Chapter Text
It’s not that Rick has time to think about it. An elbow jutted outwards, shoulders harshly sloped, and ears open for the whisper of a siege- he doesn’t have that casual leisure. Not when his muscles ache with vestigial violence, still thrumming dangerously, hot and molten beneath skin and scalp.
Not when they’ve been tossed out on their asses again by the dying world like a handful of chipped dice- landing haphazardly in the crooks and crannies of the stinking forest around them. Rick doesn’t have a goddamn second to himself, not to think, and not to linger. That’s how it should be.
But when his eyes have shuddered into the restless minutes before sleep, he recalls the pause of his gait, and the hesitance of an outsider looking in.
✢
He’d always thought the closest that curling mop of dark tresses got to anyone was a shoulder away. His left, and right. On the rare occasion, near enough for Rick to take a glance, and wonder, for the umpteenth time if it was uncomfortably warm for Daryl. His hair. Sweeping heat on the back of his nape, with a brow of sweat.
Daryl drew people to him, like an oil lamp for ashen moths, but everyone knew, loud and clear, that he didn’t like to be touched. Rick won’t say it, but there’s always been a hint of pride in the way he stands, Daryl at his side, with the knowledge that he’s come closer than most.
A shoulder away.
That was the distance Daryl was comfortable with, any closer, and the wind would change, the man’s lips curled into a subtle warning with bared teeth.
It seems, not for the first time, that Rick assumed wrong. And probably had assumed wrong for a long damn time.
Rick didn’t give those thoughts the time to curl up in his throat like foul tendrils of rot. He’d simply smiled, cheeks tight with exhaustion, and lashes lowered to give Daryl and Carol as much privacy as could be afforded with everyone piling into the clearing.
He had let out a breath then. A breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Letting it fall into Carol’s shoulder as he’d embraced her tight with affection, gratitude, and relief. A heavy exhale, but quiet like the final resounding note of a musical tie.
They’ll be good for each other, he’d thought.
✢
Rick pulls the ragged slip of jacket tighter around himself, falling asleep with strung nerves, and the smug knowing stare of Shane on the back of his neck.
No sanctuary. Not even in fantasy or sleep.