryl.
Rick had leaned back where he stood, arms folded, thinkin’ it over.
Beth Greene.
Hershel’s youngest.
Good kid.
Kind. Capable. Strong in a way people underestimated.
She’d taken to Judith like it was second nature—steady hands, soft voice, always right where she needed to be.
Rick trusted her.
Loved her, in his own way.
Like family.
Then there was Daryl.
Rough. Older. Carried more weight on his shoulders than most men Rick had known.
A man who didn’t do things halfway.
Didn’t do anything without meaning it.
There was an age gap.
Rick wasn’t blind to it.
Back before all this?
That would’ve been a problem.
A big one.
Something people would talk about. Judge. Question.
But now?
Now the rules were different.
Had been for a long time.
People didn’t have the luxury of waiting anymore.
Didn’t get to sit around and wonder what was proper or what looked right.
If you found someone—
Someone you trusted, someone who made the world feel just a little less heavy—
You held on.
You gave what you had.
Because tomorrow wasn’t promised.
Hell, the next hour wasn’t.
Rick knew that better than most.
He shifted slightly in his seat, glancing sideways at Daryl.
Casual.
Like it wasn’t anything.
“Just, uh…” he started, clearing his throat a little. “How’s Beth doin’ these days?”
He felt it immediately.
That shift.
Subtle—but there.
Daryl went still.
Not much.
Most folks wouldn’t have caught it.
Rick did.
Always did.
Daryl didn’t look at him.
Didn’t answer right away.
Just stared out the windshield, jaw tightening just a fraction.
Rick kept his expression neutral, hands steady on the wheel.
Didn’t push.
Didn’t press.
Just… waited.
Because whatever this was—
It mattered.
And Daryl?
Daryl didn’t get quiet like that unless it really mattered.
Rick didn’t look at him.
Gave him that space.
Road stretched out ahead, quiet except for the low rumble of the engine.
For a second, Rick figured Daryl might just shrug it off. Brush it aside like he did everything else that got too close.
“…She’s fine,” Daryl muttered finally.
Short.
Flat.
Rick nodded once. “Good.”
Left it there.
Could’ve let it drop.
Probably should’ve.
But something in that pause—something in the way Daryl had gone still—told him there was more sitting just under the surface.
So Rick let the silence stretch.
Let it settle.
And sure enough—
Daryl huffed out a breath, dragging a hand down his face.
“Don’t—” he started, then stopped, shaking his head like he was already regrettin’ it. “Don’t start nothin’ with that.”
Rick’s mouth twitched just a little. “Didn’t say nothin’.”
“Yeah, well—you were gonna.”
Rick didn’t deny it.
Another stretch of quiet.
Then Daryl shifted in his seat, restless, like he couldn’t quite sit right in his own skin anymore.
“…Ain’t like that,” he muttered.
Rick raised a brow slightly. “Didn’t say it was.”
Daryl shot him a look. Irritated. Defensive.
Then looked away again.
“Just—” he exhaled hard through his nose. “She’s… she’s good, is all.”
Rick waited.
Because that wasn’t it.
Not even close.
Daryl’s jaw worked, like he was chewing on whether to shut up or keep goin’.
He kept goin’.
“…Drives me damn crazy,” he said, quieter now. Rougher.
Rick’s grip tightened just slightly on the wheel, but he didn’t interrupt.
Didn’t even glance over.
Daryl leaned forward a bit, elbows on his knees, staring down like the words were easier to say that way.
“Don’t even gotta do nothin’,” he went on, voice low. “Just… there. Breathin’. Talkin’. Lookin’ at me like—”
He cut himself off, shaking his head again.
“Hell if I know.”
Rick could hear it now.
Not frustration.
Not really.
Something deeper.
“…Messes with my head,” Daryl admitted, quieter still. “All the time.”
There was a pause.
Then, almost under his breath—
“Can’t shut it off.”
Rick finally glanced at him.
Daryl looked… unsettled.
Not angry.
Not closed off.
Just… exposed, in a way Rick had maybe seen once or twice before, and only ever when things mattered too damn much.
“…Tried,” Daryl added after a second, voice roughening. “Tried keepin’ my distance. Thought it’d pass or… I don’t know.”
Rick didn’t say anything.
Daryl huffed a short, humorless breath.
“Didn’t.”
Another pause.
Then, quieter—
“Don’t want it to.”
That one landed.
Rick looked back to the road, something easing in his chest.
Because that right there—
That was the truth of it.
Daryl wasn’t confused.
Wasn’t being pulled into something he didn’t understand.
He knew.
And he was choosing it anyway.
Rick nodded once, almost to himself.
“Yeah,” he said simply.
Daryl glanced at him, wary. “Yeah?”
Rick shrugged a shoulder.
“Ain’t the worst thing,” he said. “Findin’ someone that gets under your skin like that.”
Daryl scoffed, but it didn’t have much bite to it.
“Feels like it.”
Rick smiled faintly.
“Only ‘cause you ain’t used to it.”
That earned him a look.
But it wasn’t sharp this time.
Just… thoughtful.
Daryl leaned back again, quieter now.
Still a little tense.
But lighter, too.
Like sayin’ it out loud had taken some of the weight off.
Rick let the moment settle, then added—casual, but not really—
“You care about her.”
Not a question.
Daryl didn’t answer right away.
Didn’t have to.
“…Yeah,” he said finally.
Soft.
Certain.
Rick nodded.
That was enough.
Rick didn’t mean to laugh as hard as he did.
Really, he didn’t.
But the sound came out anyway—loud, sudden, damn near choking him on whatever passed for lunch these days. He had to turn his head, cough into his sleeve, wave a hand like he was fine when he absolutely wasn’t.
Across from him, Daryl sat on the low concrete ledge, scowling like he was two seconds away from either walkin’ off or puttin’ an arrow through him.
“Y’done?” Daryl muttered, voice flat as dry dirt.
Rick tried. He really did.
He swallowed, cleared his throat, nodded like he had it under control—
Then another laugh slipped out, rough and disbelieving.
“Man—” Rick shook his head, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Man, I’m sorry, I just—”
“You ain’t sorry,” Daryl cut in.
Rick grinned despite himself. “No, I ain’t.”
Daryl huffed, looking off toward the tree line like he regretted ever opening his mouth.
And that—that right there—was what got Rick every time.
Because this wasn’t the same man who used to snarl at anything that got too close. This wasn’t the same guy who kept everything locked down so tight you’d think he didn’t feel nothin’ at all.
This was Daryl, sittin’ there, awkward as hell, talkin’ about somethin’ real.
And yeah—Rick was gonna enjoy that a little.
“Alright,” Rick said finally, settling back against the wall. “Start again. Without all the grumblin’ this time.”
Daryl shot him a look. “Ain’t grumblin’.”
“Mm.” Rick raised an eyebrow. “Sounded like it.”
A beat.
Daryl dragged a hand over the back of his neck, jaw working.
“…She don’t—” he started, then stopped.
Tried again.
“She don’t hold back.”
Rick blinked once.
Then leaned forward a little, elbows on his knees, suddenly interested in a whole new way.
“Oh?”
Daryl shot him another glare, but there was heat in his ears now—real, honest-to-God embarrassment.
“Don’t start.”
“I ain’t sayin’ nothin’,” Rick said, lips twitching.
Daryl stared at him like he didn’t believe that for a second.
Then exhaled, sharp through his nose, like he was committing to it anyway.
“She just… goes for it,” he muttered. “Don’t matter where. Don’t matter if we’re supposed to be doin’ somethin’ else. Girl gets somethin’ in her head and that’s it.”
Rick let out a quiet hum, nodding slowly.
“Sounds familiar.”
Daryl frowned. “Ain’t the same.”
“No?” Rick asked, amused.
Daryl shook his head, a little too quick.
“No. ‘Cause she—” he stopped again, searching for the words like they were sittin’ just outta reach. “She looks at me like—like she already decided. Like I ain’t got a say in it.”
Rick’s grin widened. “And that bothers you?”
Daryl hesitated.
That was all the answer Rick needed.
“…Ain’t that it,” Daryl muttered finally. “It’s just—”
He huffed, frustrated, gesturing vaguely with one hand.
“I try t’ keep it… steady. Y’know? Not rush her. Not—” his jaw tightened. “Not be like that.”
Rick’s expression shifted just a little at that.
Less teasing.
More understanding.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I get that.”
Daryl glanced at him, then away again.
“But she don’t make it easy,” he went on, voice rougher now. “Gets close, starts… messin’ with me, and it’s like my brain just—” he snapped his fingers once. “Gone.”
Rick let out a low chuckle. “Uh-huh.”
“I’m serious,” Daryl shot back, scowling. “She—” he scrubbed a hand down his face. “She says things.”
Rick leaned back again, already losing the battle not to laugh.
“Oh, I bet she does.”
Daryl pointed at him. “Don’t.”
Rick raised both hands. “Alright, alright.”
A beat passed.
Daryl looked like he was debating whether to shut up entirely.
Then, quieter—
“She don’t stop,” he admitted. “Not when I pull back. Not when I tell her to slow down. Just—keeps goin’ like she knows I ain’t gonna mean it.”
Rick huffed out a breath, shaking his head.
“Sounds like she knows you pretty well.”
“Yeah,” Daryl muttered.
And there it was again.
That thing in his voice.
Not frustration.
Not really.
Something softer.
Something that stuck.
Rick watched him for a second, then asked, “So what’s the problem?”
Daryl looked at him like that was the dumbest question he’d ever heard.
“The problem is I ain’t stoppin’,” he said, like it should’ve been obvious. “I should. I know I should.”
“But you don’t want to,” Rick said simply.
Daryl didn’t answer.
Didn’t have to.
Rick nodded to himself, picking at the edge of his sleeve.
“Then don’t,” he said.
Daryl frowned. “Ain’t that simple.”
Rick shrugged. “Ain’t always complicated either.”
Another beat.
Wind moved through the trees around them, quiet, steady.
Daryl shifted where he sat, boots scraping lightly against the concrete.
“She’s—” he started, then stopped.
Rick didn’t push.
Just waited.
“…She gets this look,” Daryl said finally, voice low. “When she wants somethin’. Like she already halfway there, just waitin’ on me to catch up.”
Rick smiled a little.
“Yeah,” he said. “That’ll do it.”
Daryl shot him a look, but it didn’t have much bite left in it.
“I ain’t kiddin’, man,” he went on. “It’s gettin’ harder t’—” he cut himself off, jaw tightening. “Keep it from goin’ too far.”
Rick’s expression softened again, just a touch.
“Then you talk to her.”
Daryl scoffed. “She ain’t the problem.”
Rick tilted his head. “Sounds like she’s half of it.”
Daryl shook his head, stubborn as ever.
“She knows what she’s doin’,” he said. “Ain’t confused. Ain’t scared. Just…” he exhaled, quieter now. “Wants me.”
Rick let that sit for a second.
Then, with a small grin—
“Yeah,” he said. “Real tough situation you got there.”
Daryl glared at him.
Rick held up a hand. “No, I’m serious. Man, you’re tellin’ me your biggest problem right now is that your girl can’t keep her hands off you?”
Daryl’s ears went red again.
“She ain’t—” he started.
Rick cut him off, laughing.
“—girlfriend, yeah, yeah, I know.”
Daryl muttered something under his breath.
Rick leaned back, shaking his head, still smiling.
“Daryl Dixon,” he said, almost fond. “Ain’t afraid of walkers, men with guns, or anything else this world throws at him.”
A pause.
Then, with a quiet chuckle—
“But one five-foot somethin’ blonde’s got you runnin’ scared.”
Daryl flipped him off without looking.
Rick laughed again, easier this time.
Because yeah—
This?
This was good.
Light.
Normal, in a way they didn’t get much of anymore.
And as he sat there, watching his brother grumble and pretend like he wasn’t already too far gone to turn back—
Rick couldn’t help but think—
Of all the problems to have in a world like this?
That one wasn’t so bad.