A reunion and a new friend.

[weaintashes]

Who| Beth, Daryl, Rick.
What| Reunion with Rick. Puppy delivery for Beth.
Where| Daryl's District 9 suite. Beth's District 7 suite.
When| Immediately post-arena 12 for the reunion. A few days after this for the puppy.
Warnings/Notes| Mentions of arena-typical violence, gore, death, etc. Mentions of child abuse and self harm may come up.

Rick:

Daryl had been deeply asleep only moments before, but something had woken him.

When he opened his eyes, the surroundings which greeted him were unfamiliar, and were made even more disorienting by the fact he couldn't recall how he'd gotten there, his memories of the previous day sluggish in coming back to him. He was sprawled face down on a too-soft, ridiculously plush, pristine bed, the topmost pillow still slightly damp from where he'd apparently fallen asleep with wet hair. Clean hair, judging by the smell, and not only his hair — there was a startling absence of the usual reek of sweat and filth and walker guts, he noted, and brought an arm up near his nose, disbelieving. Some kind of flowery soap scent was clinging to his skin but there was nothing else.

He didn't stink.

It was surreal.

In the same moment it struck him that he also wasn't dead, despite having extremely vivid memories of dying in the arena explosion alongside Rick. In fact his only injuries were what he'd already had upon arrival in Panem; the black eye, a few angry bruises, mostly courtesy of those claimer pricks. And if he was alive, that meant there was a good chance Rick and Beth—

There was an insistent pounding on his suite door, something that he realised had been going on for a while, intermittently. It was probably what had woken him.

Bolting from the bed, heedless of the fact he was only wearing a pair of squirrel-themed pajama pants — his usual self consciousness was lagging slightly behind the shock of still being alive — he cleared the distance to the front door in seconds and paused there only long enough to check to see who his visitor was. With his hope confirmed that he wasn't the only survivor, he threw open the door, his breath catching at the sight of Rick. Very much whole and alive.

"Guess I overslept," he managed after a moment, incredulously, and moved aside to allow Rick room enough to enter, watching him all the while with an expression shifting between open astonishment and relief. How was this even possible?




Beth:

Occurrences within the recent arena weigh heavily on Daryl, and discovering that Beth had been returned home to Georgia, back to that hospital she'd been kidnapped to, and then got brought right back — somehow, he doesn't have the faintest idea how the Capitol manages it — only compounds his concerns. What had happened to her there, the way she's changed... And those changes are undeniable, as obvious to him as the new scars on her face, even though she's tried acting as though everything is the same.

Everything isn't the same. And it shouldn't have to be.

Everything now just consumes you, Carol had told him the last time he'd seen her, referring to who she used to be.

Maybe who they used to be does get burned away, time and time again. But he still believes what he'd told her then. They're not ashes. They're not shadows of their former selves, losing more of what makes them who they are with each new iteration. They're not less, or incomplete. He seeks to convey this sentiment to Beth through actions rather than words, hoping that maybe she can find comfort in it. He's still fumbling his way through learning how to take care of others in ways that don't involve violence or killing, or having to keep them at a distance...

This is what brings him to Beth's door with a squirming bundle tucked inside his coat. The puppy's still wearing a harness, but the leash is unhooked and in Daryl's pocket to prevent it from getting tangled. By the time Beth answers the door, he's freed his coat passenger and wordlessly holds him out to Beth, the puppy's tail a blur of motion as he meets his new owner. Daryl's trying not to smile, but his efforts are in vain.

Comments

[schnapp]

At first, she doesn't really know what's going on. Beth opens the door to a flurry of motion and fur, and looks up at Daryl and down to the puppy before it sinks in. And you can see it sink in, too. The way her eyes light up in a way that they haven't in so, so long. Sucking in a deep exhale of breath and she's reaching forward to take the puppy before she even knows what she's doing.

"What..." the puppy makes small whimpering sounds and licks at her face, and she's still sort of in shock even despite the laughter bubbling up inside of her chest at this small wriggling ball of fur in her hands. "You got a puppy?"

And somehow, she's thinking about the funeral home. It's just a damn dog, he'd said. She's thinking back to a time when things had been alright, just for a moment. But Beth thinks this is Daryl's dog, and it hasn't sunk in yet that he's giving him to her.

"What's his name?"

[weaintashes]

If Beth's response is any indication, his fumbling has finally led him down exactly the right path. Their time together back in Georgia hasn't been far from his mind since her return, and it was remembering her reaction to the stray one-eyed dog that served as inspiration for the baby one she's currently holding.

He's mumbling something about finding the puppy and thinking a farm girl like her could use a dog. No big deal, whatever. Not like he went out of his way or anything. The box of dog supplies is in his own suite, and he plans to bring it over in a while.

"Dunno," he answers, and his smile only grows. "What're you gonna name him?"

Lately it's been difficult reconciling his worrying with not wanting to make Beth feel suffocated by his presence. He's been inventing excuses, sometimes extremely flimsy, obvious ones, for spending more time with her. It's the sort of behaviour the Capitol gossip columnists are undoubtedly eating up and intentionally misinterpreting whenever they're out in public together. He doesn't care.

Watching the way she seems to be coming back to life while the little fuzz ball basks in her attention goes a long way toward giving him peace of mind. He knows what it is to have moments of terror relived endlessly in sleep, and to lie awake all night because of it. To feel like life is a waking nightmare sometimes. And he doesn't know whether Beth is ever troubled in similar ways by what's happened to her, but he also doesn't know that she isn't. With the puppy, she won't ever have to be alone now.

[schnapp]

She's noticed his efforts, to be honest. And it's surprising in the best of ways - the fact that he takes so much time and energy to look out for her is so incredibly touching. Especially after being convinced that no one would ever come for her back at Grady. It's not as if Beth didn't have faith in her family, it's just that she's begun to learn that there's nothing to do except rescue herself. Like she's tired of being a burden on everyone else.

But Daryl invites himself over to her apartment every couple of days like he's afraid she'll disappear from under his nose and Beth cherishes that more than he'll ever know.

The puppy wriggles contentedly in her arms, snuggling up against her like he was born there, and Beth finds the layers of cynicism melting away. Suddenly, she's just the simple girl who grew upon a farm again, always ready with a smile on her face. She kisses the puppy's cute face, laughing delightedly when he licks her on the chin in response.

"...you bought me a dog?" she's looking up at him, a little incredulously. He's been going out of his way lately, but this is really above and beyond.

[weaintashes]

"Found 'im." It's a lie, and a dubious attempt at one, given away by the way Daryl's smile turns rather sheepish. It's probably pointless lying about just 'finding' the puppy; he's so healthy looking and clean and had obviously been well cared for up to now, plus it will defeat the whole purpose of his gesture if Beth tries to find the puppy's previous owner who doesn't actually exist.

"...Maybe in a shop," he admits, because he's a damned bad liar when it comes to these things — pretending this gesture involved no special effort on his part — and he knows it. He's ducking his head and pressing a hand to the side of his neck in the way he often will when embarrassed, and reaches out with the other to pet between the puppy's ears. "Kinda more like he found me. He was by his lonesome and had that look in his eyes, starin' up at me, actin' all sad..."

Poorly kept secret: Daryl Dixon has a weakness for puppy dog eyes, especially the literal sort. It would have been physically impossible for him to have left the store without their new little friend in tow, even if he'd wanted to.

"D'you like 'im? Went ahead and already picked up some food'n toys, a bed, they're back in my room."

[schnapp]

Daryl Dixon has a soft spot and Beth is just trilled to see it emerge. She still remembers how he was like when they first met back at the farm. Angry and distant and all too wracked with grief. But he looks so awkward admitting to all of this so she decides not to tease him too much about it. She does, however, wrap one arm around his middle. The other is holding the puppy, who is happy sandwiched between the two of them

The dog snuffles at her face and she scrunches her face up in fake protest, nuzzling the soft fur. He's warm and soft and reminds her of everything that's good and nice in the world, no matter how cheesy that might sound.

"What about...Charlie? That's a cute name, right?" it's just a name she pulls out of her head. One of their neighbors had a dog named Charlie, once upon a time. It's a cute name, and she finds herself addressing the puppy instead of Daryl for a moment. "You like that? Charlie. That's your name. Do you like it?"

As if in response, Charlie licks her cheek and Beth exhales happily.

"Thank you. I mean it. Y'didn't have to....but thank you."

[rictator]

The time between his first knock and the sound of movement from within seemed to stretch on for an eternity.

It stood to reason that if he was alive, so was Daryl. It was never a question for Rick, from the moment he'd awoken in the Capitol. He refused to believe otherwise; they had counted down those last seconds together, met the same end. If he could be brought back from whatever lay on the other side of death, then so could he. However their captors were playing god, whatever impossible methods they'd used - they would work on both of them. Beth's appearance only further proved that hypothesis, and once she'd left him, he'd wasted no time in tracking the other man down.

That intractable determination wasn't enough to ease the rapid pounding of his heart, the unsteady rhythm of his knocking becoming progressively more erratic the longer he waited. He couldn't be wrong. As complicated as their lives were, as often as things went wrong, it just wouldn't make sense. Daryl couldn't be-

When the door opened, he finally let go of the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. It was hard to fully process that this was happening, unbelievable by even their skewed standards of normalcy.

"It was a rough night," he replied at length, the humour uncomfortably forced. What else could he say, when they'd both been dead not even a day earlier?

The relief at seeing him alive and well had been more than enough to distract him from Daryl's current state of undress; it was only when he made to move past him that he even realized. Rick hesitated for only a moment, immediately regretting the way his eyes wandered the length of his torso far too freely. It was a view he'd only been privy to once before, and he surprised himself with just how well he remembered it. The scars, the tattoos. He had a pretty strong idea of why Daryl kept himself hidden beneath the layers of clothing.

In a last ditch recovery effort, he kept walking as though nothing were amiss. He'd never been much good with that sort of subtlety.

[weaintashes]

Daryl was just beginning to reach toward him when his eyes followed Rick's out of sheer habit, forcing him to realise he'd been a little too hasty in answering the door. But the bitter cocktail of shame and guilt and fear that usually choked him after being reminded of his roadmap of scars was slow in coming, and also rather at odds with the fact he... didn't mind being on the receiving end of that sort of look from Rick. Not even after he went on pretending as though nothing had happened, like he always did. Like Daryl always let him because it was better that way, for both of them.

This inexplicable second chance they'd been afforded, along with the unabated desire for physical contact, it all made it difficult to ignore some of the things that he normally would where his friend was concerned. Present circumstances seemed to warrant something — more. The door was pushed shut with his foot while he picked up where he'd left off, reaching to catch Rick by the shoulder, turning him and pulling him back in the same gesture. There was what might have been a stifled chuckle when he wrapped his arms around Rick, pressing closer to him in a manner he wouldn't have dared to under any other conditions. For once, his need for this simple physical reassurance overcame the stumbling blocks of his trepidation and clumsy inexperience.

They'd come close to being killed countless times, but this was something else. They actually had died. It was a lot to process.

"Beth?" The question was mumbled very close to Rick's ear. "She's back too?" Because he had to know. But he wasn't using conversation to signal an end to the physical contact; for his part, he seemed uncharacteristically content to hold onto Rick for a while longer, if he allowed it.

[rictator]

Not for the first time that day, Rick found himself speechless.

So often, he'd purposely segregated himself from the others in the group, holding onto the distance and the small defense it provided him. Attachment was unavoidable at this point, but he needed to keep his head above water; after Lori, that much was clear. Daryl, though... He'd somehow managed to sneak up on him. Their relationship had evolved in leaps and bounds from the unsteady truce they'd held back in the Atlanta camp. They certainly didn't shy away from the smaller forms of physical affection, be it a hand on the shoulder or a quick pat on the back - and hard as it was to admit, Rick still needed that.

It went without saying that he'd been caught off guard, but somehow, the contact wasn't entirely unwelcome. His hands hovered in his indecision, just short of touching, frozen in a ridiculous moment of panic; with the latticework of scars visible, Rick had no idea where the lines of propriety and what was acceptable were. If he touched him now, would it be over? Daryl had been the one to start this, so was this alright?

After a brief internal debate, he settled with looping his arms loosely around Daryl's shoulders, trying his best to keep it loose and non-restrictive.

And ultimately, awkward as it was, the hug wasn't the issue. It had been innocuous enough, a friend questioning the boundaries of their relationship. It had been the sudden heat of his breath against his neck that got him. What he'd felt with the other man's lips so close to him... was anything but innocent.

"... Yeah," he forced out, his voice hoarse in his own ears. "She's fine."

He was beginning to wonder if he was, though.

[weaintashes]

That Rick managed to be the more awkward one in this situation came as a surprise, and the way in which he almost seemed to endure being embraced, his lax reciprocation, left Daryl wondering if the problem might be him. His attempts at initiating anything more intimate than small gestures of affection with others, rare as they'd been, were more or less all characterised by the same uneasy caution, and the only other thing they'd all had in common was him.

Could be that he was simply bad at this, or he'd misjudged what Rick was willing to accept from him at present. Had he ineptly crashed right through a boundary he shouldn't have even approached? There were so many things that could be wrong, it was like trying to navigate a minefield of complications. But while this type of prolonged, close physical contact between them was something of a new experience, he didn't think that could really explain the odd tension. Eventually the obvious occurred to him — that maybe Rick was being deliberately careful, and for very good reason.

"You call this a hug?" His smile was in his voice, a little uncertain beneath the teasing, and his own hold had loosened somewhat in turn. It was something that Carol might have said when trying to coax him out of himself the way she did, and it seemed apt here. He briefly ducked his head, pressing his face against Rick's neck. "I ain't glass," he added quietly as he released him and withdrew. But he understood. It was probably like trying to hug a cactus, with the ugly scars impossible to ignore, and he couldn't imagine anyone wanting to touch them. Out of morbid curiosity, maybe. Embarrassment and crawling shame had finally caught up with him, and he offered a vaguely apologetic look before stepping toward the closet to see what the Capitol had provided him with.

"A lot to take in, I guess. Bein' alive again," he said, making an effort to sound normal despite kind of wishing the ground would open up and swallow him. "I'm sure Beth was real happy to see you."

[rictator]

Rick was positive Daryl would hear the way his heart skipped as rough stubble grazed his throat, the feeling both foreign and not altogether unpleasant. That night at the CDC had been the last real intimacy he and Lori had shared, and that had been well over a year ago; that his body would have a physiological reaction to that sort of proximity was normal.

... It was the part where it had been spurred by another man that had him questioning himself.

Hesitation was all too evident in the still-light touch of his hands and the brief, telltale stiffness of his back. Christ, he felt like a teenager again, fumbling and self-conscious as he pretended to know what he was doing. Rick had a pretty strong idea of the sort of trust the gesture implied, and had he been thinking clearly, he'd have apologized then - clarified that the reaction wasn't any fault of Daryl's, that it wasn't him or his scars or anything else... but the words didn't come.

What the hell could he say? Even he wasn't sure what it was he wanted out of the moment. His own denial was deep enough for the both of them, and he could only stand there, acutely aware of the way his chest tightened as Daryl pulled away, feeling several degrees too warm for the air conditioned building.

"You sure?" he mumbled, distracted and already turning away. His guilt was written across his face, knowing then that his lack of reciprocation had likely been just as damaging as whatever else he could have done - Whatever it was he'd felt or thought he needed, it wasn't worth their friendship.

While it wasn't the truth of the matter, the question of the other man's health was a plausible enough excuse. The lingering bruises from Joe and his crew weren't the first thing he'd noticed when Daryl had opened the door, but they hadn't escaped him. He could still feel the occasional sharp pang from his own not-quite-mended wounds, courtesy of the Governor; whatever process the Capitol had used to bring them back, it wasn't perfect. They were alive, but they weren't necessarily well.

"I think she'll be happier once she sees you."

If the ground were to swallow anyone, Rick hoped it would take him first.

"... I'm glad you're alright."

[weaintashes]

Exceptionally little of the clothing within the closet resembled anything that he'd have chosen for himself — too ostentatious, the sort of stuff he'd think someone was a douchebag for wearing, excluding a few items of the formal wear. Ironically, that was some of the most inoffensive and bland of the lot. He wasn't yet aware of the Big Brother aspect of the Capitol, nor the celebrity status of tributes, so on the whole, his wardrobe full of clothes that screamed look at me was baffling. He'd have to remedy it later. For now, all that mattered was getting dressed and hopefully resolving the prior misstep.

He kept Rick within sight, watching him out of the corner of his eye while he swapped the pajama pants for the least tight looking pair of black jeans, pulled on a long-sleeved shirt made from some kind of awful, silky, silvery material, and half-heartedly attempted to smooth down his bedhead when he caught sight of his reflection in the full length mirror.

Just knowing Beth was restored the same way he and Rick had been gave him peace of mind. Their reunion could wait a while longer. She was undoubtedly still processing the strangeness of the situation herself.

"Sorry if I startled you," he said uncertainly, shifting his gaze from Rick's reflection in the mirror to the man himself, still trying to decipher the inner turmoil that his friend seemed to be struggling with. Maybe it had little to do with Daryl at all. He was at a loss and growing increasingly worried, which had the benefit of alleviating some of his embarrassment. It was easier putting someone else's problems before his own. Whatever was going on, it was obviously a matter more serious than lamenting rusty hugging skills.

"I am alright," he agreed after a moment, and returned to stand facing Rick, just as he would at any other time, companionably close and hoping to assuage any lingering awkwardness he might have caused before. That was what had him reaching out again and taking Rick by the shoulder, but this time it went no further. No guiding, no pulling, just Daryl's fingers lightly pressing into his shoulder, an open look of concern on his face. His voice was lowered to a softer pitch when he asked, "Are you?"

[rictator]

With the moment past, Rick pinched the bridge of his nose, already feeling the headache starting to take root. This was not at all how he'd planned for this conversation to pan out, especially after the way things had ended in the station.

It would be impossible not to appreciate the sheer strength of the bond they shared, this not being the first time he'd stopped to consider just how deep that connection ran. Any one of the hurdles they'd faced would have been enough to tear lesser men apart; he and Shane had been best friends since childhood, and they'd still been at one another's throats before the year was out. Rick couldn't pinpoint just when the wires had gotten crossed, camaraderie evolving into something more dangerous, but they could move past it.

They'd have to.

If the last arena was any indication, a few moments of awkward tension were the least of their concerns. Whatever means by which the Capitol had brought them back, Rick had little doubt they'd stop at once. There would be little point in bringing them back if it weren't for a purpose - Until their hosts tired of it, they'd be made to endure the same cycle of life, killing, and death. It was a sobering thought, strong enough to make one long for when a man only had to die twice to find rest.

"Yeah," he replied, his hand dropping back to his side. "But I don't like this."

This time, when Daryl's touch found him, it was met with his usual silent acceptance, some of the stiffness since having eased from his shoulders. Whether he was actually okay or not, it didn't matter. What they needed then was to hold it together, keep their heads on straight and figure out a plan. Until they managed that much, Rick didn't have time to be anything less than alright. The fact they were alive at all was nothing short of a miracle, and that would just have to be enough.

There was a brief flicker of uncertainty as he met Daryl's gaze, his mouth set in a grim line as he considered his next words. In the wake of Lori's death, Hershel had been the only one he'd confided in, the only one he'd ever fully admitted the extent of his hallucinations to. He'd grown since then, wounds had scabbed over and begun to heal - but even when he'd been on the brink, Daryl had trusted him. There were times it seemed the other man had more faith in him than Rick himself did. It was armed with that knowledge that he could voice his concerns then, letting the leader persona slip for a moment.

"What they did... It shouldn't even be possible."

God, he hoped this was real.

[weaintashes]

Daryl possessed qualities that ensured his own path would never emulate the dark turns that Shane's had taken, where Rick was concerned. Shane had ultimately been too uncompromising, inherently selfish, refusing to accommodate the needs of others at times when it had been the most necessary, and had apparently thought these were the attributes of a good leader (father, husband) — and Christ, how he'd thrown his weight around camp like a chest-beating gorilla before Rick had entered the picture... In the end, he'd brought his downfall on himself.

Within Daryl, there had never existed the desire to build himself up by diminishing Rick. He valued what was freely given over what he could take from others, or manipulate into being offered. Perhaps the biggest difference was that he'd had to learn self-sufficiency at an age when most boys haven't yet put away the toys of childhood, and by now was fully proficient at surviving on his own. This made it an active choice to follow beside Rick, to trust him implicitly, to put his needs and those of their group before Daryl's own, and he would sooner give up his own life than forsake their bond for selfish gain.

And that was why Shane had been left to rot in a field, and Daryl was still here. Trying to determine what it was that Rick needed most at the moment so that he could attempt to provide it.

It's what we do.

"This ain't our world," he pointed out, his tone suggesting he wasn't quite sure he accepted that as fact yet. "Least that's what I was told. Can't say I really understand, but if it's true, who knows what these people're capable of. Or what they're gonna do." The last was said warily; he'd already reached similar conclusions as to why they'd been resurrected, because he knew better than to think their captors were in any way benevolent. Probably about as benevolent as that 'Governor' prick who'd likewise cultivated quite the god complex, and Daryl couldn't deny the whole situation felt eerily like Woodbury on a larger scale.

It hadn't escaped his notice that they weren't brought back fully healed — he was in the same condition he'd been in when he first got thrown into the arena, and as best he could tell, that also held true for Rick. It hinted at possible flaws in the technology. Wasn't much to go on, but it was something.

"We'll figure it out." He squeezed Rick's shoulder reassuringly, steadily regaining his mental footing on this more familiar ground. What had passed between them prior could be set aside for now; he recognised the need for a plan. "This time, we'll just be the ones knockin' down their fences. You had a look around yet?"

[rictator]

It could easily have been the plot to one of those cheap sci-fi movies Carl would sneak down to watch in the middle of the night.

"I'm starting to believe it."

It wasn't so much that the notion of other worlds was an easy one to accept - because it definitely wasn't. It was only that it was slightly more plausible than the alternative, where the Capitol somehow existed within the bounds of their own post-apocalyptic landscape. Even if one were to look past the radically advanced technology, it was impossible that a city of this size had not only survived the turn, but had somehow managed to thrive in its wake. The population was just too dense. There was no way the infection wouldn't have seeped in through the cracks, eating away it from the inside out; even the most fortified defenses couldn't protect against reality.

And, if it turned out that this was somehow their world, it would mean that the Capitolites were living in decadence while the rest of them were barely scraping by, living in constant fear. Given the choice, Rick wouldn't have wanted any part of what they had - but they did have something. There were rooms in the tribute centre with more food in them than his family had seen in months. If the only people they took in were those they sacrificed to the arenas... Rick already knew they weren't good people, but he didn't need yet another reason not to trust them.

"Until we know what we're dealing with, we lay low. Keep our guard up."

It was all they could do, for the moment. If what Venus had said was true, she'd been through the arenas nearly ten times already; escape wouldn't come easy, if it was even possible. He wasn't going to pretend he understood just how the other worldly side of it may have worked, but he'd already seen that fighting their way out wasn't on the table. The best they could hope for was to avoid any unwanted attention while they found an alternative.

"Like you said, we don't know what they're capable of."

It would have been easy to fall back on the business side of things - and had this been anyone else, he likely would have. But Daryl kept him grounded, reminded him that there was still a man under the mantle; that gentle squeeze made a significant difference, and he nodded his own silent thanks in return, holding his gaze.

"I haven't," he added finally, letting the words hang. "I wanted to make sure you were alright first."

[weaintashes]

Of course the most pressing need for Rick would've been reconnecting with his people first, Daryl thought, like a shepherd rounding up his flock. Daryl's instincts would've followed the same path, had he not been so heavily asleep that he had to be woken. But a part of him was still surprised — always was — by the level of regard Rick held for him, even when the regard might have simply been a byproduct of being a leader, because this was weighed against a lifetime of feeling overlooked, unwanted, and unwelcome. Being treated like a person deserving of consideration wasn't something he really expected, even now, and it had him drawing up slightly, posture straightening, a look of curious appreciation crossing his face.

Then he nodded faintly as he dropped his hand back to his side, and moved to finish getting dressed. Socks, shoes, a jacket to cover up the glaring shirt. Rather than having developed a newfound vanity, he simply didn't want to attract unwanted attention when they ventured out together. The typical fashion trends of the Capitol were clearly unknown to him.

"And 'm hungry," he said lightly and gave a nod toward the door to signal his intentions. In truth he wasn't much in the mood to be eating, but it gave them a place to start. Acquire food and figure out what this new shitshow was all about. Or at least that had been Daryl's plan, up until he was passing through the common room heading toward the dining area, and the prominent viewing screen captured his attention and stopped him dead in his tracks. More specifically, what it was displaying.

Himself, alongside Rick, viewed from above, and the angle was shifting, lowering, their faces slowly filling the screen. In that room he wouldn't soon be forgetting. Impossibly, it was showing what they'd believed to be their last moments — not only that, but some of their conversation was audible as well. Transfixed, Daryl edged closer as the scene progressed. On screen, he was reaching for Rick's hand, the gesture momentarily filling the screen in a close-up as Rick's fingers curled tightly around his own, intercut with shots of empty space station corridors, their faces, the star-filled sky, their eyes, before the camera panned out. Then it was being replayed, this time with commentary and alternate footage, the intensely intimate moment being treated like cheap entertainment.

The surreality of waking without his usual crusting of filth and guts was nothing compared to what he felt now. Coming back to himself, he looked stricken as he turned toward Rick as though he might have the answers. Then he sharply dropped his gaze to the floor and rubbed the back of a hand against his stinging eyes, embarrassed by how affected he was. The sense of violation was overwhelming; irrationally, it felt as though Merle had been taken from him again, and it was that bone-deep, raw grief which had bled to the surface. He hadn't wanted to die, hadn't wanted Rick to, but the belief of being reunited with his brother for the final time had been how he'd found any measure of peace in his death. Thinking, also, that he and Rick would be inexorably drawn together again in death just as they were in life, and that Rick would likewise be reunited with his own parents, with Lori, and anyone else he'd ever loved and lost.

The other residents of his District mostly kept to themselves and it was a small mercy. They didn't have a live audience for this, at least.

[rictator]

The last thing Rick felt like doing was eating. His gut had worked itself into a knot, and even as the tension between them dissolved, it wasn't in any hurry to disentangle itself. There was a certain irony to be found there - Prior to this, they'd spent weeks on the road, scraping by with the bare minimum and scavenging lean half-meals. Now, he had an entire stocked kitchen at his disposal, and his appetite was nowhere to be found. They quite literally had enough food to last them a (normal) lifetime, and here he was, barely able to stomach the idea of it, much less anything physical.

That said, he wasn't about to argue with him. Whether they were happy about it or not, they were stuck there for the foreseeable future and finding their bearings in their new terrain was only going to help them in the long run. Best they know what they were up against.

Rick had been too busy looking at the others in the common room to notice it, sizing up their potential competition, weighing the threats posed and mentally filing away the information; it was only when Daryl slowed that he'd followed his gaze, just in time to see his own face reflected back at him on the monitors. The camera panned to Daryl, but it was the room that made him realize what it was they were watching; they'd spent just under an hour there, and somehow, he knew it better than his cell bedroom back at the prison. Every corner, every dirtied surface - It was strange, the things you picked up when you believed a place would be the last you'd ever see.

He felt like an idiot for not reaching the realization sooner. Anger burned the insides of his veins, hands fisted as though faced with some physical threat - They'd been brought to Panem as a means of entertainment. These were games to them, and if the people couldn't see it, what good were they? Every minute they'd spent in that station had been orchestrated for maximum effect, their results recorded and aired for their captive audience. Their lives - their deaths - played back like a twisted version of the weekly sports highlights.

From the looks of it, even the most intimate moments were fair game.

As much as he didn't want to watch, he couldn't seem to tear his eyes away, his chest uncomfortably tight as his memories began to match up with what was being displayed on screen. The bite of the cold as it seeped in through his ruined space suit and the helpless, impotent rage as the clock ticked away. The surprising warmth of Daryl's hand in his and that final moment of resigned acceptance. He'd fully believed that they would die there, permanently, and that he would never see his son again. His daughter. Daryl. Seeing it happen all over again in vivid, impossible detail, Rick was reminded of all the things he'd wanted to say then, yet couldn't quite bring himself to.

'I'm glad you're with me.'

It struck him then, just how vulnerable they were there. If the Gamemakers were watching them that closely, they knew by then that they were connected. They'd know about Beth. The game was built as a cheap thrill, manufactured conflict meant to excite the Capitolites. If they knew where their weaknesses were, they'd have been stupid not to exploit them; unfortunately, for all the things Rick could have said for them, 'stupid' was not among them.

When he finally looked back to Daryl, it didn't matter. His brow knit with concern, it was his turn to reach for him, hand coming to rest on his shoulder. He'd have smashed every screen in the room if he'd thought it would help - but even more unwanted attention was the last thing either of them needed.

"Hey-" He gave him a light squeeze, ducking his head in an effort to catch his eyes. "We're still here, alright?"

very sorry for how damn late this one is

[weaintashes]

The touch to Daryl's shoulder was met with an unyielding rigidity; his muscles had tensed in a disconcerting fight-or-flight response, while the edges of his vision dissolved into a dim blur. Something was coiling tight, constricting within his chest, accompanied by the sound of his own pulse thundering in his ears and drowning out Rick's words. There was an impulse to avoid the eye contact, and he compromised by focusing on the movement of Rick's mouth to decipher what he was saying.

Despite his harsh upbringing, he'd never been prone to panic disorders and it had been ages since he'd had to deal with this. He could recognise what was happening to him enough to know it would pass, he'd just have to weather the discomfort until it did. Between the horrific discovery of their true purpose in Panem, and the shock of waking up when by rights he should have been dead, apparently he was having trouble... processing it.

"Yeah," he agreed dully in the wake of a silence that had lasted too long. He was surfacing from his momentary daze and could meet Rick's eyes then, with his characteristically dour expression slipping back into place like a mask. Never mind how furiously his heart continued to beat like a wretched, wild thing desperate to escape the prison of his ribs, or that he was mostly sure he was about to choke up whatever might be left in his starvation-shrunken stomach. He hated being seen as weak. Hated how much he wanted the comfort, the way he'd fumblingly sought it from Rick back in his suite but had managed to fuck it all up, somehow, just as he usually did where emotions were concerned. He wasn't sure what to do with the comfort now, when he felt he hardly deserved it. He'd undoubtedly ruin things again if Rick gave him the opportunity.

Turning his head, he muttered, "We should leave," as he searched for any likely-looking exits, their surroundings failing to stir any sense of recognition. Which raised some disturbing questions. Had he been dead when he'd first been brought through here? How had their captors revived them? He did have sense-memories of his recent shower — the startling heat and sensation of layers of filth falling away, the ache of his still healing ribs every time he'd reached upward — or at least he thought he did...

Finally spotting the elevator, he gave Rick a look as he nodded toward it, all the while trying to ignore the way the room seemed to be slowly rotating, slanting at strange angles and confusing his equilibrium. Harder to ignore when he nearly stumbled over one of the chairs on his way to the elevator, but he pressed on, swearing under his breath. His behaviour had attracted the attention of a few people, though none made any move to help or hinder.