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Title: Over The Fields We Go (2/2)
Fandom: The Walking Dead (TV)
Pairing: Rick/ Daryl
Rating: M (for language)
Words: 2920 (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.
~
By the time they arrive back in Atlanta, more than half an hour’s gone by, but Rick’s barely noticed, the time having flown by just like that. And it’s another ten minutes before he slows to a stop in front of one of his favourite coffee shops, near the new station he works at.
“There,” Rick says, pointing. “That’s the one.” They’ll have to circle around for parking, of course, but that’s a curse associated with any popular eatery or café.
Daryl snorts. “Man, cops and their coffee shops,” he says, reaching over and patting Rick’s belly. “You got a secret spare tire I don’t know about? Where you guys put all them donuts?”
“Stop. Stop,” Rick says, laughing as he swats Daryl’s arm off. “I’d hate to be written up by a colleague for hittin’ a car, just ‘cause I couldn’t keep my eyes on the damn road.”
“Why, there somethin’ else that’s got your attention, officer?” Daryl asks, innocent. But that’s a smirk on his face, that small tug of lips, and Rick knows it. So he bites back the maybe that’s threatening to spill out, just huffs his angriest when Daryl reaches over and strokes a hand over Rick’s belly again, teasing this time.
They find a parking spot a block down, just across from a seedy video store, and make their way back to the coffee shop.
Daryl peers at the name as they head up the stairs, reading it out loud. “Cozy Cuppies?” he says, wrinkling his nose. “The hell is this, a daycare?”
“Yeah,” says Rick, smiling as he plays along. “They make a mean cup of hot chocolate and the best shortbread for miles around too. All between changing diapers and organizing playtime.” It’s enough to earn him a tiny huff of a laugh from Daryl, which is pleasure enough for Rick.
The warmth of the shop is lovely, considering the chill that’s dogged them since the sleigh ride, and Rick warms his hands beneath the heating vent as they come in. Which is when he realizes he’s been wearing Daryl’s right glove all this time. He doesn’t have long to dwell on the thought, though, when Daryl tugs him into the lineup, amid all the other customers jostling their way in through the door.
They suffer through countless orders ahead of them, of complicated-sounding coffees with adjectives like half-sweet, non-fat, extra-whip, sugar-free and no-foam, and names like machiattos, espressinos, a billion things au lait, and last, but not least, butterbeer lattes, that a group of kids in front of them order.
Daryl gets as far as who the fuck puts butter and beer in a coffee and sells it to kids—before Rick presses a finger to Daryl’s lips, surprising him into silence with a light peck of a kiss to the mouth.
“Shh,” he mumbles, hoping they won’t get kicked out. It’s a moment later that he realizes he’d just been hoping for a repeat of Daryl’s kiss in the sleigh. And the fact that Rick’s wanted this, had just gone in for the kill when it didn’t happen, surprises him just as much.
By the time they’ve made it to the front of the line, Daryl nods a dazed I’ve got this at Rick, slipping fingers into his coat. “Least I can do,” he says aloud, motioning out at the car, for the ride Rick gave him into town.
“You two are together, right?” the girl at the counter asks brightly. She’s got the customary pinstriped apron on, and a sunbeam name tag that says Tara, even if Rick thought it would’ve said Sunny, to match her cheerful disposition.
Daryl just blinks at her, midway through taking out his wallet. “Yeah. I mean, uh.” He looks at Rick, and blinks again, maybe a little too rapidly.
Rick’s not sure if it’s Daryl’s way of asking permission to fib about what they are, or if he’s blinking out help me in Morse code, so Rick just says, “Yeah.” She’d probably seen their little exchange of Rick shushing him with a kiss just before serving them, anyway.
Tara must sense the tension in their answers, because she backtracks instantly. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to—I’m only asking because we’ve got our Sweetheart Special on this weekend! See?” She points at the blackboard behind her, where there’s a chalk-scrawled drawing of a cup, with steam in the shape of a heart rising out of it. A banner beneath it, saying, Two drinks, for the price of one!
By now it’s gotten much easier to pretend, so to give Daryl’s wallet a break, Rick just curls a hand into the crook of Daryl’s elbow. “Yeah,” he says softly. “We are.” Loves the way Daryl leans into his touch, like it’s completely natural for them.
They leave the counter with matching mugs of steaming hot chocolate, with a giant marshmallow in each, and Tara even slips them two of Cozy’s famous spiced almond shortbreads on a plate when no one’s looking, just beaming at them as they walk away.
Then she gives the older lady behind Rick and Daryl the Sweetheart Special anyway, even if, from the looks of the things, the lady’s sweetheart might’ve passed on for a few years. So maybe they didn’t have to pretend, just to get the special, but that’s a moot point by now.
“Why’s it gotta be so big?” Daryl asks as they take a seat, poking his marshmallow with a finger. Submerging it in the steaming hot liquid, and watching it resurface with a vengeance. “Most places just toss a thing of whipped cream in.”
“Whipped cream takes away from the taste,” says Rick, trying to hide a grin behind his cup, but utterly failing to. “And the marshmallow’s big so it can melt slower.”
Daryl’s too…Rick isn’t sure the word is adorable, but then he figures what the hell, why not; Daryl’s entirely too adorable like this, jabbing at the marshmallow like one of these days it’ll give up the good fight and not float back up.
Rick stirs leisurely at his own drink, watching the marshmallow bob along. Spots the little toothpick embedded in the marshmallow, with a line of string glued to it to simulate a teabag, swirling along with it. On the tiny paper attached, their barista’s written ‘Rick ♥’ on Rick’s, and ‘♥ Daryl’, on Daryl’s toothpick paper, to tell the difference between their drinks, even if it’s the same damn drink.
The shop certainly didn’t skimp on details.
He tries not to think too hard of what it’d say if the hearts on their papers overlapped. Takes a vicious bite out of his shortbread, instead, revelling in the taste of it, the right amount of vanilla warmth and buttered goodness that melts in his mouth.
“I never had nothin’ like this before,” Daryl admits, finishing off his shortbread in two bites and chasing the crumbs around his plate with a finger. There’s a tiny, grateful smile that he can’t hide, and Rick’s own smile just widens in return. It’s got some part of him thinking that he’d like to take Daryl to all the coffeehouses and cafés he knows in town, just to see this expression for the rest of his life.
Life? Rick thinks, catching himself. Year, maybe. Month. You’ve just gotten to know him.
Then he remembers they’re not even dating, not really, and the thought of it makes a lump of lead form in his stomach, cold.
He looks up to find Daryl licking his fingers, sucking away each crumb and scooping up the froth of hot chocolate along the rim, like he’s wholly enjoying these simple pleasures. Rick finds it all kinds of endearing, and the lump of lead melts away, replaced by a spark of affectionate warmth, though Daryl stops when he notices Rick staring at him.
“Right,” he says, snapping a sharp nod, hiding his hands beneath the table. “I’ll stop.” He looks at the other tables full of people surrounding them. “Polite company and all.”
“No,” says Rick. “No. I just…I’m real glad you’re enjoyin’ yourself.” He beams at Daryl, hoping he can convey the message that it’s all right for Daryl to be himself around Rick. That he doesn’t need to hide for fear of embarrassing himself.
They talk and sip at their drinks for the rest of the time, just slowly savouring the taste of cocoa blended with steamed milk. The flavourful warmth of the pumpkin spiced cookies Rick buys them, when they’ve run out of snacks as accompaniment. And in Rick’s case, Daryl’s company, their conversations down-to-earth about life and work, and everything else in between.
If Rick’s fingers brush against Daryl’s when he’s making a point too emphatically with his hands, or Daryl’s against his, neither of them seem to mind.
It’s late evening by the time the shop’s about ready to close, and they make their exit early, with a nod and a smile to all their baristas for the lovely drinks and food.
“Hey,” Rick says, as they’re making their way to his car, not sure how to start. He’s trying to find a way to extend what they’ve got here into more, but maybe it’s not fair for him to keep demanding more of Daryl’s time. And Daryl had mentioned earlier that he’d wanted to check up on his brother, Merle, too.
You know, to see if he’s still alive and all, Daryl said.
That was another thing Rick appreciated about him; the fact that he said what he meant and didn’t try to sugarcoat a damn thing.
But even if he offers Daryl a lift home, he can still sense their day coming to a close, and all of a sudden, it feels like it’s too soon, because, god, they haven’t traded phone numbers, or last names, or all the things people do when they’re out on a da—an outing like this, Rick corrects himself.
“Hey,” Daryl replies, his voice oddly soft. He gets as far as I, um, before the conversation stalls completely. Clears his throat. “Need my glove back, before I head out, I guess.”
Rick looks down at the glove he’s been wearing all day without thinking, taking it off only when they were indoors, and suddenly, something about removing it for good, to give it back, makes something tighten in his chest. An anxious feeling he can’t explain.
“I—” he manages, before another giggling couple nearly collides with them on the street. Rick curses his luck, because they’re like a locust plague, just swarming everywhere this Christmas season.
“Rick?” says a voice, surprised. And Rick would know that voice anywhere, had grown up listening to it for years. “Hey man, what’re you doing out here?”
Rick blinks, equally stunned. Because in addition to his friend Shane, the other giggling half of the couple is Lori, who doesn’t look sick in the least.
So Rick’s number wasn’t the only one she’d collected at the reunion, when she’d been making her rounds as the night’s social butterfly. That’s starting to become pretty clear now.
“Just out for a drink,” Rick says, mustering the most honest smile he can manage, even if smiling’s the last thing he feels like doing. He nods at Lori. “Thought you were sick. You know, when you texted me this mornin’. Glad you’re feelin’ better now, though.”
He throws Shane a look, one that says we’re gonna talk about this later, because Shane had been there when Rick asked Lori out, and this—this flies in the face of everything Rick thought their friendship was.
Shane raises a brow at Daryl, and tosses a haughty look back in Rick’s direction: Yes, we are.
“I, uh,” Lori tries, and Rick’s ready to give her the benefit of the doubt, to hear her I was just out getting chicken soup or I couldn’t reach you when I felt better, but all he sees when he looks in her eyes is guilt, at being caught in her lie. “Turns out it was just a morning cold,” she finishes weakly. “But who’s this?” It’s a poor attempt at redirecting attention from herself, but it works, and suddenly everyone’s staring at Daryl.
Rick sees both Lori and Shane give Daryl a look of disdain, like they’d never be caught dead being seen with him, and he takes a step in front of Daryl. Angles his body, like Rick can protect him from them somehow. “This is,” he starts, before pausing to think. There must be a way to say This is Daryl, and I met him during the sleigh ride I was gonna take you on. You know, before you decided to date my best friend instead.
Except whatever that way is, he’s not finding it, and he stands there like an idiot, for one second, two, before Daryl takes a step up and slides an arm around Rick’s waist, easy. Like he’s done this for years, and not just the span of an afternoon.
“I’m his date,” Daryl says casually, like it’s no earth-shattering news. He strokes fingers along the dip of Rick’s waist, which is distracting enough in itself, then closes his grip around Rick’s hip, possessive. “And it’s been nice meetin’ you, but we’re kinda in a hurry to get to our movie.” He turns to Rick, saying, “C’mon, you said it started in five minutes!” before tugging Rick along down the street.
“What are you doing,” Rick hisses, when they’ve made it around the corner, safely out of sight.
Daryl spreads his hands, incredulous. “Gettin’ you out of an awkward situation?” he guesses. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
“I could’ve handled that,” Rick says, rolling his eyes. He would’ve too, if Daryl hadn’t been so adamant about making it look like they were together, like Rick hadn’t been the one carelessly tossed aside—
Oh. Oh.
“Sure,” says Daryl. If you call stutterin’ and mutterin’ ‘handlin’ things’ when you find the sweet thing that stood you up’s gallivantin’ around town with someone else.”
It’s the most he’s heard Daryl say in one breath, but Rick can’t help but admit he’s got a point.
Rick knows he should say thank you, for a multitude of things. Like thanks for not minding our act for the sleigh ride, thanks for joining me for a hot chocolate at Cozy’s, and most of all, thanks for making sure I didn’t look like a fool in front of people I knew, but his mouth stays gummed up, like the words are molasses that just can’t seem to filter through.
Instead, he rakes a hand through his hair, a gesture born of exasperation. Frustration. “What should we do now?” Rick asks.
Maybe he could go back there, to explain to Lori that he hadn’t—that Daryl wasn’t really—oh, but Rick was. And he very much still is.
Is, being followed by fascinated, intrigued, or charmed.
Captivated, even. By Daryl.
And wasn’t that the kicker.
Daryl lets out a long, measured breath. “Look, Rick,” he says slowly, “maybe she ain’t interested. But I am.” He lets that hang in the air for a moment. Keeps his gaze steady on Rick, daring him to say something in return, or to run. And when Rick doesn’t bolt in the opposite direction—just takes in Daryl’s wind-tousled hair and eyes bluer than the peacock-bright ornaments his mother owns, thinking yeah, there’s something here all right—Daryl hazards a tiny grin. “So maybe we oughta catch a movie, like we said we would.”
Rick takes a moment to think things through, even if his heart’s leaped ahead, dancing a jig of elation in his chest. “Maybe,” he says carefully, before agreeing to anything, “we oughta call a spade a spade. I know we didn’t start the day this way, but we…we can call this what it is now, can’t we?”
“This?” Daryl asks, furrowing his brow. He takes a step closer, as if he’s straining to hear, though Rick knows they can hear each other perfectly fine.
“This,” Rick echoes, taking a step toward Daryl, and reaching out for Daryl’s hand. Covering Daryl’s fingers with his, careful to watch his reaction. “We can call this…a date. Right?”
Daryl lets out another breath, like it’s one he’s been holding for a while. Turns his palm up to meet Rick’s, and winds their fingers together, for a warmth that spreads like wildfire to every part of Rick’s soul. “Finally,” he says, huffing out what’s got to be a laugh. “Was gettin’ real tired of that ‘pretend’ bullshit.”
And Rick realizes that maybe they’ve been on a date ever since he joined Daryl on the back of that sleigh, and he’s the only one clueing into it now. “Finally,” he nods, laughing, because they’ve done everything ass backwards, but maybe that’s what it took, for Rick to see.
A this is how it could be, that’d knocked down the walls Rick had built around his heart.
Rick tugs Daryl’s hand into his pocket, where it’s safe and snug for the heat they’re both sharing, and from Daryl’s answering smile, he knows there’s a chance for a real kiss, somewhere down the line.
A good night one.
A good morning one.
Or even an I’m happy I’m with you.
But for now, as they make their way down the street, snow drifting down all around them, the discovery that this entire day’s been just what Rick hoped it was, is happiness enough.
[End]
Fandom: The Walking Dead (TV)
Pairing: Rick/ Daryl
Rating: M (for language)
Words: 2920 (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.
By the time they arrive back in Atlanta, more than half an hour’s gone by, but Rick’s barely noticed, the time having flown by just like that. And it’s another ten minutes before he slows to a stop in front of one of his favourite coffee shops, near the new station he works at.
“There,” Rick says, pointing. “That’s the one.” They’ll have to circle around for parking, of course, but that’s a curse associated with any popular eatery or café.
Daryl snorts. “Man, cops and their coffee shops,” he says, reaching over and patting Rick’s belly. “You got a secret spare tire I don’t know about? Where you guys put all them donuts?”
“Stop. Stop,” Rick says, laughing as he swats Daryl’s arm off. “I’d hate to be written up by a colleague for hittin’ a car, just ‘cause I couldn’t keep my eyes on the damn road.”
“Why, there somethin’ else that’s got your attention, officer?” Daryl asks, innocent. But that’s a smirk on his face, that small tug of lips, and Rick knows it. So he bites back the maybe that’s threatening to spill out, just huffs his angriest when Daryl reaches over and strokes a hand over Rick’s belly again, teasing this time.
They find a parking spot a block down, just across from a seedy video store, and make their way back to the coffee shop.
Daryl peers at the name as they head up the stairs, reading it out loud. “Cozy Cuppies?” he says, wrinkling his nose. “The hell is this, a daycare?”
“Yeah,” says Rick, smiling as he plays along. “They make a mean cup of hot chocolate and the best shortbread for miles around too. All between changing diapers and organizing playtime.” It’s enough to earn him a tiny huff of a laugh from Daryl, which is pleasure enough for Rick.
The warmth of the shop is lovely, considering the chill that’s dogged them since the sleigh ride, and Rick warms his hands beneath the heating vent as they come in. Which is when he realizes he’s been wearing Daryl’s right glove all this time. He doesn’t have long to dwell on the thought, though, when Daryl tugs him into the lineup, amid all the other customers jostling their way in through the door.
They suffer through countless orders ahead of them, of complicated-sounding coffees with adjectives like half-sweet, non-fat, extra-whip, sugar-free and no-foam, and names like machiattos, espressinos, a billion things au lait, and last, but not least, butterbeer lattes, that a group of kids in front of them order.
Daryl gets as far as who the fuck puts butter and beer in a coffee and sells it to kids—before Rick presses a finger to Daryl’s lips, surprising him into silence with a light peck of a kiss to the mouth.
“Shh,” he mumbles, hoping they won’t get kicked out. It’s a moment later that he realizes he’d just been hoping for a repeat of Daryl’s kiss in the sleigh. And the fact that Rick’s wanted this, had just gone in for the kill when it didn’t happen, surprises him just as much.
By the time they’ve made it to the front of the line, Daryl nods a dazed I’ve got this at Rick, slipping fingers into his coat. “Least I can do,” he says aloud, motioning out at the car, for the ride Rick gave him into town.
“You two are together, right?” the girl at the counter asks brightly. She’s got the customary pinstriped apron on, and a sunbeam name tag that says Tara, even if Rick thought it would’ve said Sunny, to match her cheerful disposition.
Daryl just blinks at her, midway through taking out his wallet. “Yeah. I mean, uh.” He looks at Rick, and blinks again, maybe a little too rapidly.
Rick’s not sure if it’s Daryl’s way of asking permission to fib about what they are, or if he’s blinking out help me in Morse code, so Rick just says, “Yeah.” She’d probably seen their little exchange of Rick shushing him with a kiss just before serving them, anyway.
Tara must sense the tension in their answers, because she backtracks instantly. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to—I’m only asking because we’ve got our Sweetheart Special on this weekend! See?” She points at the blackboard behind her, where there’s a chalk-scrawled drawing of a cup, with steam in the shape of a heart rising out of it. A banner beneath it, saying, Two drinks, for the price of one!
By now it’s gotten much easier to pretend, so to give Daryl’s wallet a break, Rick just curls a hand into the crook of Daryl’s elbow. “Yeah,” he says softly. “We are.” Loves the way Daryl leans into his touch, like it’s completely natural for them.
They leave the counter with matching mugs of steaming hot chocolate, with a giant marshmallow in each, and Tara even slips them two of Cozy’s famous spiced almond shortbreads on a plate when no one’s looking, just beaming at them as they walk away.
Then she gives the older lady behind Rick and Daryl the Sweetheart Special anyway, even if, from the looks of the things, the lady’s sweetheart might’ve passed on for a few years. So maybe they didn’t have to pretend, just to get the special, but that’s a moot point by now.
“Why’s it gotta be so big?” Daryl asks as they take a seat, poking his marshmallow with a finger. Submerging it in the steaming hot liquid, and watching it resurface with a vengeance. “Most places just toss a thing of whipped cream in.”
“Whipped cream takes away from the taste,” says Rick, trying to hide a grin behind his cup, but utterly failing to. “And the marshmallow’s big so it can melt slower.”
Daryl’s too…Rick isn’t sure the word is adorable, but then he figures what the hell, why not; Daryl’s entirely too adorable like this, jabbing at the marshmallow like one of these days it’ll give up the good fight and not float back up.
Rick stirs leisurely at his own drink, watching the marshmallow bob along. Spots the little toothpick embedded in the marshmallow, with a line of string glued to it to simulate a teabag, swirling along with it. On the tiny paper attached, their barista’s written ‘Rick ♥’ on Rick’s, and ‘♥ Daryl’, on Daryl’s toothpick paper, to tell the difference between their drinks, even if it’s the same damn drink.
The shop certainly didn’t skimp on details.
He tries not to think too hard of what it’d say if the hearts on their papers overlapped. Takes a vicious bite out of his shortbread, instead, revelling in the taste of it, the right amount of vanilla warmth and buttered goodness that melts in his mouth.
“I never had nothin’ like this before,” Daryl admits, finishing off his shortbread in two bites and chasing the crumbs around his plate with a finger. There’s a tiny, grateful smile that he can’t hide, and Rick’s own smile just widens in return. It’s got some part of him thinking that he’d like to take Daryl to all the coffeehouses and cafés he knows in town, just to see this expression for the rest of his life.
Life? Rick thinks, catching himself. Year, maybe. Month. You’ve just gotten to know him.
Then he remembers they’re not even dating, not really, and the thought of it makes a lump of lead form in his stomach, cold.
He looks up to find Daryl licking his fingers, sucking away each crumb and scooping up the froth of hot chocolate along the rim, like he’s wholly enjoying these simple pleasures. Rick finds it all kinds of endearing, and the lump of lead melts away, replaced by a spark of affectionate warmth, though Daryl stops when he notices Rick staring at him.
“Right,” he says, snapping a sharp nod, hiding his hands beneath the table. “I’ll stop.” He looks at the other tables full of people surrounding them. “Polite company and all.”
“No,” says Rick. “No. I just…I’m real glad you’re enjoyin’ yourself.” He beams at Daryl, hoping he can convey the message that it’s all right for Daryl to be himself around Rick. That he doesn’t need to hide for fear of embarrassing himself.
They talk and sip at their drinks for the rest of the time, just slowly savouring the taste of cocoa blended with steamed milk. The flavourful warmth of the pumpkin spiced cookies Rick buys them, when they’ve run out of snacks as accompaniment. And in Rick’s case, Daryl’s company, their conversations down-to-earth about life and work, and everything else in between.
If Rick’s fingers brush against Daryl’s when he’s making a point too emphatically with his hands, or Daryl’s against his, neither of them seem to mind.
It’s late evening by the time the shop’s about ready to close, and they make their exit early, with a nod and a smile to all their baristas for the lovely drinks and food.
“Hey,” Rick says, as they’re making their way to his car, not sure how to start. He’s trying to find a way to extend what they’ve got here into more, but maybe it’s not fair for him to keep demanding more of Daryl’s time. And Daryl had mentioned earlier that he’d wanted to check up on his brother, Merle, too.
You know, to see if he’s still alive and all, Daryl said.
That was another thing Rick appreciated about him; the fact that he said what he meant and didn’t try to sugarcoat a damn thing.
But even if he offers Daryl a lift home, he can still sense their day coming to a close, and all of a sudden, it feels like it’s too soon, because, god, they haven’t traded phone numbers, or last names, or all the things people do when they’re out on a da—an outing like this, Rick corrects himself.
“Hey,” Daryl replies, his voice oddly soft. He gets as far as I, um, before the conversation stalls completely. Clears his throat. “Need my glove back, before I head out, I guess.”
Rick looks down at the glove he’s been wearing all day without thinking, taking it off only when they were indoors, and suddenly, something about removing it for good, to give it back, makes something tighten in his chest. An anxious feeling he can’t explain.
“I—” he manages, before another giggling couple nearly collides with them on the street. Rick curses his luck, because they’re like a locust plague, just swarming everywhere this Christmas season.
“Rick?” says a voice, surprised. And Rick would know that voice anywhere, had grown up listening to it for years. “Hey man, what’re you doing out here?”
Rick blinks, equally stunned. Because in addition to his friend Shane, the other giggling half of the couple is Lori, who doesn’t look sick in the least.
So Rick’s number wasn’t the only one she’d collected at the reunion, when she’d been making her rounds as the night’s social butterfly. That’s starting to become pretty clear now.
“Just out for a drink,” Rick says, mustering the most honest smile he can manage, even if smiling’s the last thing he feels like doing. He nods at Lori. “Thought you were sick. You know, when you texted me this mornin’. Glad you’re feelin’ better now, though.”
He throws Shane a look, one that says we’re gonna talk about this later, because Shane had been there when Rick asked Lori out, and this—this flies in the face of everything Rick thought their friendship was.
Shane raises a brow at Daryl, and tosses a haughty look back in Rick’s direction: Yes, we are.
“I, uh,” Lori tries, and Rick’s ready to give her the benefit of the doubt, to hear her I was just out getting chicken soup or I couldn’t reach you when I felt better, but all he sees when he looks in her eyes is guilt, at being caught in her lie. “Turns out it was just a morning cold,” she finishes weakly. “But who’s this?” It’s a poor attempt at redirecting attention from herself, but it works, and suddenly everyone’s staring at Daryl.
Rick sees both Lori and Shane give Daryl a look of disdain, like they’d never be caught dead being seen with him, and he takes a step in front of Daryl. Angles his body, like Rick can protect him from them somehow. “This is,” he starts, before pausing to think. There must be a way to say This is Daryl, and I met him during the sleigh ride I was gonna take you on. You know, before you decided to date my best friend instead.
Except whatever that way is, he’s not finding it, and he stands there like an idiot, for one second, two, before Daryl takes a step up and slides an arm around Rick’s waist, easy. Like he’s done this for years, and not just the span of an afternoon.
“I’m his date,” Daryl says casually, like it’s no earth-shattering news. He strokes fingers along the dip of Rick’s waist, which is distracting enough in itself, then closes his grip around Rick’s hip, possessive. “And it’s been nice meetin’ you, but we’re kinda in a hurry to get to our movie.” He turns to Rick, saying, “C’mon, you said it started in five minutes!” before tugging Rick along down the street.
“What are you doing,” Rick hisses, when they’ve made it around the corner, safely out of sight.
Daryl spreads his hands, incredulous. “Gettin’ you out of an awkward situation?” he guesses. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
“I could’ve handled that,” Rick says, rolling his eyes. He would’ve too, if Daryl hadn’t been so adamant about making it look like they were together, like Rick hadn’t been the one carelessly tossed aside—
Oh. Oh.
“Sure,” says Daryl. If you call stutterin’ and mutterin’ ‘handlin’ things’ when you find the sweet thing that stood you up’s gallivantin’ around town with someone else.”
It’s the most he’s heard Daryl say in one breath, but Rick can’t help but admit he’s got a point.
Rick knows he should say thank you, for a multitude of things. Like thanks for not minding our act for the sleigh ride, thanks for joining me for a hot chocolate at Cozy’s, and most of all, thanks for making sure I didn’t look like a fool in front of people I knew, but his mouth stays gummed up, like the words are molasses that just can’t seem to filter through.
Instead, he rakes a hand through his hair, a gesture born of exasperation. Frustration. “What should we do now?” Rick asks.
Maybe he could go back there, to explain to Lori that he hadn’t—that Daryl wasn’t really—oh, but Rick was. And he very much still is.
Is, being followed by fascinated, intrigued, or charmed.
Captivated, even. By Daryl.
And wasn’t that the kicker.
Daryl lets out a long, measured breath. “Look, Rick,” he says slowly, “maybe she ain’t interested. But I am.” He lets that hang in the air for a moment. Keeps his gaze steady on Rick, daring him to say something in return, or to run. And when Rick doesn’t bolt in the opposite direction—just takes in Daryl’s wind-tousled hair and eyes bluer than the peacock-bright ornaments his mother owns, thinking yeah, there’s something here all right—Daryl hazards a tiny grin. “So maybe we oughta catch a movie, like we said we would.”
Rick takes a moment to think things through, even if his heart’s leaped ahead, dancing a jig of elation in his chest. “Maybe,” he says carefully, before agreeing to anything, “we oughta call a spade a spade. I know we didn’t start the day this way, but we…we can call this what it is now, can’t we?”
“This?” Daryl asks, furrowing his brow. He takes a step closer, as if he’s straining to hear, though Rick knows they can hear each other perfectly fine.
“This,” Rick echoes, taking a step toward Daryl, and reaching out for Daryl’s hand. Covering Daryl’s fingers with his, careful to watch his reaction. “We can call this…a date. Right?”
Daryl lets out another breath, like it’s one he’s been holding for a while. Turns his palm up to meet Rick’s, and winds their fingers together, for a warmth that spreads like wildfire to every part of Rick’s soul. “Finally,” he says, huffing out what’s got to be a laugh. “Was gettin’ real tired of that ‘pretend’ bullshit.”
And Rick realizes that maybe they’ve been on a date ever since he joined Daryl on the back of that sleigh, and he’s the only one clueing into it now. “Finally,” he nods, laughing, because they’ve done everything ass backwards, but maybe that’s what it took, for Rick to see.
A this is how it could be, that’d knocked down the walls Rick had built around his heart.
Rick tugs Daryl’s hand into his pocket, where it’s safe and snug for the heat they’re both sharing, and from Daryl’s answering smile, he knows there’s a chance for a real kiss, somewhere down the line.
A good night one.
A good morning one.
Or even an I’m happy I’m with you.
But for now, as they make their way down the street, snow drifting down all around them, the discovery that this entire day’s been just what Rick hoped it was, is happiness enough.
[End]
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no subject
Date: 2016-01-06 04:16 pm (UTC)From:Perfectly sweet story and I liked how you brought Tara in and even the Lori/Shane/Rick triangle thing. Tara ... she would understand and appreciate their relationship like no other would. Wouldn't THAT be a veeeery surprising twist, if they had Rick's and Daryl's relationship develop into that direction on screen? LoL
Anyway, thanks for bringing just another smile to my face today. Oh, Norman's b-day today, isn't it? :-)
no subject
Date: 2016-01-17 08:43 pm (UTC)From:Tara would understand, wouldn't she? I imagined she would be the one saying, "D'awww" after ringing them through at the coffeeshop! Onscreen--well, who knows what the Powers That Be want to do with Rick and Daryl? One can only hope.
You're right, it was Norman's bday wasn't it? Hope you had a blast that day!
Thank you for stopping by again!