Nonplussed, Daryl watches Rick hop up and go back into the house. He must really be keen on working some of that tension out if he's acting like that, trying to get a rise out of Daryl. It's fine. He's happy (is that the right word? he wonders) that he and Rick are close enough that they can ping-pong stupid shit at each other.

Maybe he needs to get laid or some damn thing like that. Rick's seen him eyeball that blonde woman, though he (and everyone) (e v e r y o n e) feels certain that's about some last-ditch effort to reclaim a dead man, Lori's husband, and not actual attraction, seeing as he and Michonne are... well. They'll notice eventually.

In some other universe where Daryl isn't terrified of his own shadow when it comes to intimacy and where he isn't sure Rick's straight as anything, he'd offer. But they're not in that other universe, and in this one, Daryl's just hanging around in the open space that counts as a back yard, crossbow slung over his shoulder. He raises his chin in Rick's direction. Ready?