dadyl | 𝙿𝙴𝙽𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝙸𝙽𝙱𝙾𝚇 ;

[ Daryl can't help glancing over at him to see if everything is okay, and since it seems to be, he faces the wall again. Listens to the echoing of the running shower. He resists the urge to pace, squeezes his hands into fists, and flexes everything to try and work out his frustration. ]

I'm sorry 'bout this.

[ He feels like it has to be said. It should go without saying between them at this point, he thinks, but he knows he'd still want to hear it in Gabe's place. ]

I fuckin' hate that it's me.

[ But a part of him also thinks 'better me than someone worse'. Anyone could have found Gabe like that. Anything. He can't help being relieved, too, that he'd found him first. ]

[ He tugs his shirt off. After a moment, he breathes out and folds it. Stalling, maybe. Or just centering himself. ]

I know.

[ It comes out more tired than anything else. He tugs his belt off next, then kneels to unlace his boots. ]

You won’t hurt me.

[ He wouldn’t, if their positions were reversed. And he still believes that holds true. That he knows Daryl that well. Trusts him that far. ]

[ Daryl listens, judging Gabe's progress by the sounds he hears while wishing he had something to do with his hands. ]

I won't.

[ It's a quiet, solid confirmation. He has no idea what he's doing, but he's at least sure about that.

At the rough sound of shoelaces being untied Daryl is reminded of how tired he is, how much he'd wanted to rest after doing nothing but watching out for Carol, but he pushes it down. He can't be tired right now. ]

When you're done, get under the spray. Just soak for a bit.

[ The order is clear. Gabe breathes out slow and straightens. Then, matter of factly, he strips off the rest of his clothes. Folds them, sets them aside. He feels two things with great clarity: a sick heat pulsing through his skull and a softer sense of relief that someone, anyone, is telling him what to do.

Proof positive that whatever he’s been dosed with is still going strong, Gabe thinks bleakly. But there’s no dodging this one.

He steps under the spray, bowing his head to let the water drum over the ports in his neck. It almost hurts. But it feels —

Better, he thinks, even as he sways and has to brace a hand against the wall. ]

…helps. I think.

[ He hears the drumming of water on tiles switch to the muted sound of spray on skin and Daryl sags a little and moves to sit on the closed toilet seat. He puts his head in his hands, presses the heels of his palms to his brow, and tries to stay steady. He tries to think only of the next command he can give. He tries not to think of how long this has the potential to go on.

Always a first time. ]

Good.

[ His reply is toneless, almost emotionless. He feels the urge to check the heat of Gabe's head again but figures it's still too soon to tell. ]

Turn it colder. Far as you can stand it.

[ The order blooms warm in his chest. Gabe bows his head and does what he's told. He turns it all the way cold, exhaling through his teeth when the water goes from lukewarm to icy. It reminds him of the early days of his training, when the instructors would dose them with buckets. Hit them with batons if they fucked up. Sometimes it wasn't water in the buckets. Sometimes the smell would worm its way into his nightmares.

He braces one hand against the wall. Already, he can feel himself starting to shiver.

The body is nothing, sniper. So leave it behind.

He doesn't say a word. He does what he's told. ]

[ Daryl underestimates just how cold Gabe can take it and it’s a little while before he notices that something is wrong. He’s still sitting, leaning back staring, unseeing, at the ceiling, appreciating the respite from having to think up wha to say next, when he finally feels the chill coming from the direction of the shower.

He sits up fast, wincing. ]

Shit. Turn it off.

[ He’s on his feet again, reaching for a towel and shaking one out, wishing it was warmer, but he realizes before passing it to the guy that he doesn’t want to make Gabe grope for it. Not now, of all times. ]

C’mere.

[ When he does, Daryl will wrap it around his shoulders and reach to feel the base of his neck for residual heat. ]

[ It's a cycle, really. Fight, then give it. Feel better, then hate himself for it. Gabe tips his head back and does what he's fucking told. The cold helped a little, he thinks. Calmed down his head and settled him just long enough to give him the shakes. But he'll survive that.

He always does. Breathe, sniper.

Gabe reaches up to touch the towel, not sure what the fuck he's doing. What he's supposed to do. ]

Helped.

[ His voice is flat, tight. ]

For a bit.

Alright. [ He nods, trying not to let himself get distant. ] Least we know that.

[ But 'for a bit' implies that it isn't helping anymore. When Gabe doesn't respond much and doesn't seem to know what to do with the towel, Daryl bites down on the inside of his lip again. Stalling. He hates to see the guy looking lost. ]

Dry off, get dressed again. I'll think of somethin' for you to do.

[ Daryl isn't unaware that he's telling himself that he has to more than he's telling Gabe that he will. ]

I bet that's what's really helpin'.

[ Because following his senses had been all that had helped when he'd been halfway changed into a wolf. Because getting as close to Gabe as he could had been the only thing that curbed the effects of the Frenzy.

Why shouldn't whatever this is be as equally driven to intimate humiliation? ]

Probably.

[ He can feel himself going flatter and flatter, retreating inward. Maybe it'd be smarter to get loud, angry. Or maybe that'd just make things worse - get him overheating all over again. There are bad ways to die, Gabe knows. Having his tech burn straight through his skull would be only of them.

It wouldn't be quick. Wouldn't be clean, either.

He twitches, then reaches for his clothes. Starts putting them back on, one button at a time. He's cold. His head feels heavy. But he does what he's fucking told. ]

Gonna have to get more creative.

[ He doesn't sound a damn thing but tired. ]

Just don't make me beg.

[ He can survive the rest. But that's one thing he won't be forced to do. ]

[ Creative. Daryl would argue that if there's one thing he's never been, it's creative. Or imaginative. What he is, however, is a resourceful problem-solver, though even that has only gone so far. Getting Gabe to shower, to get undressed and now dressed again. It's only bought them a stay.

But maybe that's all they can hope for. ]

I won't.

[ Daryl is aware of what he's promising but the alternative is just as unacceptable. More. He knows what it means to refuse to beg. To kneel to someone. If Negan hadn't enjoyed playing with him so much, enjoyed repeatedly trying to break an unbreakable thing, it would certainly have gotten Daryl killed.

He'd survived it only because he had help. People who saved him from that. ]

Alright. C'mon.

[ He doesn't want anyone else to see the two of them like this so Daryl reaches out to touch a guiding palm to the center of Gabe's back and when they leave the bathroom, Daryl heads straight to his own room. He doesn't like being cooped up in here, but it's easier when it's the best choice for someone else. ]

Sit on the bed.

[ It's where Daryl sits, too. If Gabe had his faculties, if he could handle himself better right now, Daryl might have tried to find a way to give Gabe commands outside the hotel - exploring the perimeter of the land they're confined to, rebuilding with the others, maybe, just to have something to do. But whatever is happening to Gabe doesn't leave them with a lot of options.

Daryl doubles over to start to take off his boots and stops. ]

Can you... unlace these for me?

[ He nudges Gabe's foot with his own. He doesn't want to actually have to say boots out loud to him but Daryl is grasping at straws. ]

[ Gabe moves slowly, deliberately. He hates groping around in the dark but when his tech's on the outs, he has to make do. Right now, he doesn't have a cane and so he gets it done what what he's got. Most of the hotel rooms have the same general layout, anyway. He bumps his knee against the bed so he knows where it is, and then he sits down. Only then does he allow himself to breathe. He knows where he is in the room, at least. Somewhat. He's not groping around in the dark.

Breathe. Survive, sniper.

He tips his head back, then exhales. The request sends something warm curling through his chest. And isn't that strange, that both obeying and refusing send heat twisting through him? Only one sensation might just kill him and the other just feels -

Good.

Gabe twitches. ]

Yeah.

[ He kneels down silently, running his hand down Daryl's boot so he can find the laces, and then does what he's told. Simply, efficiently, he gets them unlaced. ]

[ Daryl doesn't like that he gets off the bed to kneel but he doesn't tell him to stop. Maybe it helps whatever is happening, or maybe it's just easier for Gabe to reach. He doesn't know and he doesn't ask. He just watches in silence, expression stony. ]

Now take 'em off, I guess.

[ It feels so strange to ask things like this of another person. He would never ask someone for help doing things he's perfectly capable of doing himself, that it would in any way make him look weak for needing assistance with, but he's flying from command to command and trying not to second-guess himself.

But it does feel good to get his boots off and he sighs a little, sitting forward and resting his elbows on his knees. ]

Now yours. I know they ain't really laced. But take 'em off, too.

[ Like before, Gabe works in silence. He thinks of all the times he's helped a teammate out of their armor after a job. How he had to help Prior with everything after that one time things got really bad, how little brother clung to him with broken fingers and his back raw from the whipping. How Prior couldn't sleep unless Gabe laid at his back and even then, he shook with nightmares.

That was a bad time. But it passed. This will, too.

Gabe tips his head back. There's a moment where he doesn't move, where he fights just for the sake of it.

His head throbs. The sick feeling returns. And he twitches, and does what he's told. He tugs his boots off. Left, then right. He

He stays down on his knees. He hates that it feels right like that. ]

Now what?

[ Like before, his voice is very soft. ]

I don't like you down there.

[ It comes out sounding more lost than displeased and Daryl sits back, shifting to the side a little to give Gabe the larger half of the bed. He doesn't want him to feel crowded. Daryl doesn't want him to feel as though he's getting off on this. Any of this. ]

C'mon up.

[ Even as Gabe obeys, Daryl's mind is scrambling for another command, for anything that wouldn't have made him sick to be told himself. He can't help thinking back to Negan's compound, to all the games that were played with him. He doesn't want this to be anything like that. ]

Try'n hit me.

[ It comes out before he thinks it through, just looking for anything to buy them time. ]

Not real hard, or anythin'. But try.

[ What's there to say about that, about any of this? Neither of them like it. Gabe's hard-pressed to say which of them has the worst deal, in truth. The thought of it makes him sick whenever he lets himself consider it for longer than a moment, so he tries not to. But that's Hell's doing, he supposes. None of this was ever going to be gentle.

He sits back down on the bed. Lays his hands flat on his knees. And then the next order.

Gabe tips his head back. He can hear Daryl's voice, the way the bed shifts under his weight, but there are limitations to that. A whole lot of guesswork. He works his jaw. Then he turns and aims a blow for Daryl's chest. Center mass. Not enough to hurt, but enough to feel if he manages to land it. ]

[ Daryl sees it coming and even though he isn't the quickest guy, it's pretty easy for him to knock the blow out of the way and deflect it onto his arm. It hurts a lot less there, even though it clearly wasn't meant to hurt much at all.

The contact at least reminds Daryl that they have options, though. They aren't at the end of the rope yet. ]

Try harder.

[ He hopes that this is better than nothing but he can't imagine that Gabe would enjoy a real sparring match now as much as he might with his faculties working properly. But it's probably better than nothing. ]

[ Gabe works his jaw. Then he swings. Jab to the throat, then to the eyes. Full speed this time. ]

[ Daryl blocks the shot to his throat in time, but Gabe is snake-quick and the second blow catches him square in the eye. Without thinking, Daryl's own fist snaps out in response and he socks Gabe in the shoulder harder than is polite. ]

Ow.

[ The guy is far from helpless. ]

Better.

[ It landed. Gabe hisses like a cat at the retaliation, even as the warm feeling returns to his chest.

Comforting. Like a balm. ]

Tell me to do it again. Just - give me a goddamn order.

[ When Gabe snaps at him, something like confidence blooms for a moment in Daryl’s chest. It feels better to be told. He can’t imagine what it must feel like for Gabe - what the compulsion must be telling him. He’d promised him he wouldn’t make him beg. ]

Alright.

[ A shift on the bed as Daryl turns one shoulder towards Gabe and brings his hands up. Fists loose but poised. ]

C’mon, then. Try’n hit me. Get a one-two in, if you can.

[ Gabe goes still, listening intently. Calcualating out the angles. More than anything, he hates groping out in the dark with no sense of where anything is. It's humiliating. A weakness an enemy will instantly use against him.

But Daryl isn't an enemy, is he?

Gabe twitches, breathing out slow to center himself. Then he strikes. One, two.

The one lands straight. The two goes wide and clips Daryl in the shoulder. ]

Goddamn it.

[ It's hissed out, a frustrated curse. ]

[ Daryl can see that this isn't much better, that any option he chooses is going to be bad, so he pushes farther. Tries to find another way. ]

That's it. Try'n pin me, if that's easier.

[ The more Gabe hits him, the more contact there is, the easier Daryl finds it to give commands. It comes out more naturally and the urge to follow Gabe's direction - give me a goddamn order - is slowly taking over. He doesn't know enough to realize that the problem could be rubbing off. ]

[ The warm feeling returns. Different from the fever, from the sickness that burrowed its way in. This time, it's -

Calm.

Gabe shifts his weight, thinking, and then he just lunges. Daryl's got the weight advantage but Gabe knows he's quick. He grabs for Daryl's shoulder and shoves him back hard, getting on top of him. And then going for his hands. ]

[ Daryl doesn't want to make it easy for him but neither does it end up being hard for Gabe to force him to the bed. The guy's strong, but it's the fact that he strikes so sharply that overwhelms Daryl. He's pushing to sit back up when Gabe climbs on top of him and forces his torso back down against the give of the mattress. He lets out a grunt, straining against the weight on top of him.

It isn't until Gabe goes for Daryl's hands that Daryl fights back properly. He bucks up hard to throw Gabe's hips off-center and he rips his hands out of the unfinished grasp Gabe had managed to get on them. ]

Not quite.

[ He grunts it and it sounds a little defensive. He's prickled by how easy that probably would have been for Gabe if he had his tech working. ]

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