Daryl Dixon (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
weaintashes) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thearena2015-01-10 03:28 pm
weaintashes) wrote in thearena2015-01-10 03:28 pm
Entry tags:
Sleep now under my skin.
Who| Rick & Daryl.
What| Going out together.
Where| The spaceport.
When| During the final hour countdown.
Warnings/Notes| Daryl's stuff, Rick's thangs. May include: death, language, mentions of violence, gore. Will modify as needed.
There was a certain meditative quality to the way Daryl and Rick operated as a team. Their communication while out in the open was conducted through eye contact, signals, and silent gestures alone; words were unnecessary when an entire conversation could be derived from the fine nuances of body language, one of the many benefits of their long association with one another.
Daryl could trust that Rick knew the same things that he knew, that he went through similar deductive processes when figuring something out, and they frequently arrived at the same conclusions. And while there were times when this could lead to some unease — the knowledge that there was someone with enough innate understanding of him to read him at a glance, and who sometimes knew what action he'd take before he himself did — within the context of the arena, he was discovering a new level of appreciation for how efficient it made them.
Through their combined efforts, they managed to hold out until the end, and had done so with relative ease. The only close calls they'd run into had occurred when they'd decided to split up to cover more ground faster, something which they'd eventually agreed was a needless risk once they'd roughly mapped out the entirety of the spaceport, and had stayed together since.
When a monotonous voice devoid of human inflection flooded every corner of the spaceport with the announcement of a countdown, it was almost as though they'd never left the CDC, and Vi was helpfully counting down the minutes they had left to live. There was no explanation for this countdown, but considering the nature and purpose of the arena its meaning was easily inferred. Maybe the Gamemakers had grown bored with the stalemate the last surviving combatants had fallen into, or maybe this had been planned since the beginning, and the whole death match aspect of the arena had been a farce. Whatever the case, the shit was obviously scheduled to hit the fan in one form or another, and soon. They had an hour left.
He slowed to a stop alongside Rick in the corridor they'd been making their way through, exchanging a long look with him. A sort of wary, frustrated anger was darkening his face, and his posture was tight with defiance, as though this was something that could be fought against. Something they could control, and overcome. But it wasn't, and it never had been. Beth's death was proof of that.
So this was it.
What| Going out together.
Where| The spaceport.
When| During the final hour countdown.
Warnings/Notes| Daryl's stuff, Rick's thangs. May include: death, language, mentions of violence, gore. Will modify as needed.
There was a certain meditative quality to the way Daryl and Rick operated as a team. Their communication while out in the open was conducted through eye contact, signals, and silent gestures alone; words were unnecessary when an entire conversation could be derived from the fine nuances of body language, one of the many benefits of their long association with one another.
Daryl could trust that Rick knew the same things that he knew, that he went through similar deductive processes when figuring something out, and they frequently arrived at the same conclusions. And while there were times when this could lead to some unease — the knowledge that there was someone with enough innate understanding of him to read him at a glance, and who sometimes knew what action he'd take before he himself did — within the context of the arena, he was discovering a new level of appreciation for how efficient it made them.
Through their combined efforts, they managed to hold out until the end, and had done so with relative ease. The only close calls they'd run into had occurred when they'd decided to split up to cover more ground faster, something which they'd eventually agreed was a needless risk once they'd roughly mapped out the entirety of the spaceport, and had stayed together since.
When a monotonous voice devoid of human inflection flooded every corner of the spaceport with the announcement of a countdown, it was almost as though they'd never left the CDC, and Vi was helpfully counting down the minutes they had left to live. There was no explanation for this countdown, but considering the nature and purpose of the arena its meaning was easily inferred. Maybe the Gamemakers had grown bored with the stalemate the last surviving combatants had fallen into, or maybe this had been planned since the beginning, and the whole death match aspect of the arena had been a farce. Whatever the case, the shit was obviously scheduled to hit the fan in one form or another, and soon. They had an hour left.
He slowed to a stop alongside Rick in the corridor they'd been making their way through, exchanging a long look with him. A sort of wary, frustrated anger was darkening his face, and his posture was tight with defiance, as though this was something that could be fought against. Something they could control, and overcome. But it wasn't, and it never had been. Beth's death was proof of that.
So this was it.
... Sleep didn't happen.
Most, but not Rick.
Rick's relationship with hope had long been a complicated one, and he found himself close to breaking it off on more than one occasion. Back at the hospital, alone and with his world turned on its head. That day in the woods, Carl shot and bleeding out in his arms. At the barn. In the tombs. He had every reason to give up, and a lesser man likely would have in his position - and yet, somehow, he always seemed to come out the other side. He'd never thought any of them would make it unscathed, but he'd always held on to the belief that they would make it. The rest, they'd worry about when they got there.
This time, there was no door to be unlocked. No window, no grenade, and no way out. Between the two of them, they'd covered every inch of the station twice over; the only end to this was whatever awaited when that timer hit zero.
The weight of the truth managed to crack the calm facade, his own impotent fury seeping through in the tight set of his jaw, his narrowed glare at the ceiling as though he could see the source of the voice beyond. His grip on his makeshift shiv was tight enough to cut, blood welling where it had sliced through the glove. It was all he could do now.
Not for the first time, he was grateful for the silent understanding he shared with the other man; he wasn't sure he'd have been able to find the right words in that moment.
"... We keep moving," he said finally. If this was how they were going to go, he wasn't doing it looking over his shoulder. The clock still had some time on it, bitter as the thought was, and somehow, he wanted to make the best of it.
no subject
Keep moving. It was as good a plan as any at a time like that, even if it felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him and he wasn't sure it really mattered where they went now, just how they'd spend their remaining time. Their options were limited, wrapped in the illusion of choice. They could choose where they'd go out. With that thought in mind, it would be good to find somewhere that could provide relative safety, somewhere defensible, he supposed. If this was how it had to end for them, he was damned if he'd let some asshole cut it even shorter by getting the jump on them.
An hour.
He got moving.
The majority of the nearby labs had been more of less gutted by that point, many showing evidence of violent struggles having happened within, and one even contained the corpse of a Tribute who must have only recently died, if the body hadn't yet been collected. These were all bypassed. That wasn't what Daryl wanted to spend the last hour of his life basking in, and he didn't think Rick would care for the view either. A bit more searching turned up a suitable enough room. Picked over but clean; no full body blood smears across the floor, no organ piles in the corner, no corpses in sight. The outer door still functioned.
Once Daryl had done his rounds through the room checking to ensure it was secure, he paced back to where Rick was and gave him a questioning look, worn at the edges. Should they stay or carry on?
no subject
In the beginning, every grating number had tightened the set of his jaw, sending a fresh wave of helpless frustration through him with its reminder of its inevitable conclusion. That there was nothing left to be done. Surrender was a new concept for Rick, but that's exactly what this was; while they could choose their own location and pretend things were on their terms, all they were doing was accepting their fate.
Given their options, this lab looked to be the best of their choices. He offered a short nod of approval from where he stood watch at the doorway, and with one final glance down the length of the corridor, slipped inside himself. It was empty and as close to clean as they were going to get, which was some small bonus. He'd spent too much of his life already surrounded by corpses and gore - He'd rather not spend what was left entrenched in it.
With the door closed, he took the time to really look at their surroundings, the finality of it truly setting in.
So. This was it.
What else was left to be said? As much as he hated to admit defeat, he had nothing. No plan, no ideas. Those were gone the minute the timer had started. Despite this being so far beyond his control it was laughable, Rick couldn't deny the lead weight of guilt that had settled itself in the pit of his stomach, along with the irrational feeling he'd somehow let the other man down. Let his son down.
"Hall's clear," he said grimly, unable to think of anything better.
no subject
Until he was drawn back out of his thoughts by the sight of Rick, the sense of helplessness and guilt written all too clearly in the set of his jaw, the line of his shoulders, right down to his hands — for someone who knew what to look for. Daryl did. And something in him was responding to that, recognising the need for comfort that would never be asked for, never sought, in large part because Rick might not have been aware of his own needs anymore. How could he be, when he'd spent so long denying them for the sake of tending to others'?
Daryl wasn't about to let the burden of leadership become a noose for Rick now.
The knife was left on a counter and he crossed his arms to still his hands. As he finished his circuit around the room he came to stand near the other man, close enough for their shoulders to brush, and moved so they were facing each other, though his head was bowed.
"Even before all this, I knew I'd be with you 'til the end," he said quietly. Despite his softened voice the words seemed loud in the silence of the spaceport. "Mine or yours. But if I'm bein' honest, I'd kinda hoped mine would come first." For reasons too numerous to count. He reached out to hold Rick's upper arms, grip firm, both as an offer of reassurance and to disguise the tremor that he knew would show in his hands otherwise. He raised his eyes to Rick's face now, a genuine smile finding its way onto his own. "Ain't so bad... dyin' by your side."
no subject
With leadership thrust upon him right at the start, he'd never allowed himself to dwell on how things would end - Only on how they could avoid it. Hope had one of the key differences between living and dying; start to think too much on the latter, and it was bound to become a reality. He'd needed that faith, even if he didn't quite buy into it himself. Despair was a sinkhole, and dipping a toe in was a great way to lose himself entirely.
Now, though, it was the only thing he could think about. Hope, despair, indifference - Regardless of what he felt, they had less than an hour left. An hour to think about all the missed opportunities and things he'd never see or do. Things he'd never be able to tell Carl or Judith. He'd miss her first words, her first steps. He would never be able to see the man that his son would become. This far away, there was a good chance none of them would ever know the truth of their deaths, or even that they'd died at all.
Rick shook his head, eyes averted as though it might somehow be enough to hide his regret.
"Havin' you here... I meant what I said before."
You being back with us here, now. That's everything.
Despite how long it felt, he'd only known Daryl since the infection had started to take them down, ending the world as they knew it. In that moment, it still didn't feel like it was nearly long enough. The grip on him was grounding, enough to force him to meet the other man's gaze, his frown faltering.
He hadn't believed that there was any good to be found in this situation. Yet, even with the end so close, there was some flicker of light to be found in Daryl's expression, and, whether he deserved it or not, Rick did find comfort in it. Nothing about this was okay - but he wasn't in this alone. He wasn't anymore ready to die now than he had been an hour ago, but if this was their time, he couldn't have asked for anyone better to be at his side.
"I'm glad it's you."