The sweat glistening on his skin, dripping down his arms in small rivers did not go unnoticed as Daryl hauled the deer carcass through the gate that Carl and Carol had opened for him. He looked up at Rick as he came through, the sheriff with his hands on his hips just eying the battered man as he walked in, deer dragging behind him. "Lost the truck. Ran out of gas. We'll have to go back for it. I didn't think it'd take that much. There might be a leak," he said matter of factly as he dropped the legs and bent down to inspect his kill. "Meat should still be good though."

Rick just nodded as several people came running down to help Daryl with the deer. They hoisted it up on their shoulders and hauled it off to be cleaned for dinner that night. The whole camp slowly started to come out of the prison, mumbles being heard from them all. Word spread quickly when Daryl was seen walking up as extra support was needed to fend off the walkers from attacking him and the best meal they had had in weeks. A feast was definitely in order tonight.

Rick couldn't help the smile that formed on his face at the sight of the younger man. Every day when he walked out those gates, he worried that he would never see him again. Though, rumor is that it is impossible to kill a Dixon unless he does it himself. That's a theory that Rick would never like tested with this Dixon. He clapped him on the back as Daryl stood, sending dirt flying from the leather vest. "Guess I should get my clothes washed, huh?" Daryl laughed.

"I'm sure Carol would be happy to help you with that," Rick jested with a nonchalant point in her direction by the gate.

The joke fell flat as the hard features on Daryl's face scrunched up and he shook his head, eying the sheriff sideways, saying quietly, "Rather do it myself."

"I'm sure she'd be happy to-"

"Just not interested, Rick," he interrupted, dragging his eyes up his body starting from the boots and finally landing on the baby blues. "Fuckin' tired. I did just haul a deer back here for y'all, ya know."

"Well then grab a shower and some sleep and we'll get you when food is ready."

A twisted smile crept across Daryl's face, his voice lowering slightly. "A shower first huh? Why you so obsessed with me bein' clean? You wanna come cuddle with me in my sleep?"

Rick shrugged, his own smile turning slightly suggestive. "Maybe - if you keep bringing deer back like that."

Daryl blushed and looked around making sure no one had noticed this slight change in conversation. A little louder, he repeated, "Fuckin' tired. Goin' to lay down."

Rick just nodded, watching as their best hunter stalked back into the cell block. He knew when he saw the man later he would still have the same dirt streaks on his skin and have on the same dirty clothes.

Making sure Carl and Carol were back on guard, Rick went back to his garden. There was some tilling that needed to happen if they were going to get their seeds in the ground in time for harvest before the hard winter came. Half an hour later, he looked up to see one of the Woodbury women coming towards him, walking with a purpose. Leaning on the handle of the tiller, he waited for her to approach him. "He's a wild animal!" she huffed. Rick's eyebrows raised, immediately knowing who she was talking about. When his stance didn't change, she continued ranting in muttered stops and starts about "cleaning the wounds" and "peroxide" and "thrashing."

Rick snorted, picking up his tools and walking towards the cell block. "You have to treat him like a trapped badger. Trapped badgers don't like to be bothered like that," he laughed slightly, knowing that wasn't the full problem but not willing to tell this girl that Daryl was just Daryl and didn't take well to strangers, especially not to strangers who tried to kill him previously. "I'll handle it. Where is he?"

When Rick walked in cell block C, Daryl was breathing fire through his nose leaning over the bar from his perch. The women not on duty elsewhere were gathered at the other end of the cell block, looking as uninterested as possible but still keeping a weary eye on the agitated man above them. Daryl's eyes lit on Rick the second he walked through the door, Rick just grinning up at him. Daryl huffed and pushed off the bar, wandering from his sight and back into his cell. The Woodbury women handed him a cloth, a rag in a bowl full of water, and the peroxide, giving short and curt instructions on where to look for the wounds, and quickly left the room. Slowly, he ascended the stairs, the grin never leaving his face as he laughed at this situation. "The fuck you doin', Rick?" Daryl growled at him from where he lay as the sheriff approached the landing.

Rick looked down at him from just outside the bars. "The ladies came to get me to handle the fire breathing dragon."

Daryl snorted again, rolling over, giving Rick his back. "I'm fine. I told them not to touch me. I didn't hit them if that's what you're here for."

"Naw. Just wondering why you'd turn down the opportunity to have a sponge bath from a pretty woman instead of me."

Daryl rolled over and sat up. "You are not giving me a sponge bath and neither are those... whatever they are. All I want is some fuckin' sleep and that's what I told them. Are you their knight in shining armor now? Going to come hold me down so they can clean me?"

Rick's eyebrow twitched at the thought. "Naw, they left. Come on, they said you're wounded. At least let me look and make sure it's nothing that we need Hershel to look at."

Daryl grumbled, but allowed Rick to kneel in front of him. Slowly, he removed his shirt, flinging it to the foot of the cot. Leaning over slightly to his right side, he pointed at two spots. "I brushed up against something here, and scratched myself here. That's all man. Ain't nothin'."

Rick nodded, still taking in all the other scars decorating the strong body in front of him. No matter how many times he saw them, they were still a shock. To Daryl, these scratches, no matter how deep, probably were nothing compared to the things he'd dealt with in the past, but how were the Woodbury women to know that? "You gotta be nicer to these people, Daryl. They just want to help you," he said, taking the wet cloth and reaching towards the first wound.

Daryl quickly pulled away, knocking Rick's hand away from him. "Said I'm fine," he huffed, reaching for his shirt.

As he bent, Rick saw fresh blood on the pale skin of the redneck's lower back. "What's this?" he asked, pushing Daryl over slightly to get a better look. He wasn't expecting the subsequent shove causing him to lose his balance. His body splayed out on the floor as he watched Daryl quickly pulling his shirt on before reaching a hand down to help him up.

"Sorry, said I'm fine though. Why don't you go help the other ladies prepare the meat I dragged all the way back here?" he said, side-eying him.

Rick didn't fall for the bait. "Daryl, you're hurt worse than you think. There's fresh blood on your back. Let me just see it. I don't have to touch it if it really isn't that bad," he lied.

Instead of complying, Daryl flipped him off and laid down on his cot, throwing a forearm over his eyes. "Goodnight, Grimes. Now leave me the fuck alone."

Rick sighed and stood up, glaring down at the obstinate man. A full minute ticked by before the expected tantrum started. "What the fuck, man?" Daryl screeched loud enough that Rick was sure everyone in the yard and anyone listening in on the other side of the door in C Block heard and scattered. His right arm flailed into the air, revealing the piercing blue eyes that were angry at his presence.

"We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Daryl," Rick said slowly, his right hand going for the handcuffs that he had attached to the back of his pants.

Daryl huffed the hair out of his face as he contemplated his next move, the right side of his lips twitching into a smirk. "Going to handcuff me, officer?"

"If that's what it takes to make sure that you are ok, then yes."

Daryl stood up to stand toe to toe with Rick, the flicker of light in his eyes daring him to make his move. Rick had been in situations like this before, undoubtedly with people that probably came from something similar to Daryl's upbringing. He was prepared. A quick motion, knocking the redneck off balance, grabbing a wrist and with a flick of silver it was cuffed and attached to one of the bars facing the common area of the cell block.

"Fuck," Daryl groaned. "Fuck," he repeated as he tested the handcuffs. With his one free hand he gripped Rick's shirt, pulling him up his face. The corded muscles in his arm flexed with each huffed word as he spit out, "Let me go."

Rick just grinned, knowing fully that Daryl could not and would not harm him, despite this bravado. "I will. And I will let you go to sleep once I see what all this blood is about on your back. I'm just asking for some cooperation here, Daryl."

With a grunt and a huff, Daryl finally admitted defeat. A simple nod of his head had Rick making quick work of getting the shirt off of his back, letting it hang on the chain of the cuffs as Daryl gave the man his back. Gripping the bars in front of him, he braced himself for whatever Rick's reaction would be. He was unaware that the lawman had seen the extent of his scars before, sneaking casual glances as the man had changed off to the side of their camp or while he bathe in the occasional lake that they found.

Gentle fingers traced the scars on soft skin. Dark patches with such darker memories. Daryl's eyes closed as he felt the wet rag touch his back, wiping the blood away. "You knew this one was here. You had to. It looks like it stings. Why didn't you show this one to me?"

Daryl just shrugged, wishing for this nonsense to be over. "It'd heal on its own."

"Yeah but what if it got infected? You could get sick." Rick's voice betrayed his worry as he worked away at the long scratch low on the hunter's back. "What caused this?"

Daryl grunted, shifting from one foot to the other. "What did this?" Rick tried again, allowing a more authoritative tone to enter his voice.

"Fell out of a tree," Daryl mumbled. He wasn't prepared for the abrupt bubble of laughter that came from the man behind him. "The hell's so funny, Grimes?"

"Nothing," he said, trying to stifle his laughter and his smile. Honestly, he was thankful it was just a tree and not the scratch of some kind of wild animal or worse, a walker.

"Ok, you saw it. Now let me go," Daryl grumbled, clearly through with all of this attention.

Rick just smiled and shook his head, tossing the rag over towards the cell door. "I kinda like you like this."

Daryl's eyes narrowed. He turned towards Rick, placing his back towards the open cell block, his hands clinging to the bars behind him. Something in that stance made Rick's heart flutter and heat course through his veins. "Kinda like me handcuffed in a prison cell?"

Rick snorted, as he moved in a little closer, placing his hands above Daryl's on each of the bars. He waited until the blue eyes finished their travel up his body before finally settling on his own. "Kinda like that I know that you're here and alive. If I have you handcuffed here, in my presence I know that I don't have to worry about you getting hurt or killed out there or worse, turning, and I'd never know. You just wouldn't come back here; you wouldn't come back to me."

A soft blush swept over the tanned features of the trapped man. "You know I'd always come back," he mumbled.

Rick's hands came up, gently pushing the dirty hair out of Daryl's face. "I know that you'd always try. I can't lose you too, Daryl."

Those hard blue eyes closed at the emotion in Rick's words. "Won't lose me," he mumbled.

Rick shook his head, leaning his forehead against Daryl's. "I need you. I…," his voice faltered, emotion choking him up. Before he took the time to consider the consequence, he closed the distance between them, pressing his lips against the chapped ones before him. The kiss was not returned. Rick broke the contact, taking a step back in the event a blow would be coming from the one free hand Daryl had. Instead, he was met with the sight of a lax body against the cell bars, eyes still closed, face scrunched up in a look of soft confusion.

"Daryl, I…," Rick said, starting to offer some kind of excuse, anything that wouldn't drive the man in front of him away. Panic coursed through him as time slowly ticked by. He had no excuse for what he had just done other than overwhelming emotion that he wouldn't dare call love. Perhaps adoration? Admiration?

Finally, Daryl just shook his head, blue eyes finally opening to him, the tears building up in them making his eyes shine. "I need you too," he whispered and Rick was back on him in a heartbeat.

Their lips met in a fervent, heated kiss. Daryl's one free hand coming around to grasp at Rick's back, holding the man impossibly close to his body. Rick's arms wrapped around the lithe, muscular chest, hands careful not to touch any of the new wounds as they grasped at the exposed flesh.

Daryl was the first to pull back, his blue eyes a violent storm of emotion and questions. "Not gay," he muttered.

"Me either," Rick answered. "Just…," he sighed, "just for you."

Daryl nodded, seeming to accept that response. "Now will you let me go?"

Rick snorted. "Only if you agree to take a shower." Daryl huffed and grumbled, pulling at his wrist still in the handcuff. "I just wanted to make good on my promise out in the yard."

With a snort, Daryl said, "Well then you need to take one too, farmer. Won't have you in my clean bed looking like that."

"Deal."