Author's Note: I do not own any part of The Walking Dead franchise nor do I profit from any of these musings.
Presented for you reading pleasure (or not) is a companion to Present and Accounted For but from Daryl's POV. I'd highly suggest reading that beforehand otherwise the events will seem confusing and incomplete. Feedback is always welcome and appreciated. Enjoy!
Chapter One
It comes to him one day after seeing a reminder of her.
He is in C block doing some errand or going from one task to another. The day isn't as busy as he normally likes it to be but that's to be expected. There can't be something 24/7 to keep folks' minds off of how different the world is now. Even though they're living as comfortably as possible, it's still a damn sight harder than how things used to be.
Well, that's true for almost everyone. From where he's standing, the world went even further to hell from what it was. It just made him that much more prepared.
That thought passes through his mind right as he is walking by her cell and he realizes that he misses her. A lot. She too understands how the changes in the world around them also made them more powerful than they could have ever thought. He pauses at the entrance to her permanent layover space but he doesn't linger too long. Can't have people thinking he's pining, not that anyone knows about the more private and primal kind of company they keep with each other.
Instead, he pushes back memories of her because who knows when she'll wander back this way. He doesn't want to torture himself with thoughts of how her presence makes a difference to him.
After checking in with Tyreese and Glenn, he decides to finally rearrange the supply stash in Tower 3 that he's been meaning to do for the last couple of weeks. Subconsciously, he's probably been waiting on Michonne to return and lend a hand; his attempts to stop thinking about her give him that last push to just take care of the task himself. So he heads out to the storage room with a foul disposition, assuring no one would follow and subject themselves to his grumpiness.
It's not that he doesn't like people, it's that he's used to spending a lot of time by himself, roaming the woods looking for food or fleeing from trouble. Being on the Council and helping to run things at the prison is an unexpected kind of gig for him and really weird in some ways but it doesn't feel wrong. He likes contributing and having his say about how to keep the group safe. He makes sure to do his share of work rather than telling others what to do and that's meant getting to know a lot of folks around the prison. It's crazy to him how much he enjoys that part, maybe because he'd never gotten the chance to be this person in his other life. For the first time, people don't look at him and see this piece of trash. They consider him someone trustworthy and good. One of them.
Daryl works for a while in the storage area, enjoying the stagnant warmth of the enclosed room and the blind focus the errand affords him.
Despite how boring the task is, he gets into it. It's satisfying how much they'd looted and scrounged and repurposed to give themselves a chance to make a decent life at the prison. In the room, he shuffles around a nice stash of building supplies and makeshift tools. There are light bulbs and batteries, spare parts and broken furniture waiting for a new calling. When moving a box full of broken screens, he jostles a pile of grubby sheets, knocking over the top set. The smile creeps across his lips before he can stop it.
He remembers that sheet. And so again, comes images of Michonne.
She's a quiet woman, thoughtful. One of those people you know has a shit-load of sense and the brains to go along with it. She's never said anything but he knows her life had been very different before—nice probably, not like his. It is evident in the way she spends time looking through bookshelves or checking out the artwork when they're out on a run and have a few minutes to spare. There is nothing in a pantry that mystifies her, from the low-budget processed cheese he grew up with to the stupidest sounding fancy shit they run across in the upscale places. For his troubles, she's turned him on to the usefulness of agave nectar and flax seeds—he loves the former but only tolerates the latter.
But she doesn't mind learning about the wilder stuff he's more familiar with, herbs and plants and all the animals they can trap and eat. There are kills that he's never gotten her to embrace, yet she'll try anything once.
He often wonders how she's learned to survive so thoroughly.
Dealing with women isn't really Daryl's strong suit. He can never tell when he's supposed to make a move or when that feeling in the pit of his stomach is lust or just some kind of weird fascination. Female attention makes him self-conscious, something that Carol uses to her advantage, although not in a bad way. She likes to tease him about what a catch he is but it sounds like fool's talk to him. He's never been that kind of guy and he didn't see their current circumstances changing that much. In his other life, the girls he and Merle would hook up with were easy in every sense of the word. There was no worrying about courtship or marriage, just getting off. Given how bleak their lives can seem now if you think on it too hard, it's actually surprising to him that more people aren't running around fucking just for kicks. But nothing is predictable when it comes to the end of the world.
And, anyway, isn't that what he and Michonne are doing together?
It doesn't seem right to think of it that way, as just some meaningless hookup they indulge in out of desperation. It is both something more complicated yet also less at the same time.
She'd offered to pass that rainy afternoon with a bit of sexual companionship and he'd gotten a familiar tightness in his groin and gut, made worse by the fact that he'd been trying not to dwell on how appealing it would be to see her naked and moist with rainwater. When he'd tossed her his vest to cover herself, he'd thought it would bring him some relief. But the way she surrounded herself in that extension of him caused him to harden instantly. By the time she'd climbed onto him a few moments later, he'd been ready for her, maybe not emotionally but certainly physically. And she'd tasted so good coated in that sheen of nature's mist.
Daryl shakes his head of this distraction. Any more of it and he'll really be in a world of pain. The last thing he needs is to get all horny and heated right now. So he keeps on moving around his supplies and focusing on finishing the job before the sun goes down. He only has so much daylight left judging by the slim brightness seeping into the room.
So lost in thought, he doesn't hear the soft footsteps of someone approaching. When he does pick up on another presence in the space, annoyance flares at having his isolation disturbed. But what can you do?
He turns to see her silhouetted in the doorway, blocking out the light while replacing it with a brightness that warms him all the same.
Before he can censor himself, he curses at the way she, again, manages to bypass his instincts and sneak up on him when his back is turned. Yet the pleasure surfaces at her unexpected appearance and he's grinning in response as well. She's returning his show of happiness with a mutual warmth. In his mind, two distinct words accompany his excitement:
She's home.
TBC …