Title: The Sweetest Thing
Rating: M
Warnings: fluff, sexual situations, more fluff, some adult language, more sexual situations, pretty much all things Fall related. There's also a little flavor of melancholy threaded throughout but all's well that ends well, right? Basically, this is the Shae version of fluff.
Characters/Pairings: Carol/Daryl, Lori/Rick, Sophia, other various and sundry characters. Read and you shall see for yourself.
Notes: Title taken from an old song my mom used to play on repeat when she was feeling some kind of way, still does sometimes, called "The Sweetest Thing (I've Ever Known)" by a lady named Juice Newton (thanks Google, hahaha, you are good for something). It just seemed to fit these two. Quotes interwoven through the story? Well, credit will be given where credit is due (thanks and elsewhere).I'm just lost in my Fall and Caryl feels, lol.
The Sweetest Thing
"I wish that every day was Saturday and every month was October."
Charmaine J. Forde
333
She's warm in his arms—sleepy sweet and soft and so damn pretty.
Sunlight kisses (almost) all of his favorite freckles. Catches in her silver hair and makes it glitter and shine. Sheets pool around her waist as she lazily shifts her hips over his. Sighs into what little space exists between them.
She shivers when he ghosts his calloused hands down the graceful curl of her back, lower still to cup her ass. Shudders as he searches out the deepest parts of her with slick, greedy fingers, with his dick. Her lashes lower against her flushed cheeks. Her pink lips fall open on a gasp and her smooth palms slide over his chest, his shoulders, the shadow of stubble that still darkens his jaw. It's Saturday, after all. No obligations. Nowhere to be 'cept tangled in these sheets and her and he feels the silken clutch of her release as it sneaks up on her. Steals her very breath in wave upon wondrous wave that wrenches a quiet, guttural groan from his own throat. Triggers his own undoing and has him cradling her against his heaving chest when she slants an appreciative kiss against his panting mouth. Twining his fingers in those messy wisps of curls and savoring her affection, savoring her, until the kiss reaches its natural end and they're both just smiling against each other's mouths like the twitterpated fools Tara had accused them of being. Goofy ass smirk on her face and half-gnawed twizzler tucked between her teeth like a cigarette. Thumbs hooked in her belt loops and backpack hanging off of one shoulder as she threatened to treat them to a Disney marathon next time she was over, starting with Bambi of course. He huffs out a laugh at the memory because the girl weren't exactly wrong. Earns himself a quizzical look. A raised brow.
"Where'd you go?" she asks, her chin resting on her folded arms. Her voice soft and sounding shy, even after the things they've done. Even with them still joined.
"Nowhere far," he promises. Traces a fingertip over one of the small studs she always wears in her delicate ears. Makes her squirm against him and laugh breathlessly when he hones in on a ticklish spot. Leans up to capture some of that happiness with another kiss.
Those blue sky eyes of hers are hazy when she pulls back. Unfocused as she licks his taste from her lips, squeezes around him. Drags a groan from way down deep and looks a bit like the cat that got the canary when his hips roll beneath hers, her cheeks dimpling and her fingers tunneling into the disheveled shag of his hair.
He wants to lay her on her back and love her like they got all day. Knows these lazy moments won't last forever if the next few weeks go as hoped. They're going to be fewer and farther between and maybe she realizes it too because she snakes her arms around his neck and coaxes him to his side. Hitches her leg high on his waist and drags her breasts against his chest, the sparse hair there rasping against the hard little points of her nipples. Still. He holds himself back. "Kid ain't gonna sleep all day."
"She's almost thirteen. Trust me. We have time."
333
"Aprils have never meant much to me, autumns seem that season of beginning, spring."
Truman Capote.
333
The weekend passes fast—they always do—and it's just him and 'Phia in the kitchen while her mama's finishing up getting ready to drive her to school, steeling herself for the day ahead. Their new beginning.
Kid's got her socked feet hooked around the rungs of the barstool, pencil tap-tap-tapping away between her small fingers and bottom lip caged between her teeth. Math book open on the island counter and breakfast forgotten, her cereal a soggy casualty of her intense concentration.
She looks like her mama and he tells her so. Earns himself a proud, bashful smile that spurs him into a confession of sorts as he finishes packing her lunch. "Let you in on a secret."
Hazel eyes big, she hangs on to every word. Straightens from her slouch and sets her pencil aside.
"Hated math when I was in school too. Liked English better." She looks surprised. Most people usually do and he don't blame them. It don't exactly compute with the rough image he knows he projects, but lucky for him? There are people like her and her mama that are able to see past all that. Look deeper. Still he feels the need to explain. "Liked to read. Still do."
"Me too."
She whispers it like it's a secret she don't want her mama to hear and one corner of his mouth ticks up in a barely there smile. "Yeah? What kind of books you like to be reading?"
She shrugs her skinny shoulders and picks her pencil back up. Twirls it absently. Finally offers up a sheepish answer, an even more shy version of the smile she'd gifted him with earlier. "All of them."
"Ain't no wonder you're so smart." Kid beams at him then, like he's climbed up a ladder to the moon. Decorated a fading sky with stars as bright as diamonds, and he feels a fierce, funny tug behind the armored circle of his ribs. Has trouble finding his voice again to say anything else, but it don't matter none because her mama's there. Looking at him the exact same way.
"That's what I always tell her."
'Phia snaps her textbook shut and scoots from her seat. Stuffs it into her bookbag and snags her jacket from a nearby chair.
"Math's still important though, much as you don't like it."
"Mama."
"It is. Tell her, Daryl."
"Listen to your mama. She's almost always right." That earns him an arched eyebrow but the little girl's giggle makes it worth it. Besides. He'll sweeten her right back up with one of them salted caramel mocha things she likes so much later, take some of the stress out of her shoulders about their big impending meeting. He winks at 'Phia, searches out her mama's hand from the too big sleeves of the sweater they're swallowed up in and threads their fingers together. Squeezes. Wants to kiss her, too, but it's one thing to share her bed, this home, his name. Loving each other so openly in front of her girl? Well. They're still taking their time with that. "12:30, right?"
She nods. Looks down at their joined hands. Chews on her lip much like 'Phia so recently had.
"Dale's calling Oscar in to cover for me. Gonna be there," he promises. "Everything? It's gonna work out. You'll see."
She nods again. Leans into him when he tugs her closer, kisses her temple and nuzzles her hair. "I know. I'm just…"
"Shh. I know, Sweetheart. Don't overthink it. Everything's gonna work out. The way it's supposed to. Now you best get going or you two? You're gonna be late."
She takes a deep breath and blows it out. Nods one last time. "Okay. Alright. 12:30."
"12:30," he confirms. Kisses the pad of the thumb she reaches up and touches to his lips. Then he lets her go, turns around. Sees the kid's lunch box where he left it, lonely on the counter and grabs it, turns again. "'Phia. Hey. Ain't you forgettin'…" He's got his arms full of little girl before he even finishes the question, her own arms a tight belt around his waist and strands of strawberry hair catching in the buttons of the flannel shirt he needs to change if he wants to make a good impression later.
"Bye, Daryl."
"Bye yourself, Kid. You be good."
"I will."
"Know you will. Now go on. Before you really are late." She's scampering away then, rushing past her mama in search of her shoes, and her mama? Her eyes are shining so blue and so bright she puts the clear autumn sky outside to shame.
"Daryl?"
"Yeah, Sweetheart?"
"Everything's going to work out the way it's supposed to."
"Know."
"I know you do."
333
"Everyone must take time to sit still and watch the leaves turn."
Elizabeth Lawrence.
333
Days pass without them hearing anything, not one single word, and he knows it's weighing on her because it's weighing even heavier on him. Maybe it's his fault. Maybe he's too old. Maybe he's too uneducated. Maybe he's just not good enough. Maybe there's too many damn maybes and they ain't doing themselves any favors stewing over them when maybe, just maybe, all this worrying might be for nothing. "Andrea said so herself," he reminds her. "These things? They take time."
Both arms clasped around one of his, she hums. Rubs her cheek against his sleeve as she shuffles her boots along the cracked sidewalk.
'Phia strolls ahead of them, sunbeams painting a halo atop her glossy head. The gentle afternoon breeze plucking at the wispy ends of her short pigtails.
The changing leaves flutter in that same breeze, faint hints of red and orange and yellow kissing their tips and traveling through their veins. Summer's already handing over the reins and it won't be long, he knows, before it's a distant memory altogether and things like hot chocolate in a park in Georgia won't seem like that foolish a notion. Don't keep him from offering, "Want some?"
"That a rhetorical question?"
He snorts, lets go of her only to fish his wallet out of his back pocket. "Whipped cream?"
"Mm. Another rhetorical question," she murmurs, that eyebrow arched regally and sass in full effect.
He just shakes his head. Buys her one. Buys himself and her girl one, too, while the two of them go off to claim a bench for their own. He don't really drink it. Mostly watches them sip it like it's Heaven in a cup and he figures there's some truth in that, judging by the blissful smiles that light up their pretty faces. The laughter that falls like the sweetest music from their lips when 'Phia's freckled nose ends up dotted with fluff.
"Thank you," she tells him later. "You…I…thank you."
"Ain't nothing," he says. Uncomfortable with her gratitude when he's the one should be doing the thanking. The one should be sending up a word to a God he ain't always believed in.
"Daryl," she sighs.
Cups his face in her hands and stretches on her toes. Lets her soft kiss linger 'til he has no choice but to let all those maybes just fade away because this is right. She and 'Phia? They're fucking everything and he'll spend the rest of his days trying to honor that truth, even if all he has right now is a single, inadequate word he can barely get out. Rough and laced with gravel. "Welcome."
333
"No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace as I have seen in one autumnal face."
John Donne.
333
Whole house smells like cinnamon and pumpkin spice when he opens the door. Lets himself inside after a long, trying day at work. Candles and the last rays of the sun are burning bright and there's music playing. Something slow, soft enough it fades beneath the heavy beat of his heart when he sees her.
She's wearing red.
Satin outlining her small breasts and lovingly hugging the gentle flare of her hips. Pale legs playing peekaboo and feet bare as she sways to the wordless tune like some kind of woodland fairy, and she looks surprised when she twirls to face him but not altogether disappointed. In fact, he can't help feeling he's stumbled right into her silken web when she gives him that smile that always threatens to lock up his knees. Beckons him forward with a wave of her hand.
She loops her arms around his neck before he can protest, sneaks that sly little tongue inside his mouth.
House might smell sweet but she tastes even better. Decadent, like something he don't wholly deserve, and he feels like the same little kid that used to sneak his hand down old Ms. Connolly's cookie jar. Back before her niece come down from Atlanta and took one look at him, dirty and dressed in his thrift store clothes, turned up her nose and pushed him straight out the door. Weren't long before Ms. Connolly's trailer was locked up all tight and there were whispers around the neighborhood that she'd been shipped off to the old folks' home. Circumstances are different now, of course, but the woman in his arms? Sometimes, he still can't shake the ingrained notion he ain't even in her league. Can't shake the feeling he's living someone else's dream, and its those thoughts that lead him to take a step back. Hold her at arm's length. "Don't wanna get you dirty," he soothes when she pouts. "'Sides. Look too pretty to touch."
"Daryl."
Something sparks in them blue eyes. Something that makes him dip his chin to his chest to avoid them and he grasps for the words to explain his sudden mood away, but he don't get the chance because she's sliding her arms around his waist and holding on. Tipping that stubborn chin up and daring him to say it again. Nestling in tight 'til there ain't no daylight between them. "'Phia," he starts.
"Is with Tara and Carl. She took them to the movies before…"
She don't have to say it. He don't even think she can, given their recent disappointments. But he knows. Says it for her, in his own roundabout way. "Before the kid gets dethroned and has to learn the finer points of sharing."
Her mouth twists like it wants to laugh and her blue eyes regain the light he'd seen, all the way from the other side of the room. Her cool hands fist the back of his shirt and tug, sweep beneath the worn material to light on his skin.
He trembles inside when her gentle fingers trace the thick unevenness of his scars. His eyes flutter closed as her nose nuzzles the line of his neck and her name sighs from his mouth. "Carol."
Her teeth nip gently at his pulse point and her hands slide up his back to grip and hold on to his shoulders. She lets him take on her weight as she whispers into his ear. "Ignore all the rest. Be right here. In this moment. With me. Touch me, Daryl. Get me dirty."
He groans. Does just that. Helps her tear his belt free and listens to it clink as it hits the hardwood floor. Almost snaps the thin spaghetti strap of her dress when he pulls it down, mouths the pink pebbled nipple of the breast that spills free. Pushes her up against the nearest wall and steals beneath the slit in her skirt to cup her through the thin lace of her panties where she's warm. Where she's growing wetter by the second and the knowledge that she wants him undoes every last ounce of doubt and restraint he possesses. He's on his knees before she's read his intention. Stripping her panties down to her ankles and sucking the glistening little bud of her clit into his mouth, smudging her pale skin with grease and fingertip shaped bruises as he holds her still for his greedy onslaught. He'll kiss them in apology later. There'll be time enough to make love to her soft and sweet as the stars rise up in the midnight sky. But that's later. When they have to be quiet because 'Phia's just down the hall. Later. When this feeling passes and good sense returns because he left the door unlocked. Anybody that wanted to could walk right in here, could listen to the little sounds she's making. The moans and little gasps for breath. Could watch her clench her shaking fingers in his hair when she comes. Watch when his fingers leave her hips to disappear knuckle deep inside the contracting depths of her. Watch when he climbs to his feet and kisses her slack mouth. Lets her fumble blindly with his pants and his boxers until they're past his ass and his cock is wrapped first in her hands then in her velvet grip as he surges into her, over and over until those little moans morph into screams that she muffles into the breadth of his shoulder.
By the time 'Phia gets home, they're still damp from their shared shower. Cuddled together in their pajamas beneath the same blanket. On the couch sharing cookies with that same slow music playing soft and Hocus Pocus on the muted television. Kid's eyes twinkle at them when she grabs the remote and kicks off her shoes. Confiscates a cookie for her own before she curls up in the armchair across the room.
Before long, the whole house fills with music and laughter and he tightens his arm around the woman snuggled in his arms. Drops a kiss to her silvered hair that makes her fingers still over his heart and her gaze lift to his face.
"M'here," he says.
She understands. Always does.
333
"I would rather sit on a pumpkin, and have it all to myself, than be crowded on a velvet cushion."
Henry David Thoreau.
333
Greene's Farm is big.
Fields stretching every direction for as far as the eye can see and one of them fields? Well, it's what people that have lived 'round these parts forever recognize as the Pumpkin Patch and from the looks of it, there's lots of those people. Out of towners, too, and he's starting to think maybe the boss was wrong. This day ain't no slower than the others. But the kid with the blond pigtails and eyes too big for her face tells them they've picked a good day and hell. What does he know 'bout pumpkin patches? Except maybe he might have made a slight miscalculation. Because all of the kids he sees? Carl and 'Phia got a good four to five years on them. Maybe he should have paid more attention back at Rick and Lori's when their little shit of a son had blurted out his complaint that these places were for babies. He's still second guessing his choice to bring them here when he feels her cool hand slide into his own. Give it a gentle, reassuring squeeze.
"There's so many."
He grunts. "Squealing kids? Yeah."
She rolls her eyes. "Pumpkins, Silly."
"Those, too," he agrees gruffly.
"Pookie," she singsongs.
There's a warning cloaked in that tease. One he wisely heeds. Don't mean his doubts have all just slipped away. Just means he tries harder to ignore them. Course, that'll be much easier to do provided Carl keeps his mouth shut and don't waylay any enjoyment 'Phia gets from this ill-advised little expedition. What the fuck was he even thinking? Kid's almost a teenager. Both of them are. Only difference is, Little Grimes is all worldly and shit when it comes to being a kid. Old hand almost. 'Phia? Well. Her mama's admirable efforts notwithstanding, she's had about as much a childhood as he did and he thinks, well. He thought this would be something she might like to do. Some curiosity she'd like to satisfy. Won't be the first misstep he's taken since her mama welcomed him into their lives.
"Cool! Sophia, look! Cows!"
Then again, maybe it wasn't a complete mistake because Carl's already ditched his cool kid persona and 'Phia? She looks more excited than anybody rightfully should be, staring at them steaks on legs. Or were they milk factories? He weren't too current with his cow facts. Knew every kind of deer that existed from here to the Canadian border but cows? Well. He bought all his bovine products from the local grocery store.
"Can we, Mama? Daryl?"
He nods. Carol tells them to go on ahead. He huffs out a laugh and lets her weave her arm around his own, lead him toward the nearby rectangular bales of hay serving as seating for weary parents. "All them pumpkins and she's more interested in petting Bessie."
"Looked more like a Brutus to me."
"Et tu, Brute?" he kids. Sobers after he looks around. Sees children with painted faces all around them, happy and laughing. Just enjoying the fine day and themselves. Enjoying being little and he lays it all out for her. Voices something he's sure she's suspected but never called him out on. "Know she don't always act like it, know we're all staring her teenage years in the face, but she's still just a kid. Thought she deserved the chance to be one."
Her eyes take on a watery shimmer and her hand curls around his unshaven jaw before she does something they don't do much of and kisses him. In plain sight of God and everybody.
Takes him a minute to recover the powers of speech and when he does? He sounds like an idiot but she don't seem to care so it don't matter a wit to him. "What you do that for? Not that I'm complaining."
Her gaze lingers on his lips before she braves meeting his eyes. "Because."
"Because?" he fishes.
"You continually amaze me. You've done more for my little girl than her own daddy ever did. You're a better man than Ed could ever pretend to be. You'd be such a good daddy. And I just wish that I, that we…" She trails off when he cups the back of her head in his large hand. Presses his lips and his words into her skin.
"Got everything I need. Everything I want, Sweetheart, in you and 'Phia."
"But…"
"No buts," he tells her truthfully. And this time? He kisses her. Deep and sweet, cradling her face in his hands like she's something precious and she is. Fuck but she is. He'd keep on kissing her, too. Ignore the whole wide world around them. But. Carl. He's left questioning how Grimes ever managed to round the bases with the little cockblocker in training under the same roof when the kid loudly and obnoxiously announces his and 'Phia's return.
"Eww! Sophia, your parents are gross."
"No, they're not."
"Are too."
"They're not," 'Phia insists.
"Whatever. Maggie said there's kittens in the barn. Can we go see them? Please, Mrs. Dixon. Please, Mr. Dixon."
*"Who's Maggie?"
Ain't til they're back at home, behind their own four walls and under their own roof, their day of kissing in corn mazes and snuggling barn kittens a thing of the past and a pumpkin to each of their names, that it hits him what she said and he smiles. Out of the blue. So big and so broad the woman curled up in his lazy embrace can feel it where he's got his face nuzzled up against the nape of her neck.
"What?" she mumbles into the crook of his arm.
"Nothing," he answers. Only it's everything.
333
"Autumn carries more gold in its pocket than all the other seasons."
Jim Bishop.
333
First time he meets little Miss Judith Grimes, she's a pink, screaming bundle in her mama's exhausted arms.
She's beautiful.
Ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes. Rosebud mouth and chubby cheeks. She's a miracle resting in the arms of another miracle and he don't fight the hug Grimes pulls him into. Don't even try to give Lori grief like he usually does. Just stares at that baby she loved so much she almost gave her life for and feels himself choking up. Shit. Feels himself turning into a regular old sap because Carl don't even bug him like he normally does and thing about it is? Carol knows. Woman knows him like the back of her hand already and she moves around him with nothing more than a soft touch on his back. Scoops up that baby from her mama's arms and holds her close. Soothes her 'til she ain't crying nothing but fat crocodile tears. 'Til she whimpers herself to sleep and he feels it then. A stronger tug than before. Woman knows that, too. Can see it. Knows every goddamn thing about him.
They stay awhile.
Visit and offer all the usual platitudes. Find a place for their flowers and balloons amongst all the rest of the cheerful bouquets. Offer to take the boy home with them but he ain't having none of it. Ain't leaving his mama or his sister's side and Daryl don't blame him. In the same position? He knows he'd do the same thing. Knows Rick won't be leaving anytime soon either and it only feels right for them to do the leaving. To give the family the privacy they deserve and walk out of that room together. Without a word spoken between them, their feet lead them to the nursery. Root them there in front of all the babies, each one of them their own kind of miracle, and he opens his arms. "C'mere." Holds her when she walks into them. While she cries quiet tears. While he feels the lump in his own throat grow and grow. He still means it, what he said. 'Bout her and 'Phia being enough. Still feels it. But he can't help wondering and neither, he knows, can she.
"Daryl?"
"You okay, Sweetheart?"
"Gotta be."
"Don't," he tells her. "Don't have to be nothing. Can feel what you feel and to hell what anybody else says."
Her smile's a shaky thing but it's there when she lifts her head. Gazes up at him. "I know. I am. I will be."
They leave that hospital and walk sidewalks trimmed with gold. Soak in the beauty and the sheer wonder of just being and there ain't no doubt in his mind.
She'll be okay.
They both will.
333
"I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers."
L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables.
333
He and 'Phia are sitting on the front porch steps, elbow deep in pumpkin guts while Carol watches them both from her perch on the porch swing. Her pumpkin's already finished, painted up and pretty. Covered in enough glitter and sparkle to summon honest to God unicorns.
Kid's giggling between grimaces. Grossed out but loving every minute of it.
She's already traced out her design and he ain't no dummy. Neither's her mama. Whole thing looks suspiciously like one of them kittens she's been hinting after since their visit to Greene's Farm. His blueprint, however? Well. It's a little more basic if not a bit sinister.
"Are those teeth? They look like really pointy knives."
Woman tilts her head. Squints. "I think it's all a little Pennywise-esque. Daryl," she stifles a girlish giggle of her own, doubles her scarf around her neck against the crispness in the air. "You know how Carl feels about clowns."
"Stop."
"Cut out places for his hair," 'Phia suggests. Grabs the dishtowel resting between them to wipe off her hands. Looks for the ball of black yarn she'd borrowed from Mrs. McLeod down the street to accentuate her Cat-o-Lantern's whiskers.
She'd toyed with using licorice, but somebody had eaten it all. A certain pigtail-sporting, fist bump-prone babysitter/police cadet in training someone so he'd been the one to recommend an alternative. Walked with the kid himself and stayed within eyesight while she rung the arthritic old recluse's doorbell. "Like this?" he asks, lightly tracing out his best estimation of the clown's infamous coif. At her enthusiastic nod, he picks up his old hunting knife. Don't even bother wiping off his hands. The carving kit's reserved for 'Phia's use only anyway.
"Why am I hearing the Halloween theme song in my head?"
"Stop," he groans. Grins at her when she giggles again. "There something in that cider you're sipping?"
"What if there is?" she challenges.
'Phia's cheeks pinken and her freckled nose wrinkles.
Kid looks like she's trying not to laugh herself and Daryl plays it up. Sets his knife safely aside and climbs to his feet. Advances on her real slow, gives her time enough to bolt if she wants to play that way but the woman's braver than all the rest of them. Always has been and she merely stares at him. Dares him to do his damage but he only grabs her cup from her hand when she tries to hold it out of his reach. Holds it to his nose and sniffs. Shrugs. "I'd say give me a drink."
"Well. Taste anything?"
His lips twitch and his eyes dance as he teases her. "Sass. Ass. Take your pick. Either way tastes good."
"Daryl!"
She flushes scarlet and the kid? Well, 'Phia gives her a run for her money. Is torn between cracking up so hard she's wheezing and cringing in embarrassment and ordinarily he wouldn't blame her but this is good. This is the most carefree her mama's been since the hospital and holding a little piece of Heaven that's just out of her own reach. He'll take it. Even if he's far enough out of his comfort zone that he's looking down at it. He tries to offer the cup back to her, but it seems she really ain't the biggest fan of pumpkin guts. Which don't make a whole lot of sense, all things considered, but he ain't dwelling on something so inconsequential when that light is back in her eyes.
"No thanks. You keep it."
"Don't mind if I do." Keep you, he thinks.
333
"Listen! The wind is rising, and the air is wild with leaves, we have had our summer evenings, now for October eves."
Humbert Wolfe.
333
She looks cute in Shane's borrowed hoodie. Fucking adorable. And if she weren't already wearing his ring and he didn't have some basic understanding of where the poor bastard was coming from, well. He'd be a little jealous of the way he kept catching the man staring at her ass in them tight jeans. Tells her 'bout as much as they leave the Homecoming celebration to the high school kids, the young families and alumni, start walking home to an empty house ('Phia's been invited to spend the night with some friends; against his better judgment, he agreed with Carol, said yes) with the full moon overhead and the stars just as bright.
"Shane?" she sputters. Scoffs. "Really? He wasn't…"
"Was," he cuts her off. Sets her straight with a single growled word that reveals more than he wants it to. Cuts straight through all his internal claims of security because the simple truth is old habits die hard. And then she goes and makes him feel stupid with a simple shrug of her shoulders.
"So what."
"So what?"
"So what," she repeats. Takes his hand in her own. Leans her head on his shoulder.
Her hair smells faintly of the smoke from the bonfire. Her shampoo sweet underneath. Her even sweeter, and he feels even more a fool. Wonders what he ever did to deserve somebody like her brightening up his miserable life. Chuckles and confesses that to her too. Feels her tears dampen his thin sleeve, his only concession to the nip in the night air. He don't want that, though. Her pity. Ain't seeking it. Just opening another of his locked doors for her so he makes a soft plea. Besides. He's made his peace. Even if the moments of doubt, the moments where he questions if this is all some fever dream still resurface from time to time. Nobody's perfect and he ain't ever claimed to be. "Stop."
She does but she tightens her grip around his hand. Lifts it to her mouth and keeps it there. Goes quiet the rest of the way as she strolls with him through the shadows of the fiery red maples. The maroon canopy of a row of Bradford pear trees and past houses with jack-o-lanterns that flicker and wink at them. She doesn't let go until they mount their own steps and greet their own jack-o-lanterns. And only then to burrow her slim fingers into his pockets. Search for the small ring of keys she knows he's carrying.
He watches as she pushes the door open. Reclaims her hand when she offers it and lets her pull him inside. Pull him into the fierceness of her hug. Clings to her just as hard as she clings to him. Shudders when she whispers into his ear.
"It's not about deserving."
"How can you say…"
"Shh," she says. Fingers fluttering across his parted mouth seconds before her lips do.
It's all sensation after that. Smoke and sex because she strips bare before him. Uses her hands and her mouth and strips him too. Fucks him hard when he asks and loves him gentle when he needs it and when morning dawns? All of his doors are unlocked.
With his permission, she throws away the keys.
333
"Every leaf speaks bliss to me, fluttering from the autumn tree."
Emily Bronte.
333
"'Phia," he sticks his head in the front door. Calls out to the girl that's got her gangly, growing legs thrown over the arm of the couch. Her strawberry capped head propped up by pillows. "C'mere. Need your help with something."
Kid takes her time coming. Takes her time unsticking her freckled nose from her book. Takes one look at the orange candy bucket he's got cradled against his chest and furrows her brows. "Uh. Aren't those for little kids?"
"Never too old for trick-or-treating," he tells her. Matter-of-fact like. Drums his fingers on the bucket and smirks at the way her hazel eyes widen when something in the bucket rustles about. Mews.
"Is that?"
Daryl ignores her. Shares a knowing look with his wife over the girl's skinny shoulder. "What'll it be? Trick? Or treat?"
Tears of longing dampen her long lashes and she stretches out a pale, trembling hand. "Please don't let it be a trick."
And fuck if he don't melt at her small feet. Drop all his teasing and delve a big hand into the bucket. Lifts out a ball of black fluff that has the kid bawling her eyes out in two seconds flat, hiccupping her love and her thanks as she takes the small kitten into her hands and kisses it between its wide green eyes. "No tricks, Sweetheart."
"You promise?"
"Promise." Kid's brilliant smile is an even more painful arrow to his heart than her tears, but it's a wound he'll gladly reopen every day for the rest of his life if it means keeping her happy. Giving her all the things she's deserved and missed out on for so long and he's pretty sure her mama feels the same damn way.
"Mama! Look!"
"I see," Carol croons. Scratches the little midnight lion king beneath his chin and starts him up purring. "He's beautiful. What are you going to name him?"
"Simba? No. Silvester? No. Not that either. I don't know."
Just like that, her smile falls and her happy mood switches to sadness, and he remembers something Rick said months ago. 'Bout teenage girls and pregnant women and their mood swings and he wonders if he's really strong enough to withstand the storm he fears is coming in the not-too-distant future. Luckily her mama's got some percentage of saint flowing through her blood and is quick to reassure her where he don't manage.
"You'll think of something. There's no rush."
"You're right. Oh! I have to go show him our room."
"You gonna remind her 'bout the dirty business of the litter box or you gonna make me to do it?"
"Oh," she grins. "I'm sure you'll do just fine."
"S'what I thought," he chuckles. Grabs her by her belt loops and reels her in close enough for a lingering kiss as the breeze picks up and the leaves flutter on invisible zigzagging strings to the ground.
She pulls away with a gently mocking laugh. "Just remember I love you, Pookie."
"Pfft. Stop."
333
"If a year was tucked inside of a clock, then autumn would be the magic hour."
Victoria Erikson.
333
They find peace in acceptance. In just letting themselves be and shelving their worries for lighter things.
Judith grows like a stubborn little weed stretching toward the sunlight. Finally gets sent home from the hospital.
He watches her hold that baby and thinks of the kid. Of how she's taken up all the places in his heart that ain't already claimed by her mama. She ain't just hers anymore. She's his, too. Don't matter that she don't share his blood. Don't even have a Dixon gene to her name. She's his just as much as she's her mama's. Theirs.
"Salem! Don't!"
Kitten ain't much more than switchblade claws and stubborn sass. Always getting into trouble, figuring out what he ain't supposed to do and doing it.
"You listen to 'Phia. Better her than Mama getting you." Course, he's exaggerating. Straight up lying really because Carol? She spoils the little pain in the ass. Snuggles him when she thinks he's not looking. Treats him to balls of yarn from Mrs. McLeod's collection and taunts him with feather toys that 'Chonne sent as 'baby' gifts. He prefers the little laser mouse he knows she's got hidden in the silverware drawer but he much prefers keeping his balls intact more. Because that thing? Has proven to be DEFCON 2 or 3 on the disaster scale already. And okay. Maybe he don't want the little fuzzball getting into anymore trouble than his cute face can get him out of.
Horror movies start playing non-stop on the television.
Some of them are just plain stupid. Seriously. How many sequels does it take to kill that indestructible fuck Michael Myers? Others? Well. He finds the Scream movies mildly amusing. Can see Tara being the last one standing and Carl being one of the nerdy little masterminds if everything was to go to shit and he lost his moral compass. TheExorcist? Fuck off. He'd take a good ghost story any day. Was just something 'bout them and the way she kept cuddling closer and closer. Ended up in his lap before all them old-fashioned jump scares were over and done, watching between her fingers. Yeah. Those were the kinds of Halloween movies he'd grown to like best.
Soon, it's the last week of the Pumpkin Patch.
They go back. All four of them. Take the evening hay ride and he points out all the constellations he knows. Cassiopeia. Ursa Major. Ursa Minor. More. They're pretty in the clear night sky. But with her chin tipped toward the heavens and her blue eyes reflecting dreams and their silvered glow? She's a damn sight prettier and telling her so earns him a sweet smile and an even sweeter kiss. He picks hay out of his clothes for days. Fucking stuff even finds its way into their bed. But it's a minor annoyance compared to the memory it evokes and he wouldn't change a thing.
The leaves carpet their yard in some places like jewels from a crown.
He rakes them into towering piles on the days he finds himself home early. Coaxes her outside and kisses the sugar of whatever she's baking from her smile and plays in them with her like children. Sometimes, 'Phia joins them. And his heart is full to bursting when he sees that little girl so happy. Making snow angels without snow. Giggling as they gather up leaves by the armful and cover her up 'til only her head peeks out. Just her hazel eyes and scrunched freckle-dotted nose.
Before they know it, Halloween is lurking just around the corner.
"I think I want to be a zombie."
Kid seems to shrink in her shoes when they both yell no, instantly and simultaneously, and fuck but he can't explain it. Something about the notion makes his very heart sick. Makes his skin crawl with unease and worry. Makes her mama damn near cry. So it's a relief when she backpedals quick. Settles on something else. Something more benign and less bloody and he might be biased. Hell. He knows he is. But he bets she's going to be the cutest little witch that ever walked the sidewalks of King County. Especially with Salem in tow.
They let life take them where it will. Enjoy the crunch of leaves beneath their feet and the stir of the breeze through their hair. Go to the fair one town over one weekend and laze away the next rainy Saturday in their pajamas.
Life is good. But still oh-so-full of surprises.
333
"Anyone who thinks fallen leaves are dead has never watched them dancing on a windy day."
Shira Tamir.
333
Andrea finally calls. Weeks of keeping them waiting and she breaks their hearts in the span of one breath. "The mother's keeping the baby. Adoption's off the table."
He feels her knees buckle in front of him. Feels 'Phia's concerned gaze burning a hole in their backs and he ignores it. Just clasps a strong arm around her waist and holds her steady even though he's feeling less than sure himself. Takes the phone from her lax fingers. "That it?" he asks angrily. "Just like that?"
"Daryl. Don't. We always knew this would be a possibility. Suspected as much when she kept us waiting so long."
Kid abandons the art project she's working on for school. Leaves her colored pencils fair game for Salem's naughty paws and comes to them. Hugs her arm around her mama too. "Mama? What's going on?"
He can't breathe with the two of them looking up at him with tears in their pretty eyes. Can't possibly think straight and at first, he can't make heads or tails out of what's coming out of Andrea's mouth. Don't even know what she's getting at until she orders him to give the phone back to Carol. He does. Reluctantly.
"What? I don't know. We haven't talked…I know. Andrea, I know. Two of them? Sisters? I need to talk it over with Daryl. Sophia, too."
"What is it? The hell did she say?"
"Mama?"
333
"Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall."
F. Scott Fitzgerald.
333
A couple days later, a car door slams outside. Makes his heart jump clear to his throat.
'Phia pulls back the curtains. Peeks outside. Carefully extracts Salem's tiny claws from the lace one by one before glancing back at them both. "I think that's them."
"They're here? OhmyGod. They're here." Woman's hands flutter like butterfly wings over her clothes. Smooth out imaginary wrinkles in a nervous gesture that has him forgetting his own worries. Has him covering her hands with his own and placing them over his pounding heart.
"Breathe, Sweetheart."
"Daryl. They're here," she repeats unnecessarily. Belatedly remembers to do as he says.
"Know," he tells her. "Wanna go meet them?" Just the slightest hesitation in her response and he utters a gruff reminder. "Don't have to do this if you ain't sure."
She bites her lip. Looks from him to their girl. "Sophia?" Reads her hazel eyes without her saying a word and curls her fingers around the hand he fits palm to palm with her own. Rests her forehead briefly against his chin before she straightens. Nods sharply.
"Alright then. Just hold on to me. I got ya. Got ya both if you need me."
"We know, Daddy."
Emotion makes his voice gravel rough. Makes him bark out a wet laugh. "Two more little girls?"
"Two more little girls," she answers him. Shares a shaky smile with 'Phia.
"The hell are we thinking?"
"We're not. Not anymore. Let's go meet our girls."
"Let's go meet Lizzie and Mika."
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