I have this problem. My Rick muses want Daryl like…*want*/need Daryl. And I love Rick, he's the hinge the whole premise of TWD swings on, so I have these scenes in my head that just have to be written. I'm dedicated to Carol/Daryl, but ….I'm compelled by this also.

What It Is Now, by MissMishka

DISCLAIMER: The usual warnings, I claim no ownership of these characters, they are simply borrowed with love and adoration from the original creators to have their stories embellished on a little more than the show may do. Not for any profit.

It ain't like it was before.

Rick hadn't needed Shane screaming the words at him to know how much the world had changed, but of all the exchanges of the day, that was the phrase that kept looping through his tired mind.

Sworn to protect the helpless, innocent and downtrodden in the course of his duties as Deputy, the fact that he'd put a bullet in the brain of another little girl hours ago illustrated horrifically just how things had changed.

Shane's fury and constant undermining, Lori's pregnancy and the truth about what those two had done while Rick laid in a coma were additional clues. All he saw, every where he looked, were signs that all that he had held dear before being shot was now broken beyond repair.

If there was a point or purpose to his having woken from that coma, Rick failed to see how it could possibly have any good to it. Cowardly as it was, he couldn't help but think how much better it would have been had he just slipped away into nothingness with the simpler memories of the world as it had been.

Carl was still reason enough to go on. That, and the pure instinct to survive, limited the number of moments when 'opting out' held appeal to him.

In the world as it had been, Rick would have sought solace with his wife from the horror of a day such as this one had been.

In the world as it was now, he moved through the dark camp to find it in a place he would have deemed impossible before.

Unimaginable.

Something had shifted in him, though, weeks ago, when they first met and it had only grown with the odd times they were alone together.

Daryl Dixon was the likes of which that Rick Grimes never would have associated with in the before unless there was an arrest involved. The redneck was the kind of hothead that Rick had often hauled away, cuffed, after a drunken brawl in a parking lot or trailer park.

In the world as it had been, their roles had been clearly written and cast as Rick upholding the laws and Daryl being the sort to just break them.

As things were now, Rick had no idea what they were. What roles they were now cast in or how their scene was supposed to play out.

All he knew was that, if he wanted any kind of peace, he needed Daryl to find it.

He knew the other man had only just turned in to his tent for the night and he approached the shelter slowly.

Part of him hated to be there, seeking strength without any real thought or care as to whether the other man had enough to spare. Watching over Carol had to have taken a toll and Rick was glad that Daryl had taken on that task without being asked to.

He wondered briefly at the connection there, selfishly hoping it wasn't anything romantic that had been behind the hunter's search for Sophia and attention to the grieving mother.

The greater part of him needed this too much to give a damn about anything else, though. He was so damned tired of thinking about and caring for others' thoughts, feelings or welfare that he just had to have something for himself.

It was this or it may well end up being the barrel of his gun.

The tent flap was partially open when he approached, as if in anticipation, welcome maybe, of his visit. A low light came from within, probably from one of the many battery-operated lanterns they all favored.

He heard the rustle of movement from inside the shelter and could see from the shadow cast on the canvas that Daryl was undressing, the other man's torso bowing forward to pull the shirt he wore off over his head.

Rick paused at the realization that he'd be seeing Daryl half-naked if he dared to enter the tent. There was no want in him to turn away, though, and that scared him.

He was a married man and father.

He'd never looked at another man before. Never shared a shower with Shane or any of the others through high school, college, the academy or at the station and cast more than a fleeting glance at the other mens' bodies to see how his own measured up.

He'd never watched another man move the way he often found himself watching Daryl track.

He'd never wondered what it might be like to touch a man and be touched by the roughness of a man's hands with anything other than consolation or camaraderie.

He never had nor ever would have needed anything like this in the world as it had been.

As it was now, though, Rick took a calming breath and bent to unzip the flap enough for him to slip inside.

Daryl's eyes just shifted up to meet his for an instant before focusing again on the boots he was in the process of removing. Rick took the glance as consent enough to turn and close the thin piece of canvas that sealed them alone in the shelter away from the world outside.

When he turned back around, hunched over to avoid the low ceiling of the domed structure, his gaze seemed level with Daryl's hands as they were unbuttoning the pants the other man wore.

The ease with which the redneck stripped in his presence didn't make Rick question whether Daryl had been with a man before. It was just another comfort he found with this man. There was no need for conversation between them.

Daryl didn't demand flowery words or any special handling.

There were no lies, bullshit or drama with him.

Somehow, the man just saw, knew and did just the right thing for the moment.

Rick was awed by that.

"Get the light," Daryl's quiet, but gruff voice broke the quiet.

Not having decided whether he wanted to see this or not, Rick hesitated to follow the order, just as Daryl's hands were hesitating on the waist of his pants, not yet allowing the unfastened material to drop to the floor. It was enough to tell him that the other man wanted darkness for what was to come, so he squatted down to shut off the lantern casting light from the corner of the tent.

The darkness seemed to be all Daryl had needed to spring into action.

While Rick's eyes were still adjusting to the lack of light, the other man grabbed and turned him. Those hands were just as rough as he had imagined they would be as they pushed him down on the sleeping bag and moved under his tee shirt to pushed the white material up his chest.

His mouth gaped over quiet pants for breath as he obeyed the command of those hands and raised himself enough for the garment to be removed. He felt that he should say or do something, floundering just a bit at the lack of communication or a more intimate contact at such a time. His body could only pant and follow the unspoken instructions of the man he gave control of the situation to, though, simply trusting that this would be right, however Daryl chose to take it.

He couldn't remember the last time anyone had undressed him and there was something almost unbearably erotic about the idea of this man doing it. Rick's fingers clawed at the bedding beneath him, holding to it when he wanted to touch the pale skin glowing in the darkness above him, while Daryl quickly unlaced and removed his shoes.

Suddenly impatient, he put those hands to unfastening his pants and shifted to shove the last barrier away once the last shoe had dropped to the floor of the shelter.

Neither of them paused to take in the moment that they both became fully naked. Their bodies just rushed together and the press of another aroused male body against his own stole the breath from Rick's lungs.

Daryl breathed it back into him when the other man finally allowed their mouths to grind together.

He felt he could have come just from that.

The flatness of the chest atop his own.

The unforgiving, aggressive thrust of the dick rubbing against his between their bodies.

The hot, hungry tongue that stabbed into his mouth and demanded a response Rick never would have known himself capable of giving before.

That chest shifted slightly away and Rick felt a sound like a whimper escape his throat in protest as more of the other man raised away. The noise was choked off though, as a callused hand moved between them to wrap around both their lengths and stroke.

He came with just a single upward jerk of that hand on his flesh, but he didn't care and Daryl gave no indication of surprise or disappointment to dampen the rush of pleasure that raced along Rick's every nerve end.

The hand kept moving until the other man found his own release with a bitten off grunt in Rick's ear.

In the aftermath, he felt raw, wrung out and dazed like he'd been hit by a prizefighter.

Daryl pressed his forehead to Rick's chest while they both struggled to regain their breath. His arms raised to embrace the redneck in the first sign of awkwardness or hesitation between them since he'd entered the tent.

When the man collapsed against his chest and lay without tension in his hold, though, Rick breathed easier and curled his fingers into the flesh of Daryl's back. He was clinging, but didn't care as the hunter turned his head for his lips to seek out the hollow of Rick's throat.

"Damn."

The word conveyed and summed up pretty much everything. Rick said nothing in response to the quiet utterance, knowing it hadn't been meant as a conversation starter.

Their racing hearts were returning to a normal beat and he knew he'd have to slip into his own tent soon to keep Carl from worrying needlessly, but he lingered.

He stared blindly up at the ceiling of the shelter, his hands starting to unconsciously caress the body lying heavily atop him. He wasn't surprised when Daryl withdrew from the gentling touches and moved off to rummage for something in the tent.

A rough cloth soon began to swipe at the mess of semen on his groin and stomach, but he kept staring up through the cleansing.

In this moment and place, Daryl took care of him and that's just how it was now.