Hello,

Yes, 'nother fill for the kink meme. Seriously, I do nothing else for fun anymore. This one is fast becoming my magnum opus...I'm quite proud of it. This was written for the following prompt (paraphrased):

Rick and Co. are finding it increasingly difficult to deal with Daryl being...well, Daryl. They are, in fact, considering just cutting their losses and telling him he has to leave when they run across another group of survivors, one of whom has a conection to Daryl none of them were expecting.

Story is pretty AU in that: Daryl and Glenn were in a relationship for a few years before the Zombie Apocalypse. They were separated when Atlanta got overrun, and each of them thinks the other is dead. Daryl fell in with the quarry group, but Glenn is with another camp of survivors. The prompt necessitated the creation of several OC's, but I've done my level best to avoid Mary-Sue's.

There was a brief moment, every morning, when he hovered between asleep and awake-

-when everything was okay. The world hadn't fucking ended, the dead weren't roaming' the streets-

-and he could pretend, just for a few moments, that the past month had been nothing but a terrible nightmare. Any moment, he would blink his eyes open and see-

-the walls of their cramped apartment, hung with that godawful yellow wallpaper. He hated that wallpaper, but the kid thought it was 'cheerful' or some shit. It didn't matter, really. The place was too hot in the summer and too cold in the winter and too far away from the woods that he'd grown up in, but-

-it was perfect. Because it was theirs. Any moment, he would feel the mattress shift beneath him as Daryl reached over to smack the alarm just before it went off. Then Daryl would roll back and wrap his arms around his middle, leaning in close to-

-kiss the back of his neck. He loved the taste of Glenn's skin in the morning, sleep-warm and free of any artificial scent of soap or cologne. He'd lie like that for another few moments, just holding the kid close and reveling in the way they fit together, every-

-dip and hollow of their bodies slotting against each other like fitted puzzle pieces. He'd press back against his lover, maybe with intent, maybe just to feel the planes of whipcord-lean muscle a lifetime lived mostly outdoors had gifted Daryl with. Eventually, though, he'd wiggle out from under Daryl's arm and reluctantly leave the warm nest of blankets. He'd pad into their postage-stamp-sized bathroom while Daryl-

-headed into the only other room in the apartment, the combo kitchen/dining/living room, and stared distastefully at the plastic cereal bin full of whatever oatbran-whole wheat-extra fiber goddamn crunchy granola shit Glenn had bought that week. He'd get out two bowls and the skim milk, though, and then smirk as he put on an extra large pot of jet fuel-strength coffee. Glenn knew-

-when to pick his battles. He'd gotten Daryl to give up his customary plate of greasy bacon and fried eggs for breakfast...he knew better than to try and get between the man and his coffee. He'd shower quickly, and pull on his delivery uniform. They'd have time for a leisurely breakfast before they had to get to work and everything would still be sane.

-Safe.

-Normal.-

-There was a brief moment every morning, when he hovered between asleep and awake-

-when everything was okay. The world hadn't ended, the dead weren't roaming the streets-

-and he could pretend, just for a few moments, that the past month had been nothing but a terrible nightmare.-

-He could pretend that he'd open his eyes and find that he was back in his bed at home, with Daryl draped over his back, snoring softly. He could pretend he hadn't fought his way tooth and nail back to the street the garage Daryl worked at was on...only to find the whole place had been blocked off by National Guardsmen and Army soldiers. Hadn't seen them desperately throwing weapons and supplies into trucks, trying to fall back, deeper into the city. Hadn't been grabbed by a soldier barely older than he was-"kid, Jesus, get out of here...blockade at the hospital failed. There's no one alive that way!"-

-He could pretend he'd open his eyes and find he was back in his bed at home, Glenn curled in his arms where he belonged. He could pretend he'd had the sense to get right in his truck and go get Glenn when his boss had put the call out that the goddamn Army had barricaded the hospital up the block from the garage and everyone was to stay the hell home until whatever this was blew over. That he hadn't realized too late that something was seriously fucking wrong. That he'd tried to call Glenn before the phone lines got jammed up and all his cellphone was good for was telling him that-"all circuits are currently busy." He could pretend that he hadn't waited, waited, and waited for Glenn to come home, wearing a hole in their floor with his pacing-cause he wasn't an idiot. It was chaos out there, and he couldn't risk going out and missing Glenn.-

-He held onto that moment as long as he could, pressing his face into the blankets and wishing, God, wishing-

-that his arms weren't empty. That his heart-

-didn't break all over again every time he awoke on the narrow cot in the campground's banquet hall-

-when he woke up tangled in his sleeping bag in his old hunting tent.-

-That he wasn't-

-alone.-

Glenn groaned softly as he opened his eyes, already wincing in anticipation of the crick in his neck that sleeping on the cot in what had become the "men's dorm" side of the banquet hall always gave him. Beyond the blankets hung to act as dividers, he could hear other people stirring, as well as the clanking of pots and pans that meant breakfast would be ready soon. Mmmm, powdered eggs cooked over a propane-fired camp stove. He was pretty sure he'd sell his soul for a plate of waffles at this point.

At least he and Danny had managed to siphon nearly a full tank of diesel fuel out of the semi they'd come across on the highway the other day. Andrew, a former park ranger who'd worked at the campgrounds they'd taken over and who was therefore considered a defacto leader, had promised everyone they could turn on the generators for a whole hour that night. It wasn't much, but it would be enough to use the on-site laundry room to get honest-to-God clean clothes and blankets. Even more exciting, they'd be able to use the showers. Hot showers. Strictly timed hot showers, of course, with all the men crowded in at once and then all the women and children...but hot showers.

He tried to find things to be happy about. However small they were. He sighed softly, swinging his legs over the side of the cot to sit on the edge. He reached under it, pulling out a battered knapsack that contained everything he had left in the world. He dug out his last clean(ish) pair of underwear and his least-offensive jeans, before digging deeper, into the very bottom of the pack. He pulled out his old leather wallet, with its useless credit cards and a useless ten dollars still jammed into the pockets.

As well as the most important thing he had left.

He bit his lip as he flipped the wallet open to the little plastic sleeves in the center, the ones for photographs. Only one had a picture in it. It was bent and frayed at the edges, the quality rather poor since he'd printed it out from an email on regular paper. It was him and Daryl, at some backyard barbecue party one of his friends had thrown last year. Daryl hadn't wanted to go-Glenn had never made a big deal of it, but Daryl was several years older than the crowd Glenn ran with. It made him uncomfortable. Glenn's friends had wanted to meet his mysterious, roughneck "older man," though, and Daryl had rolled his eyes and put up with their staring.

The picture showed the two of them leaning against the railing on his friend's deck, beer bottles in their hands. One of Daryl's arms was wound around his waist, and the older man was leaning close to his ear, that crooked half-smile Glenn loved so much twisting his mouth. As Glenn recalled, Daryl had been whispering all the filthy things he was going to do to Glenn when they got home.

He smiled sadly as he brushed his finger over the image of Daryl's face. "Still here," he sighed softly. "I'm still going."

Then he got up to go see when the eggs would be ready.

Daryl woke up with the pre-dawn light, long used to rising with the sun. Even before the world had gone to shit, he'd never needed an alarm clock. Outside his tent, he could hear a few people stirring-early risers like him, or those just coming off watch. Someone was cursing softly, and he'd have bet money that someone had let their fire go cold in the night. Dumb bastards. They were forever wasting matches, apparently unable to get the concept of burying live coals overnight to have something to start with the next morning. He supposed he could've shown them...but hell. It wasn't his problem.

He rolled to his knees top of the sleeping bag and blankets he had stretched out along one side of the tent. Still listening in disgust to the few sounds outside, he pulled his crossbow (always loaded and within easy reach) into his lap and began checking the strings. Some of the people at camp had been making noises about being tired of squirrel meat-tired! As if food of any kind was something to turn your nose up at in times like this. But whatever. He could lay snares just as well as he could shoot with the bow. Wouldn't be that hard to catch some rabbits. It rankled him no end to constantly be foraging for this bunch. Stupid, useless city-folk.

He thought sometimes he could do better on his own. He hadn't quite gotten to that point, yet, though. He wasn't stupid...until he literally could sleep with one eye open, he'd have to have someone to watch his back. The group was safer, as much as he hated to admit it. And...he wasn't ready for there to be only silence around him yet. Not after learning to live with constant chatter. So, he'd hunt for these people, well aware that his ability to fortify their dwindling food supplies was probably the only thing keeping them from kicking him out.

He slid his spare bolts into the crossbow's quiver, glaring at it like he had a grudge against it. If these people would just learn to leave him the hell alone, there wouldn't be a problem!

He grabbed his canteen and shoved his feet into his boots...then silently pulled his old duffle bag closer to his bedroll. Slowly, he undid the straps on one of the front pouches and pulled out the only thing among his few possessions besides the bow that he deemed important. Gently, he flipped the cell phone open and hit the power button.

There were no cell towers operating anymore, of course. No one to call anyway. The cell phone only had about half a battery left-and he dreaded the day that the thing finally died. He only turned it on once in the mornings though...on days when the dreams got...got bad. He figured he had a good few weeks left on it if he was careful. Just-he needed it. When the screen pulled up, he clumsily scrolled through the menu until he got to his voicemail box. He highlighted the last saved message...and hit 'play'.

"Hey it's me! Listen, I'm a dumbass and forgot to go to the store last night. Can you pick up some milk on the way home? Skim! Don't think I don't know you tried to pretend not to see the label last time. Love you!"

Glenn's voice, tinny and staticky and just as full of laughter and affection as he remembered it. He sighed shakily as the message ended, immediately powering down the phone again. He squeezed the plastic casing for a moment, clutching the phone like a lifeline. It was stupid. It was useless. It did him no good, but God, sometimes he just needed to hear Glenn's voice. Needed the reminder that he'd had Glenn. He'd had someone he argued with over what goddamn kind of milk to buy, someone who teased him with laughter in their voice. He'd had someone who loved him. He managed to ignore it most days-to lock all his thoughts and memories of the man he'd shared the past three years with down tighter than Fort Knox. If he didn't think of Glenn, he didn't have to think of what he'd lost.

In the mornings, though, when it was just him, when there was no one to hide from behind harsh words and harsher attitude...he needed to hear Glenn's voice. Needed to hear him saying that he loved him.

"You too, kid," he murmured into the silence of his tent.