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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'?"