you've held your head up, you've fought the fight

[rictator]

WHO | Rick and Daryl
WHAT | Rick finally tries to talk about the status of the relationship
WHERE | Daryl and Rick's Suite
WHEN | After the Mini-Arena, prior to the Crowning
WARNINGS | None

Months ago, when Rick had first recognized the shift, the flutter of deeper attraction, he had no idea what to do with it. Even setting aside the fact he'd only ever been with women - only ever been attracted to them, prior to this - where was this realistically going to go? In Panem or in their own world, could either of them have afforded the complications that went along with a relationship? And that was assuming that Daryl would even want one. Back then, Rick wasn't even sure that he did.

As time passed, he'd told himself that he could live with it. Bury it. He wouldn't gamble with those odds, knowing that it was better to have Daryl in his life as a friend, than not at all. Making his feelings known risked losing what they already had, and as he looked back on the past few years, tracking the root of his newfound attraction, he'd come to realize just how much that was. Daryl was there every step of the way, watching his back even when Rick hadn't fully been aware of it. He'd found his place in their family, connected with him in ways that even his own wife hadn't.

Christ, he was still amazed it had taken him this long to figure it all out.

His hand hovered inches over the door handle, a part of him still half-prepared to turn around and leave. Walk away from it, as though it would do him any good, given that the suite was shared between them.

He was already well versed in the dangers of avoidance; it had been a habit of his long before the turn, made worse by the raised stakes of the apocalypse. Making decisions on behalf of the group was one thing, but the moment things got personal... Those were the choices he couldn't bring himself to make, shoving them off until he could properly overthink them. He'd confront Shane about Otis later. He'd mend fences with Lori once they'd settled into the prison. He'd make sure Carl understood his decision to step back one day. Another time. When he had the chance.

It was a vicious cycle perpetuated by his own inability to understand his own needs, dooming him to make the same mistakes. With the world as it was, there wasn't always going to be a later; if ever there was a lesson to be learned, it was that these things didn't disappear when you ignored them. Without the proper attention, they festered like an infected wound, rotting away until they became something irreparable and ugly.

He couldn't let that happen with Daryl.

Rick had watched Daryl die too many times now, ever teetering on the cusp of losing him for good. The only promise the Capitol made them was that there would be another arena, and that their seeing that arena wasn't a given. Every time they fell, there was the chance that it would be for real this time, that they wouldn't wake up, and that Daryl would never get to hear the words that always found themselves on the tip of his tongue. Yes, he'd told himself he could live with it - but watching the light fade from the other man's eyes, he knew he was a terrible liar.

The last one had been a change for them, but not a welcome one; Rick had been left behind, sidelined and forced to see things from the other side of the screen. Helpless. Ineffectual. Seeing his death that way had brought on a whole new perspective; even had Rick been ready to give voice to his desires, he'd have lost him without even having the opportunity.

Perhaps he hadn't been entertaining enough, as he'd been dodging the other tributes. The audience may have tired of watching them work together, and the Gamemakers had looked to shake things up. Maybe it was punishment for his lack of enthusiasm. His mind automatically moved to find all the ways in which this could be his fault, needing a reason to blame himself for what happened. For the subtle way Daryl had withdrawn. He had grown quieter in its wake, the distance between them growing by small, barely perceptible increments.

For once, it was Rick's turn to be there for him; there were too many times he'd fallen back on the other man's support without being able to properly reciprocate. He swallowed the last of his misgivings, finally moving to open the door.

"Hey."

Comments

[weaintashes]

The sound of Rick's voice seemingly materialising from out of nowhere gave Daryl a start, his muscles instantly going taut and causing him to recoil with a jerky movement, one far too conspicuous to be brushed off as anything other than what it was. For someone who prided himself on his observational skills, whose hair-trigger alertness was frequently all that stood between the people he cared for most and a grisly death, it was downright humiliating being caught unawares like that. And it was jarring to realise how far he was slipping — he hated it. Allowing himself to fall into such distraction was guaranteed to cost him dearly one of these days, but sometimes, lately, it was just too difficult to shake it. He was so goddamned tired, in more than a physical sense. Felt hollowed out.

It wasn't that he'd been caught in flagrante. Seated at the foot of the bed, dressed in stained mechanic's coveralls with the sleeves ripped off, oil speckled hands clutching his knees in a white-knuckled grip, he'd simply been... thinking. So deeply, apparently, that time had gotten away from him, right along with whatever he'd been planning to do before he'd collapsed onto the bed. Shower, maybe. Trying to recall his thoughts was like grasping after smoke.

Fighting his embarrassment, he raised his eyes to look at Rick from underneath the fringe of his rumpled hair. "Hey," he replied as though he hadn't practically jumped out of his skin. Recovering with as much grace as he could muster (not nearly enough), he wiped his sweaty palms against his pants as he stood up. Lingering tension in his frame made his posture a bit stiff. "There was, uh."

He moved around the bed and bent to retrieve a stack of several packages of varying sizes. Some were wrapped in such a garish fashion as to make their origin obvious — more fan mail. "Delivery," he finished, handing the stack off to Rick. Looking at him became too much, and Daryl dropped his gaze to his feet as he slipped away, navigating through the small jungle of planters until he stood near the floor-length windows, staring out. The light of early evening blanketed everything in a deceptively warm, golden glow, casting a softness over the city that might have been beautiful, if one were unaware of the ugliness of the Capitol.

Charlie had finally woken up from where he'd been sprawled out asleep on their bed, and noisily clambered down to drop his drool-covered octopus toy at Rick's feet with a hopeful tail wag and whine, staring up at him. Several months old now, he was virtually the size of a small pony and weighed about as much as either of his owners, despite still being a puppy.

[rictator]

Rick could count on one hand the number of times he'd caught Daryl off his guard. Even as far back as Georgia, throughout the long winter hunting trips and the countless hours clearing the catacombs, the other man had never failed to impress with his keen ear; no matter how careful Rick's footsteps, that was all it took for Daryl to identify him. Looking at him now, taking in the weariness etched deep in his features, the tired slope of his shoulders - It hadn't been by any feat of stealth that he'd managed it.

He cast him a sidelong glance, his apology written in his expression; there was no point in drawing further attention to it with words. There was little doubt in his mind that Daryl knew already. At this point, it was just another bullet point in the list of Rick's concerns, somewhere between the loose fit of his clothing and the more frequent, heavy silences that fell between them. Rick was hardly one to be talking when it came to facing up to his problems, but since Beth's disappearance... Rick wasn't blind, and he sure as hell knew what it was to grieve.

He also knew where that hurt could lead you, left unchecked.

"Another one?"

There was that old saying about looking a gift horse in the mouth, but he was fairly sure that the one who came up with it didn't receive ice-cream flavoured condoms from voyeuristic strangers. The contents of their so-called fan mail ranged from outlandish to intrusive, while still managing to cover several other bases in between. At least the packages they received in the arena served some purpose - Even the magazines could be used for kindling. Here, they had a freezer crammed tighter than most creameries, and a collection of knick knacks, photos, and sexual-themed IOUs that would have brought a blush to Abraham's cheeks.

He frowned down at the stack, eyeing the top one which seemed to have been shoddily wrapped in squirrel-themed paper. Somehow, he had an inkling as to who that one was intended for.

It was also a less than subtle attempt at deflection on Daryl's part.

A cursory glance was enough to know that they were running out of places for this stuff - But then, with his ever-expanding indoor garden, free space was in short supply. What had started as a single tomato plant had steadily grown out of control, fed by Daryl's patient indulgence and Rick's want for distraction. It was admittedly relaxing, giving him something to care for other than himself - he'd long since proven he wasn't much good at the latter - but at this rate, it wouldn't be long before they overtook the bed too.

He gently nudged the octopus toy out of the way, offering Charlie a conciliatory scratch behind the ears - conveniently, leaving himself a clear path to the door.

There was still time to call this off. He hadn't opened Pandora's Box just yet, and seeing Daryl, feeling the distance between them as though it could be measured in physical miles... It was hard not to second guess himself. What if he was being selfish? More importantly, was this what Daryl needed? He wanted to believe that it was. Even with Beth gone, be it back to Grady or worse, and their world reduced to a relentless cycle of death, they still had something worth living for. No matter how bad it got, no matter what Panem did, Rick would come back for Daryl. Because his being there mattered. Because he mattered.

Even if... Even if this went wrong, and he'd misjudged, he needed him to know that.

Rick took a slow, steadying breath, his eyes on the floor. Here goes nothing.

"You got a minute to talk?"

[weaintashes]

Deflection, misdirection, evasion, it was all of these things. An out. He couldn't find it in him to be sorry for how overt he'd been about it, either. It had offered Rick an excuse to go about his own business and not concern himself with Daryl, to follow the steps of their dance of avoidance that they'd been perfecting. Had he accepted, Daryl would have inevitably slipped away for that shower without further comment.

Talking and Rick Grimes were not normally associated with each other in his mind. If Rick wanted to talk, chances were it was something inescapably important or he simply wouldn't waste his breath. Even idle small talk between them seemed to serve a greater purpose, or so he thought, in part because he couldn't fathom anyone seeking out his company solely for its own sake, especially not lately. And just like that, there was a palpable shift in Daryl's demeanour. His private torments quickly receded from his thoughts, replaced by growing unease and concern for Rick as he turned slightly, regarding the other man over his shoulder. Clarity had returned to his eyes, his focus once again sharp.

"Somethin' happen?" he asked by way of answering the question, apprehension evident in his tone. His first thought was of the Capitol forcing some new horror upon Rick or Vivi, and proliferating worries began to gnaw at his insides. Maybe trouble for one of their mutual friends — Phillip had recently... 'won', so he was a likely candidate. It could be anything, and all he could do was hope Rick would give it to him straight. They could figure it out together.

Regardless of recent difficulties, he would always have Rick's back.

For his part, Charlie took the rejection as gracefully as a puppy could — with loud whining, an insistent bump of his nose against Rick's leg, and directing extra sad, droopy eyes up at him — before eventually picking up his toy and lumbering over to try his luck with Daryl. He found a more receptive audience there, a flicker of quickly-masked strain crossing Daryl's face as he knelt down to have a distracted tug-o'-war with Charlie and the toy.

His recent revival following the mini-arena meant that same damned black eye had returned, right along with his aching ribs and the mess of bruising covering his torso. Combined with working long hours, not enough restful sleep, and subsisting on what little food he could manage to stomach, the residual injuries he'd sustained in their own world were slower in healing this time around, which did no favours for his general exhaustion. He knew this, but summoning the energy to care was a futile endeavour. As long as he could still function, that was good enough; he'd most likely be healed up in time for the next arena, anyway, so he wouldn't be a liability to Rick.

That was also what lay at the heart of his withdrawal — the fear of being a burden to others, particularly Rick, while he was attempting to work things out for himself.

[rictator]

Trust Daryl to be that way. The minute he'd thought there was work to be done, some unnamed threat to defend against, he was back to business. There was something to be envied in how quickly he locked things down, shelving his own hurt in a way Rick wished he was able to - Selfless to a fault. Perhaps that was why it was so damned heartbreaking to watch.

"No, nothing like that."

Rick figured it must have said something about him, that that conversation might have been an easier one to have. Tragedy had long since become the norm, and it was something he knew how to handle. As it was now, he was treading back into unfamiliar territory - One where in the past, he too frequently lost his footing.

There had been a point he'd considered having something rehearsed, hoping that it might help to herd his scattered thoughts into something approaching coherent - But when it came down to it, with his own reflection staring back at him, the words had sounded stilted and insincere. All he'd managed to accomplish was feeling like an idiot, and worse, an idiot who still didn't have the first clue as to what to say. It often felt like his heart and his mouth weren't on speaking terms, and the truth of what he actually felt kept getting lost somewhere between them.

Maybe it was for the best, going in unprepared. The most profound speeches he'd made had been in the moment, leaving things to flow naturally. For something like this, that's how it should have been.

Or at least, that's what he'd believed before now. Here, with the weight of expectation settling heavy on his shoulders, Rick was right back to where he'd been in front of that mirror - He still didn't know where to start.

"I know things've been... different, since the last arena."

He chewed at the corner of his lip, busying his fingers with a loose corner on one of the packages. The loss of Beth may have been a catalyst, but it probably wasn't conducive to what he actually wanted to talk about.

"When Lori died, I thought- For a while, it felt like maybe, I had too. I was still breathing, but... There was a part of me that I didn't think was ever gonna come back from it."

Rick had lost his wife long before the prison; the deal he'd made with himself had been nothing more than procrastination. In the back of his mind, he'd known that their relationship was beyond repair. They had let it go too long, stretch it and pulled it until the strain proved too much; talking might have been enough to put the pieces back into place, but when something was that broken, it was never going to be like it was.

That didn't meant that he'd want it to end like that. Their time was over, and they'd long since fallen out of love - but he didn't hate her. That she had died believing that he did, thinking that she was alone in all this... It remained one of his greatest regrets.

"There were a lot of things I never told her, stuff I know I prob'ly should've. I guess... I'd always figured there'd be time." Even when he'd opened his heart to Hershel, Rick had never managed to talk much about what had happened. Christ, it was hard enough now, the strain already starting to creep into his voice. "Thing is, the way it is here, it'd be easy to keep thinking that way. We keep getting chances."

Chances he'd wasted, without even fully realizing he was doing it. That night at the crowning, Daryl's thumb warm against his wrist. Together in the snow, huddled against the cold. Their first revival, his pulse loud in his ears as Daryl hugged him. The opportunities had been there - Rick had just never known to look.

He took a slow breath, watching Charlie more than Daryl, not entirely sure he was ready to see his reaction.

"What I'm trying to say is, I don't think I could live with myself if I let that happen again."

[weaintashes]

Daryl had grown still despite Charlie's repeated attempts to engage him with the toy, then a full body dog-hug, almost as though he were afraid any sudden movements on his part might prematurely end the conversation, his focus centered entirely on his friend's words as Rick laid out his thoughts. They didn't possess a rehearsed quality, but there was something very deliberate about them all the same. Mindful. And a little confusing, until the mention of Lori gave him a pretty damned clear frame of reference from which to draw understanding.

This wasn't a conversation, it was the conversation.

Several years ago, he and Rick had found an unexpected, innate connection in each other, the sort that was almost enough to make him believe in such abstract concepts like fate and destiny. He'd never experienced anything of its sort before or since. They'd fallen in sync with an ease that had surprised him, early on. And as circumstances became dire and forced them to rely on each other, continually testing and fortifying that growing bond, stripping away the old world bullshit until all that remained was who they were — who they were meant to be — in the new world, Daryl had recognised it wasn't only friendship and a brotherly love pulling them together.

He wasn't sure of any word, any concept that could fully encompass what existed between them. To describe how everything in him responded to Rick, felt irrevocably drawn to him on a deeper level than the physical. Something in the other man resonated with him as though they were two halves of the same whole. Calling it love would almost cheapen it, making it seem less than what it actually was, but he also couldn't say it wasn't love. That certainly comprised part of its foundation.

There had been missteps along the way, especially lately; dissonance, frustration, uncertainty. Sometimes stumbling to regain their natural rhythm. But as he stood and edged nearer to Rick, eyes never leaving him, it felt like they were finally propelled right back into step with each other again, things falling into place as though they'd always been this way. He knew what Rick was trying to tell him, as surely as if the words were his own. That they might meet each other halfway was only fitting.

Which was how, after lifting away the packages and tossing them onto the bed, one of his hands found its way to Rick's waist, the other trailing through his hair to cradle the back of his head — reaching and holding, without force, providing the opportunity in the span of a few seconds to pull away if he chose to. To either maintain that last boundary or let it dissolve. Sensing no resistance, Daryl pressed their mouths together in a gesture full of careful restraint and certainty and yearning in equal measure; the kiss was soft despite its intensity, unhurried, ending with his warm breath ghosting against Rick's lips when he murmured, "Rick Grimes. You got somethin' you wanna tell me?"

[rictator]

Every muscle tensed at the sound of movement, anticipating what would likely be the final nail in the coffin. It was over. Rick didn't need to hear the words to know, to read the silence and assume the worst. It had been one more wrong call. One last mistake, but this time, it would cost him the only thing left in his life that mattered.

It was only when the weight of the packages was lifted from his arms that he allowed himself to meet Daryl's eyes, his own expression carefully blank - as though Daryl didn't already know what was going through his head. But what he was met with- It wasn't rejection. The cycle of self-doubt screeched to a halt, derailed by the heat of his touch; Rick may not have been able to articulate his thoughts, but Daryl had once again risen to the occasion with his usual lethal efficiency.

Whatever he had imagined this moment would be like - and oh, he had imagined plenty - it paled in comparison to this. The surprising softness of his lips, the scent of motor oil and sweat that was so distinctly Daryl... There was something so damned safe being held like this, even if nothing beyond their suite had changed.

In truth, it almost didn't feel real - and if it wasn't, Rick didn't want to go back. He wasn't sure he could handle the thought of this slipping away, reduced to another waking dream meant to haunt him with what might have been. Pathetic as it was, it was only with his fingers fisted in the front of the other man's filthy coveralls, tangible and there, that he let himself relax. One simple touch, acting as his anchor to reality.

"Yeah. I do." He chuckled as he leaned into the embrace, forehead lightly bumping against Daryl's. Any lingering tension had begun to ebb from his frame, and in an effort to further test the waters, he slipped another arm loosely around his waist - Small steps, given the leap they'd just taken. At least he knew now that they were on the same page - and this time, he didn't have an armload of squirrels being hurled at his face.

For that moment, it was almost as though the past few weeks hadn't happened, and they were back to the way things were. The way they there, capable of carrying on entire conversations between the lines - but this wasn't one of them. Daryl had asked, but even if he hadn't, Rick knew better than to believe that this was something that could be left open to assumption and interpretation.

And really, they were long past the point of hesitation.

"I love you," he said finally, his heart stuttering in his chest. It wasn't a word he used lightly, and there was a part of him that was still terrified of it. "I guess I just never knew how to say it before."

Somehow, it didn't feel too fast. They'd been doing this dance for so long now, reminding each other of how they felt in every way but verbal... It was easy to forget that his feelings were only one half of it.

"I understand if this... If I'm asking too much-"

[weaintashes]

The admission was met with stunned silence, but the hand in Rick's hair soon tightened and Daryl brought their mouths together again briefly, but decisively, leaving the remainder of his words along with his doubt — hopefully — to be swallowed by the kiss.

"Ain't a thing you could ask for that'd ever be too much," he murmured. He'd scarcely dared hope his feelings would ever, could ever be reciprocated, yet there they were. And he had an informed understanding of what it had cost Rick to take the initiative and put himself out there, to make himself vulnerable and open for rejection, or worse. The very same uncertainties and fear had prevented Daryl from acting directly, and admitting the truth of his own feelings. But neither of them were alone in this, and Daryl sought to show him as much with the press of his body, his hand sliding around to the small of Rick's back and urging him closer. But it wasn't enough, he knew it wasn't. Their situation required him to find the words to express himself, and he was no longer afraid.

"Hard to remember a time when I didn't love you." His embarrassment over how utterly sentimental it sounded was mitigated by the fact that it was simply the truth. What he felt for Rick had evolved over time, and he hadn't recognised the depth of it or the implications of what it could be early on, but he knew he'd been in love for longer than he cared to admit.

For him, this was like winning the lottery after a life spent in abject poverty — a life that had in fact been his pre-apocalypse reality, both in a literal and metaphorical sense. It was as though everything had been leading up to this moment, and now, standing on the cusp of something that would change his life forever, there was no turning back. For Rick, he could only guess, and imagined this might be more like getting a fair deal at a used car lot. Settling for what he could have, maybe because what he truly wanted was out of reach. He'd already been married, had known what it was to be loved, to have parents, a real family who gave a damn about him. Unconditionally, not just when it was convenient for them or when they needed something from him. But Daryl was observant, particularly of the things others tried their hardest to conceal; he'd sensed the relationship between Rick and Lori had been irreparably damaged toward the end, and likely even before the world went to shit, considering how easily she and his supposed best friend had fallen into bed together, forsaking marriage vows, forsaking Rick — something which had offended Daryl's deep sense of loyalty, though he'd been careful to keep his distaste to himself for the most part.

But even so... what did he have to offer Rick, to compare with what he'd had before, back when things had presumably been good? He didn't in the least doubt Rick's sincerity about loving him, but also didn't feel worthy of it, and thought his friend deserved better. He leant away, allowing just enough distance between them so he could see Rick's face and take in his expression, the hand in his hair moving to lightly stroke along the side of his neck.

"This won't change nothin' between us, if you don't want it to. If that's... what you mean about askin' too much. Don't know what happens now, what you want. I've never—" he started to say, the words coming out in a rush before he cut himself off sharply, and glanced off to the side in discomfort. He hadn't meant to steer their conversation in that direction, though he was also certain Rick would have soon figured out his inexperience regardless. "Never loved no one before. Never... been loved before."

There were all too many 'nevers' for him. These extended beyond the emotional aspect of having a relationship, but he wasn't going to be presumptuous and bring that matter up yet. Maybe Rick wouldn't want anything more physically intimate than their present embrace and prior kiss, maybe wouldn't want a relationship at all — but he'd meant what he'd said. Whatever Rick asked of him, whatever he could possibly want from him, if he wanted anything, Daryl would do his absolute best to give it to him.

[rictator]

Knowing what little he did of Daryl's past, his inexperience didn't come as a surprise - That said, it didn't make it any less painful to hear him say it. That this man deserved better could not be overstated, and Rick wasn't naive enough to believe that anything he could offer him would make up for what life had robbed him of; in the end, he was just as damaged, albeit in different ways. But for all their rough edges, all their flaws, they somehow fit together. Daryl completed him, balanced him in a way he hadn't entirely comprehended until that moment.

"Hey-" His touch was light against the other man's jaw, attempting to gently guide his gaze back. "I want it to."

It was strange to think that it had been the fear of change that had held him back, given the new possibilities before them now. There would always be that risk, that they might offset their natural rhythm - but armed with the knowledge of Daryl's reciprocation, Rick could face it. They could face it.

"I just... don't want to push you into something you don't want," he said slowly, his words carefully measured. This wasn't something he wanted to get wrong, not when they'd come this far.

The confession was all he'd really had. There was no predicting how this conversation was going to play out, and the line between preparedness and fantasy had been hazy at best; going into this with the expectation that this would succeed would have been all the more devastating if it hadn't. Now, whatever came next was up to the two of them.

"It's not just about what I want anymore. It's about what we want. Us."

That was the difference. His marriage had failed because it had been founded on the needs of one person, and while Rick had done his best to fit the mold his wife had created for him, it just wasn't who he was. It was like a jacket one size too small, uncomfortable and straining at the seams - It was never going to last.

But with Daryl, their relationship had been founded on mutual respect. Rick had never felt the need to change himself with him, just as he would never ask the other to change for him; they loved each other for who they were, not for a vision of who they wanted them to be. That their relationship would evolve this way felt natural, innate in a way that Rick wondered if this had always been their intended destination. Panem had only served to open his eyes to what had always been there.

"We make this decision together."

[weaintashes]

He'd been touched by Rick before, just as cautiously, as gently, and yet never quite like this, the touch transformed by intent into something more intimate. It felt as though points of heat bloomed where their skin was in contact, warming and spreading throughout his body as he glanced back up to meet Rick's eyes.

It was unclear whether he'd fully understood what Daryl had meant by asking what he wanted, but his response was reassuring, and gave Daryl hope that they could work the rest out as they came to it and figure things out together. Judging by the way Rick had kissed him back, he was fairly certain this wasn't only an emotional connection between them, which was promising. Because he did want more, and said as much while agreeing that the decision would be made together.

There would be some time to think. Vivi would be expecting them to join him for dinner shortly, and there was still the matter of Daryl's shower. With a promise that they'd talk afterward, he reluctantly drew away before he could give into temptation and ask for 'more' right there and then. Another hour wouldn't kill him.

Following a somewhat distracted but nonetheless pleasant family dinner — as he'd been thinking of them even before recent revelations — he saw to his shower. There was no denying how anxious he was as he took care to wash more thoroughly than he would have normally, anticipating that it was no longer simply for himself. Another pair of eyes and hands, maybe even a mouth and tongue may or may not be on his body in the near future, and the thought had him feeling as self-conscious as he was eager. Though not impatient. Being with a man might be an entirely new experience for Rick, and it definitely was for Daryl, but for him it was less about gender and more about actually wanting someone to touch him, that was unknown territory. Taking things slow seemed to be the best option for both of them.

And he was maybe... most likely getting too far ahead of himself when he looked himself over in the mirror with a critical eye, contemplating some manscaping. His body hair was so sparse to begin with, but then, Rick was presumably accustomed to being with someone possessing completely smooth, much softer and less scarred skin, with feminine curves and swells, and— shit. What the hell was he doing? He could never be that, never give Rick that unless he stepped aside to let his friend pursue women. Would he want to? (Was he still only a 'friend'?) Scrubbing his hands over his face, trying not to get too disheartened before they could even discuss these matters, he dried off and returned to their shared suite in a robe.

There he dressed for bed as usual, in a comfortably worn and faded t-shirt and pajama pants, not wanting to give the impression that he had any specific expectations for the night. Sitting at the foot of the bed with Charlie's head in his lap, he rubbed behind the dog's ears to make up for neglecting him earlier. It also gave him something to focus on while gathering his thoughts, and eventually he resumed their earlier conversation.

"I want you to touch me," he said quietly without looking up, inwardly cringing as he realised how much better that had sounded in his head, but pressing on. "And I wanna touch you. If that's what you want too. Ain't plannin' on ever doing this with anyone else, and I'd kinda like to know if you are." He knew his own mind and had a fairly solid understanding of his wants, it was just a matter of clearly communicating them and hoping Rick's aligned with them well enough for this to work. "What are we?" he asked at length, finally lifting his head to look toward Rick. "Just friends, somethin' else?"

Something more? While not a fan of labels, he did want to know what he was to Rick, to have some idea of his expectations. To know what would and wouldn't be allowed. Especially with the way Rick still wore something that, as far as Daryl knew, was a representation of his marriage vows to his former wife, which begged the question: "And d'you... still consider yourself married? Guess I should've asked this first, before assumin' anything. Never seen you without that ring."