oOo

Eric is the sort of person Daryl's never really met.

Would have never met, had the dead not up and risen.

All smiles and laughter, with a crack at a joke for every thought he gave.

Merle joked some. Laughed some. But not like this.

It doesn't take long for Daryl to decide that maybe Eric's presence felt okay. Like something new. Something different.

"You'll have to excuse Aaron's horrific pasta skills," Eric tells him, rummaging about the kitchen for what looked like plates. "But honestly, isn't the tomato slicing in the sauce just lovely?"

The room falls quiet. Daryl lifts his eyes, looking for Aaron. He's busy with cups in his hands. He nods quickly.

Daryl nods, too.

"S'fine," he mutters, clearing his throat.

Good thing, too, since Eric practically beams at him. Even takes the moment to add another clumpful of spaghetti to his plate before handing it over.

When the fork lands next to his hand, Daryl digs in and eats like he means it. Eric sits, and the whole room fills with conversation. Daryl himself doesn't say much. Just listens, watches through the open rents of his hair every few seconds. Only to see, in all the different ways, how Aaron gazed back at Eric.

A soft glint in his eye. Delicate. As if all the hell going on outside didn't really matter much.

Didn't need to matter much...

Not with Eric there at his side.

oOo

The next day, in the woods, Rick hands out two of three guns.

Carol takes the one given to her. No questions asked.

When its Daryl's turn, he backs off. Tells Rick there's no need to.

Rick's half-smile falters at that, but his eyes are set in cold stone.

Stern, unreadable. Demur purled low in his brow.

"Alright," he says, and does not say another word.

oOo

That night, the sky is clear and the moon looks like it's been pulled forward.

Daryl wakes from his spot on the floor, from the front porch of the house he's been given.

Steel fence to his left, empty house to his right. For a moment, Daryl's okay with Deanna's decision. At least this way there wouldn't be anyone there to ask him questions.

Winds picks up, wafting in reeks of skin and rot. He lies still, counting the leaves that drift off over the wall. The stench fades with them, someplace far. He can see the world moving, how all the three stars in the sky begin to glimmer away from their previous spots.

But even stars disappear. All's one color. No leaves worth counting. The moon gets small, becomes only half of what it was.

Daryl stands, snatching his jacket from the floor. He slips into it, spitting once over the paling. He lets himself consider going over to Eric's house, and hates himself for it. He starts pacing, reaching back into his pockets for the worn shape of his lighter. He flings the cap off, brings the orange flame close to his face.

After a while, the heat begins to hurt his eyes. Dry, hot. But not enough.

Quickly, he attempts to light the tail-end of his last cigarette. His hands are shaking. His fingers are cold and stiff.

The way Rick'd looked at him earlier. Sharp, flat. Empty.

It made Daryl want to punch another hole through the wall.

So he does.

His knuckles peel and bleed. It stings like shit. Throbs like shit. He doesn't care.

He tosses the lighter over the wall and leaves.

oOo

He doesn't make it far.

Not when he thinks he's seen Rick, staring straight ahead next to the water-pit they kept.

Daryl slows down. Wavers, but knows only that he couldn't take the turn back around even if he wished it.

He starts walking, heart drumming at the crux of his throat.

At one point, Rick feels him coming. He turns his chin by an inch, his hand going straight to the hilt of his gun faster than even Daryl could see it.

Not two feet back, he stops.

"Hey."

Rick doesn't say anything. Just takes his hand away from his belt.

Daryl starts to feel dumb. Standing there, not knowing what to do with his hands. Something like not belonging. Like Rick not wanting him there. Here, then, or anywhere. He turns on his heel, ready to leave.

"Ain't gotta go if you don't want to," Rick says with a snark. He gestures with his hand. "Enough space for everyone."

There's an obvious spite in his voice like knives. But Daryl stays, anyway. Takes a step forward.

"Yeah," he says simply. "Bigger than what we had."

They're standing next to each other now.

In silence, but close. Alone, without anyone there to listen. Daryl feels his chest tightening. His stomach taking turns. He looks at the water in the pond, their two reflections merging, and remembers the half-looks from before. The welded linger of Rick's hand on his shoulder before a morning run, back when the prison still stood. The nods, the hunts they went on. Just them. In the woods. No words, just actions and a mutual goal to get to.

Then he remembers Jessie.

Pale hair and skin. Rick's look, like he needed her.

Daryl's throat clenches.

"Carl's doing fine," Rick says after a while. "This thing we have going on here. I think he likes it. He's got friends now."

"Yeah. He does."

"It's a good thing for him," Rick goes on, never taking his eyes away from the water. "Smiles more. Does more. Runs around like a kid's supposed to."

Daryl doesn't dare himself to speak, so he just moves his head. Rick, he thinks, doesn't take well to it.

"Back there," Rick starts, almost careful. "I know what you're trying to do, what you think you want to do. But it ain't the right thing. These people," Rick says, lowering his voice into a whisper. "They ain't like we've been. Like you or me or Carol. Out there. They don't know. We let this go, we die with them. You know that, don't you?"

Daryl doesn't answer him.

Almost immediately, Rick grows restless. Hands at his hips, head towards the ground, to the side, and then up. Lips drawn tight, the fabric of his jacket crimping loud in the thick silence between them. Anger or disappointment, Daryl can't decide. All he knows is that Rick gets quiet, too quiet, for far too long. The sort of quiet he got into back in the woods. A scoff in his throat, or a sneer in his eyes. Daryl doesn't look.

"Alright," Rick says. Simple.

And it's all he ever says before he turns to leave again;

Before Daryl reaches out. Grabs him by the arm, and pulls him back to where he'd been.

oOo