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A few days later after they had walked through Alexandria's front gate for the first time, they decided it was safe enough to split up into the two houses. They gathered in the street in front of the house they all had slept in their first night, and Abraham said he would move to the other one, which naturally meant that Rosita, Eugene and Tara would, too. Sasha chose to stay with them, and Rick, who was holding his little daughter in his arms, nodded, watching as they entered the house before turning the other one. It was his home now.
He followed the others to the front door, seeing them chatting and laughing, warmth swelling in his chest at the sight, until he suddenly stopped on the porch and turned around.
Daryl was standing on the street, not moving even a bit from where he had been during the whole discussion. His eyes were downcast, fixed on the ground, both hands gripping the strap of his crossbow like if he let it go he would drown.
"Daryl." Rick called out as he turned his whole body to face the hunter. He stared down at him, waiting until Daryl lifted up his gaze, meeting the other's eyes. Rick knew that look; he had seen it from time to time, back on the road, at the prison gate, in front of the barn, on the edge of the rooftop in Atlanta.
Daryl didn't say anything, nervous and unsure, his eyes searching Rick's face for signs or something, like a dog waiting on his master's orders. Actually, he was waiting. Rick knew that somehow, knew what Daryl needed.
"C'mon, let's go back inside." He tilted his head, gently rocking Judith in his arms, eyes on Daryl the entire time. Their gazes were locked on each other for a few moments, Daryl's blue eyes peering from between the messy strands of his bangs, making Rick feel something that he couldn't put his finger on.
Then Daryl dropped his gaze again as he finally gave a small nod, walking up the steps quietly. Rick watched him, waiting on the porch until Daryl caught up, trying to make out his expression. But the hunter kept his head low, those long bangs shielding his eyes, leaving only the tight line of his thin lips visible.
Once inside the house, the others began discussing who would take which rooms. Rick let them, dandling the baby and kissing her forehead as he sometimes turned his attention to the hunter without darting his eyes. Daryl was leaning against the wall in silence, keeping himself out of the discussion just like earlier, though it didn't take long before Carol turned her head and looked at Daryl with a smile, of course she did. "So, how about you, Daryl? Which one do you want?"
Shrugging slightly, he mumbled. "Don't need a room. I'll take the couch."
"Don't be shy, Dixon." A soft, teasing voice drew everyone's eyes to Michonne, her grin full of white teeth. "No one would be surprised to see you sharing a room with Rick."
"What? Oh shut up, woman." Daryl grumbled, gruff but showing no sign of anger. Chuckles came from Glenn and Maggie, and Carl rolled his eyes before he walked towards Rick, gently scooping up the baby from his arms. "Be my guest. I'll share a room with her."
Just as Rick opened his mouth to say something, Michonne smiled at Carl, mischievous but affectionate. "That's good. Kids need privacy, too. Rick can take the room next to yours."
There was no point arguing against that idea, and Rick just patted his son on the back, indicating his approval. Part of him wanted to keep his kids in his arms, too worried and scared to let them go, but a much bigger part knew that Michonne was right, that they needed their space.
And another part of him felt the need to keep an eye on the man who had dropped out of the conversation and lost in his thoughts. Daryl's eyes were looking out the window, unreadable, a closed book. He had been like this since they had reached this place. Like he got lost somewhere, like he had nowhere to go.
His withdrawn behavior had been pretty obvious; Daryl had built up walls again, walking off alone, keeping him separated from the group. And Rick had been fool enough to believe that finding and settling in a safe place would fix everything. Then, here they were secure inside the walls with no walkers or insane rulers, and he was afraid that he would lose Daryl, again. Rick needed him. There was no doubt about it; he needed him to be on the same page, safe, alive, with him.
Now sharing a room didn't seem like a bad idea. Rick pondered it, gave a mental nod of satisfaction. His head was swimming a bit with whiskey he had taken at Deanna's party, feeling dizzy and funny. He couldn't remember the last time he had gotten drunk. The night air felt good against his warm skin as he walked down the street towards his house. There was no snarling, no screaming. It was like the world hadn't gone to shit and everything was fine. But Rick knew it was just a pipe dream. He did remember all the screams ripping from his people, the smell of the scattering blood and flesh that had been his wife, the feel of the knife digging into his best friend's body. What he'd gone through couldn't be his imagination.
When he reached the house, no light was on and seemingly everyone else had already retired to their rooms for the night. Sliding himself through the door quietly, Rick went straight to the kitchen to drink water. It quenched his thirst, clearing away the alcohol haze a bit. He let out a sigh, resting his hands on the edge of the kitchen sink, until his ears caught a faint sound coming closer. His head whipped around as his fingers crawled around to grab anything for a weapon.
"Hey, it's me, Rick." With that, Carol stepped out of the shadows, facing him. "Sorry, I didn't mean to surprise you."
"That's okay. I thought y'all had already gone to bed." Relaxing, he leaned against the sink, hand rubbing his face.
"Well, I haven't," Carol came into the kitchen, placing her hand on the counter top. "Daryl isn't back yet."
Rick's eyes snapped up at her, tense and alert in an instant, though her raised hand prevented him from saying anything. "I saw him go into Aaron's house. I think he's fine."
There was a surge of emotions welling up in Rick's chest. Relief, disbelief, and jealousy. What is Daryl doing at Aaron's house without attending Deanna's party? Why isn't he back yet? It wasn't like Daryl had been friendly to that guy. If anything, he had been suspicious and wary about Aaron, not letting any Alexandrias get closer to him. Now he avoided Rick and the others who were his people, his family, and started being open with a man he barely knew? It was as if his big fear was coming true; Daryl would leave him again, and never come back this time.
Hoping it was dark enough to hide the emotions passing over his face, Rick looked at Carol's face. "You can go to sleep now. I'll wait for him." His voice was strained a bit and Carol might feel it, but didn't say anything about it, offering a reassuring smile. "He's trying, Rick. And I think you're the one who can help him."
She turned with a 'good night', disappearing into the shadows of the wall. Rick wasn't sure what her words meant. He darted his eyes around as if trying to find an answer, until his gaze was caught by Daryl's crossbow and his bag propped up against the couch in the living room. His belongings left there allayed Rick's restlessness in some measure, and he felt the sudden urge to put the idea into action. Sharing a room. Because he felt like it was the right thing to do at the time.
He moved, striding into the living room, determination in his gait. When he picked up the bag, its flap gaped open on its own, a book falling out to the floor. Rick squinted as he reached for it. The title showed what was in the book; it was for child abuse survivors, written about how to treat them.
Rick stared down at the book in his hands before riffling through the pages, scanning the words. Trauma, emotional harm, exploitation, PTSD, fear and shame. The content of the book made his chest tighten, but thinking about how he had felt when he had picked up the book and put it in his bag was something far more than that.
Daryl had never talked about it, what he had been through. He had barely shared the stories of his childhood with anyone, just an occasional mention about how he and his brother had spent their time hunting or doing nothing and what kind of bastard his old man had been. But Rick had seen his scars that were obviously not ones from accidents, and put together a jigsaw puzzle of Daryl Dixon and his past with small pieces like the way he would dodge praises and gratitude people showered on, his soft touch on a baby, avoidance of physically or socially trapped situations, his fierce temper towards feckless adults, curious glitters in his eyes on dogs, involuntary flinches, his barely-noticeable awkward smiles.
He had never opened up about it, never asked for help or understanding, but he was struggling to get over it and move forward without being noticed. Rick could see that now. Daryl wasn't bailing out, he was trying. To stick around with the group, despite his uncomfortable feeling about these new things in Alexandria.
So Rick should give a try, too.
There were barely audible footsteps outside and Rick turned around to the front door. He waited as he leaned against the armrest of the couch, putting the book back into the bag. Then the door eased open silently.
"Hey." Rick's voice was as soft as a night breeze, but made the man jump anyway. Daryl froze in the doorway like a deer caught in the headlights, his eyes wide and wary, staring at Rick. He closed the door behind him, mumbling quietly. "What ya doin'?"
"Was waiting for you." Rick could sense the other's uneasiness and hesitance, his hands fidgeting, eyes shifting and looking anywhere but at Rick. "Sorry, I knew I shoulda gone to the party, but ya know… it's just not my thing."
"No, it's not that, Daryl. I don't blame you for anything. I just," taking one deep breath, Rick continued, eyes fixed on Daryl, "I just wanted to ask you what you thought about Michonne's idea. I mean, about sharing a room."
Rick couldn't see well what expression was on the other's face due to the darkness and the distance between them, but to his surprise, Daryl merely shrugged, no signs of rejection or disgust. "Alright. I'll bring a sleeping bag."
"Well, you know, you can sleep on my bed with me." Rick blurted out quickly, doing his best to make it sound like it was no big deal.
"Oh," Daryl's voice came out cracked, the sudden realization of what Rick's words meant hit him like a ton of bricks, then a bright shade of red colored his cheeks, Rick swore he had seen that despite the dark shadows of the night and his bangs hanging in his face. After what felt like an eternity, Daryl breathed out. "Okay."
Rick's heart skipped a beat. He couldn't believe his ears and rose to his feet without realizing it, taking a step closer to the hunter. "You sure?"
Daryl jerked his head in a tight nod, keeping his gaze on the floor. "Yeah."
His tone was so soft it was barely audible, but it was all Rick needed. His legs moved automatically, carrying him forward until he was face to face with Daryl. This close, Rick could see clearly how the flush in his face brought out the blue of his eyes, how his lips curled inward in a way he found endearing, how his back was glued firmly against the door like he had no idea what to do other than that.
They were roughly the same height so it was not difficult for Rick to try to catch the other's gaze. With one hand he pushed Daryl's hair aside to reveal his eyes, staring at him intently. He wanted to make sure that he didn't misread the signals Daryl was giving off, that this was what both of them wanted. When Daryl's eyes were trained on his, clear and steady with resolve, Rick made a move; cupping his stubbly cheek before leaning in, tilting his head slightly, closing the distance.
Their mouths met in a tender, lingering kiss. Their lips caressed each other, tongues tentatively exploring each other, breaths merging. It was achingly slow, soft, and loving. Heavenly. When Rick finally pulled away, his heart was thumping so loud and fast, but seeing Daryl's wet lips parting and his eyes gleaming an inch away made his heartbeat even faster. Rick couldn't help but lean towards him again, giving him a chaste peck on the lips.
"Let's go to bed." Rick's whisper fell on Daryl's cheek, and he felt Daryl nodding, dark long hair brushing against his face.
Reaching out, Rick took the other's hands in his, then his eyes moved down to them because of an unfamiliar, jaggy feeling on the skin. There was a circular, burn scar on the back of his left hand, and when Rick turned it, he found two more marks on the lower part of the palm near the wrist. Several words on the pages of the book came into Rick's head: feelings of low self-worth, chronic distress and pain, inability to regulate their emotions and need to do so through alcohol, drugs, or harming themselves.
Pulling his gaze up, Rick looked into the man in front of him, hurt and desperation in his voice. "Don't do this again, alright?"
He saw shame flicker across Daryl's face before the hunter took a few shaky breaths, his lashes lowering over the blue of his eyes. "My dad did it to me first. I was 8."
Rick knew it was really hard for Daryl to talk about his miserable past, but he was trying. It was a clumsy, groping attempt, but it was definitely a step in the right direction. Rick wrapped his arms around the other's shoulders and waist, pulling him into a tight hug. No words could express his emotions. He closed his eyes, burying his face into Daryl's neck as he felt one hand grip the back of his shirt.