Chapter Text
This time, when Rick wakes up, Daryl is in bed with him. The thin curtains filter the sun, giving the room a bluish tone. The light is still weak, letting him know these are the first hours in the morning. Who needs an alarm clock when you got no blinds? They fell asleep in each other’s arms, but rolled to opposite sides of the bed at some point in the night. Daryl is now lying on his side, hugging a pillow. His light snore tells Rick he’s still out; it’s the same sound that lulled Rick to sleep last night. He’d wanted to stay up longer, enjoying the weight and warmth of the man’s body on his shoulder, but his eyelids were too heavy.
But now is his chance, and he stays in bed, taking in everything about Daryl: listening to his breathing, noticing the way his eyeballs move from side to side behind his eyelids, inching close enough to inhale the smell of his neck and hair. But the same way the sun’s rays woke him up, they eventually wake Daryl too. He stirs on the mattress, stretching his arms before slowly opening his swollen eyes.
“Hey,” he says, barely parting his lips, and thrusts a naked thigh between Rick’s legs.
Rick brings him closer, resting a hand on the small of his back, and kisses him—affection rather than lust. Daryl’s skin is soft under his touch. They spend a moment like this, basking in the laziness of having just woken up, until the sun rises high enough in the sky to brighten up the room.
“What time is Dale expecting me?”
“He didn’t say. But I reckon we got time for a bath and breakfast.”
“Good,” Daryl says, but instead of getting up, he hugs Rick closer and buries his face on the crook of his neck.
Rick is ready to send everything to hell, let Dale find someone else to fix his RV, but Daryl is too responsible for that. Placing a kiss on Rick’s neck, he finally pulls back and gets up. Rick watches him leave the room fully naked and disappear down the hallway. He lounges in bed a while longer, hearing the activity throughout the cabin—faucets being turned on and off, flushing, the kettle’s whistle, cupboards’ and the fridge’s doors slamming shut.
Rick gets up and makes the bed perfunctorily before grabbing a change of clothes and heading to the bathroom. He doesn’t bother closing the door as he takes a piss and washes his hands and face in the sink. When he makes it to the kitchen, Daryl is eating the chicken casserole he’d forgotten over the counter last night. The smell of fresh coffee brings a smile to Rick’s face.
“You sure you wanna eat that? It was out of the fridge the whole night, and I’m pretty sure there’s mayo in there,” Rick says, even if Daryl has already eaten more than half of it.
Daryl shrugs and shoves another spoonful in his mouth. Rick smiles and shakes his head, fetching the thermos and pouring himself a mug. Daryl is wearing his less battered button-up, the vest, and even combed his hair. His backpack is on the floor next to him.
“You can take my car,” Rick says, nodding at the key inside a bowl on the counter. There is no reason Daryl should walk all the way to the town and back. Besides, if he takes the car, he’ll be back to Rick sooner.
Daryl gets the last bite in his mouth and is still chewing when he takes the dish to the sink. He starts washing it, but Rick kisses him on the neck and sneaks in front of him, taking the sponge from his hand. Daryl’s lips curve slightly and he goes to the bathroom. When he returns to the kitchen, his breath smells of artificial grape and he gives Rick a tongue-filled kiss, not caring about the taste of coffee. Rick hands him Dale’s dish and crates, so Daryl can return them.
Standing by the cabin’s front door, he watches Daryl take the driver’s seat of his sedan and adjust the rearview mirrors before turning on the engine. He waves good-bye and backs up the car until he’s out of the yard, disappearing down the road. Rick walks back inside, the door slamming shut behind him.
For the next two hours, Rick tries to stay busy. The first forty-five minutes, he spends doing physical therapy, forcing himself to focus on his lunges instead of how unfamiliar it feels to be exercising without Daryl. Afterwards, he’s finally hungry enough for breakfast and goes to the kitchen, fixing himself scrambled eggs and fried sausages. He chews slowly, but one can only take so much time eating and he cleans the plate in fifteen minutes. When he’s done, he takes his time doing the dishes, drying them and putting them away. When he’s done with that, he goes to his room and starts checking his own clothes, setting aside the ones he thinks will fit Daryl better, and putting them in a separate drawer.
He glances at his turned off cellphone, resting on the bedside table, and sighs. He should stop stalling—postponing the call won’t help matters. If he takes too long, Daryl might be back before he gets around to do it, and he’d rather talk to Lori when he’s alone. He returns to the kitchen to have a glass of water and brace himself for what will surely be a difficult conversation—even if she accepts his apology, she’ll probably talk his ear off.
Finally, he goes back to the bedroom and sits on the bed, holding the on-off button for a couple of seconds, waiting for the phone to be functional. Like before, it buzzes with unread text messages and missed phone calls, but to his amazement, it’s the same amount as yesterday. Maybe his short text calmed Lori enough for her not to keep calling. He pulls her contact and presses the call button.
It rings several times and Rick is almost hoping the call will get dropped—he did call, so no one can accuse him of not trying, right?—but around the seventh ring, Lori picks up.
“Rick.”
Rick wasn’t expecting her to be cheerful, but her tone is strange. She’s never sounded so dry, so cold, and considering the final months of their marriage, that’s saying something.
“Hey, Lori. I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner. I didn’t mean to upset you or Carl. The trip was fine and I’m okay. My battery died and I couldn’t find the charger,” he repeats the words he’d been rehearsing in his head for the past ten minutes, hoping he sounds apologetic enough to make up for how lame his excuse is.
There’s only silence on the other side of the line. Rick pulls the phone away from his face, thinking he might’ve gotten disconnected after all, but the numbers on the screen keep tracking the call’s duration.
“Lor?”
The nickname draws her from her silence, and this time, the anger he was expecting is present in her voice. “What about Daryl? Is he okay?”
The bottom of Rick’s stomach drops. His immediate thought is that Dale spoke a lot more than he admitted, but outright lying goes against everything he knows about the old man. “Lor, how did—”
“Don’t you Lor me. If you wanted to run away to the middle of the woods and live your Brokeback fantasy, you could’ve just told me, instead of letting me spend weeks planning this trip like a fool—”
He grits his teeth and any will to appease her leaves him.
“—be honest, Rick. When did you meet him? Was it after you woke up? Before you got shot? Did you have a boyfriend on the side while I bent over backwards to save our marriage?”
“You lost the right to complain when you started screwing my friend of thirty years in our bed,” he yells. God, he really wishes he’d kept his cool. At least he’s not the only one to have lost his temper.
“At least you heard it from me, while all I get is a call from the fucking Governor, all too pleased to warn me about the twenty-year-old junkie driving my husband’s car around town.”
The emotions floor Rick, and he can’t readily label them. Embarrassment over having his private matters up for public debate? Anger at Lori for the moralistic, accusing tone? Confusion about how Philip Blake could have guessed the nature of his relationship with Daryl? Indignation at him for meddling with things that aren’t absolutely his business?
“Daryl isn’t—”
“Don’t you try to deny it. The Governor said your boyfriend bought lubricant in his store. Christ, you both didn’t even try to keep up appearances.”
Rick rubs a hand on his tired eyes. “I wasn’t gonna deny it. Daryl is not a junkie. You and I are no longer together. You’re with Shane. I did nothing wrong.” It’s a low blow, but he adds, “Unlike you, I didn’t cheat.”
“You said you forgave us, you accepted us, but you’ll never let me off the hook, will you?”
“I forgave you, Lori. I want you two to be happy together, but you don’t get to say those things about the people—about the man I choose to be with.”
She takes a pause, making him wonder if the conversation is over and whether he should hang up. But then she says, “Do you intend to bring that… that man around Carl?”
Lori has always been a lioness around Carl, and that’s one of the qualities he most admires in her, but the way she says “man” sets his teeth on edge.
“I don’t know. Yes? Maybe?”
“If you think I’m gonna let a drug addict—”
“Daryl is not a drug addict. He’s a good man, Lori. Life sure dealt him a bad hand, but he’s done his best to get over the shitty things that have happened to him. He’s thoughtful and caring. More than anyone I know.”
“The Governor said—”
“You know better than to believe anything Philip Blake tells you,” Rick says, exasperated.
Lori lets out a tired sigh that doesn’t sound so combative. Maybe Rick is fooling himself, but he wonders if he’s managed to get through to her.
“You don’t need to take my word for it,” he says, amazed at how steady his voice sounds. “Call Dale. Talk to him. He knows Daryl ever since he was a kid. Dale has no reason to lie to you.”
Rick readies himself for another accusation, something along the lines of “you told Dale before you told me,” but she says nothing of the sort.
“All right. I might do that.” There’s another pregnant pause before she says, “I’m gonna hang up now. Don’t forget your therapy.”
The silence that follows is too abrupt and he knows she just disconnected their call. He heads to the living room, meaning to do something, but once he gets there, he completely forgets what it was and just falls on the couch, the cellphone in his pocket. He stays like that, unmoving and facing the fireplace, until he hears the sound of an engine as a car parks out front.
Daryl walks in, tossing his backpack on the floor. He’s got and a small grocery bag with him and he lays it on the counter.
“Hey, man. I stopped by the store to get us some things. You liked yesterday’s dinner so much, thought I introduce you to more white trash cuisine,” he says, taking a jar of pig’s feet from the bag.
Rick hasn’t had many opportunities to see Daryl so relaxed and enthusiastic about anything other than cars, but the conversation with Lori is still replaying in his ears, and it’s hard to share his excitement. The weight on his shoulders feels heavier. How could anyone think of Daryl as a bad influence on him? The man lights up over pig’s feet, for Christ’s sakes.
Daryl sits next to him on the couch and takes something out of his pocket, placing it on the cushion between them and kissing Rick’s cheek.
“Got us somethin’ else too,” he whispers.
It’s a tube of Astroglide. Rick doesn’t mean to, but he scoffs. If Daryl just got home, then Blake didn’t waste as second to call Lori as soon as Daryl left the store. What is that man’s problem? Goddamn.
The enthusiasm dies on Daryl’s face and he pulls back, his stance rigid.
“We’re over, ain’t we?”
Rick frowns, his jaw dropping. What the—
“I get it. Was kind of expecting it, to be honest. Just didn’t think it would happen now. Figured it would take a few more days ‘fore you realized you could do a lot better than a homeless redneck. Still, we both had our fun, right?”
The shock leaves him speechless at the worst moment; he ought to be clearing things out, but the self-deprecating words catch him off guard. Does Daryl really believe anything he just said?
“Don’t suppose I could still get a lift to the ferry? I can even pay for my ticket this time. Dale gave me some cash for fixing his RV.”
Rick can’t stand to hear any more of that, and since he apparently lost most of his higher brain functions, he lets instinct guide him and kisses Daryl. It’s a hungry kiss at first, but he worries Daryl might come up with another ridiculous assumption—that Rick wants a goodbye fuck or something—so he pulls back.
It’s too soon. Of course it is. Anyone with a lick of common sense would tell him that. A year from now—scratch that—a week, hell, even a day from now, he’ll probably regret his words. But right now, it feels right. Right now, there isn’t a single doubt clouding his brain.
“Move in with me.”
“What?”
“Forget this temporary bullshit. Move in with me. If things don’t work out, you can always leave, but we oughta give it a try. Don’t you think?” He needs Daryl to say yes. Right now, he wants Daryl to say yes more than he wanted to get in the police academy, more than he wanted his first car, more than he wanted to leave the hospital after waking up from the coma.
“Dale got a car shop in King County, a godson of his runs it, some dude named Glenn. Said he needs a new mechanic, that I got a job there if I want it.”
“See? It’s perfect. My family lives in King County. I got at least three more weeks of medical leave, so we got time to look for a place, and you won’t even need to go job hunting—”
The hesitation is plain on Daryl’s face.
“—or maybe we can just forget I said anything.”
“No, I just—” He kisses Rick again, needy and desperate, as if he thinks this is last chance to do it. When they part, the words come out of his throat with difficulty. “There are things you don’t know about me.”
“There are things you don’t know about me too,” Rick says, even if Daryl has always given him the impression he could see right through his soul.
“I mean there’s a lot of heavy shit you don’t know about.” He puts some distance between them, as if to give seriousness to his speech. “From back when… I used to live here. And some stuff that happened after I left with Merle.”
It makes him tense to admit it, but Rick owes Daryl to be honest. “Dale mentioned some things, thinking I already knew. He’s very fond of you.”
“What’d he say?” Daryl’s nervous habit returns, and he nibbles on the cuticle of his thumb.
“That you used to stay in his store after school until it got dark. That he thought of taking you in—”
Daryl flinches when his teeth nick the skin under the fingernail, and a thin thread of blood escapes the superficial wound. He closes his lips around the injury, sucking on it. Rick wishes Daryl wouldn’t hurt himself like this, but doesn’t know what he can do to help.
“—that your mom died in a fire and you lost your house. That Merle ran away and only came back years later, when you father died in a hunting accident. That your father wasn’t worth a damn.”
“Yeah, that’s about right, but...” He pulls his finger out of his mouth, and looks away for a moment. “Shit, shoulda taken a few shots of that tequila,” he says, but makes no move to go get it.
It’s better this way.
When Daryl finally starts talking, he keeps his eyes on the fireplace in front of them. Rick wants to comfort him somehow—embrace him, stroke his hair—but it must be difficult to talk about these things, and he fears touching him right now might make it even harder, somehow. He can take Daryl in his arms when he’s done talking.
“My old man was always a mean drunk. I mean, when he was sober, he was no better or worse than the dads I saw around the neighborhood. Things is, he was almost always plastered. My mom was… well, she wasn’t like him, but she liked her wine too. Liked to smoke in bed. Virginia Slims.”
He stops talking again, still facing ahead, lost in thoughts. Rick doesn’t need to know, not when talking about it is so hard for Daryl. Still, it’s Daryl’s decision to share it or not, and Rick doesn’t want to influence him in either direction. Even if it hurts, maybe Daryl needs to tell someone. God knows how many times Rick wanted to talk about all the shit in his head, but every time he tried opening up to Shane or Lori, things didn’t make sense once they were finally out of his mouth, and he ended up regretting saying anything. He doesn’t want that to happen to Daryl; if he chooses to say something, Rick wants him to feel supported. One of his hands hovers over Daryl’s knee, but he pulls it back, opening and closing his fist.
Daryl notices his hesitation and just grabs Rick’s hand, but doesn’t look at him.
“After she died and we lost the house, it got worse. My dad, he was a real piece of shit. Merle took off as soon as he could, but I… I stayed.”
Daryl interlaces their fingers together. Rick doesn’t need more explanation than this—he knows now who was responsible for the scars on Daryl’s back.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have, but I did. Thought I had nowhere to go. Thought that was where I belonged. Anyway, we went on this hunt one day. Dad was three sheets to the wind, for a change.”
He lowers his eyes quickly to their joined hands before going on.
“We tracked a stag for almost a mile. Dad was shit-faced but still managed to hit it square in the chest. Sounds stupid, but you gotta make sure the buck is dead ‘fore you try to gut it. Sometimes you get close and it ain’t dead yet, and even a wounded animal can still hurt you bad, but my dad was too drunk to care. I saw the stag was still alive a couple seconds 'fore it happened. I could've said something, warned him, but I didn’t.”
Rick watches Daryl in silence, wondering if he ever told this to anyone.
“The antlers cut his belly open. He screamed. Loud. I stood there for a whole minute, watching his blood soak the ground, 'fore I went for help. And even so, I could’ve run faster, I could’ve tried. But I took my time. Guess the man was dead before I even got to town. When Merle came back, he said people would find out what I had done. That they would take one look at me and just know. That I would give myself away, and we should just leave. Said there was nothing for us in this town. I couldn’t argue with that.” Daryl shrugs. “You wanna know what I was before all this? Us? I was just drifting around with Merle. Doing whatever he said we were gonna be doing that day. Until he disappeared and left me on my own. Just some redneck asshole who killed his own flesh and blood.” He looks straight at Rick for the first time in a while. “You still want me to move in with you?”
Rick’s first responses vary from “I think the real question is whether you want to move in with a cop” to “Of course I do, what kind of question is that?”, but he doesn’t say anything immediately—he’s too stupefied for words. Daryl defended himself from a violent father the only way the abused teenager he was knew how, yet he thinks that is a reason for Rick not to want him anymore.
What he ends up saying is what Daryl needed to hear a long time ago, seven years back, when all of that happened.
“Doesn’t matter what you think, Daryl. You didn’t disembowel you father. You didn’t get him drunk. And no matter how fast you ran, he would have died one way or another.”
Daryl’s eyes are welling up fast; he’s probably fighting back the tears, but he needs to blink eventually, and they roll off his cheeks. He squeezes his eyes shut, naked fragility on his face. Something inside Rick breaks seeing that, and he brings Daryl closer, kissing his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, showers him with kisses. The tears are salty on Rick’s tongue. Daryl gasps against him and kisses him on the mouth, trying to force a tongue past his lips.
“Daryl—” Rick protests, a little shaken by the sudden change.
But then Daryl straddles him. His face is still wet, but his eyes have dried up. “‘S all right. Loving is better than crying, right? I want this. You want it too?”
Rick might still be a little confused, but his dick is having no trouble getting with the program, stiffening under Daryl as he crosses his ankles on the small of Rick’s back and joins their mouths. They kiss for a moment, but Rick tugs on Daryl’s hair, just hard enough to part their lips, Daryl’s neck stretching in front of him. He mouths the spot where he can feel the blood pumping, leaving a mark there. He wants Daryl to see it in random moments of his day—when he catches a glimpse of his reflection on a window or the car’s rearview mirror—and be reminded that a man who wants him more than anything, who can’t bear the thought of being away from him, put it there.
Rick pushes the vest off his shoulders and traces the hollow between Daryl’s clavicles with his tongue, memorizing the taste and feel of his skin, the shape of his bones. He unbuttons Daryl’s shirt slowly, kissing and licking each portion of skin revealed. When the piece of clothing is finally off, Rick focuses on his nipples, teasing them with just the tip of his tongue and fingers, a caress that’s barely there—it’s been just a few days, but he’s already familiar enough with Daryl’s body to know how much he likes this. Daryl surrenders easily on top of him, rubbing his ass on Rick’s erection under his hips.
Rick unbuttons his pants, lowers the zipper. He’s seen Daryl’s cock so many times the last few days, he knows the rosy tone of his glans, knows how the foreskin slides in his hand, how incredibly sensitive the head of Daryl’s cock is… But each time he takes a look—each time the waistband of a pair of sweatpants goes down, each time the fly of a pair of jeans is undone—he loses his breath like he’s seeing it for the first time. Mouth still attached to Daryl’s right nipple, his hands roam all over his body, scratching the skin of his torso, grabbing an ass cheek, squeezing that mouthwatering hard-on from root to tip. He wants to touch Daryl everywhere, wants him to feel his passion and never come close to doubting again.
One of his hands leave Daryl’s body as he pats the couch, trying to find the lube, and that moment alone is enough for Daryl to moan for the absence. The Astroglide secure in his hand, he gives Daryl’s ass an encouraging squeeze, planting one last kiss on his sternum.
“Get this off,” he says, tugging on the waistband of his jeans. “I wanna finger you, get you open and ready for me.” His voice is hoarse in the back of his throat.
Daryl nods and climbs down his body, standing in front of him. He bends over and struggles with the string of his boots for a while, that seem to have tangled themselves into a knot, his hard cock hanging from his pants. There’s something equally silly and arousing in the sight, and Rick doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or ravish him. Instead of doing either, he pulls his own T-shirt over his head and slides his sweatpants down his thighs, his erection springing free. He gives it a lazy stroke, eyes fixated on Daryl as he finally manages to kick his boots off and get rid of his pants. Rick breaks the lube’s seal and coats two fingers generously.
Naked except for his socks, Daryl takes one step closer, but before he can straddle him again. Rick bends down and gives a quick suck to the head of his dick. He isn’t planning on actually going down on Daryl this time, but his cock is just too delicious for him not to get a taste. And if the drop of precome on his tongue wasn’t reward enough, Daryl’s moan sure is.
Rick leans back against the couch and Daryl straddles him again. The lube makes his index finger slide in smoothly, Daryl’s body offering no resistance. It’s tight, but he can tell Daryl likes it.
“Gimme another. I can take it,” Daryl gasps, hips stuttering softly.
Rick doesn’t take his index finger out, just pushes the middle one alongside it, feeling it stretch Daryl wider as it goes in. His two fingers waste no time finding the place where Daryl’s prostate is buried, pressing on it hard. Daryl’s moan is so strewn out it gives him pause.
“You okay?”
“Fucking sensitive, I—fuck—”
“Sorry, I—”
“No, keep doing it, just—keep doing it.”
Rick doesn’t need to be told twice, and his fingers dig into that place as hard as before. With his free hand, he slides his fingertips on Daryl’s glans, spreading precome on the swollen head. Daryl is grabbing hard the couch behind Rick, going up and down on his lap in a movement so subtle he isn’t even sure Daryl knows he’s doing it. A thin layer of sweat covers his body, and Rick can smell the salt on his skin, can feel his impatience and his need to come, and loves every minute of it.
“Daryl, darlin’...” he says and waits until Daryl’s eyes are open and focused on his face, until he knows he’s got his attention. “You wanna come on my hand or on my dick?”
Daryl’s initial response is to toss his head back, fuck himself harder in short thrusts as a needy whimper escapes his lips, and Rick almost thinks that’s his answer.
But then Daryl recovers enough to say, “Wanna come with you fucking me. I know you get winded fast, but…” He looks away briefly, as if he hadn’t meant to say what he just said. “Fuck me hard. Even if it’s just a moment. I wanna feel you.”
There’s no way Rick will do it any differently, not after hearing something like that. Even if he drops dead right after, he’s going to pound into Daryl with all he’s got, give Daryl his cock, his come, his body, his mind—everything he is.
He pulls his fingers free and Daryl grunts softly on top of him. He gently gets Daryl off of him, making him kneel on the couch, his chest on the back of it, so Rick can position himself behind him. Daryl isn’t exactly on all fours, but it comes close. He looks over his shoulder, eyes foggy, and reaches back, pulling one ass cheek in each hand, exposing himself, and Rick’s knees go weak seeing something so beautiful.
He’s right behind Daryl a second later, the head of his cock forcing its way inside. As he slowly pushes in, his nails scratch the skin of Daryl’s thighs absent-mindedly. But then he bottoms out, and he grabs Daryl’s hips hard, pulling out and shoving himself in again.
As he fucks Daryl, a thousand images cross his mind. Each time the heat of Daryl’s body engulfs him, he wonders what new pleasures they can find together. He wonders if he could make Daryl moan as prettily as he is doing now if Rick put him on his back and rode his cock. It’s something that’s been making him curious for a while now, and he knows that, sooner or later, he’s going to give having Daryl’s dick up his ass a try. But he’s curious about other things, too. Like what kind of reactions he could get out of Daryl if he was able to fuck him and suck his cock at the same time; he knows he can’t do it with his own dick, but his helpful mind supplies him with a number of things he could fuck Daryl with. Just thinking about it turns him on almost as much as the deep thrusts and Daryl’s choked out moans aren’t helping to pull him back from the edge. He doesn’t slow down, though, and one of the hands on Daryl’s hip moves to his cock, jerking him off slowly but effectively. Rick wants Daryl to feel as good as he’s feeling right now.
Rick wants a thousand things more. He wants to fuck Daryl against a wall, hard, the weight and gravity making him sink into Daryl even deeper. He wants to take Daryl out to dinner somewhere nice, and get so hot and bothered watching Daryl suck sauce off fingers, they’ll fuck in the car at the parking lot, desperate and fast. He doesn’t want them to fight, but when they do—because all couples fight at some point, it’s inevitable—he can’t wait for them to have delicious make up sex.
Their movements speed up. Rick can already feel the base of his lungs starting to burn, and his hand on Daryl’s hip grips tighter, making up for the tired pain spreading in his thighs. It will definitely leave five finger-shaped bruises. Daryl doesn’t complain—he moans, that he does a lot. But Rick thinks it’s pleasure with the way he undulates his hips, thrusting into Rick’s hand and pushing himself back on Rick’s cock.
The couch is creaking noisily underneath them, and Rick wonders for a second if they’re going to fall over, but then it doesn’t matter anymore. They’re so close the ground could open up and swallow them both, and he’d continue fucking Daryl. Warm fluid coats his hand in spurts and probably the couch too, but the way Daryl tightens around him in his orgasm makes it hard to care about anything else; a second later, Rick is coming too, spilling deep inside him, grunting low.
When it’s over, he places his sweaty forehead on the nape of Daryl’s neck, and waits for the ache in his thighs to dissolve a little before he pulls out and sits on the couch. Daryl’s legs are a little wobbly when he climbs off the couch. The stain on the cushion is smaller than Rick expected. His hand, however, is covered in white. He takes his abandoned shirt off the floor and wipes his hand clean with it. Daryl bends down to kiss him, stroking his jawline through the beard. He then leaves to the bathroom, and Rick hears the sound of a stream hitting the ceramic bowl, followed by the toilet’s flush.
His eyes are closed, but sounds still filter through the sluggishness of the afterglow. Water pouring into the sink. Steps down the hallway, towards the bedroom. Something vibrates. Wood slamming on wood, probably drawers. Something vibrates again.
Rick’s eyes snap open and he sees something shining in his sweatpants on the floor. His phone is ringing in his pocket. He manages to get it before the call is disconnected. Lori’s name is on the screen. He swallows hard, suddenly wide awake, and slides his thumb across the bottom of the screen, picking up the call.
“Hey, Lori. Thanks for calling.” It would have been easy to just ignore him, assume an inflexible posture, so he truly is thankful.
But before she can say anything, Daryl walks into the living room, already dressed. “You wanna start cooking or—” He cuts himself short when he sees Rick is on the phone.
“Is that him?” Lori’s voice sounds quiet on the phone—not upset or offended, just cautious.
“Yeah. We still haven’t had lunch.”
“Good to know he takes care of you.”
“He does that,” Rick says, unsure whether to be hopeful or not feed unrealistic expectations. He’s asking Lori to accept a great deal.
“I talked to Dale.”
Rick thinks of a thousand things to say, but doesn’t say anything in the end.
Lori goes on. “I didn’t want to, but… You’re right. In your own way, you forgave us, accepted us. It was good for Carl and… I want to do the same for you. Dale said that… Daryl was like a son to him, that he regrets not making it clear. Said a lot of positive things about him. Apparently, your… Daryl is a mechanic genius or something.”
“He likes to fish and is a great hunter, too.”
Through his peripheral vision, he sees Daryl lifting his gaze briefly at him, then looking away. His attention momentarily diverted from the call, Rick isn’t ready for Lori’s weak laugh.
“Just like your father.”
He smiles. “Just like my father.”
Lori’s pause is long, but he waits.
“I know it’s your right to introduce him to Carl, after all Shane gets to have that, but… Not now, okay? Shane and I talked and… we figured he should’ve some time to adapt to all these changes. Carl is already dealing with too much right now.”
Rick’s knee-jerk reaction is to get upset that she and Shane are now making decisions together about his son without consulting him, but he manages to quiet it down before he says anything that might fuel his conflict with Lori again. He should get used to it, now that Shane is Carl’s stepfather. Besides, they are probably right. Rick himself is still wrapping his head around all of this and he’s already made a lot more progress with them than he expected to.
“It’s all right, Lori. We’ll take it slow.”
“Thank you. And… I’m sorry for the things I said this morning. About Brokeback and—”
“It’s all right.” He doesn’t want to hear any of it again.
“—calling him a junkie. You called me less than a minute after I hung up on the Governor and… I wasn’t in the best mood.”
“It’s all right.”
“I, uh, I think I’ll let you go back to your lunch now. It was good talking to you, Rick.”
“You too, Lor.”
The line goes silent, and Rick stares at the screen for a moment before fetching his pants and putting them on, pushing the cellphone into his pocket. When he looks up, Daryl is busy taking things out of the fridge and setting them on the sink counter, but he can see the stiff expectancy in his posture.
Rick approaches Daryl and takes a head of lettuce from his hands, placing it on the counter and giving him a quick peck on the lips.
“How does that work? I say yes to pig’s feet and you say yes to moving in with me?”
Daryl’s expression is hard to read. “You want that?”
“Pig’s feet? ‘Course I do. You even need to ask?” he says, trying not to make a big deal out of the admittedly huge step they are taking. But he knows Daryl needs an actual answer. “Being with you—that’s all I wanted.” Rick touches his forehead to Daryl’s, their noses grazing.
Daryl smiles. It’s still restrained, the only kind of smile he seems to be able to give, but it’s also genuine and undeniable. “Well, I’m here now.”
Yes. They both are.