Author's Note: I don't own any part of The Walking Dead franchise. My mutterings shall receive no profit, only mild amusement, hopefully.
This is mostly a character study that gets into issues of race and ideological transformations and other similarly light-hearted topics. If that's not your bag, you might wanna skip this story. Also, I know it's long, so consider yourself warned. I tried splitting it up but, at the end of the day, it just didn't read the way I wanted it to that way. But if I get feedback that it bothers folks, I'll consider changing that. And fear not, I'm still working on my other stories and logged in a good deal of progress on them over the weekend. Hooray!
Blah, blah, blah…on to the story!
"Do you think it's weird, us being out here like this?"
Daryl and Michonne were sitting side by side on a small wooden bench in front a broken down storefront. The area of shops was too meager to be considered a strip mall, but there had been a couple of nice spots to hit up for random supplies when they'd stumbled upon it a couple of months ago. They'd cleared it of walkers, and, for once, the parasites were slow to trickle back in.
At the moment, they were bored out of their minds—and frustrated. Even though the day had looked bright and peaceful when they'd left on Daryl's motorcycle, they were currently caught in a downpour. Daryl suggested they simply wait out the rain since they were ahead of schedule. Holding off for a while seemed like a better idea than riding in a thunderstorm.
"Hmm?" Daryl hadn't been paying attention to her, probably preoccupied with their predicament.
They were on their way back from scouting out a potential lead on the Governor's whereabouts—an apartment complex about 50 miles from the prison. Michonne had stumbled upon it during one of her excursions and thought the discovery significant enough to retrieve Daryl and search the area together as they'd done the previous fall. They failed to find anything conclusive which soured both of their moods. They sussed out that, until very recently, people had been living in a couple of the apartments for quite a while. However, those people had moved on at least a week or two before, heading even farther away from the prison towards Macon. And, of course, there was no way to really tell if one of those people had been the Governor.
Yet, something about the setup pulled at Michonne's instincts, Daryl's too, even if he insisted on ignoring it. She'd gotten pretty good at reading him.
So it was back to square one as they returned to the prison. The only bright side to the situation was the large number of supplies they spotted while roaming around the apartment complex. Daryl figured they could salvage a lot of the items laying around the building for use around the rustic rooms they called home. He mentioned coordinating a run with Glenn and a few other folks to pick through the place, maybe even before the Big Spot gig he'd been talking over with Sasha.
Repeating her question, Michonne followed Daryl's movements as he continued to scope out the empty streets surrounding them. His motorcycle stood a few feet away along the covered sidewalk area that kept them dry. It felt pleasantly cool outside despite the dampness, and they'd opted to bide their time out in the open rather than holed up in a dark, desolate building that reeked of mildew and rotting walkers. For their troubles, they shared a large bag of plain M&M's between them, a prize Daryl found tucked away in the picked over hardware store.
Mulling over his response, Daryl looked up at the sky again, trying to calculate how much longer their wait would be. "I don't know 'bout weird, more like a spot 'a bad luck. The way the clouds are movin', I bet it'll let up pretty soon, let us get back on the road."
Michonne barely glanced up into the clouds to confirm, unconvinced that the harsh rain shower would stop in the next half hour.
"No, I didn't mean us waiting out the weather. I mean, like me and you specifically sitting together like this?
"Why's that weird? We been doin' runs since the fall." It was now going on late winter or early spring, with the days getting longer and the bitter chill of the past season burning away. "You lookin' for a new travelin' buddy?" he asked absently, doing another visual sweep of the area around them. "'Cause you the one came runnin' to me."
She smirked at him. "I don't think my nerves could handle going out with anyone else so often." After a moment she added, "Don't let that go to your head." Daryl grinned back and reached into the bag for more candy, licking his hand as he finished eating. She directed her gaze at his freshly licked fingers and glared in disapproval. Daryl rolled his eyes, and sucked at his last finger with a dramatic flourish to annoy her.
Turning her attention back to the pouring rain, Michonne sighed. "I think we do okay out here. We get the job done and come back alive." Daryl grunted his agreement. A few beats of silence hung between them as she pondered whether to continue. "What I meant was, before all this craziness went down, did you ever see yourself hanging out with someone like me?" She looked directly at him as she asked, curiosity having outpaced her caution.
Daryl's amusement faded. He certainly hadn't been expecting that kind of loaded question, and Michonne could tell it made him uncomfortable. "What you goin' on about?"
Shaking her head, Michonne gazed off into the distance again. "Just something I heard folks saying the other day. About how we're kind of an odd couple."
"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" Michonne flashed him her 'don't bullshit me' expression—he couldn't be that dense. She was fully prepared to give him hell for thinking he could feign ignorance at this stage of their friendship.
The facts were what they were: people pegged him for an ignorant redneck from a racist family of backwoods assholes who was good for hunting and fighting not much else, and her as an abrasively independent, dreadlocked warrior who looked after her wards with an unapproachable defensiveness. No one doubted their prowess at protecting and providing for the community, but folks like them were only supposed participate from the fringes and in the background—and never side-by-side.
The inbred hillbilly and the angry black woman.
It sometimes surprised people to witness Daryl's sensitivity and leadership, just as she registered the shock at seeing her moments of warmth and humor. It's as if folks had forgotten that none of those preconceptions or stereotypes mattered now.
It seemed Daryl didn't think much of those judgments either as he threw her a dismissive wave. "All I care 'bout these days is stayin' alive and keepin' my group safe. Aint nobody better at it than us so I don't see nothin' strange 'bout me and you gettin' shit done. The only folks runnin' their mouth on it are still stuck in yesteryear. And I aint got much use for that thinkin'."
Michonne believed him. His brother Merle had been a walking stereotype in the worst ways; Daryl was the opposite side of that coin. Where Merle was backwards-thinking, narrow-minded and provincial, Daryl was adaptive, independent and loyal. Daryl may have been raised around brutality and ignorance, but when it came time to embrace something different and better, he rose to the occasion.
A bit of tension crept into the casual boredom of their wait, mostly from Daryl. Michonne felt bad for making him uncomfortable with her question. She'd only been curious as to what he thought and figured they were comfortable enough with each other for her to mention what she'd overheard. She mentally kicked herself for not being more careful with him. He had a tough exterior, but he could also be easily hurt by careless assumptions.
He'd stopped snacking on the candy and kept fidgeting from his side of the bench. "You aint mad on account 'a that whole C.P.T. crack I made 'bout Tyreese are ya? 'Cause I didn't mean nothin' by it." His words were rushed and stressed and the anguish filled Michonne with more regret.
"No!" she responded, quick to reassure. "No, we all say that about Tyreese." She rolled her eyes thinking about all the ribbing the man took over his tardiness. "Unless it's an emergency, even at the end of the world he's always the last to show up for stuff." Her attempts to make light of the situation fell flat as Daryl continued to fret about it. "Really Daryl, it was pretty funny when you called him on it. We were all laughing and we knew you weren't implying anything offensive by it."
He pursed his lips and gave a scant nod. "Yeah. Still I know some stuff aint okay to say even if you hear other people doin' it. My old man used to go on about all kinds 'a stupid, racist shit. Merle too. A lot 'a times, it didn't seem right, but when you hear it every day …" He leaned back against the bench and let his memory on the matter peter out.
Michonne accepted his explanation with a sad smile. "Sorry, Daryl. I shouldn't have said anything. I was thinking out loud, not looking to make you feel bad."
"Naw, it's cool." He paused and started to pick at the M&M's again. "And I have thought on it some, not just you and me being friendly. What with losing Merle—both times—and runnin' with T-Dog and Glenn and everybody, I caught on quick 'bout the real stuff that matters with folks. After what's gone down, only thing worth me troublin' over is whether people are gonna step up and contribute. All that other hateful shit is in the past."
As she considered his words, Michonne's curiosity got the better of her again. "Do you think it's easy to do that? I mean, was it easy for you?" Daryl didn't answer as he worked out her question in his mind. She added with some reluctance, "It's difficult sometimes for me, changing what used to be familiar, even the stuff that needs changing." Daryl, turned to look at her as she explained. "Not about race stuff. I was pretty tolerant, or I'd like to think I was. I gave everyone the benefit of the doubt—my family, my clients, my … my friends." She stopped herself just in time. No TMI for today about her exes and their indiscretions. She wanted to be honest with him even if opening up felt uncomfortable, however, she had her limits.
"When everything changed," she continued, "I had to start thinking the worst of people because when I didn't …"
She balled her fists as the memories surfaced. Daryl kept his gaze steady on her but didn't interrupt.
"And when I put that wall up, I thought it'd be for good. I guess now I need to figure out how to be if I'm gonna put up with all of you in close quarters." Her humor was tight, awkward as she acknowledged how much she struggled to fit in with the new, combined group.
"Anyway, with Andrea and Woodbury and now with everyone at the prison, I started looking at a person's intentions, into their heart if that makes sense." Cutting her eyes to Daryl's penetrating attention, she chuckled to herself and shook her head. "Don't mind me. I'm just rambling." Maybe being on her own for the past weeks had starved her for company and conversation—or at least the company and conversation of the man next to her who she found easy to be around, easier sometimes than Rick and even Carl.
Daryl nodded. "No, I get what you're sayin'." Michonne wondered if he had only said that to appease her and get her to stop talking about the whole thing. Her questions clearly had him off kilter.
They sat quietly for a few moments, thinking about their lives from before. Michonne had taken small steps towards reclaiming the most important aspects of her humanity: not just blinding looting someone's former home but taking a spare moment to enjoy the art on the wall, the books on the shelf. She returned with gifts for the people who she knew missed her, comics for Carl or practical items for Rick; a old Polaroid camera for Maggie and Glenn and jelly beans for Hershel who harbored a little-known weakness for them. She'd bring back a rarely-found pack of cigarettes for Daryl when she could, even though she hated that he smoked and wouldn't let him do it around her.
Sometimes when the sunrise emerged in a certain way or she and Flame hit a particularly peaceful stretch, she'd sing softly into the open air with the abandon of another version of herself.
The sound of Daryl clearing his throat jostled her from her thoughts. To her surprise, he appeared bent on answering her question after all once he'd gotten his thoughts together.
"Mostly it was easy. Adjustin', I mean. Puttin' the past behind me. The people I found, Carol and Rick and everybody else treated me so much better than I'd ever had. Except for Shane. Shane was a douchebag."
Michonne chuckled, only having heard about the man from others. "Andrea seemed to like him."
He scoffed at that. "She would. 'Sides, she didn't know what went down with him, almost killin' Rick over wantin' his woman and his kid. Dumbass." Propping his arm up on the bench, he shook his head at the memory of his old group member. "A lotta times, he did what he had to to keep us goin', even when he and Rick didn't see eye to eye. So I wasn't gon' hate on him for bein' an asshole most 'a the time. But once he got turned around in his head, he just kept right on goin', the rest of us be damned. I sure as hell wasn't ever gonna trust him at my back."
Daryl tapped out a nervous rhythm against the bench's wooden planks. "He mighta' been a good man before but this world changed him. Hell, even Merle was a step up 'cause at least he'd come atcha square."
"I'd beg to differ, but I know what you mean. What you saw was what you got with Merle."
Daryl, looked away, embarrassed. "Yeah. Sorry." He turned back to her. "He did respect you, though. Might've even liked you a bit. Had a funny way 'a showin' it, for sure, but he did."
Her eyes wide, Michonne stared at her friend as if he'd just sprouted another head. "Now that is the craziest thing I've heard come out of your mouth, Dixon." Daryl smirked at her expression.
"It's true. I don't know a lot 'a things but I knew my brother like nothin' else in the world. He was right scared 'a ya. Thought you kicked his ass real good when you was on the run. And the way you fucked with the Governor and saw Woodbury for what it was? The way you survived all that time with them chained walkers and takin' care of Andrea too? He knew you weren't nobody to take lightly." Michonne stiffened to think back on that time, still mourning those dark reminders of what she'd lost to the madness around them.
Daryl sensed her anxiety, but he insisted on saying his peace. "I know it aint worth nothin' now, but he didn't approve 'a us hangin' you out to dry like we were gonna do. Thought we were cowards for it, and we were."
Michonne shrugged. She could honestly see where Daryl came from with his argument, but it didn't change that Merle had done a lot of bad things to her and to the people she now cared about. Perhaps, he could have changed—she believed it possible after spending that time with him as his captive and seeing how it played out. Yet, it didn't matter because Merle was still dead and that situation with the Governor's bargain had gotten relegated to water under the bridge. And of the transgressions Merle had committed against her, his willingness to hand her over to the Governor remained the one she actually understood.
"What's done is done."
Daryl sighed as he fixed her with a piercing stare. "Don't feel like it when you pass through the prison and then can't wait to run off again. Especially to Rick and Carl." Daryl dropped his gaze and stared down at his feet. "It aint never done with," he said quietly, and then let the issue drop. Michonne pushed down her anger over that, happy to drop the matter as well. They'd argued about it before, and she still didn't think they were being fair about her trips out.
"It probably sounds crazy," Daryl continued, returning to the original topic, "but I didn't ever wanna be like Merle, you know. He really believed all that stuff 'bout different races and women and foreigners. Anything to make himself feel superior, dumb sum'bitch that he was. He let up some while he was in the military but that didn't last longer than five minutes bein' back in Georgia when he got kicked out."
His words had a bite to them but also a wry affection that Michonne didn't miss. He'd loved his brother, faults and all. The loyalty to the people he cared about that Daryl wore on his sleeve endeared most folks to him.
Daryl scuffed at the gravel that had kicked up onto the walkway in front of their bench. "I rolled with a rough crowd and did my share 'a shit talkin', but I never thought I was better than people. How could I be with a drunk for a mom and a violent smackhead for a dad, an asshole like Merle rounding off that dysfunctional dinner table?"
The sigh that fell from his lips conveyed frustration and tension. He sat up straighter on the bench, gesticulating as he continued to explain. "I played it up being this tough guy 'cause what else I'm gon' do? I didn't grow up 'round people who weren't white and poor and always angry or scared 'cause times were hard. Hell, you live around that long enough and you start believin' that you aint been given somethin' owed to ya or that the government is in your business more than it's tryin' 'a help ya make a good life for yourself." He refused to look at her as he tried to find the words to explain himself. "Then ya got people sayin' that these other folks don't like you or aren't as good as you. So you hate 'em, or pretend to, 'cause ya think they hate you and 'cause aint no one sayin' there's another way to be. Don't make it right, but it's the truth.
Daryl leaned back hard onto the bench, his voice dropping to a murmur as if he feared his admissions, hesitant to say them out loud. "And everyone around is tellin' you that ya aint worth nothin'; and aint no way ya gonna respect nobody else if ya can't even respect yourself. Folks were too damn scared and stupid to think for themselves and so was I for goin' along with it."
Michonne smiled, despite the grim nature of what he'd shared. She felt grateful for his honesty. It was a complicated response to a difficult question from a man who defied easy categorization. They way his shoulders slumped as they both pondered his explanation, it made her think the conversation had drained him.
And he'd given her a response she hadn't expected when she brought it up. Even with all Daryl had accomplished for the group, how much people admired and appreciated him, she still saw moments where he doubted himself as worthy of this new stability. It was a shame. She considered Daryl a good man, one of the best she'd met since civilization had broken down.
When he finally glanced over to her, so insecure about her reaction to his answers, she tried to convey her gratitude for his trust.
"Thanks for telling me all that." He nodded and started picking at the bag of M&Ms again.
Watching the rain, she turned Daryl's perspective over in her mind, reconciling it with all the things she'd come to believe about the ways people made sense of the world. A lot of his reasoning she could understand, even if it wasn't something she experienced or agreed with.
"Going against what we're taught is hard," she admitted to him. "We all give in to it in some way, I think. Maybe we should only care about what happens with people when they're given an opportunity to be better." She turned on the bench and propped her knee up, facing more towards him. "Before, even when they didn't want to admit it, a lot of folks were judging you; picking apart your friends and your family or where you live and how you talk. Everybody did from every kind of background. Anybody could get caught up trying so hard to prove that they matter instead of appreciating that we all matter in one way or another."
There were so many differences in the ways she and Daryl were raised and the manner in which they lived before meeting each other. She'd had her share of adversity in life, but there'd been a lot of privilege too: her access to education and a loving family and an embarrassment of good fortune to overshadow life's shortcomings. Michonne thought it interesting how they ended up in the same place for coming from such opposite directions.
"You're right though," she added. "What we were before doesn't mean much. I'm sure we were both very different people back then."
"Yeah," Daryl responded. "Glad we're on the same team now," he added with a shy smile.
Michonne met his smile with one of her own. "Me too."
The rain continued to fall although it seemed to be letting up. The clouds overhead had transformed from darkness to a shady overcast. As they bided their time once more, Michonne faced ahead and stretched her legs out in front of her.
"That's crazy about that Shane guy. Andrea made him sound different. Rick too."
Daryl rested his arms on his knees, sweeping the area again for threats. "'Course she did. She and Shane were screwin'. She was probably sweet on him to boot. Imagine that puts a shine on his shitty personality."
"How'd you know that?" Michonne asked, surprised. "I got the sense from Andrea that things were covert between them, like they were gonna run off together."
"They mighta' been plannin' that. Beats the hell outta me. But I wasn't so checked out I didn't notice how they were with each other. Damn amateurs."
"Right, because you're the expert on maintaining covert relationships."
He smirked in her direction. "Might be."
Michonne rolled her eyes at that. She'd give it to Daryl that he was discrete. But he wasn't more discrete than she, and she'd know if he were carrying on with somebody. Popular opinion around the prison had him and Carol all hot and heavy; Michonne knew better. It wasn't something she'd counter, though, because it kept people's attention from her and Daryl and what extracurricular activities they might be up to on their runs. People speculated about them enough without that rumor floating around.
Choosing to ignore Daryl's joke, Michonne, instead, grinned at the memory of her friend and the particular conversation they'd had about the men in her old Atlanta group. "I think Andrea liked the aggressive, bad boy types." A furtive glance in his direction was met with suspicion. "She thought you were hot too." Popping a morsel into her mouth, she pretended to assess their surrounding area so that she could enjoy the humor of this revelation, all while ignoring his discomfort.
His glare penetrated her casual front as he straightened in his seat. "Shut your mouth, tellin' stories like that. You just makin' stuff up 'cause I said Merle was sweet on you."
She winced and pushed him in the shoulder. "Ugh, that's not what you implied so stop trying to piss me off." His continued offense caused her to laugh. "I'm not lying, my hand to God. This one time after she'd gotten her hands on a bottle of wine, she went on about your muscles and your redneck charm and how your crossbow brought out your eyes. Funniest thing I'd heard from her, even funnier now that I know you."
He threw an M&M at her, annoyance turning to indignation. "What's so funny 'bout that? It's all true, aint it?" The shared amusement relaxed them both.
Daryl rested his arms on his knees again. Eventually, he began sneaking looks her way on the sly. Despite an amicable closure to their intense conversation from before, he remained antsy about something she could only guess at. After enduring a few minutes of this, Michonne's curiosity got the best of her.
"Spit it out, Dixon."
Daryl jerked at the sound of her voice as if unaware that he'd been staring at her. He opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it. Finally, he let out a breath and waved her off. "It aint nothin'."
"Come on, Daryl. I dropped a bomb on you just now. A couple of bombs actually. You're entitled to ask whatever you want."
"For real?" he asked, cautious. "You aint gon' get mad at me for bein' nosy? 'Cause I know you hate that." He had her pegged on that one; she did hate it. But if anyone deserved an exception, it was Daryl.
"Fire away. I won't get mad, I promise."
He sat up and shifted around, stalling until he found the right words to say. "I was just wonderin', have you ever … you know …" She fixed him with an inquisitive stare. That only unnerved him more so she turned away. "Have you ever been with somebody like me?"
A warm mirth coursed through Michonne as she popped a few more M&Ms into her mouth. Like Daryl earlier, she hadn't been expecting that question.
"Like a redneck hero?"
"Don't call me that." Michonne chuckled. She'd used that line on him before and he hated it about as much as she hated folks being nosy. "Don't make me say it. You know what I'm talkin' 'bout."
"If you really want to know the answer, then you should be mature enough to ask about it properly."
He frowned, not enjoying the hard time she'd chosen to give him. "Fine, have you have ever been with a white guy?" Question asked, his cheeks were turning the most adorable shade of pink.
She smiled at him, prolonging the enigma of revealing more of who she'd been before he had met her. "Are we talking sex or dating or making out?"
Daryl returned to leaning onto his knees, eyes averted. "Whatever."
Her grin widened, although for a moment she turned sad and looked away.
"I have," she responded without elaborating.
"For real?"
Michonne laughed. "Why do you sound so surprised?"
"Not surprised, just, I don't know. Don't mind me." He looked off into the distance, probably willing the rain to pass more quickly. However, the elements were not cooperating with him.
"I take it you haven't …"
"No," he answered a little too quickly. "I aint never had the chance; not that I was lookin' out for it 'cause I didn't think I should really be..."
Michonne abruptly paused her snacking and side-eyed Daryl, making him more tongue-tied.
"I mean, if I'd had the chance to …" He held his hand out as if it would stop the awkward words from tumbling out of his mouth. "I'm not suggestin' nothin'. You're cute and all, I was just sayin'." He jumped up and took a few steps from the bench. "Shoot, I didn't mean it like that."
Michonne put him out of his misery and flashed him a friendly grin. "Relax, Daryl. We're cool, remember?"
He shuffled around for a couple more moments before slowly returning to the bench. Michonne remained silent, not wanting to rattle him any more than necessary.
The minutes ticked by as they sat and watched the rain once more.
Daryl dug a hand into the bag of candy. "There was this one girl back in high school. I helped fix her car when it got stalled and we got to talkin' for a while. I knew nothin' was ever gonna happen 'cause I wasn't good at gettin' with girls period, much less somebody that seemed so different, you know. She sat in front of me in history class and she was nice, let me cheat off her homework a couple times. So she'd say hi to me in the hall and stuff. I'd ignore her if I was with somebody else but she'd still talk to me in class like she didn't hold it against me. I ended up gettin' into trouble and changin' schools but I'd think about what it would have been like if we'd been real friends. It wasn't even about what she looked like or that she wasn't white. I was just thinkin' that she was somebody who treated me normal-like." Glancing away, he laughed a little. "I aint never told that to nobody."
"Yeah?" She smiled, again touched by his candidness with her. "Embarrassing, is it?" she asked as neutrally as possible, genuinely curious about her friend's intentions. His confession made her speculate even more about what went on in his head despite the gruff front he presented.
Daryl thought about her query for a moment. "I suppose," he responded.
Michonne frowned before she could stop herself from judging him. She'd wanted an honest answer after all.
"Not about her though. She was a real good person. Just embarrassed about me and how I used to act that kept me from appreciatin' her."
Not for the first time, hearing how hard Daryl was on himself saddened her. Sure he'd made mistakes, serious mistakes, just like everyone else. But he'd learned from them and realized his potential for having worked through his setbacks. A lot of folks, even now, couldn't be bothered to do that.
"That's really sweet, Daryl. It sounds like she liked you and that she understood how hard things were for you."
Daryl huffed at that. "Yeah, well, she dodged a bullet not wastin' her time with me."
"You've redeemed yourself plenty. Look at you now. Hell, look at us sitting out here like this; like two old fishing buddies."
Judging by his expression, that characterization amused him. "Not lookin' to redeem nothin' though. It aint like I got some weird kink. It's just now that things are different, it's got me rememberin' that them old ways 'a thinkin' never made no sense. Maybe I coulda been alright if I had somethin' worth standin' up for."
"Maybe." Michonne sent him a somber but reassuring smile. "And you still turned out alright in the end. I guess," she added, sarcasm adding a light humor to her words. He threw another piece of candy at her and looked back out at the falling rain in front of them as she shook her head.
She wondered what things would have been like if she'd met him back then. Maybe she would have hated him or not seen past her preconceived notions that all white people from the backwoods were racist nutjobs. But maybe not. If he came across as anything like the man she'd since befriended, she could see herself finding a lot to connect with, even given how much more expressive and volatile she'd been back in her youth.
And he'd probably been a hottie in those days too. He was pretty pleasing on the eyes now in the present. Their comfortable friendship didn't make her blind to that.
She offered him more candy and he took a morsel from her hand as she considered him with a bold interest. A brief glance turned into a gaze and then into a bona fide stare. All the while, a plan of action formed in her mind, spawned by all that they'd shared in the last half hour. She moved closer. At first Daryl didn't notice that she had inched nearer to him and when he did, he stilled but didn't retreat.
For once, she was the tracker and he was the prey, frozen in either fear or fascination.
Upon settling right beside him, she stopped to give him time to freak out or run or sass her for invading his personal space. But he did none of that; he only sat up straighter and threw her furtive side-glances every few seconds.
Michonne turned to the side, propping her elbow up on the back of the bench and pulling her leg up next to him. The movement caused her knee to brush his; Daryl tensed but didn't move away. She heard the bag of candy crinkle as she crushed it against his hip.
When she finally caught his gaze, she willed him not to look away, so drawn to the intensity of his eyes.
He twitched when she touched his knee. His eyes darted to her hand resting an inch away from his. Tilting his head back up, he watched in stunned silence as she continued her trajectory towards him; he leaned in as well, probably without even being too aware of his actions. For whatever reason, he wasn't backing off so Michonne kept on going, grabbing onto his shirt to hasten their intimate contact.
It felt like both forever and a blink until her skin met his. There was a bump of noses, a readjustment and then a brush of lips against grizzled chin. Finally, Michonne felt a pressure at her mouth and heard him let out the breath he'd been holding, almost jumping at the inevitable contact. The jolt of pleasure and apprehension it sparked a momentum that pressed her forward. Her enthusiasm moved her off balance causing Daryl to reach out to steady himself.
Now awkwardly aligned, they both pulled back. He dragged his eyes up to hers and saw the same astonishment she felt pulsing with each of her shallow breaths, the panic that asked, 'what the hell are we doing?'
And then she laughed.
There was a release of tension in Daryl's shoulders, and he started laughing too, mentally replaying their awkward kiss as well. "That was terrible," he chuckled.
"Yes, it was." Their laughter died down and a charged silence followed.
She refused to deny that she'd thought of kissing him before, although not very seriously. They had built a good friendship after all, and neither thought much of love or sex in these times, for a variety of reasons. She guessed he had entertained the thought too judging from the last few seconds. In her mind, it'd always gone better, though.
And no one could accuse Michonne of doing things half way. She returned her attention to him with purpose.
"Let's try this again."
She grabbed his chin to keep him in place, her hold firm but soft. Before Daryl could panic, she leaned in. Her mouth pressed against his, a tentative, testing of pressure. Then she retreated, dropping her hand from his face.
To her surprise, before he could over-think it, Daryl moved in and went for broke. He kissed her the best way he knew how, which was pretty damn good by her standards. The lips sliding over hers, sucking every so often, were slick and solid, a similar thrill to the brush of his hand at her side. He inched his fingers down to grip her upper thigh, almost reaching around farther back but thinking better of it. Then he breathed her in before going for another taste; that felt incredibly sexy to her. Daryl had a lot more skill than he gave himself credit for.
He gasped when she brushed her tongue along his lower lip. Michonne hesitated but pushed forward. Daryl seemed glad for it when his tongue joined hers to slide along the inside of her cheek.
The next moments were overwhelmed by the taste of chocolate, the feel of Daryl against her and the sound of rain all around them. Her racing heart was pounding in her ears, throbbing louder the longer he touched her. As they shared this intimacy, she dwelled on his bravery, his quiet respect and maybe her own loneliness too. She moved to rock against him and he responded in kind; his kisses progressed shyly but with a mission. Her fingers traced the skin along his cheek and he moaned.
He watched as she pulled away from him, a cloudy satisfaction in his expression.
Daryl let out a slow breath. "Damn."
"I know," she responded, leaning back.
His breathing had slowed and he stretched his legs out in front of him again. "Not bad," he leered, joining in her laughter at that.
"You either, my friend."
They returned to their earlier position on opposite ends of the small bench, giving their heart rates and hormones time to recover. As Daryl had predicted, the rain started to let up and the sheet-like downpour began transitioning into a lighter patter of fat droplets against concrete. A lone walker ambled at the far end of the block paying them no attention as it shuffled farther away from them.
Hearing some rustling noises next to her, Michonne shifted to see Daryl with his hand back in the almost empty bag of M&Ms, holding his palm out to offer her some of his treats.
Michonne hesitated. "I'm not sure I want any with the way you were licking on your hands before." She crinkled her nose in mock disgust, falling back on an old joke about how questionable she found his hygiene and how prissy he found her post-world's end cleaning habits.
Grumbling at her in protest, Daryl pushed his hand farther into her face and she took a few pieces, laughing at his antics throughout. They crunched on their candy together. "You didn't seem to mind what my tongue was doin' a minute ago." It was a bashful jab but a sly one as well given the brightness in his expression.
She rolled her eyes and poked him in the arm. She hadn't minded at all and they both knew it. "Shut up." She noticed a heat of embarrassment in her cheeks. Daryl must have sensed it too by the way he was chuckling at her annoyance.
And that was that.
They didn't have to dissect what had just happened between them. As fun as their spontaneous kiss had been, Michonne had little interest in a relationship or casual sex or friends with benefits—any of those options seemed entirely too complicated from where they sat. Daryl didn't seem terribly eager about the possibility either. Besides being almost completely unavailable emotionally, he had major responsibilities at the prison to focus on, and she had unfinished business with the Governor that kept her away. It might look like a waste of time to everyone else, but she needed to finish what she started.
They had all the ties they could handle. For now.
Instead, she'd find delight and comfort in a harmless connection. And no matter what life had been like before, their friendship right here and now remained the most natural thing for both of them.
Fini
AN: I've had this story sitting on my computer since last year, before I'd written the majority of my other stuff in this fandom. It started out being a part of The Old Days but the tone didn't quite fit. And then after I hammered it all out, it just sat and I could never get it to flow like I wanted. I'd take it out every couple of months and change this or that detail. I tried to fit it into this or that prompt. But, in the end, I fell back on a lot of what I'd originally conceived for it.
After watching one of the SDCC panels, I heard Andrew Lincoln restate how The Walking Dead shows a version of society that's shed past biases in favor of survival. That stuck with me (even if I don't fully agree given some of the show's dubious writing when it comes to certain optics). I decided to dust this story off once more. I think I found a satisfying enough balance for it while also adding some lightness.
I can see how some aspects of discussing race and violence and redemption/condemnation in this context can be complicated and no doubt my own politics can't help but seep in a little. But I truly tried to look at the scenario from the POV of the characters and how they'd respond because that's the type of conversation that initially interested me in the first place. I'm open to constructive thoughts about how successful I am at that, but I did make every effort to be thoughtful on the matter.
Despite the loooong process to completion, I didn't scrap this story because I enjoyed engaging on the character stuff and also the fun stuff that made me smile. So, in that vein, I hope you enjoyed it as well. And by all means, feel free to let me know how it goes over with you.
Thanks for reading!