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Entry tags:
giving this world everything i've got
Who | Rick and Daryl
What | Treating Daryl's injuries
Where | Lindblum (but not really)
When | Earlier in the arena
Warnings/Notes | Potentially talk of abuse, some sexual content. Warnings to be updated.
Whatever fleeting peace they'd found in one another in the Capitol had been left there; here, tossed back into the arena, there were too many variables beyond his control, the risks of a good night's sleep far surpassing the benefits. In the past, it had only been with Daryl standing sentinel that Rick had managed to close his eyes for even a few hours, but in the wake of the cornucopia, hours had been shaved down to fitful intervals of restless dozing. Enough to keep going.
Daryl's injuries were a weight on his conscience, regardless of where the fault actually lay. Either of them would have done the same, for each other, or any other member of their patchwork family; it was just what they did. But how many times now, had Rick failed him? For every wrong call he'd made back home, for every mistake... They'd both come out the other side. Death had always been an inevitability, but faced with the prospect of yet again losing his partner, the weapons hadn't been worth the cost.
Rick was by no means a doctor, but he recognized the discolouration and the telltale burn of the growing infection. The first aid kit he'd grabbed had been helpful in slowing its progression and given them the means to keep it clean, but if it continued to spread... Unless their supporters decided to extend the hand of generosity with more than just basic survival supplies, he was running out of ideas.
They'd managed to hole up in a decent spot, setting up a primary camp in one of the empty castles, reminiscent to the ones from Vivi's home. But walls did not necessarily mean safety; walkers may have been foiled by doors and physical barriers, but tributes weren't. Between them and the ubiquitous eye of the gamemakers, Rick had no intention of letting his guard down.
The mattress creaked as he shifted, forearm draped over his face in a feigned attempt to block out the dull morning glow as it began to creep over the artificial horizon. There was no doubt in his mind that even without seeing his face, Daryl would have had him figured out long before now. The man was dangerously perceptive; even before they'd started sharing closer quarters, he could read his body language like a book. He was half-convinced that Daryl knew what was in his head before he did, sometimes.
With sleep off the table, there wasn't much point in further subjecting either of them to the forced silence.
"Hey," he murmured, letting his arm drop back to his side. He didn't expect a straight answer, but he tried all the same. "How're you feelin'?"
What | Treating Daryl's injuries
Where | Lindblum (but not really)
When | Earlier in the arena
Warnings/Notes | Potentially talk of abuse, some sexual content. Warnings to be updated.
Whatever fleeting peace they'd found in one another in the Capitol had been left there; here, tossed back into the arena, there were too many variables beyond his control, the risks of a good night's sleep far surpassing the benefits. In the past, it had only been with Daryl standing sentinel that Rick had managed to close his eyes for even a few hours, but in the wake of the cornucopia, hours had been shaved down to fitful intervals of restless dozing. Enough to keep going.
Daryl's injuries were a weight on his conscience, regardless of where the fault actually lay. Either of them would have done the same, for each other, or any other member of their patchwork family; it was just what they did. But how many times now, had Rick failed him? For every wrong call he'd made back home, for every mistake... They'd both come out the other side. Death had always been an inevitability, but faced with the prospect of yet again losing his partner, the weapons hadn't been worth the cost.
Rick was by no means a doctor, but he recognized the discolouration and the telltale burn of the growing infection. The first aid kit he'd grabbed had been helpful in slowing its progression and given them the means to keep it clean, but if it continued to spread... Unless their supporters decided to extend the hand of generosity with more than just basic survival supplies, he was running out of ideas.
They'd managed to hole up in a decent spot, setting up a primary camp in one of the empty castles, reminiscent to the ones from Vivi's home. But walls did not necessarily mean safety; walkers may have been foiled by doors and physical barriers, but tributes weren't. Between them and the ubiquitous eye of the gamemakers, Rick had no intention of letting his guard down.
The mattress creaked as he shifted, forearm draped over his face in a feigned attempt to block out the dull morning glow as it began to creep over the artificial horizon. There was no doubt in his mind that even without seeing his face, Daryl would have had him figured out long before now. The man was dangerously perceptive; even before they'd started sharing closer quarters, he could read his body language like a book. He was half-convinced that Daryl knew what was in his head before he did, sometimes.
With sleep off the table, there wasn't much point in further subjecting either of them to the forced silence.
"Hey," he murmured, letting his arm drop back to his side. He didn't expect a straight answer, but he tried all the same. "How're you feelin'?"
no subject
Morning found him stretched out atop the sheets, lying on his back, legs crossed at the ankles and hands clasped together over his lower stomach. The Arena marked the return of sleeping — or as the case may be, lying awake — fully dressed, for the sake of expediency if they ever had to leave in a hurry. Comfort would always be sacrificed for safety in these situations; which was also why he hadn't attempted to distract Rick from his thoughts in the one way that might have actually worked — too dangerous, the both of them becoming preoccupied like that. But hearing the telling strain in his voice now, Daryl found himself regretting the decision. He sought Rick's hand, entwined their fingers with care and lifted their joined hands to press a soft kiss to his wrist, head tilted to regard him as he did so.
"You think too much. Heard it all night." Despite the abominable combination of pain, infection, and exhaustion that had knocked him on his ass, there was a warm sort of amusement in his eyes. But he wasn't dodging the question, knowing that would just multiply Rick's concerns, and went on. "Ain't gettin' better," he admitted, since there was no hiding that fact now. "Infected as hell. Think my best bet's to try drainin' it today."
Fortunately the tissue hadn't yet gone necrotic as far as he'd been able to tell, the last time he'd checked it over while bathing. So debridement probably wasn't necessary at this point. Slicing into it to drain the nasty shit out wasn't going to be a pleasant procedure either, but he figured it had to be done. This wasn't the kind of thing that would clear up on its own.
no subject
Rick may not have been wholly convinced of the castle walls' security, but there was no denying that it afforded them better protection than their usual makeshift shelters - And with the inevitable chaos of the arena's conclusion fast approaching, they could very well find themselves tossed back into those conditions soon enough. In his condition, Daryl needed whatever rest he could manage, and realistically, this brief reprieve would likely be their only shot at that.
The affirmation had done nothing to improve his mood.
"I figure we've still got a day or two before we need to look at moving on. Better we get this taken care of first, before it comes to that," he replied stiffly, chewing at the corner of his lip.
His shift back into the leader mentality hadn't been a conscious choice, but some part of him had needed it; he needed to feel like there was still some semblance of control, even when their situation offered none. Rick knew how to keep moving, how to take action. He could have hunted down the one responsible - for all the good it would do. It was that lingering sense of helplessness that he was grappling with, the damage having already been done.
Drainage wasn't a permanent solution, but it would buy them some time; what they needed was to stay ahead of it, keep it manageable until they found a way to treat it properly. That was, if such a thing even existed within the confines of the arena. Hershel had found ways to treat their people with herbs and plants, but Rick wouldn't have known where to start with that.
He rolled onto his side, careful in the way he slowly pressed himself to closer; the proximity was comforting in a way that words couldn't quite match. His chin came to rest on Daryl's shoulder, a feather light kiss pressed to the worn grey of his jumpsuit. It was impossible not to be aware that they had an audience, or how this might be perceived. It disgusted him to think that this might be interpreted as another means to garner sponsor support - but it wasn't for them.
When he finally spoke again, his voice was lower, hoping that somehow, even for a few minutes, they might hide from the world. His tone wasn't as steady as he would have liked, tightly bottled emotions threatening to make themselves known.
"We've got some time. The rest'd do you good."
no subject
But he sensed that Rick might actually be needing the comfort more than he did, and he hated being the source of so much worry, even if a small portion of it was probably warranted right about then. He was very well-acquainted with that need to feel in control — likely understood it even better than his lover did. It was why he wasn't going to fight Rick on any of this, regardless of his own feelings on the matter. If it meant getting to stay curled up together for a few more minutes, hours, any length of time, he was hardly complaining.
"Whatever happens," he spoke lowly, the rumble of his voice able to be felt as much as heard with the way Rick's head lay on his chest, "you know I'll always find my way back to you." And he was certain that not even the powers that be, in this world or their own, could prevent him from doing so. They hadn't before. Reaching up, he threaded the fingers of his free hand through Rick's hair, lightly stroking, occasionally gathering the stray curls away from his forehead. There were slightly less innocuous things occurring further down, with the slow, deliberate way Daryl slid his thigh higher between Rick's legs, seeking to provide some friction for him, offering an escape for however long he'd allow himself to have it. Even if he didn't, that would be okay. What they had now was enough.
"Tell me about somethin' good," he requested softly. "Like what you'll want to do once we're out. Or home." If his last conscious thoughts were pleasant ones, maybe sleep would be kinder to him.
no subject
He pressed his face against his shoulder for another long moment, taking a deep, steadying breath.
"I know."
Rick wasn't one to be comforted. He'd never allowed himself to, knowing deep down, that it wasn't his place to accept it. But with Daryl, it had always felt different. Perhaps it was simply a part of their dynamic, that sense of equal footing that he'd never quite managed to find in the others; he never would have considered himself better than any of them, but... responsible? As leader, it was his job to make sure that everyone else was taken care of, even at the expense of his own well-being. They were simply more important, and too often, balancing the two was simply beyond his means. Daryl had never accepted that, and in the end, it was why they worked.
Christ, though, he wished that it came easier.
The hand in his hair was soothing, but everything below that... Rick bit the inside of his cheek, wrestling his own ill-timed need that reared its head in response, hips shifting of their own accord; even the slight pressure of his lover's thigh was more inviting than it had any right to be, his body reacting even before he could remind himself of the precariousness of their situation. With the eyes of the Capitol - and the Gamemakers - on them, the distraction could prove lethal. Much as he wished they could have this, to pursue anything more than emotional solace was more than they could afford.
He couldn't quite bring himself to ask him to stop, the plea in his eyes as he squeezed Daryl's thigh between his own.
"Something good," he repeated, his voice rough. Quiet, as though somehow, the audio feed might not pick up on it - This wasn't theirs to intrude on.
'Back home' wasn't something that Rick could face just yet. Carl, Judith - He missed them like a drowning man missed air, but it was a dangerous path to set himself on. There were no guarantees that he would ever see them again, and building up that hope was setting himself up for a fall.
"I love you."
It was stupid and true, and impossible to say with a straight face. It was the sort of answer he might have given before the apocalypse, when he still remembered what happiness felt like; it wasn't an easy thing to relearn, but given his partner in all this, Rick honestly thought that they could figure it out.
"I figure we deserve a break after this. A few days to ourselves, if we can swing it."
no subject
Daryl mmm'd quietly with a drowsy sort of satisfaction, both at the words as well as the movement of hips against his own, his hand in Rick's hair momentarily stilling as he tipped his head forward just enough to be able to press a kiss to his partner's temple. "And I love you," he murmured, lips still close against skin, breath warm as his words were trapped between them.
He resumed his stroking, slowly working his hand through Rick's hair and down to his neck, fingers brushing his pulse point, rasping against his wiry beard. Then upward, tracing the shape of his lower lip with a finger. All of it as familiar as his own skin, but he didn't think he could ever tire of memorising Rick through touch.
"You askin' me out on a date?" The smile was clear in his voice, tone just this side of teasing. Even so, he was being entirely serious when he went on: "Shoot some pool, maybe get some drinks from Nick's bar... Carry your lightweight ass home, stay in bed for a few days." With occasional excursions for showering and food, maybe. "Could try cookin' more together," he suggested. Or they could attempt to at any rate. And making sure Vivi was still taken care of and had his school lunches, dinner, help with any 'homework'. It was the type of domesticity Daryl had never had before in his life, not until now. But he thought it suited them. In reality they might not be so lucky, might only get a few stolen moments before it was back to the grind, but he was — and would be — grateful for what time they did have to spend together.
He wouldn't allow himself to even consider any other possibility. They'd be together again after the Arena, one way or another, along with Vivi.
While he'd been allowing himself to daydream aloud, his hand had disappeared beneath the covers, trailing down Rick's clothed body with purpose. It came to rest on his lower abdomen, and spreading his fingers, he provided more direct stimulation as he deliberately slid his palm against Rick, fingers tracing the contour of his dick through the worn fabric of the jumpsuit and even thinner layer of underclothes. He knew the timing could be better, and most of all he knew Rick; he wouldn't be hurt if his advances were rebuffed. For Daryl, it was less about sex and more about wanting to make his partner feel good, quieting his thoughts, giving him the measure of peace he wished he'd been able to last night. "Let me?" he asked in a whisper, seeking permission even as he was already gently massaging his fingers against Rick.
no subject
Even if they didn't manage even one of those things, Rick appreciated what it was Daryl was trying to do. Chances were, they'd be forced back into their usual routine as soon as they were revived, stretched thin and separated by inconvenient schedules; between their jobs and sponsor commitments, carving time out for themselves could prove harder out of the arena than in.
But then, there was rarely any comfort to be found in reality.
Rick wanted to daydream. It would have been far preferable to lose himself in fantasy, thinking about how Daryl would likely have to peel him off the bar after effortlessly drinking him under the table. Of long nights wrapped in each other's arms and cooking misadventures, enjoying food that was neither roasted on a spit or some form of rodent. There, they would be able to stay like this - But not here.
"Christ, Daryl-" The words were punctuated by a sharp inhale, his own fingers tightening in the fabric of his partner's jumpsuit. His hands made a convincing argument, and it struck Rick just how quickly Daryl learned, how deftly he handled him - It definitely had him thinking of a few things they could do when they got back.
But so long as they were in the arena, the heat between them more from Daryl's infection than any sort of arousal, he couldn't let go. The temporary solace wasn't worth the potential price, and as much as he'd have enjoyed it, his mind would always be elsewhere. Too aware of their position, trying to anticipate from where the next strike would come - If he let this happen, let both their attentions stray, and things went south? Rick wasn't sure he'd have been able to forgive himself that.
"We can't," he responded finally, eyes closed as he steeled his resolve. There was still a hint of reluctance as he closed his grip on the other man's wrist, but he knew Daryl would understand - This was for the best. "Not here."
no subject
"Can't blame me for tryin'," he murmured without resentment, getting resettled and closing his eyes. "And my answer's always yes for you." Exhaustion meant the matter wouldn't be pushed further, and once he surrendered to it, he soon fell into an untroubled sleep. Within the hour, he would end up unconsciously pressing the length of his body right back into Rick.
Later, after he'd bathed, sterilised his knife and had tended to the cleaning of his wound — on his own, at his insistence — he sat cross-legged on the floor in a patch of sunlight, stripped to the waist, meticulously checking his stitches. Some had been ripped out by his physical exertion over the last few days, and he did what he could to repair them; a few had to be removed entirely and redone. His sutchering was fairly neat in a practised way, aided by what medical knowledge both Hershel and Merlyn had imparted to him. It wouldn't heal pretty, but that hardly mattered. Function over form.
The drainage had noticeably improved matters, though the surrounding tissue remained incredibly sore, with heavily discoloured bruising throughout. Between the bathing and wound care, he was already aching to such a degree that he dreaded even the comparatively simpler task of redressing his injury. Once he'd finished the stitches, he paused there, wiping away the seeping blood.
He was aware of Rick's steady presence as he kept himself busy with miscellaneous camp chores, nearby but unobtrusively so, affording Daryl some privacy; he hadn't needed to look to know Rick wasn't watching him, at least not openly. When he glanced up now, he was anxiously chewing on his lip as he observed what his partner was doing, the specter of an idea gradually taking form in his mind.
He dropped his gaze to his lap, his apprehension evident in his slightly hunched shoulders, in the way he restlessly balled up the bandages in his hands. Sighing inwardly, he began steeling himself. He wanted to trust Rick with this, it would mean more than he could articulate with words, and that was what made asking so damned difficult.
"Rick," he called out, loud enough he knew he'd be heard. "Do you mind?" Looking up, he made his request clear by holding out the bandages and the small box of gauze pads in a gesture of offering. Under the guise of needing help, he was inviting Rick to share something that, for him, was an intimacy beyond any he'd offered before. The gruesome chest wound was nothing compared to the history he carried on his back. And it wasn't the first time he'd considered willingly baring it to Rick, but on every prior occasion, insecurity and self-doubt had choked him into silence.
He'd finally found his voice.
no subject
The space forced between them might as well have been a wall, and Rick wanted nothing more than to tear it down, to be able to offer him more than just words. Knowing that he was not the only one left wanting did nothing to assuage his feelings of guilt. He knew he was making the right decision; even if they were to temporarily overlook the fact they were holed up in what was tantamount to enemy territory, there was still a good chance they'd end up exacerbating Daryl's injuries if they took things any further.
When they got back. There, there would be time. Rick could make it right.
It was a promise he couldn't bring himself to make aloud, not with the ear of the Capitol still pressed against the door; it would only give them ammunition. Rick knew that they would derive some twisted pleasure from the 'drama' that would come from tearing them apart, and while he wholeheartedly believed that they would find each other again when all was said and done... He wasn't about to tempt fate or anyone else.
At some point or another, Rick had actually managed to fall asleep, lulled by the steady rhythm of Daryl's breathing. There was something comfortable about the familiar press of his lover's body, and combined with the persistent pull of exhaustion, there'd been no fighting it. He wasn't so stubborn as to say that he hadn't needed it, the few hours of rest leaving him more alert than he'd been in days.
Alert, and restless. With Daryl set on tending to his own side of things, Rick had been left with idle hands, making do with what few chores they had - One of the few downsides of their fortified location. In truth, he was beginning to think that he'd spent more time searching out things to do than actually doing them; there was only so many times he could take stock of supplies he'd already counted, his patrols limited by what few vantage points they had within the walls. Going outside was off the table until Daryl was finished, Rick unwilling to stray anywhere where the other man would be out of eyeshot.
... Not that he was watching him now.
They were both reticent about the lives they'd left behind, but over their years together, Rick had managed to piece together a few details about Daryl's past. At least, enough to begin to understand the way he shied away from contact, why he hid away beneath the layers of clothing even in the worst of the Georgia heat. The specifics hadn't been necessary, and even if the conversation never happened, Rick wouldn't pry - If anything, even that limited knowledge made him all the more grateful for what they had.
It was also why he'd granted his wish for privacy - or as much as he could, without actually leaving the room. Rick had kept his position strategic, careful so as not to leave him feeling suffocated; so long as Daryl was within his peripheral vision, close enough to protect, he would be satisfied.
The hours seemed to bleed together, and had he not known better, Rick could have almost imagined this happening within the prison's walls. It wasn't possible now, even if they were ever returned to their own world, but the pieces fit. No tributes. No Capitol. Just the two of them enjoying a slow morning together, working in comfortable silence with Judith's crib in the room just beyond. The war would be behind them then, electronic surveillance a distant memory...
When Daryl spoke up, Rick had to wonder if he wasn't still daydreaming.
His hands paused midway through coiling the length of scavenged wire, his eyes moving from the offered bandages before traveling up to Daryl's face and back down again.
There was a deliberate brush of their fingers as Rick took the gauze, even the brief contact making his pulse spike. Just as he knew why he hadn't been asked initially, he recognized now the weight of what Daryl was offering him; this was a task Daryl could easily have handled himself, and in all likelihood, have done a better job with. But in asking Rick, he was giving him more than that, opening himself in a way more intimate than any they'd shared thus far.
"Yeah," he said finally, the corner of his lip tugged with the hint of a smile. He had hoped that his actions would be answer enough, but just in case.
The arena hadn't been the place for sex, and perhaps it wasn't the place for this either - but Rick didn't care.
no subject
The situation at present was several degrees removed from anything sexual, but he still found himself feeling so unsure that he couldn't predict Rick's answer, and could only hope his request wouldn't be declined. And it wasn't.
He couldn't deny that there was the urge to keep Rick in his sight, and he had to consciously stop his eyes from following the other man's movements like a frightened animal would, fighting against his well-founded instinct to never let anyone get behind him. Even all these years later it still carried vivid associations with pain and helplessness, undiminished by the passage of time — even worse than his continued difficulties with physical contact. He had been making slow progress there, but the distressing truth was he might always unconsciously harbour the expectation of touch causing hurt; sometimes his fucked up synapses would interpret the gentlest touch as painful and cause him to jerk away in discomfort, though he'd gotten better at hiding his more extreme reactions, suffocating them beneath layers of shame. Now it was more likely to be a sharp intake of breath and stiffening posture as the only clear indications that something was wrong.
Neither were happening at the moment. Any stiffness was a byproduct of his injury, and as he became very still and braced himself, it was mainly for Rick's benefit, so he wouldn't have to contend with unnecessary movement. He lowered his eyes to his own lap — a sign of trust more than one of surrender — and held his arms loosely at his sides, prepared to raise them out of the way as needed.
Would Rick look, and if he looked, would he want to know? Or would he keep things perfunctory and impersonal, ignoring the significance of this out of misplaced kindness? It was hard to say which would be worse. But, curiously, Daryl wasn't nearly as anxious as he'd believed he would be when this moment finally came. There was something freeing in the act of making himself vulnerable and providing Rick with everything he'd ever need to ruin him, while trusting that he never will.