Trust and Security
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader
Word Count: 3460 words (I was aiming for 1000, but let’s just say - it got away from me)
Ratings/Warnings: SFW.
Summary: “Didn’t you hear the news? It’s safer to shower in pairs” @twdeadfanfic
It’s been over a month since the prison fell, and your group was weary. After one month of being out on the road, vulnerable and exhausted, your little family finds safety behind the tall walls of the Alexandria Safe Zone. Although, the walls do nothing to cease your skittishness.
The new folk behind the walls were kind and gracious, but at the same time, naive and inexperienced to what lays behind their safe haven and that worries you. It worries your group as well; everyone picking up on the credulous attitudes and their misty-eyed optimism and it just doesn’t sit right.
The first few days were difficult, a strange adjustment period. After being used to the wilderness and the danger it includes to now having a proper house to sleep in and call home, it felt, surreal. But after a few days, some of your people begin to relax and enjoy the safety of Alexandria.
You weren’t one of them, and neither was Daryl. The pair of you refused to believe in this wonderland, a shared acceptance in the belief that this place will fall just like the prison and just like any other ‘safe place’ that stood before. Perhaps you weren’t giving this place a chance? Perhaps it is easier to set yourself up for failure rather than have your hopes high? Regardless of the reasoning behind it, you just can’t get rid of the gnawing feeling of the false safety this place eludes.
Almost daily, Rick tries to convince you of Alexandria’s potential. He exemplifies the possibility of having a future here, a safe future for Carl and Judith to grow up in, a safe place where there isn’t fear about the dead or the dangers that stalk outside the walls. And almost daily, both you and Daryl turn him down, stubborn in your ways and between the false reality constructed and the abnormal kindness from the residents, you can’t help but feel unsafe.
You can’t lie, however, that Alexandria does have its perks. You have been here for 5 days already and you have not gone hungry once in that time. It is nice to have a healthy food supply, to have a blanket and a mattress that isn’t damaged or dirty and of course, it is nice to be clean. You have taken advantage of the running water system in the town, taking more showers in the last 5 days than you have in the month and it is a luxury that you allow yourself to indulge in.
The first time you had a shower you almost cried. Not one for the emotions normally, it couldn’t be helped that day when hot, running water cascading over you, temporarily washing away the trauma and pain of the apocalyptic world. For a moment, you could forget the ones you’ve lost, the agony and anguish every time you’ve had to take a life, the suffering and torture you’ve endured. For a moment, you could just be no-one.
- - -
Day six lingers, and the house is quiet. It had been decided yesterday that it’s possible to make Alexandria home and for that, houses were given to share. Rick, Carl, Judith and Michonne moved next door, never too far away from family but it gave them enough space to breathe. A large portion of the group, consisting of Abraham, Eugene, Sasha and Rosita, moved into another house on the same street. The remaining were quick to claim rooms; Maggie and Glenn taking a room as well as Carol stealing the spare. It left you and Daryl with a little bedroom on the ground floor and the lounge room. It didn’t matter, neither of you slept much nowadays and if you did, it was never at the same time. One always had to be on watch.
It was a silent arrangement, just like how your friendship blossomed. One day you were alone, despite being with the group, lingering to one side, keeping one eye on the wilderness around you as if you were ready to jump up and run into its clutches. But then one day, with no significant event as the catalyst, Daryl grew close, being drawn to your side every time a new camp was set up. Neither of you asked for the other to join, it just always happened. It became an unspoken rule that you were to always be partners. If you were to go hunting, so would Daryl. If you chose to set up your sleeping roll in the corner, Daryl would linger close. If you missed a meal, or gave your portion to someone else, then Daryl would give you some of his. It was unspoken, but it was law. You weren’t to be separated.
- - -
Summer had followed your group to Alexandria and the pair of you sat on the porch. Daryl was fiddling with his crossbow, nimble fingers twirling and unwinding certain pieces, tightening this and that, fixing up his bolts before giving the entire weapon a wipe down. He worked methodically, quietly, as if his actions were second nature to him. You shamelessly watched him periodically, fascinated by the sleek weapon and by the rugged man. He was your best friend, your partner and companion. You would die for him and he would die for you. It was simple. It was easy. And he was the single person that never failed to bring a smile to your lips.
Satisfied with your ogling, you return to your book. It wasn’t yours to begin with. It came with the furnished house and in a moment of boredom, you plucked it from its place with every intention to fill the small gap of monotony. What you hadn’t expected was to become engrossed with the novel, completely swept up in the mythical world it held.
“Yer almost finished that thing yet?”
Daryl breaks your train of thought, startling you back into the world of reality and you shrug.
“Got a few chapters to go,” you say, flicking ahead to see that you indeed have almost completed the fiction.
“You only started yesterday arvo’“ Daryl states, crooking an eyebrow in your direction, his hands continuing to work on the crossbow without a visual guide.
“What can I say, I’m a fast reader. You finished playing with that crossbow yet? You’ve been fiddling with that thing for the past 3 days now,” You are quick to shoot back at him, a smirk dancing across your lips in victory and Daryl scoffs, shaking his head in small amusement as he turns his gaze back to the item in his lap.
You finish your book just in time for Carol to leave the house, the older woman looking well dressed and holding a container of cookies. Both you and Daryl raise an eyebrow at her, silent questions being asked, and she pointedly ignores them.
“Have you even had a shower yet?” She asks sternly, giving the quiet man a stiff side glance that he shrugs off.
“I’ll hose you down when you sleep,” she threatens, “you are filthy Daryl, just take a goddamn shower”.
You stifle a giggle, biting down on your lip to hide your growing smile but you fail miserably, and a chuckle escapes you. Daryl hears it, glancing over at you with a bored expression but when he sees you smiling, he can’t fight back a little smirk of his own.
“You enjoy watching Carol take the piss out of me, ay?” he questions gruffly, and you laugh at that openly, throwing your head back to revel in the moment.
“Hell yeah I do. Who wouldn’t?” you tease, poking your tongue out when Daryl rolls his eyes.
With your book done, you throw it onto the table beside you and stand up, stretching out your arms as you unfold from your previous position. Your shoulders pop loudly as you rotate them and you groan with satisfaction, eyes closed as you continue to move your body. You miss how Daryl’s eyes selfishly gawk at the sliver of skin that is revealed as you stretch, your shirt just riding up to show the smoothness of your skin and he wonders how soft your body would be beneath his hands.
His eyes quickly snap back to his crossbow when he hears you hum, stretching complete and body limber.
“You off then?” he questions, not looking up at you as he speaks, fear that his eyes will reveal things he refuses to say.
“Yeah, might have a lie-down or somethin’“
“Gonna take one of yer ten million showers?” he teases you and a warm flutter erupts in his chest when his words make you laugh.
“Showers aren’t the enemy, Daryl” you remind him, a smile easy on your lips, but your tone is firm.
He grunts, explicitly refusing to respond and you sigh.
“Come shower with me,”
Those words catch his attention. His head whips up to look at you, eyes wide and stunned. You admire his surprised expression, noticing how his lips part ever so slightly and how he sucks in a shallow breath as he processes your words and intentions.
“Didn’t you hear the news? It’s safer to shower in pairs,” you joke, but your eyes convey understanding.
Daryl remains frozen for another moment or two, waiting for the punchline or the taunt but it never comes. Of course, it wouldn’t. He knows you. You aren’t like that, not to him. So, when it clicks that this isn’t an immoral joke and he allows himself to believe your gentleness, he nods, flustered but agreeing.
You give him a small smile, jerking your head in the direction of the front door before you turn to walk through it, not waiting for Daryl to move. You know he would follow, he has always followed you and he would follow you to the end of the earth.
By the time he reaches the bathroom, you already have the shower turned on. You have your hand beneath the stream, testing it, determined to have the perfect temperature and it is so unlike you, but at the same time, it is. He has seen you kill walkers with your bare hands, he has seen your unfiltered rage and your grief, and he has seen the special compassion you reserve for Carl and Judith. But it is rare for him to see you this gentle, this soft, this caring.
You know he is there, standing in the doorway watching you. You felt the heaviness of his gaze the moment he reached the second floor. But you don’t mention it, instead, you hum as you adjust the water before turning around to rifle through the cabinets for soap. The house is a treasure-trove of good items and the luxury of having a shower also extends to bathroom products. There are different types of soaps and shampoo to choose from and Daryl sees you fish out two items; a creamy soap bar and a green bottle. You set them both inside the shower before stepping back.
“Go on, get in” you gesture to the shower.
“Thought you were havin’ the first one?”
“And leave you with an opportunity to escape hygiene? Not a chance,” you retort
You know him too well, he thinks fondly. But an uneasiness sets in and you can see apprehension flit across his face.
“Daryl, you can shower. I won’t be leaving, I’ll be right here” you say tenderly, taking a seat on the closed toilet lid to prove your point. You weren’t going to leave him alone.
It’s reassuring, as much as Daryl hates to admit it. He isn’t used to having someone stand by him unwaveringly like you do. He hates to admit that he has come to lean on you, come to let you in. You have never pressured him, never forced his hand and for that, you unknowingly have his eternal gratitude.
“I won’t even look, so hurry up otherwise the water will run cold,” you announce, making a big show of closing your eyes and slapping a hand across your face for good measure.
Daryl cracks a smile at your theatrics, relief rolling off him in waves and slowly he begins to unbutton his shirt. Your ears strain to listen, to catch a sound so you can guess what he is doing. The rustle of a shirt confirms that he hasn’t bolted, and it makes you smile. What you don’t see is how Daryl’s fingers shake slightly as he works his belt undone as well as his jeans. He is stripping off his layers, both literally and metaphorically, and he hasn’t ever felt this bare, even with your eyes closed. He keeps his eyes trained on you as he edges towards the shower, his back never turning to reveal the ugly past that is marked into his skin and he only feels relief when he has the shower curtain drawn, letting it act as a barrier in all senses.
He has to admit; the hot water does feel heavenly. His sigh is, thankfully, masked by the sound of the shower and Daryl closes his eyes, tipping his head back and completely embraces the water. He stands there for a few moments, relishing in the luxury and the feeling of his muscles slowly unwinding, and he almost hates himself for putting this off for so long. He is so lost in heaven that he almost forgets that you are still sitting in the bathroom with him.
He pokes his head out, eyes falling on you and he smiles when he sees that you haven’t moved from your seated position, hands still covering your face but to keep you occupied, you bounce your leg.
It’s almost as if you know he is staring at you because you speak up,
“How’s the shower?” you ask
“Are ya comin’ in or what?” he ignores your question, now smugly watching your surprised reaction.
Gobsmacked, your hands fall from your face, mouth hanging open and your eyebrows raised in disbelief. This is the first time he ever hears you stutter.
“Wh- what?”
“Are ya gettin’ in or not? Ya expect me to leave you sittin’ and waitin’ for me?”
You nod, “Daryl Dixon, I didn’t expect you to invite me to shower with you”
“Sunshine, you did the invitin’ first”
“I never specified if I was to be in the same shower as you at the same time” you respond, shock fading quickly as your confidence returns and Daryl enjoys the transformation.
“Get in” he mutters and drops the curtain, standing back to leave you some room for when you come in.
You are quicker to strip than he was and although he knows you are coming, he can’t help but jump when you step into the cubicle. You notice, of course you notice, but as always, you don’t comment. Instead, you smile up at him with such a warm gaze, Daryl feels his heart clench. Silently, you grab the soap bar and lift it up, expressing your question through your look and he nods. You are gentle as you run the bar over his shoulders and down his arms, taking your time to sudd up your hands so you can run your fingers over each individual digit, cleaning them of the dirt and the grime that had accumulated. Daryl was silent during your endeavour but by the quickness of the rise and fall of his chest depicted his nervousness.
“Tell me if it gets too much” you murmur, eyes flicking to meet his and it amazes him how you don’t pressure him, letting him control his limits. It is his blind trust in you that allows you to be this close to him and you know how hard it is for the redneck to open up to you, to let you close to his turmoil.
“Nah, s’okay” he mutters breathlessly.
You continue on to his torso, rubbing the bar in circular motions and its satisfying to watch the water run dirty, revealing more of the gorgeous man in front of him. Daryl fears it will get awkward when you kneel down in front of him, eyes closed as he wills himself not to make a fool out of himself. Either or not you pick up on his anxious, you don’t say, but you avert your eyes from his lax cock, focusing on cleaning his strong legs. When you are finished Daryl offers you a hand, holding it firmly as he pulls you to your feet and once steady, he doesn’t let go.
“I can leave your back” you offer. The story of the scars isn’t new to you, but their appearance is. He hasn’t let you cast your eyes upon the monstrosities, barely able to look at them himself.
He is torn, gnawing at his lip as he tries to decide on an answer, but his silence is one you will accept. With a fond smile you shrug, reassuring him to the best of your ability.
“That’s okay, tilt your head forward, hun” you are quick to move on, distracting him from the dangerous thoughts that threaten to surface, and it works, the pet name is a pleasant sound falling from your lips.
He obeys, tilting his head forward and closing his eyes as the water runs down his cheekbones. The pop of the shampoo bottle alerts him to your intentions and a sprig of mint fills the steamy air. Your fingers massage his scalp as you clean the brown tresses and Daryl bows beneath your touch. He slumps forward, head resting upon your shoulder in full submission and you pressed a lingering kiss to his temple, fingers never ceasing their ministrations until they begin to cramp a while later. You don’t want to move him, savouring the weight of his body against yours but the suds need to be washed out, so you tap his shoulder. Daryl washes out the remaining suds himself before he looks down at you, guilt suddenly creeping upon him.
“Do yer want me... to, ya know”
Bashfully, he gestures to you, but you shake your head laughing.
“No Daryl, it’s fine, but thank you” you say sincerely, “now, let’s get you out of here and into clean clothes, hey”.
The shower gets switched off and the pair of you emerge from the stuffy cubicle. Daryl grabs the towels first, handing you one before wrapping his around his waist. There is no third towel to cover his back and he is painfully aware of that fact, tensing up as he realises that he is closest to the door and will have to turn around to walk out. Once again you amaze him, slipping by to walk out first and Daryl lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
When Daryl appears, he finds you in the small bedroom, stretched out on the bed with your eyes closed.
“Tired?”
“Warm showers make me sleepy” you confess, opening your eyes to look up at the man sheepishly.
He hums and remains standing at the end of the bed, hands tucked into the pockets of the old sweatpants that hang from his hips and takes his time to admire you. He doesn’t admire your clothes, although the sight of you in snug clothes makes the fluttering in his chest go faster; but he soaks in your comfortableness, your trust.
He doesn’t ask if you could move and make room for him, wordlessly you do it anyway when Daryl begins to climb onto the bed. He flops onto the mattress once he reaches the pillow, heaving a sigh as his body melts into the softness of the mattress. He rarely allows himself to sleep on it, leaving it for you to use while he takes the couch or the chair outside on the porch. And just like the shower, he realises how much he has been missing out on. And he is sick of it.
“Yer too good to me, Y/N” he mumbles, and you chuckle, shaking your head before you roll onto your side to face him.
“Nah, just doing what is right”. What you deserve.
You both fall silent, letting the post-shower haze settle over you and allowing your bodies to relax.
You are on the cusp of sleep when you feel Daryl’s hand slip into yours, calloused skin brushing against yours and instinctively you tighten your grip, Daryl squeezing back.
“Thank you” he murmurs.
You don’t say anything, fighting the pull of sleep and with a last-ditch effort you curl into Daryl, his arms sweeping you closer to his chest and cocooned in his security, you allow yourself to drift to sleep.
Alexandria may be weak, but it’s given you a safe haven, and maybe it isn’t all that bad.