Chapter Text
They've been out there for a while, just standing there looking at the grave. The mud's eating Daryl's boots it feels like, and if there's a part of Daryl that ain't wet, he don't know it. It's heading towards spring, but it's still chilly, and the rain ain't doing him any favors.
"We can talk inside."
Daryl'd be lying to say he didn't want to take him up on that. But he don't."Why?" is what he says, 'cause he knows an evade when he sees one. He ain't that stupid. "What're we gonna do? Get more wet?" They're both soaked through, all muddied up and lookin' like a couple of hogs gone to town. Least this way, Rick don't got time to sneak off.
And Rick's gotta know he's caught, 'cause he lets out this big old sigh that makes his shoulders dip low against Daryl's. "You know what today is?" he says after while.
Daryl shakes his head. He don't keep up with the days; don't see the point. Let the others keep their tallies and shit.
Rick don't seem to mind that Daryl doesn't answer. Prolly used to it. "Judith's six months old today." He says without looking Daryl's way. Daryl's looking his, though, out of the corner of his eyes, and his face is drawn tighter than a drum. It's the look of a man in pain. And that's when it dawns on him, and he thinks maybe he is that stupid, 'cause it took him this damn long to figure it out.
"Lori." It ain't a question; don't need to be. There're only a few things that can get Rick looking like he does now, and she's one of them.
Rick's head gives a stiff jerk Daryl thinks is supposed to be a nod, but he still don't tear his eyes off the grave. Least it makes sense, now. "Judith's gonna be walkin' soon. Say her first word." He takes a shaky breath. "Lori should be here."
It's times like this Daryl wishes he was a religious man, like Hershel, so's he could say somethin' reassuring, maybe, like how she is there. Like how she's watching over them from a better place. And there're times he is, times he believes there're angels.
Problem is, even if there are angels, Lori ain't one of 'em. She was a good woman; he don't mean anything ill towards her. But she made a lot of mistakes. They all have. Truth be told, if there's a heaven, he's not real sure there's a place in it anymore for people like them. Sure as hell not for people like him.
"You done right by her," is what he says instead, because that, at least, he believes. "Her and Lil' Asskicker." And that's all he says. He ain't got nothin' else. All he knows is Rick's sure as shit better than his old man – that ain't sayin' muck, though – and for all he wishes Lori was still here for Rick and Lil' Asskicker and Carl, they're doin' alright. Better than alright, considrein'.
And there's a part of him he don't like thinking about that knows if Lori was still around…well, a lot'd be different. And he ain't so selfish as to think that he'd rather she was gone, 'cause he don't. Lil' Asskicker and Carl deserve a mom, and Rick never deserved to lose her. But what's done is done. There's no changing the past; all they can do's move forward.
Right then, Daryl's idea of forward's more along the lines of 'inside,' but even once he stands, he don't go anywhere. He puts a hand on his shoulder. Not hard, not heavy, not pushing or pulling. Just there. Like him.
For a good long minute, Rick sits still, sits staring at the cross like it's a living, breathing thing. Like he's expectin' it to jump out and bite him or somethin', or else start a conversation. But just when Daryl's getting started thinking of something to say or do, Rick's hand comes up to close over his. A firm squeeze. Gratitude, not the only way Rick knows how to give it, but near enough to the only way Daryl knows how to take it.
And when the time comes he finally turns his head, Daryl won't bother blaming the water on his face on the rain, 'cause hell, there ain't nothing wrong with cryin'. He's learned that. Everything they've been through, there ain't no shame in it.
He don't say nothing about it, neither, though – just 'cause there's no shame in it don't mean he needs to go calling him out on it; they still got their pride – just turns a little more to hold out his other hand. He catches his eyes as Rick takes it, as he lifts him up onto his feet.
But he keeps going, using his grip on Rick's hand and shoulder to pull him in for a rough sorta not-quite-hug, but somethin' pretty damn close. He claps him on the back, and it ain't gentle or tender or nothing like he reckons something like this should go, but it's firm and solid and there, and that's the best Daryl's got to offer him.
It's a relief when he feels Rick's arm curl around his shoulders. And even though they don't stay that way long, and even though it ain't the way he thinks most people woulda done it, he thinks he mighta finally done something right.
When they back off, they don't go all the way. Daryl's still got a hand on Rick's shoulder where he left it, 'cause he reckons he just…well, shit, he don't know. It's just there. Who the hell cares why?
As for Rick, he's got his head turned sideways, and Daryl nearly lets out a laugh when he sees what he's looking at: the tear in his sleeve. "Damn," he says, and it still sounds kinda shaky, but it's better. "I liked this shirt."
"Here, I got it." Seems Daryl's feeling all sorts of helpful tonight.
Rick raises his eyebrow. "That right?"
"Yeah." He proves it, too, grabbing a fistful of the sleeve and a fistful of the shoulder, then gives it one big jerk. There's the wet rip of soggy cloth, and then Daryl's holding the torn sleeve in his hand. Rick's staring at him like he can't believe Daryl just did what he did, but Daryl's got a smile tugging at his lips that spreads on over to Rick's when he reaches out to grab his hand and drops the torn sleeve in it.
He looks down at it, then back up at Daryl, and then he just starts laughing, shaking his head. And damned if that ain't music to Daryl's ears, because he did that. He did that.
Then Rick reaches over to his other sleeve and gives it a tug, and he gets the seams busted alright, but the thing holds on. "Give me a hand?" Rick asks. And Daryl does. He treats Rick's second sleeve to the same as the first, 'til he's standing out there sleeveless same as Daryl.
"Carol'll have both our asses," Daryl mutters, but he still can't quite manage to wipe the stupid grin off his face. He starts to turn, keep from lookin' even more like an idiot, but he don't get more than a step before something cold and wet's slinging around his neck. He starts a second, but then he catches on to what it is.
Rick's got his sleeve slid 'round his neck, and if it was anybody else, Daryl prolly woulda clocked him. As it is, all he musters is a snort that's only halfway to annoyed as he turns around and lets Rick tug him back on in.
"So now you're in a hurry?"
"'S rainin'?" Daryl says bluntly.
Rick just smiles wider. "What're we gonna do?" Daryl recognizes his own words when they're thrown back at him. "Get more wet?" And before Daryl gets a chance to answer, Rick's lips are on his.
Over the wind, Daryl hears a wolf whistle, and when they break the kiss, he tips his head back enough to look over to the guard tower. It's Glen; he can't see him real well, but he knows the outline. Little shit.
He hopes Glen can see well enough to make out the outline of his middle finger.
Huffing, he turns back to Rick, doing his level best to ignore the heat all in his face. And if Rick's smart, he'll do the same. "We done out here?" he says. It don't come out near as cross as he wants it to, but what the hell. Ain't like Rick wouldn't know better anyhow.
It don't escape his notice how Rick's eyes drift back to the cross, but they don't stay there long. He turns back, and with a tug on the sleeve still hanging 'round Daryl's neck – which earns him a smack on the bare arm for his trouble – he starts back for the prison. Daryl falls in just behind.
Rick don't say 'thank you' on the way back. He don't say it as they peel out of their soaked clothes or wash off in the showers. He don't say it when they turn in for the night, or when they wake up come morning.
But then he's headed out. He's got his crossbow slung up over his shoulder, his quiver on the other, fixing to go check the snares before the sun gets too high. Can't risk the meat spoiling in the heat.
He's on his way out of the cell block when he hears it: the little gurgles and giggles he'd like to never stop hearing as he's passing Rick's cell, and he can't help glancing inside.
He's in there, Rick is, sitting on a blanket spread out across the floor, holding his little girl up on her feet and grinning like he's just won the lottery. And Daryl knows he's got to be out soon, but he slows up enough to watch a little. This is the way it's supposed to be. People bein' people for just one goddamn minute at a time before the world goes all to shit again. 'Specially people like Rick.
Smiling just a touch, he pushes off the wall, fixing to start walking again when something catches his eye. Rick catches his eye, and he don't say nothing. But there's something in the way he's looking at Daryl that says plenty, and when he nods, Daryl reads it loud and clear. He nods back, shifts his crossbow up higher on his shoulder, and then he keeps right on walking.
They don't need 'thank you's, and they sure as hell don't need 'you're welcome's. They understand. Daryl didn't used to, but he does now. He's got Rick's back, and Rick's got his, don't matter when or what for, and that ain't changing long as Daryl's got breath in his body. He'll be there, and he knows when the time comes he needs him, Rick'll do the same.
It's just what they do.