The Hunter and The Butcher | Daryl Dixon |
Summary: Upon Daryl’s introduction to the new community of Alexandria, their local butcher quickly grabs his attention as their meant to work together providing food for the community.
Warnings: slow burn, cursing, blood, butcher terminology, descriptions of carcasses, slight smut
Song Recommendations: It Will Come Back - Hozier, Chemtrails Over the Country Club - Lana Del Ray
The early sun beamed down upon the houses of Alexandria, their solar panels soaking up every second. The water mill turned miles away in the forest, floorboards creaked as people arose from their beds, and curtains were drawn to allow in the morning light.
The group was coming up on their sixth day in Alexandria, Daryl still refusing to adjust. He wore his same old clothes, kept his bow tightly by his side, and stayed up almost all night to "keep watch" despite pleas from various members of the group to rest.
What happened out on the road, back in Georgia, couldn't so easily be forgotten in Daryl's mind. He was expected to play house and act nice, as if he wasn't almost murdered by cannibals a few weeks ago. As if he hadn't watched members of his family drop like flies from the new threats this world held. Bites, bullets, one-eyed psychos.
The corner of the porch had proved a comfortable spot for Daryl to reside, his fingers constantly twiddling with his bow. He tucked himself away, avoiding being seen by any potential passersby who dared say hello.
He awaited Aaron's arrival on his proposal only days before of venturing out with him beyond the walls.
The walls of Alexandria made him itch, constantly shifting his weight from one foot to the next, like an animal waiting to be released from a cage. So, when Aaron invited, it was close to impossible to say no.
From the corner of Daryl's eye, he could see Aarons silouhette approaching...but another silhouette was in tow. Daryl sighed to himself, keeping his attention trained on his bow.
"Daryl! Morning." Aaron was chipper, as usual, Daryl could tell in the way he'd skipped the last step on his way up. "Hmm." Daryl didn't care to stop his tasks to show any form of attention, and he especially didn't care to meet yet another smiling fool. "I wanted to introduce you to someone."
Daryl looked up, and for a second, he paused.
There was something in your mere presence that felt different. You didn't carry yourself in the same hippity manner everyone else did; there was an apparent frown drawn upon your face. Vastly different from Aaron's demeanor.
You watched Daryl stand from the ground, bow in hand, and bridge the large gap.
"This is Y/n...Y/n, Daryl."
Aaron had awoken you early for this introduction despite your desperate pleas of disinterest.
“You’re new yourself, maybe you guys can find some common ground….Please Y/n, we have to work together.” He’d stated over and over again.
“Y/n is a survivor like you, she just got here about a month ago.” Aaron beckoned to begin the conversation.
Your demeanor conveys exactly what you wanted it to: distrust and a slight dislike based on first impressions. "She used to be a butcher..." Aaron continued, knowing he wouldn’t get much out of the pair of you.
"If we- or you- by chance get any catches today, we'll be dropping them off with her. Just wanted you to have a face to the name." Daryl looked back at you, and out of old habit, you flashed him a thin-lipped polite smile.
Just then, the front door opened, and a polished-looking Rick and Carol came walking out. Daryl rolled his eyes slightly at Carol's appearance just as he had every day since arriving. And even you cocked an eye at Carol's outright theatrical attire.
They stopped their conversation and greeted Aaron with a good morning, "Morning! Sorry to interrupt." Aaron was quick to apologize, slightly stuttering over his words as he reintroduced you to the two new faces. "Where you from, Y/n?" Rick politely questioned, starting a conversation with you.
"I'm from New Jersey." You began conversation with Rick, sharing little details about yourself as Rick and Carol began to do the same. Daryl remained quiet, observing. His eyes traveled to your face as he continued to study the little details.
Your eyebrows were full and fluffy, causing your expressions to be exaggerated when you spoke.
There was a gleam of melancholy in your dark eyes and a purply hue stained on the skin around them. The residents of Alexandria didn't carry such traits; their eyes too bright and hopeful to have seen such horrors on the outside.
The gold necklace around your neck caught his eye as it gleamed in the sunlight. Daryl watched the gold chain and how it lay upon your neck; the way the metal fell into the divet of your collarbones, and the cornicello pendant just barely met the crease between your breasts.
And as he traced up and up the length of the chain, he saw the deep discolored scar carved into the delicate skin of your neck.
You could feel Daryl's eyes lingering on you. You slyly shifted your long, overgrown hair in an attempt to hide the apparent scar. Daryl quickly averted his gaze, realizing how long he'd allowed himself to look.
"Well, I'll let everyone go about their day." You took the first opportunity to excuse yourself. "I'm uh...down the street, in the smaller tan house next to Aaron's if anyone needs anything." You aimlessly pointed down the street and said a sweet goodbye to everyone. Daryl watched you jog down the stairs and be on your way.
The air felt different upon Daryl's skin as he brisked about the woods with Aaron by his side. A piece of him at peace with the sole of his boots touching the dirt ground once again, bow sludge over his shoulder. Aaron was doing the majority of the talking; Daryl had worn out all of his agreeable hums.
There was a sudden tussle in a nearby bush, Daryl froze on his feet. "Shh, stop." Daryl whispered, abruptly shoving his arm in front of Aaron to stop his movements. Aaron fell silent, stiffening every muscle in his body.
Daryl drew his bow quickly and fired a shot.
Aaron cringed at the rabbit hanging from a rope tied from Daryl's belt loop, watching it swing as they walked back into the gates of Alexandria.
Daryl turned to watch the gates slowly close behind him, saying a silent goodbye to the freedom of the outside.
"You can take that over to Y/n." Aaron encouraged, "Nah. Know what I'm doing." Daryl mumbled, walking away with his catch. Aaron sighed to himself, feeling defeated against the stubborn archer.
Aaron had explained how hunting would work within Alexandria. And Daryl wasn’t the fondest of the agreement.
He was meant to catch the game, take it to you for butchering, then take it to the communal pantry for safe keeping. But what if it was a small catch? A rabbit? A squirrel? A snake? These silver spoon fed people wouldn’t dare put those creatures in their mouths no matter how it was prepared. Doesn’t matter, Rick argued back, pleading with him to just do his job.
Carol promptly kicked Daryl off of the porch. Yelling at him for getting a drop of blood on the clean patio, saying she'd have to hose it down, and he was next in line.
Daryl was irritated. He huffed and puffed his way to the back of the house, squatting down in the grass to begin peeling the fur off the rabbit. But his irritability was making him messy, his hands more uncontrolled than usual. Curse words fell from his lips quietly.
"You want some help with that?"
Your voice broke through Daryl's temper tantrum.
You stood a couple of feet away, hands tucked loosely into the front pockets of your pants.
“Ya watchin’ me or somethin’?” Daryl spat.
You didn’t take offense, amused at his struggle with the poor creature.
“I have things that can make it easier…” You continued to offer, “For you…and me.” Daryl’s eyes shot up to you, harsh glare on his brow, seeing the way you cringed at his techniques.
You tossed your hands up in defeat, “Alright.” Daryl watched you turn away, walking in the other direction, seeming to not care if he was following. He grumbled to himself one last time, seething his blade, and rising to his feet.
His footsteps could be heard following you, a smirk appearing on your face that Daryl failed to see.
You walked into the garage first, flicking on the overhead light; it flickered on, the subtle buzz of the bulbs filling Daryl's ears. There was a strip of a long black slate anchored to the wall, various shapes of shiny knives magnetically held to it. A metal table sat beneath it with a slab of wood atop, previous knife marks etched into the material.
There was one large metal table placed in the middle of the garage, Daryl presumed for larger animals. But this one had no markings on the wood, almost perfectly untouched. He dragged his hand on the wood, examining. “No one hunts here, especially not gain that big.” He snapped back up to look at you, having answered exactly what he was thinking.
You motioned to the table behind you, signaling him to place down the skinned rabbit.
He did as expected, “Well, you did my least favorite part, so...thanks." Daryl merely nodded, chewing on his bottom lip. You picked a knife from the wall, moving your hair over your shoulder to keep it out of your way. The scar yet again in Daryl's view.
You entranced him. He watched your eyebrows furrow, showing your deep concentrasion and watched your hands move with the blade as if it was an extension of you.
He watched that gold chain dangle when you bent over slightly, the tendons in your neck flexing through your work.
You felt his eyes lingering just as they had hours ago on the porch.
"Do you want me to teach you? Or do you just wanna watch?" Your words were geuine but your raspy tone made his throat run dry. A feeling he had never experienced previously.
"Nah, you got it." He took a step back, leaning against the other table in the room, opting to observe from afar.
You had done your fair share of watching too, none that he'd known of. His daily mornings sitting out on the porch hadn't gone unnoticed.
Walking around the neighborhood, he'd caught your attention a few times, but he was always too focused on a task at hand to notice you.
You’d seen him on the group's first night, walking into Aaron’s house for dinner. Little did he know that he had taken your place at dinner that night, and you had secretly held it against him every day since.
The blade slicing into the skin and bones cracking in the meat were a familiar sound to you. They blended with the echo of the bugs beginning to chirp away in the woods as the sun was setting.
"Ya said yer from Jersey?" Daryl began. You smiled to yourself, peaking over your shoulder at him, "I am, yeah."
He never was one for small talk; he despised when people did it with him. But for a reason unknown, Daryl felt the need to know more of you.
Daryl hummed a response. "How'd ya become a butcher?"
"How'd you become a hunter?" Daryl was taken aback by your quick response. "Grew up in the south...spent a lot of time outside, I guess."
You let down your guard, realizing he meant no insult by his question. The question usually came from the mouths of ignorant men, questioning your qualifications merely because you were a woman.
You motioned to the rabbit with your knife. "My dad owned the local butcher shop, it was passed down from my great-grandfather. It'd been a staple in the neighborhood since the nineteen-twenties..." You stepped away from the table, placing down your blade, "That's how I learned." You opened a cabinet to your right, taking out a plastic bowl and lid.
You placed the various cuts of meat into the old tupperware and sealed the lid, wiping your hands on a towel before turning to hand it to Daryl. He stood straight from his leaning position, reluctant to reach out his hand. "What? Gotta go take it to the community pantry now?"
You could hear the bitterness in his tone.
"No. Take it home. These people will be fine without one little rabbit."
His eyebrows furrowed, looking at you, confused. “I won’t tell.” You reassured, nudging the bowl again. He reached for it, glancing from it to you again as if a way of saying really?
For the first time, he was able to look you in the face. Your eyes softened and a small smile dimpled your cheeks, "Goodnight, Daryl."
Daryl took this as his sign to leave, saying a mumbled goodnight and making way for the street. He could hear your footsteps fall behind him and the sound of the metal door beginning to slide shut. "Ya could uhm.." You stopped closing the door, arms still above your head, holding onto the metal frame. "Ya could come over for dinner...If you'd like. Sure everyone is gonna appreciate this."
His words were daring, a fleeting moment of courage on his part.
You thought for a second, looking out at the dark sky and imagining the comfort of your bed. "Hmm..." You hummed in thought. "Maybe tomorrow? Just keep that guy in the fridge for me?" You nudged your head to the bowl in his hands. Daryl agreed quickly, "Yes ma'am." He meant it politely, but it made you chuckle, not used to the southern hospitality.
You fought the smile from your face, "Night."
Daryl stood at the end of the driveway until the garage door had met the pavement, and the lights inside had gone dark.
"Hey, where ya been?" Carol greeted upon Daryl's entrance into the shared home, now wearing somewhat normal clothes. "Out." He responded bluntly, shoving the bowl of animal parts into her hands. "Out meeting some neighbors?” She teased, able to see through the clear tupperware, the meat looking nothing like Daryl's typical sloppy cuts.
Daryl grumbled a response unknown, lugging past everyone in the room. "Where ya going now?" Glenn shouted from his spot on the couch, egging on the teasing.
There came no response, but the sound of a door closing and the water in the shower hissing on soon hit everyone's ears.
Daryl was antsy the next day, waiting for dinner time to come around.
And just when the sun was low enough in the sky to begin its orange glow, a knock sounded from the door. Daryl was quick to drop what he was doing to, “Got it.” Rick and Carol exchanged a knowing glance.
“Hi.” Daryl greeted after he’d swung open the door.
You wore a black tank top with a matching black sheer t-shirt that hung slightly from your shoulders. Your dark jeans fit you comfortably and laid a top your square-toed boots, decorated with a buckle.
The silver of your earrings complemented the tone of your skin, conflicting with the gold around your neck, signifying that the necklace was never yours to begin with.
The small silver hoops showed your efforts and the wine bottle you held in one hand showed even more.
You clutched a wicker basket of what looked like groceries in one arm, various cans and fresh herbs sticking out of the woven material. “Hey.” You returned. “I can-“ He reached out for the basket, the weight visible in the way you held it.
“Thank you.” The basket shifted from your hands to his.
“Hey!” Rick greeted from the hall, waving you into the house.
Unfamiliar faces greeted you, faces that would soon be followed up by more unfamiliar names. After your quick introduction to the group, you met Daryl in the kitchen, approaching the island where he’d placed your basket.
Maggie and Carol met you in the kitchen, eager to see what you had to offer. You began to pull things from the basket, “I have a small garden, I thought it could be nice to have some things not from a can for once.” You laid out some mini potatoes. Maggie was quick to grab a bowl from the cabinet to stop them from rolling off the counter.
More small luxuries came from the basket: fresh parsley, a fresh onion, a can of fancy-looking tomato sauce, a pound bag of white rice, and mini carrots that you’d plucked far too soon.
Daryl admired your effort. Mini potatoes would carry what the little amount of meat couldn't, and the rice would make the portions stretch farther. “Thank you, Y/n.” Maggie thanked you sincerely, placing a hand on your shoulder.
“You,” Carol pointed at Daryl. “Get, get, let us focus.” Carol shooed Daryl from the kitchen, receiving a grumbly response.
Maggie and Carol helped you prepare dinner, chattering with you about their lives and the places the group has been.
Their accents made you chuckle at times, as yours did the same.
Daryl could see you slicing, cooking, chatting, the open floor concept allowing a perfect view from his perched spot by the window, secretly bitter. He listened carefully, ears perking when he heard an unfamiliar laugh.
You had a raspy tone, a deeper voice that could be seen as less feminine. He wondered if the injury to your neck had a part to play in that.
The table was set neatly, and extra chairs were brought over from the house next door to ensure everyone had a place. Carol had found placemats in an old cardboard box up in the attic, and Maggie was able to find a vase to place in the center of the table, using Daryl’s help to find some fresh wildflowers.
The seared rabbit was served in a thickened tomato stew sauce. Various vegetables, including potatoes and carrots from your secret garden, were gently boiled into the sauce. It was plated up over a pile of plush white rice, helping the meal stretch across the crowd of people.
Everyone was dished their share with a small glass of wine, and chatter filled the home in every corner, a glimpse of what a normal life could hold.
The overwhelming pressure to appear perfect wasn't present at the table as you blended with the group comfortably.
Daryl was last to make his plate, allowing the others to take their share before his own. He was timid to approach the full dining table, everyone seemingly content with who sat beside them.
You noticed Daryl standing awkwardly to the side beginning to eat standing up. You scooted your chair over, making room for Daryl to sit, not breaking from your conversation.
He noticed your small act, hesitant to take the seat beside you. But the welcoming smile you flashed him and a pat to the empty chair made it easier.
The past year of survival became a distant memory in everyone’s mind. For a second, it only mattered who sat at that table and how much wine was left.
The table began to empty as the day grew later, empty chairs scattered about, and the room grew quieter. Members of the group ventured off to the other house, beginning to grow more comfortable in splitting up amongst themselves.
Four bodies were left at the table; Maggie, Glenn, Daryl, and you. It began to feel more intimidate, the liquor laxing anyone’s discomfort.
Maggie took a swig, setting her empty glass upon the table, "Do you enjoy it here? You can be honest." She was addressing you directly, putting a spotlight on your head.
You looked down, eyebrows furrowed, trying to form your thoughts into words that wouldn't scare them away. "I don't always agree with them...I've had my issues. Settling here wasn't exactly easy for me." You glanced beside you to Daryl, knowing he was struggling the same.
"Deanna told me." Maggie began, "Told me you fought with Spencer, right?"
You hesitated to respond, a nervous chuckle sounding from your chest, "Yeah..I did. I uhh...had your job actually." You motioned over at Daryl, who looked back at you, arms crossed and brows furrowed. "Got that taken away from me after that fight."
That day was still a vivid memory for you, one that held various emotions ranging from embarrassment to regret.
Your impulses allowed you to hit him.
And his lack of self-control allowed him to hit you back; it wasn't a pretty scene to have to unfold. Deanna pulled you from runs soon after, preaching to you all the ways freedom beyond the walls was to be earned, not expected as a member of this community. So now, you were stuck being the butcher, the watchman, and the neighbor.
"I was angry about a lot." You confessed.
“But then I soon realized my anger was actually envy. I was envious that they've never seen what's out there. Never had to kill anyone, they never had to..." Your words dragged as your face scrunched, "...smell them."
"They'll never know what it feels like to be so hungry that your stomach starts eating away at itself."
Daryl cringed at your words, the feeling all too familiar.
"But looking past all of that, I owed it to Aaron to at least try, as do all of you." Your words sat for a moment, marinating in everyone's gut much like the food you prepared hours ago.
Maggie gave you an emphatic smile, “We will." She followed her words with a reassuring nod.
Maggie thanked you for talking with her, taking Glenn’s hand in her own before wishing you a goodnight.
Now, after Maggie and Glenn’s departure, Daryl and you sat alone, your previous words still lingering in the air.
You took the last sip of your wine from your glass, placing it down upon the table. “Would you like to go outside?" The room had begun to feel suffocating, your lungs begging for a fresh breath.
Daryl shut the door gently behind him, not wishing to disturb any sleeping souls.
A sigh of relief left you when the fresh air hit your face, cooling your flushed cheeks caused by the liquor. You leaned your back against one of the support beams by the stairs, stretching your arms slightly. “Ya have a good understanding of things.” Daryl met you, taking the beam opposite you. You smiled to yourself, “I’m lonely in this world…gives you a lot of time to think.” Though your words were said in a joking manner, it did not conceal the truth they held.
He looked at you sincerely, “You have us now.”
Your eyes met his and your gaze softened.
You gave him a single nod, “You have my gratitude.” A smile tugged at your cheek, your eyes not breaking from his.
Time wagered on, and the walls of your garage became a safe haven for you to share.
Daryl stopped fighting and did his duty to Alexandria, seeking out new recruits with Aaron. Over time, Deanna allowed him to go beyond the walls on his own for hunting. Daryl had you to thank for that; you'd done a majority of the persuading, instilling fear in Deanna of the upcoming winter.
The early mornings on his own excited him the most. No matter the day, you were always at the gates, ready to stand guard, a rifle on your hip.
You'd send him off with a grougy see you soon, sleep still in your eyes, and retrieved him with a smile and a hopeful, what do you have for me?
Daryl found a routine in his days: recruiting, hunting, working on the bike, and...you.
On the days Daryl didn’t succeed in bringing back game, he still managed to find a way to your home. Daryl, you, and the whiskey bottle hidden under your sink had become well acquainted.
You’d sit on your porch at night, sipping on glasses of whiskey, passing back and forth a lit cigarette, and carried conversation. You spoke of your family, sharing memories of your brothers and the divorce that split your family into two.
Your father and mother divorced when you were fourteen, your mother's affair with the farmer who delivered the meat unraveling.
The eldest of your two brothers, Christopher, ten years your elder, was already deep into his career at a college in New York: an apartment and a pretty girlfriend in grasp. The middle child, Lucas, was in his last year of high school, with an acceptance letter from that same college pinned on the refrigerator, bags already packed on the closet floor.
That left you, the youngest, terrified to start high school, caught in the crossfire of a custody battle.
Your mom didn't get along with you much as you grew into yourself during those early years of teenage youth. She hated how much time you spent with your father, hated how many traits you carried from him, and wasn't afraid to express it.
Her desperation for sole custody was a last resort to get her only daughter back. It wasn't until you said yourself, I want to stay with Dad, that she accepted her defeat.
She'd left to go live with her new farmer lover in Virginia, leaving your father with an empty home and an even emptier heart.
The divorce papers were signed, and for years after, it became squeezing into your aunt Lydia's car with your brothers during the holiday season or special occasions.
But the road trips became fewer as the years grew on. Christoper became too busy with work and his soon-to-be wife. Lucas, too busy with schoolwork and enticed by partying.
It left you alone. You could feel the emptiness of the home, a home that once was filled with constant chatter, music, or the sound of gatherings as your mother cooked away in the kitchen, grew silent.
Daryl had listened to you intently as you’d speak, becoming comfortable enough to share details of himself. He'd speak of Merle, how he lost his mother, but saved you the grim stories about his father.
He’d ask how you found yourself here, states away from what you knew.
I can ask you the same, you'd retort.
But through your wit, you'd explained in detail how you planned to come to Virginia to see your mother again, a mission unsuccessful.
But there were holes in the story, a quick skip over speaking on your time on the road. Daryl didn’t persist; he knew if you had more to tell, his visits couldn’t lessen, and he’d always have a reason to keep coming back.
Daryl spent plenty of time studying you. He began to learn your movements, remembered every knick and scar etched on your hands, and could see stories untold hiding behind your eyes. He remembered the way you said certain words differently from him, your accents equally fighting for dominance amidst conversation.
And then on a random day, it began to dawn on Daryl that his initial lust was turning into something deeper.
It happened when you were teaching him how to cut a rabbit. You’d let him take the reins, his own knife in hand as you stood arms crossed and watched.
From the corner of his eye, he’d seen you take a step forward after a cut, and then step away. “What?” He stopped his movements, awaiting your correction.
“Just…” You’d approached from his right side, standing too close, and touched his hand to adjust the position of his fingers. “If you slip, you’re gonna cut yourself.” Your correcting hand didn’t move away quick enough. It slid down and grazed his wrist ever so gently.
Daryl watched you blink slowly and shift your gaze from his hand to his face, providing a gentle smile to cover your actions. “Thanks…”
It scared him at first, realizing that never in his life had he ever experienced such emotions. He’d never met someone who treated him the way you had; you were gentle and forgiving while simultaneously firm.
He could try to run from it, but Carol’s constant nagging wouldn’t allow him to escape.
"She must be lonely." She'd look to him with insuating eyes, "In that big house all by herself." Following up with a nudging elbow.
"Stop." He'd respond, pushing her nagging arm away.
"Morning, Daryl." You'd greeted just as you had every morning before.
"Morning." He strolled up to the gates with his bike, arrow slung on his back.
The days were growing chillier, especially early mornings such as this. The leaves were beginning to change and the branches were becoming bare. You began to wear sweaters and jackets to keep warm on the guard tower, the winds becoming harsher, nipping at your skin.
Daryl was on his way out, a quiet morning to himself.
“Wanna come with me?” Daryl offered as he straddled his bike. I do, you wanted to say, so badly.
You looked out of the gates, down that long, empty road, and the rusted cars that littered it, and the fallen leaves blew about in mini air tornadoes caused by the wind. You shook your head, “Can’t...Doing double watch shifts today with everyone out on that run.”
Though Daryl was half joking in his offer, your answer still struck disappointment in him. He hummed a response, “S’alright. See you soon.” With that, the bike grumbled alive. You watched Daryl leave, closing the gate when he was finally out of view.
Daryl had lots of time to think on the road, and you even longer posted at the tower.
When you weren’t reading a book, you often found your thoughts wandering to him. Constantly checking the hands on your watch, wishing time would move faster, and the grumble of his bike would once again fill your ears.
Though you’d only known him for a short time, Daryl was slowly becoming the only thing that made each day meaningful. You twiddled with the pendant around your neck, mindlessly touching it to your lips and nose as you stared out to the forest, succumbing to your mind.
You fought with yourself endlessly, constantly asking if suppressing your desires was what you truly wanted.
He was a thought in your mind at the most convenient times; late at night when you tossed and turned in your empty bed, in an even emptier home, when the only way to ease your mind was by slipping your hand past your waistline.
The sun was beginning to set, the sky turning to hues of pink and purple. You rested a foot atop one of the metal beams of the wall, your chin resting atop the butt of your rifle as you aimlessly stared down the same empty road.
Soon, the days would grow shorter and the nights drastically colder. You could feel that familiar fall chill beginning to settle into your bones, your first winter season since the incident.
Out of habit, you reached up. Your fingertips grazed over your raised scar, grimacing at the way it felt, grimacing over the fact that it was there at all, forever holding a memory you wished to forget.
The sound of the wooden ladder creaking caught your attention, making you drop your hand. You were confused for a brief moment, but the familiar annoyed grunt and heavy steps settled any of your confusion.
Daryl finished his climb, his heavy boots disturbing the stillness of the floor beneath your feet. He shook his head, taking the empty chair beside you. "Didn't think you were up here, weren't here when I got back."
"Apologies, a girl needed a potty break." You nudged him slightly with your knee, earning a chuckle.
Daryl watched the way your eyes shifted back out to the road, looking at nothing. "Ya alright?" You didn't look at him, catching your bottom lip between your teeth, slightly chewing at it. "Sometimes I can feel the distance between me and home."
Daryl hummed in agreement. "What was home to you?"
Daryl spoke lightly of the place he called home. He shrugged, looking to his feet, "Home doesn't have to be four walls and a roof, it's..." You paused, crinkling your brows. "The honeysuckle bush you eat flowers off of in the summer...The river that has a manmade bridge across it...The local bakery that smells like warm sugar...The man in the butcher shop who asks you what you're cooking for dinner that night and jokes if he can be invited." You swallowed harshly, fighting back a sting of tears.
"The lake my brother and I used to fish in, where we flipped our boat one time..." Daryl interjected in your pause. You fell silent, testing to see if he'd continue. "The woods where I learned to hunt n'track." A smirk tugged at his cheek, "The diner where the waitresses remembered my order, didn't have to look at a menu for years in that place."
He picked at the growing hole in his jeans. You watched his anxious movements, noticing the way the topic made him antsy.
“Hey…” Your hand reached for his, gently taking it in your own as a means of comfort. Your skin was soft in his grasp, much unlike the years of wear and tear on his own.
"Lost my dad at the start," Daryl confessed. "Got bit, Merle put him down."
You whispered a quiet apology. "My dad never got to see any of this."
Thank god, you thought, but stopped your words out of fear of insult.
"We lost him before, right before actually...last time I saw my brothers was at his funeral." Daryl watched your sad look switch to a nostalgic smile, "I remember making jokes at his viewing to try to stop ourselves from fallin' apart. And my mom would yell at us, which only made it funnier. It was like we were kids again, giggling in church because the pastor tripped over the cord to his microphone. We'd fought, laughed, cried, and hugged all within a few hours, then got plastered drunk at dinner, and played tag in the streets of our old neighborhood."
He watched the way your laugh lit up your entire face; crinkling your eyes, plumping your cheeks, moving your chest with vibration.
The joy came to a brief halt, your eyes catching something beyond the walls. Daryl followed your gaze, expecting a lone walker, but to his surprise, a large buck stood farther down the road, sniffing at the pavement. "Where the hell were you?" Daryl cursed quietly. You moved in sync, standing up slowly from the chairs, readying your weapons.
You balanced the rifle on the edge of the metal, pressing your shoulder into the butt, and peering through the scope. Your chest rose and fell in anticipation, waiting for the perfect moment. We all just want meat. The silencer on the rifle made the bullet silent, the deer's body falling to the dirt with a subtle thump.
Daryl's eyes widened, feeling as though he could jump up with excitement, and then he looked to you. Your expression was still, looking at where the deer once stood, as if surprised it was no longer there. "Hey..." Daryl gently placed a hand on your shoulder, "Ya did good."
You came back to, allowing your tight grip on the rifle to soften and your shoulder to relax under his touch.
You looked to your shoulder where his hand lay flat against your sweater, then looked up to him.
His hand dropped as you stood abruptly, seemingly forcing him from you. "We gotta go get it before the wallkers do." Daryl had no time to process as you were already making your way down the ladder, ordering Glenn to open the gates.
"Jesus." You muttered. Daryl and Rick dragged the animal atop the large table, dropping it with a thud. "This outta keep you busy, right?" Rick joked, hands on his hips as the lifting had taken his breath. "A little too busy, might've flown too close to the sun with this one." You stepped closer to the table, eyeing the size of the carcass, realizing you'd never taken on such a project on your own, always having your father at your side to guide and assist.
You grazed its fur coat, taking a moment to evaluate the job at hand. You were much more delicate with the animal, a habit Daryl was ashamed to admit he didn't have.
"I can help." Daryl offered quickly.
You glanced at him with a small smile.
"Thought you had plans to keep working on your bike?" He brushed you off, "Ain't doing nothing special, just trynna make it big enough to fit two..." His words were insinuating, his eyes saying those three words he'd said hours before, come with me.
"Hmhm..I'm sure you and Aaron will be very comfortable." You joked smoothly dancing around his words.
Rick chuckled, glancing between you with amusement.
"I gotta go talk to Deanna first. Get someone to pick up the rest of my watch shift and turn my rifle in. I can meet you back here after?"
"I can cover your watch." Rick offered, "I was heading back up that way anyway...we'll just go get the okay from Deanna."
"No, Rick, that's okay, really...I'll make Spencer or-"
Rick shook his head, waving away your protests, "We take care of our own."
You nodded, saying a quiet thank you.
Daryl followed on the journey, feeling awkward idling in your garage, alone.
After Deanna gave the okay, you made your way back to the watchtower, passing off your rifle and bonacalrs, performing a changing of the guard routine.
"Y/n!" You turned around, Rick and Daryl turning with you. Jessie approached quickly, her blonde ponytail bopping behind her, a perky smile on her face. "Hey, sorry...." She'd lost breath from her quick jog over. "I just wanted to say thank you on behalf of...well, everyone."
You cocked an eyebrow her way, tilting your head to the side as a means of saying, for?
"The deer. I mean, everyone is really excited, heard the Johnsons saying we should have a community barbecue before it gets too cold." She chuckled again breathlessly. You could not speak your mind in the moment, but your face conveyed the words your mouth couldn't. "Yeah, that would be nice." A polite smile and head nod covered you, but Daryl didn't miss it. That initial glare that shone through at the slight ignorance.
“You should come see me for a cut.” She motioned to your hair, “It’s grown a lot.”
You seemed hesitant, shrugging your shoulders, “I don’t mind it…” You twiddled with the ends of your hair, feeling its length. It'd grown well past your shoulders, reaching the midst of your back.
"I can always do a trim..." It was as though she was speaking aloud, mindlessly taking a step closer. She moved to touch your hair, fingers slightly grazing your neck. You flinched at her touch, instinctively creating distance and covering the scar on your neck. She dropped your hair, apologies beginning to spill. "It's fine, it's fine." You repeated again and again as you rubbed your neck as a means of comfort.
Jessie meant no ill intent, but her actions had triggered a gloomy memory. "I'm gonna get home." You excused yourself abruptly; this small chat coming to an unexpected end. "I gotta get to work." You'd excused, turning to leave. Daryl watched you walk away, your movements stiff and uncomfortable, much unlike your usual stride of confidence.
“I’m sorry, I forgot some people don’t like to be touched and I just get too handsy, I’m-“ Jessie sighed deeply, trying to shake away her word vomit. “S’alright,” Rick reassured. But Daryl didn't care for reassurance, choosing to follow your footsteps.
Daryl approached your house, checking for any signs of life.
The curtains were drawn, no form of light besides the setting sun, and the garage door was securely shut. Disappointment struck him, realizing your time together would be cut short, but Daryl could take a hint, and the hint was given. He'd opted to continue on his way, reaching Aaron's house next door.
On his way back home, your garage door was half way open allowing him to see half your body as you worked about the garage. He stood with himself for a second, debating.
You jumped slightly when the garage door squeaked its way fully open; but you didn’t have to turn to look, for you knew the only person it could be.
“Hi.” Daryl greeted, closing the door behind him.
“Hey.” You didn’t look at him, continuing to cut into the small slab of meat that was left on your table.
“What’ve ya been up to?” Daryl asked stupidly, simply trying to start conversation, dancing around the shift in your usual persona.
You motioned to the room around you and the meat slabs lying in front, “You?”
He pointed aimlessly towards Aaron’s house. “Been working on the bike.” You hummed in response not breaking from your task at hand.
Daryl chewed on his bottom lip, wondering if he’d made the wrong choice. He turned his focus to the once-clean table, now stained red, with knife marks scarring the surface.
“On my way down to Virginia, I stumbled upon this community by the shore, up in Maryland.” Daryl’s ears perked.
“They’d taken up residence on this camping site that had a whole bunch of wood cabins. It was quiet, pushed far back into the woods where it was hidden, only dealt with walkers here and there.” You did not stop your work, the blade continuing to slice the red meat into portioned slabs.
“The warmer weather was prosperous…there was always fish to catch, the gardens bloomed, people had bonfires and made s'mores with expired marshmallows and stale crackers."
"But winter was harder…a lot harder. Couldn’t find much food. It was freezing all the time. I never lived by the water...I never knew just how cold it could get." You placed the meat into a metal bowl, turning to place the full bowl on the clean table behind you.
"It slowed down the walkers, which was great," You chuckled, though it wasn't genuine. "But everything slowed with them. Crops died, rivers froze up, birds flew south, the ocean became too cold to fish in without risk of hypothermia...People were getting hungrier and more desperate. They started looking for…a different kind of meat.” You wiped your stained hands with a damp cloth, turning to face Daryl.
“They’d approached me asking if I could…flay someone. Not something, someone."
“I wouldn’t do it, I couldn’t. They were…upset? Disappointed? Angry?” You mumbled a quiet I don’t know, your cloth making a slapping sound against the table behind you as you tossed it. “I knew after that I had to go.”
Daryl chewed on his lip, "How'd ya make it out?"
You smiled slightly, “I had a friend I met there, her name was Perla. We were coming up with different ways to leave, writing on maps the different routes, we never...never got to, you know, go." A frown drew on your cheeks, the memory of a friend long gone.
"The woman who…did this to me, she was a hairstylist before, so she’d make sure everyone was cleaned up.” You could remember her sweet voice, the gentle demeanor she’d approached you with, practically pleading with you to trim your growing locs.
“She was an older lady, frail, her hands were shaky and unsteady. I don’t think she knew just how deep she would’ve had to cut to actually kill me.”
Your hands clasped at your neck, and as you pulled them away, the bright sticky blood coated your hands.
You fell from the tree stump, straight on your bum, desperately skurrying away with your free arm as the betrayal dawned on you. Wide-eyed, you looked to the woman you could've called a friend, and saw the pitiful look she gave in return. And then you looked to the bloody knife still in hand. "I'm sorry, dear." She apologized, "We all just want meat."
"Y/n!" Perla's voice broke through your haze. "Y/n! Run! Go! Run!" She screamed over and over, pointing to the forest.
"I just...ran. I don't even know if anyone was ever after me but I didn't stop."
“Perla was a nurse before; she taught me a lot, and it got me far enough...I carried on with what I originally wanted to do and eventually ended up in Virginia. Aaron found me when my wounds were on the verge of infection, I was starving and paranoid of anything dead...or alive.”
You twiddled with your fingers, looking down, unsure of how to continue.
"There were these people, down in Georgia, they had this sanctuary." He used air quotations with a sarcastic tone. "Painted a pretty picture, drew people in, and then killed them, ate 'em." He watched you look back to him, eyebrows furrowed.
"They had Rick, Glenn, and me down on our knees over this big metal tub. We were tied up, gagged...And then they started working their way down the line...Slittin' guys throats letting 'em bleed out in the drain."
"I remember lookin' around the room, trynna find a way to fight my way out, but there was nothin'. One of the first times I ever felt so...helpless." The word itself was difficult for Daryl to say, admitting, in his mind, such a weakness.
"I'm tellin' ya because a lot of people just say they understand when they don't, when they never can, but I can. I want you to know that...And you're damn strong for making it out, moving on from it, trusting another group again." His eyes did not leave yours as he nodded, "Damn strong, Y/n."
Your embrace was quick, pulling him into your grasp after a quick two-step forward.
He was reluctant to accept your embrace, hands awkwardly by his side. But when you didn't immediately pull away, and he heard a small sniffle, he slowly accepted your touch, wrapping his arms loosely around your back. A deep sigh left you, your body seemingly melting into his.
Your chin rested on his shoulder as his did the same, his nose brushing against your hair.
You'd pinned your hair up, keeping it out of your way while you worked, but this left you vulnerable, your skin bare and open. The smell of iron lingered from the stains you'd gotten on your clothes, your neck smelling sweetly of sweat from your hours of work. And for some reason, it aroused him. He wanted to taste you, to taste the sweetness of your skin and the saltiness of your labor.
You moved your arms up, sliding against the leather of his vest, almost pulling him in closer.
He felt your breath against the nape of his neck, close enough that your breath moved the little hairs that grew there.
The sensitive spot of his neck was only inches away, calling to you. And for a split second, you debated it. You pulled your head back, grazing the side of his cheek with your own. But your grip on him didn't loosen.
Your eyes connected briefly, your daunting look causing Daryl's stomach to twist.
You closed your eyes once more, leaning in close enough to bump his nose with your own. There was hardly any breath between you, all the oxygen in the room being sucked out by the simple anticipation of what could come.
You wanted Daryl to bridge the gap, to relinquish the heat that was burning in your core but Daryl was too fearful to continue without your voiced approval.
Just as the words were on the tip of your tongue, words of pleading, the garage door squeaked and metal scraping filled your ears.
You pulled yourself away, stepping away too fast and bumping into the table behind you. The table bumped the wall, rattling a knife loose from the magnetic strip. You caught your balance, resting a hand on your hip. Daryl gripped the edge of the table he leaned against, head lowered in embarrassment.
Aaron's hand froze on the door oblivious to what he'd wandered into.
You cursed yourself silently, wishing you'd never given him unlimited access to your home.
"Sorry, uh..." He looked back and forth, debating if fleeing was a better option, "I was just checking on your progress, Y/n."
You sighed deeply, "Yeah, it's- it's done." You motioned around the room as if saying, Do you still see a dead fucking deer?
Aaron awkwardly played with his hands. "Is that the last of it?" He motioned to the large metal bowl on the table behind you.
You were apparently annoyed. "Yeah, still gotta run it to the pantry."
"Deanna just wanted it all done today, and I can run it over for you if you'd like, I uhm-"
You mumbled a curse beneath your breath, snatching the bowl from the table, and quickly made way for Aaron. Aaron backed up as you approached, watching you speed walk past him.
Daryl could hear you curse at him in the distance as Aaron jogged to catch up, I don't need a fucking babysitter!
Daryl was quick to make an exit after you left, his feelings and body in disarray, too overwhelmed to wait for your return.
At first, he was frustrated, both physically and mentally.
But the longer he sat with his frustration, it simmered into guilt. The guilt of putting you in such a vulnerable situation and dragging you down into the embarrassment with him.
Daryl made his way onto your porch, ready to get on his knees and beg for your forgiveness. The door swung open before he reached it.
You didn't say anything, merely stepped aside and allowed him entry.
The house was dark, a warm orange glow cast into the hallway from the living room. Daryl could feel the warmth radiating from the fire you had going in the fireplace, the inside of the home cozy compared to the sharp cold outside.
"Didn't think you'd come back."
"M'sorry." He began, ignoring you. "Didn't mean to embarrass ya." He watched your face twist with confusion as you shut the door behind you.
"Why would I be embarrassed?" You'd asked, attempting to not laugh. He shrugged slightly, "Daryl, I'm not embarrassed." You crossed your arms over your chest, standing comfortably close. He could smell the fresh scent of soap on your skin from where he stood, noticing the dampness that remained on your hair.
There was a moment of silence where neither of you knew what to say, both of you waiting for the other to approach what'd happened hours ago, to put the other out of their misery. "What do we do now?" Daryl asked innocently.
"What do you want to do?"
"Why ya gotta do that?" There was a ting of annoyance in his tone.
You cocked your head, "Do what?"
"Answer questions with a question."
You scoffed slightly, shaking your head, mumbling an apology.
Daryl shifted on his feet, "Just..." He sighed deeply.
"What, D?" The nickname coming from your lips caught his breath. "Say it like it is."
"'You want me to say it like it is?"
"I want you." You dropped your arms at your side in defeat. "In a way, I don't know if I understand." A standstill moment followed. Daryl could feel his heart pounding in his chest, forming a lump in his throat. It took a moment for your mind to catch up with what you'd allowed your mouth to spill. "What don't ya understand?"
You sighed deeply, your mouth agape for a mere second, "I've spent a lot of time alone." You repeated your steps from before, bridging whatever distance remained between your two bodies, "Even before all this..."
You reached for his hands, guiding them to rest on your hips, "I don't wanna be alone anymore."
You wore a gray, thin, long sleeve with little white buttons down its front and matching bottoms that openly flowed at your ankles. Daryl looked down, watching your hands as they began to undo the buttons, feeling his heartbeat quicken at every single one.
Your skin revealed more and more of itself, the shape of your breasts beginning to show.
The delicate fabric dropped to the floor, leaving you bare-chested and vulnerable.
The hands that rested on your hips no longer rested; his thumbs began kneading into the soft skin of your hips, digging into your bone. He closed his eyes for a moment, forcing away all of his anxieties.
"Your turn." Your words caught him by surprise, and your hands began to slip his vest from his shoulders, dropping the leather to the floor with a thump. The black button-up was next to go, your hands beginning to undo every button. "Is that okay?" Your words were gentle, almost a whisper. He hesitated to nod, forcing himself to swallow down his own insecurities about his scars.
He began to help you, finishing the last few buttons and letting his garment join his vest on the floor.
There's a muffled noise of surprise as Daryl roughly meets your lips, teeth bumping into yours.
He tasted of the cigarette he'd smoked on the way over and smelled of the pine soap that was stocked at the pantry.
One hand finds the back of Daryl's neck, resting comfortably, while the other grasps to undo his belt. You begin to guide him in your steps, back and back, until his calves bump the edge of the couch.
His lips break from yours once more, his hands still resting upon your jaw. You're both breathless, lips plumed and wet. He tilts your head slightly, starting to plant delicate kisses on your jaw. He pauses as he gets closer to the scarred skin, "Please." A single plea trembles through your lips. He continues, kissing over the delicate skin, trailing down to your collarbones, then your chest, then your breasts.
Daryl can feel your chest heaving beneath his lips; he can see the small goosebumps arising on your skin, your nipples hardening.
The pendant you wore gleamed in the glow of the fire, mesmerizing him as he stood level with you once again. His lips lurched for yours, but you pulled back, scarcely avoiding his grasp.
Who was he to deny you such pleasures?
He plopped down onto the plush cushions behind him, shimming his pants down to his ankles. You did the same, stepping out of the delicate fabric, leaving it on the floor behind you.
You straddled him, controlling balance by gripping tightly onto his shoulders. Daryl can feel you shifting properly, and for a moment, he holds his breath. Your mouth agapes, a soft sigh falling from both your lips at the feeling of the other. For a second, you don't move, your forehead pressed against his, basking in his presence.
At first, your hips rolled against his slowly, a torturing pace for both of you. But as the pleasure began to consume you, you moved desperately, a mixture of moans and whimpers sounding from your lips.
Daryl was rough from his prolonged desire but still gentle in the way he handled you, scared he'd hurt you despite your pleas for more.
“Don’t stop.” His head dropped back against the couch, the words once again trembling through his lips. Don't stop.
The bright morning sun shone through the treetops, creating a glow against the changing leaves. The forest appeared warm, the orange and red leaves radiating a certain warmth.
Daryl’s fingers grazed the rushing cold water of the creek. The water flowed, colliding with various rocks, creating whirlpools and bubbles. He watched leaves flow with that water, creating buildups farther down the way. His mind wandered to you, thinking of the state he'd left you in less than an hour ago.
You'd laid on your stomach, cuddling the pillow beneath your head, bare back partially uncovered from the blanket. He'd moved your messy hair from your face, admiring the way your long lashes lay upon your closed eyes.
A large splash in the water merely two feet away brought him back to.
The sudden noise startled him. He quickly stood, whipping his bow from behind his back.
You leaned an arm against a tree, looking down upon him unpleased, a second rock readily in hand.
You wore jeans and a thick knitted sweater, fighting the early morning chill.
“The hell you doing?” Daryl cursed, squinting up at you, surprised to see you in such an unfamiliar environment. “Woke up and you weren’t there…” You confessed unapologetically, “Found you now.” Daryl scoffed, beginning his way up the riverbank. He knew you’d tracked him down with nothing but determination in your heart. "Yer too damn quiet on yer feet."
You reached out a hand, giving him one last pull up the slanted hill. “M’sorry wasn’t trynna leave ya.” He stood in front of you, shaking the hair from his face. You helped him, reaching up to brush his outgrown bangs from his eyes.
“Good, I know where you live.”
“Hmm…” He hummed, “thinking about moving actually.”
You tilted your head, eyebrows raised, "Oh?" You could not conceal the smile from your face, secretly wanting nothing more. He hummed once more, nodding his head.
“Why’d you leave then?” The smile faded from your features. You looked at him delicately, attempting to cover your self-doubt.
You'd awaken with heavy sleep still in your eyes, raising your head from the plush pillow to look for Daryl, only to find a tangle of sheets and an empty space.
“Was trying to make it back before ya woke up.” Daryl slung his bag from his shoulder, beginning to unzip the main pocket. He grabbed the green plastic stems, shimming them out of his bag. Out came a bouquet of false flowers, white lilies, small daisies, and various other flowers you couldn't name. There was a plastic-like shine to the filler leaves and accumulated dust stuck to the fabric on the flowers. Daryl tried to dust this away, “Saw them in a house a little while back, I was gonna surprise ya.”
Once he’d gotten enough dust off to his liking, he held them out for you.
You gently reached for his face, guiding his lips to yours, placing a delicate peck on his lips. “Thank you.” You grazed his cheeks with your thumbs. He snaked his arms around your waist, pulling you in close. You rested your forehead against his, closing your eyes. For the first time in ever, Daryl sighed, a feeling of content consuming him.
The birds sang their morning songs, the bugs followed their tune, and the rushing water only added to the melody.
"Come on, gotta get back, we can eat some breakfast." You released him from your grasp, fixing the rifle that slipped from your shoulder. "Alright." Daryl put the flowers back into his pack, putting it over his free shoulder. He gently reached for your hand, not wanting to let you slip too far behind.
Dried leaves crunched under your feet as you walked. The jagged branches and vines cling to Daryl as he carries on just as you had the night before.
You could see the metal walls of Alexandria begin to peek through the trees. "I have to tell you something." You spoke, halting his steps by stopping your own. Daryl turned to you, confused and concerned. "Deanna wants me back out here...says I can start joining you and Aaron some days."
"Is that what you want?" You thought for a moment, "I wanna be out here with you, yeah."
He chewed at his lip. A piece of him wanted to protest, to tell you no, to stay within the walls, safe, where nothing can touch you. But he couldn't be so selfish. "Alright."
Daryl nodded, but you could see the uncertainty he couldn't hide. Your thumb grazed his knuckles, "S'alright, promise. Besides, told ya bike's gonna be big enough to fit two."
