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Title: Over The Fields We Go (1/2)
Fandom: The Walking Dead (TV)
Pairing: Rick/ Daryl
Rating: M (for language)
Words: 4010 (6930 in total)
Summary: “This is one of the couples-only runs,” says the driver of the sleigh. He throws Rick a discerning glare. “Single riders have to wait for the next run.”
Rick sucks in a breath and slips his arm through Daryl’s, even if they’ve only just met. “That won’t be necessary,” he says. “We’re…together.”
A/N: Sleigh Ride AU. Written for the Rickyl Writers’ Group December 2015 Challenge: Winter Romance. Inspired by this picture of sleigh rides here.
~
I’m feeling a little under the weather, the text from Lori says. Can we reschedule? :)
Rick had gotten the text first thing this morning, apparently. Sure, he types back with a sigh. It wasn’t like he had to book what he’d planned for today a week in advance.
Not in the least.
How’s next Thursday? Rick adds. He could move a few things around in his schedule, if he had to.
I’ll have to get back to you on that, Lori writes back. But thanks for understanding!
Rick had reconnected with her at the ten-year high school reunion not long ago, where they’d served lukewarm hors d'oeuvres and cheap wine, without even a mention of there being dinner. But then, Rick had gone for the people and ambience, rather than the food.
It’d been worth it too, because Lori—he remembered her from the days he’d sat at the back of the class, watching her turn and talk to her friends, her eyes doe-brown and wide, her smile warm—had been there too.
One drink had led to another, and liquid courage paved the way for Rick to finally ask, If you’re free next Saturday, why don’t we go out for a coffee?
He’d left the reunion with a firm yes, her phone number in his pocket, and the sense that maybe things were finally coming together in his life. Rick had immediately made a booking the next day for a quiet, country sleigh ride just outside of town, and drawn up plans for which coffeehouse to take Lori to after, because if he was going to court this girl, he was going to do it right.
Except of course, everything seemed to be conspiring against him today. The snow that’d been drifting down all night had turned into a heavier run of snowfall, his alarm clock hadn’t gone off because the electricity had shorted sometime in the morning, and now, this set of texts.
Well. Rick glances at his watch. It’s one in the afternoon, and the session he’d signed them up for is coming up in an hour, so he throws on a sweater and a coat, hitting the remote start on his car keys.
Already paid money for the booking, he decides.
Might as well enjoy it.
~
The drive out to the site where Rick’s booked the sleigh ride isn’t too bad, considering the light snow that’s been coming down all night, and the only recent turn in the snowfall. There’s plenty of parking, which is always a blessing, and as he makes his way up to the lodge where riders have to wait, Rick nods at all the other people who’ve signed up to enjoy the ride, just like him.
To the north, there’s a small mountain range, the base of which is lined with trees, and to the south, a few homey wooden cabins dot the landscape. Besides those, however, it’s snow and crystal brightness as far as the eye can see, making these mountain meadows seem wilder and more remote than they actually are.
Rick takes a seat on a plush red couch, one that’s thankfully free of other people, and settles in to wait. Has a sip of the hot chocolate they’ve set out in the refreshments area. It’s really just hot water mixed with powdered cocoa, but it’s hot and he’s still freezing from the cold, so Rick will take this small comfort as it is.
A few other people shuffle in as it nears two o’ clock, stamping their feet on the welcome mat to shake snow loose from their boots. One of them tosses himself into the same couch Rick’s sitting on, and punches at the keys of his phone, irritated.
“Yeah,” says the man, plucking a set of sunglasses from his head, as he holds the phone up to his ear. “I’m here now. You gonna join me or what?” He pauses, as if he’s listening to the reply. “Don’t know what I expected,” he growls, when it seems like he’s got his answer. “See you when I get back.” He lifts the sleeve of his jacket to check the time, then ends the call with a pointed jab of a button.
“You’re here alone?” Rick asks, when the man jams his hands back into his pockets.
“Yeah,” says the man, narrowing his eyes. It’s really a shame, Rick thinks, because they’re the prettiest shade of crystalline blue he’s ever seen. “What’s it to you?”
“Nothin’, I’m just…” Rick blinks. “I’m here alone too.”
“Oh.” The man’s shoulders relax just the tiniest bit, as he fiddles with the phone in his pocket. “Yeah, that’s…yeah. Rough.” He tries to look properly apologetic, but maybe his face isn’t used to the sentiment, because the look he manages instead says, you just ate the last cookie in the cookie jar, how could you?
Rick bites back the laugh that’s threatening to bubble out, that the man’s expressions don’t quite match what he means. “Girlfriend bailed on you?” he guesses, trying for conversation.
She doesn’t know what she’s missing, Rick decides. Because this man’s definitely easy on the eyes, with his long, oak-dark hair and a strong jaw that tapers into the smoothest column of throat Rick’s ever seen. If Rick was ten years younger, he might’ve indulged in—but that’d been inexperienced fumbling, in locker rooms and beneath bleachers, and he’s long past those days now.
Besides, he knows his parents are hoping for him to meet a good girl, and everything about this man screams the opposite of that, from his leather jacket and layers of plaid shirts that have seen better days, to torn jeans with chains wrapped just above the cuff. The faint of smell of motor oil as he lets himself sprawl out on the couch, just a little closer to Rick, suggests that he even rides a motorcycle, and that’s about as bad as you can get.
Rick sighs. Maybe he can’t partake, but he can certainly let himself appreciate.
“Nah, my brother,” answers the man, shrugging. “Hell of a bender last night. And a little too much ho ho ho’in’, if you know what I mean.” He snorts. “He ain’t gettin’ on no sleighs anytime soon. You?”
“Well,” Rick says, pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to find a way to explain that doesn’t sound too awkward. “I had a date with a girl. She texted this morning to tell me she was sick. Didn’t want to waste my ticket though, so...” He gestures at the cozy log cabin, the deer heads and plaques for hunting adorning the walls, and the jarring fuzzy red couches that make up the lodge they’re waiting in. “So here we are.”
“Here we are,” echoes the man, thoughtful. He works a hand free from his gloves, and reaches over with an offer to shake. “Daryl,” he says quietly, all the fight in him gone now, like he’s found a partner in misery.
Rick blinks, before remembering to take Daryl’s hand, which he does, his grip warm and firm. “I’m Rick,” he says, smiling.
He spends the rest of the waiting time just listening to Daryl talk, taking in the blues of his eyes and the low timbre of his voice, enjoying his words and nodding where it’s appropriate to. Shares a little more about the circumstances that brought him here when Daryl asks, and keeps silent when it’s his turn to listen.
Daryl’s telling Rick how he’d been trying to do something nice for his brother, Merle—who’d been talking about going to rehab after getting out of the hospital, except to celebrate leaving the hospital, Merle had gotten boozed up, drugged up, and laid, possibly in that order—when the light jingling of bells sounds outside, signalling the arrival of their sleigh.
“Guess it’s time,” Daryl says. “Might as well put our tickets to use.” He offers his ungloved hand to help Rick up, as the others around them check their watches and those with the proper ride time start moving outside.
“That’s what I thought too,” laughs Rick. He takes Daryl’s hand to hoist himself up, and together, they make their way outside as well.
The sleigh’s a six-seater, with three sets of wooden slats for seating behind a raised platform for the driver, and two ash grey mares hitched to the front of it, bell-lined blankets and straps adorning their bodies. Rick climbs into the middle seat and Daryl into the back, while another two couples follow close behind.
The driver turns to give Rick a discerning look. “We got more comin’,” he says. He waves the couples over with a jerk of his hand. “If your girlfriend’s in the bathroom or somethin’, you’re gonna have to wait for the next run.”
“My what?” Ricks says, furrowing his brow.
“Your girlfriend,” says the driver. “This is one of the couples-only runs. Singletons have to wait for the next run too,” he calls at Daryl.
Singletons, Rick hears Daryl mutter. Surprised he knows such a big word. “When’s the next one?” Daryl hollers, loud enough to split one of Rick’s eardrums. Maybe two.
“That’ll be in an hour.”
Rick shifts uncomfortably in his seat. That’s another hour of waiting back at the crowded lodge, drinking the god-awful sludge they call hot chocolate, and killing time playing games on his phone. He turns to share a look with Daryl, who’s just raised his eyebrows as if to say, No way, José. Not another fuckin’ hour.
“And if you miss that one,” the driver continues, “you gotta wait for the family runs, with the kids.” He shudders at that, and Rick can only imagine what a shitstorm those ones must be.
“That won’t be necessary,” says Rick. He sucks in a breath and climbs down, before Daryl offers him a hand up to where he’s sitting. “We’re…we’re together.”
With an apologetic glance, Rick slips his arm through Daryl’s, and even if Daryl stiffens against him slightly, he relaxes into Rick’s touch a fraction of a second later; they’ve both got to make this convincing, if they don’t want to be kicked into the next hour of singleton runs, or god forbid, the horror of family runs.
The driver squints at them from beneath the wide brim of his cowboy hat. “You weren’t sittin’ together at the start,” he points out.
“Yeah, we just...we had a fight, is all,” Rick says, ducking his head like he’s embarrassed, and he is, but not for the reason the driver suspects. “We’re fine now.”
“Yeah,” says Daryl, putting on a grin that looks eerily unnatural, as if he’s not used to smiling. “We’re good now.” There’s a touch of pensiveness in his gaze as he looks at Rick. “We’re good.”
“Well, all right then.” The driver turns away, motioning for the other couples to get a move on.
As the others climb on, Rick spares a moment to be relieved that they’re at the back. At least from here, they won’t have to pretend too much more to convince the driver of their couple status. And they’ve still got the camouflage of the couple in front of them, nattering away and giggling at nothing, a man and a woman in matching grey parkas with fur-lined hoods. The man’s of Asian descent, and Rick thought he’d caught a flash of auburn hair as the woman climbed in, but he can’t be sure. Either way, it was safe to say there were all kinds of couples on this ride.
Still, Rick can’t help but admit he’s sorry to let go of Daryl’s arm, when the sleigh starts moving. It’d been nice, pressed up against Daryl like that, and it was certainly warmer than when Rick had been sitting alone.
“Do you come up here often?” Rick asks, when the ride’s well under way. It’s a legitimate question; he’d seen Daryl rooting through the cupboards and grabbing snacks without batting an eye during their wait, like he knew where everything was. He’d even offered some to Rick, but Rick had politely declined, deciding the sleigh ride took precedence over eating possibly stolen goods.
Daryl blinks, like no one’s ever taken an honest interest in him before, beyond the usual niceties. “Come up here in the summer sometimes,” he says. “They got jobs for takin’ people out ridin’ on the trails.”
“Oh, so you ride too!” Rick grins a mile wide, because Daryl’s the only other person he’s met so far who can. Like horseriding was a dying skill, despite the number of ranches and farms that existed in Georgia.
“Yeah.” Daryl pauses, and fidgets with his fingers, before tucking his thumb inside a fist. “Where’d you learn?”
“Just a ranch, when I was kid,” says Rick. “Not much use for it in the job I have now, though.” At Daryl’s raised eyebrow, he adds, “Sheriff’s Deputy. A friend and I just transferred back into Atlanta about a month ago.”
Daryl’s mouth falls open at the revelation that Rick’s a cop. It might have more to do with the fact that he’d revealed earlier his brother was taking drugs, than utter awe at his profession, but Rick holds up a hand to pre-empt any excuses Daryl might offer for Merle.
“I’m just out here to have a good time,” Rick says. “Not arrest people.” He offers Daryl his most encouraging smile and nudges their elbows together. “How about you, what do you do?”
It leads to an easier, less stilted conversation about how Daryl does repairs at his brother’s bike shop from time to time, and the current beauty he’s working on restoring, a midnight-blue Kawasaki from ‘82.
They’ve moved onto talking about how in the hell they thought a sleigh ride in the middle of winter could’ve been a good idea, when a gust of what Rick swears is arctic wind blows by, and Rick has to curl into himself to keep warm.
“Just thought it’d be good to—what’s the matter with you?” Daryl asks, when he notices Rick huddling into a ball mid-conversation, shivering, his hands tightened into fists.
“I, uh,” Rick tries. “Was thinkin’ about things this mornin’. Kinda forgot my gloves on the kitchen counter before comin’ out.”
“You can borrow mine,” says Daryl. “I’m used to the cold, anyway.” He slips his gloves off his hands, and nudges them into Rick’s side, before jamming his hands back in his pockets. Balls them into fists to keep the warmth at the core of his hands.
“But then your hands will be cold,” says Rick, blinking against the too-white brightness of the snow.
“I’m fine,” Daryl grouses. “Just put ‘em on. Don’t wanna listen to you whine the whole way there.”
Rick sits up straighter in his seat, about to say I do not whine with every ounce of indignance he can muster, when another idea strikes him—one that’s probably better than their current solution.
“Maybe we can both wear one,” Rick says, holding out the left-handed glove to Daryl. “Keep one hand warm each.” He can hear the couple in front of them suddenly becoming strangely quiet, like they’re straining to hear what Rick and Daryl are saying, but he can’t bring himself to care. He can’t let this kindness take its toll on Daryl.
Daryl sighs and takes the glove back. Slips it on, grudgingly. And while his other hand’s still out, Rick reaches out for it, Daryl’s ungloved right, and brushes his bare fingers against Daryl’s, a silent request for permission.
Daryl jerks away like he’s been burned by a hot coal, his eyes wide.
“Sorry,” Rick mumbles. “I didn’t mean—forget it.” He didn’t think he’d read the situation wrong, but—
Then Daryl’s taking Rick’s hand in his, his fingers slightly cool and dry, but a hand all the same. Threads them together, and draws them into his pocket where it is surprisingly warm. The motion forces Rick closer, until he’s tucked into Daryl’s side, to prevent the driver from seeing his awkwardly stretched arm.
“Was just surprised,” Daryl grunts, as if that somehow explains the way he’d nearly leaped away from Rick. “Anyway,” he adds, “if we’re gonna do this, might as well do it right.” There’s a tiny uptilt to his lips that’s almost a grin, and at that, something in Rick’s chest hurts a little that this is only pretend, but he’ll take it.
From in front of them, they can hear the couple giggling again; the man’s breathing, “Oh my god,” and muttering something about utter denial, while the woman whispers, “They are so unbelievably cute.”
She socks the poor guy in the shoulder, with a Why can’t we be that cute?
Rick’s not sure how he feels about being a role model of coupledom, but he supposes there are worse fates. Like being made to get off the sleigh in knee-deep snow and trudging back to the lodge in boots that aren’t meant for winter. So he keeps his mouth shut and his hand safely twined with Daryl’s, and enjoys the sleigh ride for what it is. Takes in the fresh mountain wind, and watches his breath cloud in the air, as snow falls all around them, softly, silent. Listens to the gentle rustle of their sleigh moving through the snow underfoot. The jingle of the bells on the horses’ straps. The soft whickers and whinnies of the horses as they trot along, their path along the mountain meadows painted silver with blooms of frost.
Just lets himself enjoy the winter dreamscape, as he leans into Daryl’s side, warm. The only thing that could make this ride any better would be a heated blanket, one they could spread over their laps, to keep the chill away from their knees and legs. But Daryl’s hip is pressed right up against his, and it’s warm enough, so Rick supposes he can’t complain.
The peace of their sleigh ride’s only broken about halfway through, when Rick notices their driver looking behind him, staring at them.
“Daryl,” Rick says, squeezing his hand, urgent. “The driver’s looking this way.”
Daryl’s response isn’t much more than a grunt, though when Rick jiggles their joined hands, panicked, he says, “He’s supposed to look out for his customers.” His hand tightens around Rick’s, nervous all the same, but Rick wouldn’t know it just from looking at him.
“No, really,” says Rick, “he’s doing the thing with his eyes. He’s squinting at us again, like he doesn’t believe we’re a couple.”
The driver clears his throat. “You boys back there…”
“Shit,” Rick whispers, “he’s gonna kick us off. He’s gonna kick us off here, and we’re gonna have to walk all the way back to—”
Daryl throws him a look like that’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard, and squeezes his hand, a silent order of Shush.
“I’m gonna have to ask the two of you…” the driver continues, rubbing at his moustache, like there’s something awkward he needs to say.
“Daryl,” Rick squeaks, “do something.”
Daryl sighs and reaches over to cup Rick’s cheek with his free hand. Draws him forward for a kiss that’s warm and slow and tastes a little of mint and chocolate, his lips just the right amount of soft. And Rick finds himself leaning in, trying to lick into his mouth for more of that sweetness, when Daryl pulls away, sudden.
“Yeah,” he grunts at the driver, like he’s annoyed at being interrupted. “What.”
“Was gonna ask you if you boys were warm enough back there,” says the driver, clearing his throat again. “Since you’re the farthest from the horses, and the snow can pile up back there sometimes. But I guess that ain’t really a problem.”
There’s a titter of laughter from the rest of the riders, and another, as Rick blushes and says breathlessly, “Nope, plenty warm enough already.” It leaves Rick wishing he could duck under Daryl’s coat and hide from embarrassment.
The rest of the ride goes as smoothly as the first half, even if Rick can’t find it in himself to meet Daryl’s eyes more than a few times as they talk, because every time he does, all he can think of is Daryl’s mouth, and the taste of sweet mint, and that kiss.
Daryl, for his part, keeps Rick’s hand in his, and it’s only when the sleigh ride’s over that Daryl finally draws his hand away, slowly, like he’s just as reluctant to let go as Rick is. Helps him down from the sleigh, even when the driver’s not watching, and keeps his arm around Rick’s waist during the fireside warmup stop at the end, where they’re given marshmallows to toast and another round of chalky hot chocolates to drink.
In fact, Daryl keeps up the charade right up until the parking lot, when it’s clear it’s time for them to part ways.
“How’d you get here, anyway?” Rick asks. The other riders are all scattering in different directions across the parking lot, but Daryl’s starting to tramp his way back to the lodge.
“Had a cab lined up this mornin’,” Daryl says. “Didn’t wanna take my brother on his bike. The road ain’t been too good since the last snow.”
Rick glances at the snow that’s starting to come down a little harder, feels the wind that’s started to pick up. It won’t be too long before the snow piles up and the cab won’t even be able to make it here. “Listen,” he says, “why don’t I give you a ride back into town?” He charges ahead when Daryl opens his mouth to protest. “It’s only half an hour out, and you won’t have to wait for a cab to make it up here. If it can make it up here.”
It’s the if that seals the deal, Rick thinks, and a tiny blossom of warmth unfurls in his chest when Daryl nods, hesitant.
“I’ll, uh. I’ll spot you for the gas,” Daryl offers. “Least I can do.”
Rick shakes his head. “Don’t need any gas money,” he laughs. “Though, maybe when we get back…”
“Yeah?” Daryl asks, and Rick wonders if he’s holding his breath, because it’s like everything’s gone quiet around them, just the whisper of wind in the parking lot curling away errant drifts of snow. Soft, white flakes falling gently, soundless, all around them.
“I was wondering,” Rick starts, “if maybe you’d like to—” He clears his throat. “Like to grab a real hot chocolate or something. Not that powder shit back at the lodge.” He leaves out the with me, just in case. Because the last thing Rick is, is a man desperate for company. Yes.
For a moment, he’s afraid he’ll get a Sorry, ain’t much for talkin’ to strangers, or a Pretendin’s done, we don’t gotta keep this up thrown in his face. Or even a flippant What, like a real date?
But then Daryl’s offering him that small, secret smile again, like the sun peeking shyly through low-lying storm clouds, the kind that makes Rick’s heart skip a beat. “Sounds all right to me,” he says.
Before Rick knows it, they’re on their way, with easy conversations about anything and everything, and comfortable silences when they need a moment to themselves. And as he navigates his way across snow-covered highways, Rick can’t help but sneak the occasional glance at Daryl. Notice the way he smiles sometimes without quite being aware of it, before hiding it away, like he’s got no right to be happy.
Rick wishes Daryl didn’t have to do that.
He wishes he didn’t have to pretend that this thing between him and Daryl is less than it really is, either.
And since it’s Christmas season, the best time for wishes, Rick throws in an extra one for good measure—the wild hope that the second part of their day will go just as smoothly as the first.
Of course, Rick really should’ve known better, than to count on Christmas wishes.
(tbc) - Chapter 2
Fandom: The Walking Dead (TV)
Pairing: Rick/ Daryl
Rating: M (for language)
Words: 4010 (6930 in total)
Summary: “This is one of the couples-only runs,” says the driver of the sleigh. He throws Rick a discerning glare. “Single riders have to wait for the next run.”
Rick sucks in a breath and slips his arm through Daryl’s, even if they’ve only just met. “That won’t be necessary,” he says. “We’re…together.”
A/N: Sleigh Ride AU. Written for the Rickyl Writers’ Group December 2015 Challenge: Winter Romance. Inspired by this picture of sleigh rides here.
I’m feeling a little under the weather, the text from Lori says. Can we reschedule? :)
Rick had gotten the text first thing this morning, apparently. Sure, he types back with a sigh. It wasn’t like he had to book what he’d planned for today a week in advance.
Not in the least.
How’s next Thursday? Rick adds. He could move a few things around in his schedule, if he had to.
I’ll have to get back to you on that, Lori writes back. But thanks for understanding!
Rick had reconnected with her at the ten-year high school reunion not long ago, where they’d served lukewarm hors d'oeuvres and cheap wine, without even a mention of there being dinner. But then, Rick had gone for the people and ambience, rather than the food.
It’d been worth it too, because Lori—he remembered her from the days he’d sat at the back of the class, watching her turn and talk to her friends, her eyes doe-brown and wide, her smile warm—had been there too.
One drink had led to another, and liquid courage paved the way for Rick to finally ask, If you’re free next Saturday, why don’t we go out for a coffee?
He’d left the reunion with a firm yes, her phone number in his pocket, and the sense that maybe things were finally coming together in his life. Rick had immediately made a booking the next day for a quiet, country sleigh ride just outside of town, and drawn up plans for which coffeehouse to take Lori to after, because if he was going to court this girl, he was going to do it right.
Except of course, everything seemed to be conspiring against him today. The snow that’d been drifting down all night had turned into a heavier run of snowfall, his alarm clock hadn’t gone off because the electricity had shorted sometime in the morning, and now, this set of texts.
Well. Rick glances at his watch. It’s one in the afternoon, and the session he’d signed them up for is coming up in an hour, so he throws on a sweater and a coat, hitting the remote start on his car keys.
Already paid money for the booking, he decides.
Might as well enjoy it.
The drive out to the site where Rick’s booked the sleigh ride isn’t too bad, considering the light snow that’s been coming down all night, and the only recent turn in the snowfall. There’s plenty of parking, which is always a blessing, and as he makes his way up to the lodge where riders have to wait, Rick nods at all the other people who’ve signed up to enjoy the ride, just like him.
To the north, there’s a small mountain range, the base of which is lined with trees, and to the south, a few homey wooden cabins dot the landscape. Besides those, however, it’s snow and crystal brightness as far as the eye can see, making these mountain meadows seem wilder and more remote than they actually are.
Rick takes a seat on a plush red couch, one that’s thankfully free of other people, and settles in to wait. Has a sip of the hot chocolate they’ve set out in the refreshments area. It’s really just hot water mixed with powdered cocoa, but it’s hot and he’s still freezing from the cold, so Rick will take this small comfort as it is.
A few other people shuffle in as it nears two o’ clock, stamping their feet on the welcome mat to shake snow loose from their boots. One of them tosses himself into the same couch Rick’s sitting on, and punches at the keys of his phone, irritated.
“Yeah,” says the man, plucking a set of sunglasses from his head, as he holds the phone up to his ear. “I’m here now. You gonna join me or what?” He pauses, as if he’s listening to the reply. “Don’t know what I expected,” he growls, when it seems like he’s got his answer. “See you when I get back.” He lifts the sleeve of his jacket to check the time, then ends the call with a pointed jab of a button.
“You’re here alone?” Rick asks, when the man jams his hands back into his pockets.
“Yeah,” says the man, narrowing his eyes. It’s really a shame, Rick thinks, because they’re the prettiest shade of crystalline blue he’s ever seen. “What’s it to you?”
“Nothin’, I’m just…” Rick blinks. “I’m here alone too.”
“Oh.” The man’s shoulders relax just the tiniest bit, as he fiddles with the phone in his pocket. “Yeah, that’s…yeah. Rough.” He tries to look properly apologetic, but maybe his face isn’t used to the sentiment, because the look he manages instead says, you just ate the last cookie in the cookie jar, how could you?
Rick bites back the laugh that’s threatening to bubble out, that the man’s expressions don’t quite match what he means. “Girlfriend bailed on you?” he guesses, trying for conversation.
She doesn’t know what she’s missing, Rick decides. Because this man’s definitely easy on the eyes, with his long, oak-dark hair and a strong jaw that tapers into the smoothest column of throat Rick’s ever seen. If Rick was ten years younger, he might’ve indulged in—but that’d been inexperienced fumbling, in locker rooms and beneath bleachers, and he’s long past those days now.
Besides, he knows his parents are hoping for him to meet a good girl, and everything about this man screams the opposite of that, from his leather jacket and layers of plaid shirts that have seen better days, to torn jeans with chains wrapped just above the cuff. The faint of smell of motor oil as he lets himself sprawl out on the couch, just a little closer to Rick, suggests that he even rides a motorcycle, and that’s about as bad as you can get.
Rick sighs. Maybe he can’t partake, but he can certainly let himself appreciate.
“Nah, my brother,” answers the man, shrugging. “Hell of a bender last night. And a little too much ho ho ho’in’, if you know what I mean.” He snorts. “He ain’t gettin’ on no sleighs anytime soon. You?”
“Well,” Rick says, pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to find a way to explain that doesn’t sound too awkward. “I had a date with a girl. She texted this morning to tell me she was sick. Didn’t want to waste my ticket though, so...” He gestures at the cozy log cabin, the deer heads and plaques for hunting adorning the walls, and the jarring fuzzy red couches that make up the lodge they’re waiting in. “So here we are.”
“Here we are,” echoes the man, thoughtful. He works a hand free from his gloves, and reaches over with an offer to shake. “Daryl,” he says quietly, all the fight in him gone now, like he’s found a partner in misery.
Rick blinks, before remembering to take Daryl’s hand, which he does, his grip warm and firm. “I’m Rick,” he says, smiling.
He spends the rest of the waiting time just listening to Daryl talk, taking in the blues of his eyes and the low timbre of his voice, enjoying his words and nodding where it’s appropriate to. Shares a little more about the circumstances that brought him here when Daryl asks, and keeps silent when it’s his turn to listen.
Daryl’s telling Rick how he’d been trying to do something nice for his brother, Merle—who’d been talking about going to rehab after getting out of the hospital, except to celebrate leaving the hospital, Merle had gotten boozed up, drugged up, and laid, possibly in that order—when the light jingling of bells sounds outside, signalling the arrival of their sleigh.
“Guess it’s time,” Daryl says. “Might as well put our tickets to use.” He offers his ungloved hand to help Rick up, as the others around them check their watches and those with the proper ride time start moving outside.
“That’s what I thought too,” laughs Rick. He takes Daryl’s hand to hoist himself up, and together, they make their way outside as well.
The sleigh’s a six-seater, with three sets of wooden slats for seating behind a raised platform for the driver, and two ash grey mares hitched to the front of it, bell-lined blankets and straps adorning their bodies. Rick climbs into the middle seat and Daryl into the back, while another two couples follow close behind.
The driver turns to give Rick a discerning look. “We got more comin’,” he says. He waves the couples over with a jerk of his hand. “If your girlfriend’s in the bathroom or somethin’, you’re gonna have to wait for the next run.”
“My what?” Ricks says, furrowing his brow.
“Your girlfriend,” says the driver. “This is one of the couples-only runs. Singletons have to wait for the next run too,” he calls at Daryl.
Singletons, Rick hears Daryl mutter. Surprised he knows such a big word. “When’s the next one?” Daryl hollers, loud enough to split one of Rick’s eardrums. Maybe two.
“That’ll be in an hour.”
Rick shifts uncomfortably in his seat. That’s another hour of waiting back at the crowded lodge, drinking the god-awful sludge they call hot chocolate, and killing time playing games on his phone. He turns to share a look with Daryl, who’s just raised his eyebrows as if to say, No way, José. Not another fuckin’ hour.
“And if you miss that one,” the driver continues, “you gotta wait for the family runs, with the kids.” He shudders at that, and Rick can only imagine what a shitstorm those ones must be.
“That won’t be necessary,” says Rick. He sucks in a breath and climbs down, before Daryl offers him a hand up to where he’s sitting. “We’re…we’re together.”
With an apologetic glance, Rick slips his arm through Daryl’s, and even if Daryl stiffens against him slightly, he relaxes into Rick’s touch a fraction of a second later; they’ve both got to make this convincing, if they don’t want to be kicked into the next hour of singleton runs, or god forbid, the horror of family runs.
The driver squints at them from beneath the wide brim of his cowboy hat. “You weren’t sittin’ together at the start,” he points out.
“Yeah, we just...we had a fight, is all,” Rick says, ducking his head like he’s embarrassed, and he is, but not for the reason the driver suspects. “We’re fine now.”
“Yeah,” says Daryl, putting on a grin that looks eerily unnatural, as if he’s not used to smiling. “We’re good now.” There’s a touch of pensiveness in his gaze as he looks at Rick. “We’re good.”
“Well, all right then.” The driver turns away, motioning for the other couples to get a move on.
As the others climb on, Rick spares a moment to be relieved that they’re at the back. At least from here, they won’t have to pretend too much more to convince the driver of their couple status. And they’ve still got the camouflage of the couple in front of them, nattering away and giggling at nothing, a man and a woman in matching grey parkas with fur-lined hoods. The man’s of Asian descent, and Rick thought he’d caught a flash of auburn hair as the woman climbed in, but he can’t be sure. Either way, it was safe to say there were all kinds of couples on this ride.
Still, Rick can’t help but admit he’s sorry to let go of Daryl’s arm, when the sleigh starts moving. It’d been nice, pressed up against Daryl like that, and it was certainly warmer than when Rick had been sitting alone.
“Do you come up here often?” Rick asks, when the ride’s well under way. It’s a legitimate question; he’d seen Daryl rooting through the cupboards and grabbing snacks without batting an eye during their wait, like he knew where everything was. He’d even offered some to Rick, but Rick had politely declined, deciding the sleigh ride took precedence over eating possibly stolen goods.
Daryl blinks, like no one’s ever taken an honest interest in him before, beyond the usual niceties. “Come up here in the summer sometimes,” he says. “They got jobs for takin’ people out ridin’ on the trails.”
“Oh, so you ride too!” Rick grins a mile wide, because Daryl’s the only other person he’s met so far who can. Like horseriding was a dying skill, despite the number of ranches and farms that existed in Georgia.
“Yeah.” Daryl pauses, and fidgets with his fingers, before tucking his thumb inside a fist. “Where’d you learn?”
“Just a ranch, when I was kid,” says Rick. “Not much use for it in the job I have now, though.” At Daryl’s raised eyebrow, he adds, “Sheriff’s Deputy. A friend and I just transferred back into Atlanta about a month ago.”
Daryl’s mouth falls open at the revelation that Rick’s a cop. It might have more to do with the fact that he’d revealed earlier his brother was taking drugs, than utter awe at his profession, but Rick holds up a hand to pre-empt any excuses Daryl might offer for Merle.
“I’m just out here to have a good time,” Rick says. “Not arrest people.” He offers Daryl his most encouraging smile and nudges their elbows together. “How about you, what do you do?”
It leads to an easier, less stilted conversation about how Daryl does repairs at his brother’s bike shop from time to time, and the current beauty he’s working on restoring, a midnight-blue Kawasaki from ‘82.
They’ve moved onto talking about how in the hell they thought a sleigh ride in the middle of winter could’ve been a good idea, when a gust of what Rick swears is arctic wind blows by, and Rick has to curl into himself to keep warm.
“Just thought it’d be good to—what’s the matter with you?” Daryl asks, when he notices Rick huddling into a ball mid-conversation, shivering, his hands tightened into fists.
“I, uh,” Rick tries. “Was thinkin’ about things this mornin’. Kinda forgot my gloves on the kitchen counter before comin’ out.”
“You can borrow mine,” says Daryl. “I’m used to the cold, anyway.” He slips his gloves off his hands, and nudges them into Rick’s side, before jamming his hands back in his pockets. Balls them into fists to keep the warmth at the core of his hands.
“But then your hands will be cold,” says Rick, blinking against the too-white brightness of the snow.
“I’m fine,” Daryl grouses. “Just put ‘em on. Don’t wanna listen to you whine the whole way there.”
Rick sits up straighter in his seat, about to say I do not whine with every ounce of indignance he can muster, when another idea strikes him—one that’s probably better than their current solution.
“Maybe we can both wear one,” Rick says, holding out the left-handed glove to Daryl. “Keep one hand warm each.” He can hear the couple in front of them suddenly becoming strangely quiet, like they’re straining to hear what Rick and Daryl are saying, but he can’t bring himself to care. He can’t let this kindness take its toll on Daryl.
Daryl sighs and takes the glove back. Slips it on, grudgingly. And while his other hand’s still out, Rick reaches out for it, Daryl’s ungloved right, and brushes his bare fingers against Daryl’s, a silent request for permission.
Daryl jerks away like he’s been burned by a hot coal, his eyes wide.
“Sorry,” Rick mumbles. “I didn’t mean—forget it.” He didn’t think he’d read the situation wrong, but—
Then Daryl’s taking Rick’s hand in his, his fingers slightly cool and dry, but a hand all the same. Threads them together, and draws them into his pocket where it is surprisingly warm. The motion forces Rick closer, until he’s tucked into Daryl’s side, to prevent the driver from seeing his awkwardly stretched arm.
“Was just surprised,” Daryl grunts, as if that somehow explains the way he’d nearly leaped away from Rick. “Anyway,” he adds, “if we’re gonna do this, might as well do it right.” There’s a tiny uptilt to his lips that’s almost a grin, and at that, something in Rick’s chest hurts a little that this is only pretend, but he’ll take it.
From in front of them, they can hear the couple giggling again; the man’s breathing, “Oh my god,” and muttering something about utter denial, while the woman whispers, “They are so unbelievably cute.”
She socks the poor guy in the shoulder, with a Why can’t we be that cute?
Rick’s not sure how he feels about being a role model of coupledom, but he supposes there are worse fates. Like being made to get off the sleigh in knee-deep snow and trudging back to the lodge in boots that aren’t meant for winter. So he keeps his mouth shut and his hand safely twined with Daryl’s, and enjoys the sleigh ride for what it is. Takes in the fresh mountain wind, and watches his breath cloud in the air, as snow falls all around them, softly, silent. Listens to the gentle rustle of their sleigh moving through the snow underfoot. The jingle of the bells on the horses’ straps. The soft whickers and whinnies of the horses as they trot along, their path along the mountain meadows painted silver with blooms of frost.
Just lets himself enjoy the winter dreamscape, as he leans into Daryl’s side, warm. The only thing that could make this ride any better would be a heated blanket, one they could spread over their laps, to keep the chill away from their knees and legs. But Daryl’s hip is pressed right up against his, and it’s warm enough, so Rick supposes he can’t complain.
The peace of their sleigh ride’s only broken about halfway through, when Rick notices their driver looking behind him, staring at them.
“Daryl,” Rick says, squeezing his hand, urgent. “The driver’s looking this way.”
Daryl’s response isn’t much more than a grunt, though when Rick jiggles their joined hands, panicked, he says, “He’s supposed to look out for his customers.” His hand tightens around Rick’s, nervous all the same, but Rick wouldn’t know it just from looking at him.
“No, really,” says Rick, “he’s doing the thing with his eyes. He’s squinting at us again, like he doesn’t believe we’re a couple.”
The driver clears his throat. “You boys back there…”
“Shit,” Rick whispers, “he’s gonna kick us off. He’s gonna kick us off here, and we’re gonna have to walk all the way back to—”
Daryl throws him a look like that’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard, and squeezes his hand, a silent order of Shush.
“I’m gonna have to ask the two of you…” the driver continues, rubbing at his moustache, like there’s something awkward he needs to say.
“Daryl,” Rick squeaks, “do something.”
Daryl sighs and reaches over to cup Rick’s cheek with his free hand. Draws him forward for a kiss that’s warm and slow and tastes a little of mint and chocolate, his lips just the right amount of soft. And Rick finds himself leaning in, trying to lick into his mouth for more of that sweetness, when Daryl pulls away, sudden.
“Yeah,” he grunts at the driver, like he’s annoyed at being interrupted. “What.”
“Was gonna ask you if you boys were warm enough back there,” says the driver, clearing his throat again. “Since you’re the farthest from the horses, and the snow can pile up back there sometimes. But I guess that ain’t really a problem.”
There’s a titter of laughter from the rest of the riders, and another, as Rick blushes and says breathlessly, “Nope, plenty warm enough already.” It leaves Rick wishing he could duck under Daryl’s coat and hide from embarrassment.
The rest of the ride goes as smoothly as the first half, even if Rick can’t find it in himself to meet Daryl’s eyes more than a few times as they talk, because every time he does, all he can think of is Daryl’s mouth, and the taste of sweet mint, and that kiss.
Daryl, for his part, keeps Rick’s hand in his, and it’s only when the sleigh ride’s over that Daryl finally draws his hand away, slowly, like he’s just as reluctant to let go as Rick is. Helps him down from the sleigh, even when the driver’s not watching, and keeps his arm around Rick’s waist during the fireside warmup stop at the end, where they’re given marshmallows to toast and another round of chalky hot chocolates to drink.
In fact, Daryl keeps up the charade right up until the parking lot, when it’s clear it’s time for them to part ways.
“How’d you get here, anyway?” Rick asks. The other riders are all scattering in different directions across the parking lot, but Daryl’s starting to tramp his way back to the lodge.
“Had a cab lined up this mornin’,” Daryl says. “Didn’t wanna take my brother on his bike. The road ain’t been too good since the last snow.”
Rick glances at the snow that’s starting to come down a little harder, feels the wind that’s started to pick up. It won’t be too long before the snow piles up and the cab won’t even be able to make it here. “Listen,” he says, “why don’t I give you a ride back into town?” He charges ahead when Daryl opens his mouth to protest. “It’s only half an hour out, and you won’t have to wait for a cab to make it up here. If it can make it up here.”
It’s the if that seals the deal, Rick thinks, and a tiny blossom of warmth unfurls in his chest when Daryl nods, hesitant.
“I’ll, uh. I’ll spot you for the gas,” Daryl offers. “Least I can do.”
Rick shakes his head. “Don’t need any gas money,” he laughs. “Though, maybe when we get back…”
“Yeah?” Daryl asks, and Rick wonders if he’s holding his breath, because it’s like everything’s gone quiet around them, just the whisper of wind in the parking lot curling away errant drifts of snow. Soft, white flakes falling gently, soundless, all around them.
“I was wondering,” Rick starts, “if maybe you’d like to—” He clears his throat. “Like to grab a real hot chocolate or something. Not that powder shit back at the lodge.” He leaves out the with me, just in case. Because the last thing Rick is, is a man desperate for company. Yes.
For a moment, he’s afraid he’ll get a Sorry, ain’t much for talkin’ to strangers, or a Pretendin’s done, we don’t gotta keep this up thrown in his face. Or even a flippant What, like a real date?
But then Daryl’s offering him that small, secret smile again, like the sun peeking shyly through low-lying storm clouds, the kind that makes Rick’s heart skip a beat. “Sounds all right to me,” he says.
Before Rick knows it, they’re on their way, with easy conversations about anything and everything, and comfortable silences when they need a moment to themselves. And as he navigates his way across snow-covered highways, Rick can’t help but sneak the occasional glance at Daryl. Notice the way he smiles sometimes without quite being aware of it, before hiding it away, like he’s got no right to be happy.
Rick wishes Daryl didn’t have to do that.
He wishes he didn’t have to pretend that this thing between him and Daryl is less than it really is, either.
And since it’s Christmas season, the best time for wishes, Rick throws in an extra one for good measure—the wild hope that the second part of their day will go just as smoothly as the first.
Of course, Rick really should’ve known better, than to count on Christmas wishes.
(tbc) - Chapter 2
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Date: 2015-12-24 03:41 pm (UTC)From:no subject
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