You watch him walk across the prison yard, the morning sun coming from behind you to bathe him in a golden light. You can't help yourself, there's something hypnotic in the way that he moves, drawing your eye to him every time he's in your presence. His movements are fluid, every muscle, bone and sinew doing its job to ultimate perfection.
The cocky swagger he had a year ago has disappeared into a new found confidence that shows in every line of his anatomy as he stops to talk to Glenn by the gate. He's talking with his hands as much as his mouth and it's a trait that you've come to love, watching his hands express his words in a language of their own. You're not even sure he's aware that he's doing it.
It's another of those things you've only noticed in him recently as you've seen him move away from the volatile, sullen redneck that he was, into this new personality, one that you're sure was there below the surface the whole time but just needed a little encouragement to come out. Sure, he can still be volatile and sullen when he wants to be but he can also be level headed and a leader, someone the others have started to look up to and respect.
Glenn nods in agreement to whatever's being asked of him and Daryl turns suddenly, looking straight at you, as if he knew he was being watched. He stares at you, hand coming up to shield his eyes, making them unreadable at this distance, until Glenn says something and he turns back to him.
While his back is turned, you slip quickly and quietly from the steps where you were sitting and disappear inside the cell block.
After a morning of chores, you head inside to grab some lunch, taking a seat at one of the bolted down tables in the common area. Rick and Daryl are seated at the other table, heads bent over what looks to be a large map. Rick nods to you as you sit down and you smile back but Daryl has his back to you and doesn't even acknowledge you're there.
While you eat, you pull out your journal and your favorite pen, flipping the pages until you come to the most recent sketch you were working on of Rick and baby Judith. Stealing quick glances at him, you work on some of the details of his face, not really listening to their conversation.
You've been collecting portraits of everyone over the months, clinging to your art like a lifeline that's keeping you afloat in the scary seas of this new world. It's the one thing that calms you and takes you away, even for a few minutes and you guard your journal obsessively, keeping it with you at all times. You've noticed some of the others looking at you curiously but everyone has their ways of coping and they all respect that this is yours. Nobody asks to see what you're working on and you haven't volunteered to show anyone.
You finish your food and get up to clean your plate, finally tuning in to Daryl and Rick's conversation. From what you can gather, Daryl wants to go someplace he's pointing out on the map and Rick is trying to talk him out of it.
"What makes you think it hasn't been picked clean already?" asks Rick.
"'cos not many people knew it was there. That was the whole point. You don't advertise that kind of thing unless you want trouble. But this guy I knew, drove trucks for them, said the place was the main distribution warehouse for the whole company. Everything got shipped into there."
"I still don't like it, sending you out on a maybe."
"We gotta try it, man, what if it's all just sitting there? It has to be worth a look at least. Let me go check it out. I'll take the bike, be back in a few hours."
Rick takes a moment to think it over.
"Okay, but I don't want you going alone, even if it is just for recon."
"Fine, then I'll take Lucia."
You spin around at the sound of your name to find them both looking at you.
"Me?" you stammer, thinking you must have misheard.
"Sure, why not?" asks Daryl. "It's a simple run or don't you think you can handle it?"
"Of course I ca-"
"Good, then I'll see you out front in five minutes. You might want to put something a little more practical on."
He's giving you one of his penetrating stares and you look down at the shorts and tank top you've been wearing for working outside and suddenly feel like you're standing naked before him. You feel your face flush as you mumble something about getting changed and flee the room.
Dressed in jeans and a clean t-shirt, you head back outside to find Daryl already sat on his bike, an impatient look on his face. You slide your arms through the straps on your pack and climb on behind him, placing your booted feet carefully on the footpegs. You're barely seated before he guns the engine and pulls out of the yard, causing you to grab at the back of his jacket for support. You swear you hear him snort with laughter as he circles a hand at Carl, who's manning the gate.
Out on the road, he increases speed and the bike roars beneath you, soon eating up the miles. This is the first time you've been outside the prison walls in weeks and, until now, you didn't realize quite how much you missed being outside. The back roads are pretty clear, only a few wrecks littering the asphalt, not enough to slow you down. The afternoon sun is warm on your skin and your hair is lifted from your face, streaming out behind you. The child inside of you feels like lifting your arms to the sky but you know, if Daryl catches sight of you, you'll never live it down, so you keep your fingers loosely clenched in the soft leather of his vest instead.
As the time and the miles pass by, it dawns on you that you have no idea where you're even going and, when Daryl pulls over to check the map he has folded inside his jacket, it's the first question you ask.
"Supply warehouse," he mutters, distractedly, tracing the map with his finger.
"Warehouse for what?" you say, climbing off the bike to stretch your legs.
"You ever hear of Cabela, city girl?"
"The hunting goods store? Of course… oh!"
You feel your eyes go wide as the implications set in – the possibility of an arsenal of weapons, ammo and all kinds of other survival gear flash through your mind. A rare grin steals across Daryl's face as he tucks the map back in his pocket.
"C'mon, we better get moving if we want to get there and back before dark. We're gonna have to stop for gas along the way. There's a small town a little further up along here, hopefully we can find some cars that ain't been bled dry."
The small town turns out to be nothing more than a two-pump gas station, a shabby looking convenience store and a shady looking bar. There are three cars parked outside of the bar and, after making sure the area is clear of walkers, Daryl checks the tanks on each, cursing at the first two and then making a triumphant noise as he hits the jackpot with the third.
While he's syphoning the gas out of the tank, you head towards the store, thinking maybe you'll find something still edible inside. You try the front door but it's locked and, when you press your face to the grimy window, you can see the place has been picked clean, the back door standing wide open. Through the open doorway you can see another car parked out back and you call out to Daryl to tell him you're going to go check it out. He waves a hand to signal he heard you and you step down off the front stoop of the store and head around back.
As you round the back corner of the building, a sudden breeze whips your hair across your face, blinding you for a second. Tossing your head around in the opposite direction to get it out of your eyes, your vision clears just in time for you to see the walker rearing up in front of you. You give an ear-piercing shriek as it comes at you, hands outstretched, a guttural sound coming from its throat. You back-pedal, arms pin wheeling but it already has your shirt caught between its rotting fingers. You feel yourself falling backwards and it comes down with you, jaw clacking inches from your face as you take its full weight on top of you. Your pack breaks your fall but something inside digs painfully into your ribs.
From what seems like a million miles away, you can hear Daryl shouting your name, while you struggle to keep the walker from chomping down on your bare arm. The smell of it is invading all your senses and your stomach roils in fear and nausea. Then suddenly the weight of it is gone and you lay there stunned as Daryl hauls it off you by the back of its shirt, throws it to the ground and drives his blade into its skull. It deflates with a sickening groan and you close your eyes as the world spins above you.
"Are you hurt?" Daryl's voice comes from above you and his strong hands are pulling you into a sitting position. You open your eyes to find him kneeling beside you, his hands running frantically over your arms and neck.
"Did you get bit? Lucia?" He shakes you slightly and you slap away his hands.
"Stop, I'm fine. It just winded me is all. Took me by surprise. I didn't even have time to get my knife."
He gets up, pulling you to your feet alongside him. You sway for a minute, legs shaking from the adrenaline surge and he reaches out to steady you with a hand on your waist. You look up at him gratefully and his face is etched with concern, his brow creased and his eyes narrowed. You become acutely aware of his nearness but he doesn't move away, so you don't either. His fingers tighten on your waist and you bring up a hand to rest against his chest, about to speak, when a movement catches your eye over his shoulder.
"Daryl!" You clutch at his shoulder, turning him to face the other way.
A group of walkers has appeared, coming from the direction of the bar, probably drawn by the sound of your screams. There's at least thirty of them, way more than the two of you can handle alone and they're cutting you off from Daryl's bike. They've already covered half the distance towards you, when Daryl grabs your arm, propelling you in front of him.
"Run! Go! Into the woods."
You don't hesitate, another surge of adrenaline coursing through your body as you take off at breakneck speed into the trees, Daryl hot on your heels. Behind him you can hear the snarls of the first walkers as they crash into the undergrowth. Your feet fly over the ground, jumping over fallen branches and dodging tree trunks as you head deeper into the forest.
The pair of you run until the breath is burning in your throat and you're starting to see black spots floating before your eyes. You can hear Daryl breathing hard behind you and you keep going until a stitch pierces your side and you skid to a halt, clutching yourself and wheezing. Daryl pulls up beside you, unslinging his crossbow from his back, eyes scanning in every direction.
"I'm sorry," you gasp, "I just need a minute."
"'S'fine, I think we're far enough ahead of them. We can walk when you're ready though, I wanna keep moving, just to be safe. You got any water in your pack? Mine's back on the bike."
You nod, wincing as you slip the straps off, a sharp pain lancing across your back.
"You're hurt." It isn't a question this time but a statement.
"I landed on my pack when I fell, I guess something bruised me."
"Here… let me take a look."
He comes around behind you, gently lifting your shirt. He gives a low whistle as his fingers lightly brush the skin over your ribs, making you hiss a little from the pain.
"I don't think nothin's broke but you got one helluva bruise comin' up already."
He lowers your shirt back down and comes around to take the water bottle you hand him. He takes a long swallow, then hands it back to you, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.
"Think you're ready to carry on?" he asks.
You nod in reply, taking a drink then re-capping the bottle and stowing back in your pack. You're about to put your arms back through the straps when he takes it from you, slinging it over his shoulder instead, crossbow held in the crook of his other arm.
You walk together in silence, keeping a brisk pace but fortunately not encountering anymore walkers. After a while you notice that you're travelling steadily uphill.
"Daryl, where are we going? Shouldn't we be heading back to the bike?"
"It's too late, gonna be dark soon. I don't want us to be wanderin' around here once that happens. We need a safe place to hole up for the night, then in the morning, we'll circle back around, come at the bike from the other side just in case there's still any uglies hanging around between here and there."
"So, what do you have in mind for a safe place?"
"That," he says, pointing up as the trees open out into a clearing.
Your mouth drops open a little as you take in the structure ahead of you. Stretching high above the trees, a ranger tower touches the sky before you, the late afternoon sun glinting off the windows that circle its top. A steel staircase zigzags up the inside of the frame and Daryl heads up first.
"How did you know this was here?" you ask, trying to keep up with him as he bounds easily up the stairs.
"Saw it on the map when I was lookin' for a place to find gas."
"You don't think they'll follow us up here?"
"Nah, I think we should be pretty safe. See how the last part of the stairs turns into a ladder? You have to go up through a trap door to access the tower. We'll be able to secure it from the inside."
He motions for you wait at the top of the staircase, handing you his crossbow and clamping his knife between his teeth as he climbs the ladder and taps on the underside of the trap door. You hold your breath, listening intently but there's no sound from above you. Daryl tenses for a second, then pushes up on the trap door, pulling himself up and disappearing inside.
"Clear," he calls out softly and you exhale the breath you were holding, following him up the ladder, handing up his crossbow as he leans down to pull you up inside. He closes the trapdoor behind you, sliding home the bolt as you take a look around. The room at the top is larger than you thought it would be. There's a table and two chairs in the middle of the room, a small cot in one corner and a desk with communication equipment in another. There's even a tiny propane stove set up on the table.
You catch Daryl's eye and he gives you his second grin of the day, as he triumphantly waves a can of beans in the air he's found in the small cupboard under the table. He tosses it to you and it's quickly followed by a can of spaghetti and a small saucepan.
"Well, alright! Looks like we won't starve tonight."
He sets about lighting the stove as you hunt in the table's drawers for a can-opener and something to eat with. Pretty soon the room is filled with the smell of warm food and, as the sun's last rays drop below the tree-line, you share a meal at the small table. You find a half case of bottled water tucked away under the communications desk and after, you've done eating, you take one outside onto the small balcony that rings the tower and use it to wash some of the grime from your arms, neck and face, soaking the spare t shirt you have in your pack to use as a washcloth.
Daryl joins you outside and you watch the moon rise until it hangs, bloated and white, bathing everything in a silvery light. Far below you the woods start to come alive with the sounds of nocturnal wildlife going about their nightly business. Something shrieks in the darkness making you jump.
"Nothing to worry about, city girl," Daryl says with a low chuckle.
"I think it's about time you stopped calling me that. If I was still a city girl, we'd have been dead today. The person I was before could never have run that far or that fast. Your backwoods ass would have had to have carry me!"
Daryl snorts.
"C'mon, let's get inside. Just in case one of the freaks is wanderin' around with their head to the sky."
You go back inside, the moon lighting the interior almost like it was day, taking the seats at the table where you sit in silence for a while before Daryl looks at you, head cocked to one side.
"What?" you ask.
"You're not scared, are ya?"
"What do you mean? I was scared to death this afternoon."
"Well, yeah, with a walker on top of you. Hell, anybody would be scared by that but I meant in general. Nothing really seems to freak you out."
"I don't know if I would say I'm not scared but I've learned that I can only control so much in my life, especially now, and I just have to deal with what happens when it happens. If I live in a state of perpetual fear, I may as well just be dead already. Yes, it's a brutal world but as long as I can still find beauty in it, then I'm going to keep fighting to make it better."
He sits back, seeming to think about your words and then reaches for his jacket which is hanging on the back of his chair. He pulls something from the inside pocket and lays it on the table. Your heart stutters in your chest as you realize it's your journal. In your rush to leave earlier you must have left it on the table where you were eating. Your face burns as he opens it at the beginning and starts to slowly turn the pages.
"Is that why you draw?" he asks softly, not lifting his eyes from the images in front of him.
"Yes."
You watch him slide the pages over gently with an almost reverent touch, his eyes studying each image thoroughly before moving to the next. The ghost of a smile touches his lips as he passes sketches of Michonne looking fearsome, katana arcing through the air; Maggie smiling at Glenn, fingers resting on his face; Beth chasing Carl across the prison field, running for the sheer joy of it; Rick and Hershel, heads bent in conversation. His smile grows as he finds Judith's baby portraits, asleep in the crib he made her.
"Why don't you share these, any of them?" he asks.
"I don't know. I guess I don't really do it for anyone else, it's just my way of remembering. I just feel like nobody should be forgotten, do you know what I mean?"
He nods slowly.
You hold your breath, waiting because you know what comes next, willing him to stop turning the pages, wondering if you can snatch it from his grasp but instead you sit there, frozen, as he turns page after page of his own image. You've captured every aspect of him, committing it all to paper - from him hunting, crossbow up, face serious with concentration to him, face contorted in anger, standing toe to toe with Rick.
There are sketches of him sitting, walking, holding the baby, working in the yard and so many more. He stops at the last picture you drew of him, a close up of his face - eyes staring intently off into the distance, a slight crease in his brow, lips slightly parted, shaggy hair framing his perfect bone structure. His fingers reach out to touch the lines on the page, stopping at the last moment before they actually make contact.
"Is this how you see me?" he asks in a whisper.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Why? Because you're beautiful and you have no idea."
His eyes search your face, looking for the lie behind your words.
"'Ain't never been called beautiful before."
"Well, you are. And I'm not just talking about your face and your body, I'm talking about the person that you are, the person I've watched you become. You have no clue how amazing you are, do you?"
"Pffft," he snorts derisively, "you're crazy, I ain't nothin' special."
He closes your journal with a slap and slides it across the table to you. You leave it laying there between you, when minutes ago you would have done anything to have it back in your possession.
"Don't do that, Daryl, don't put yourself down like that. You're so much better than you'll ever know."
"Stop. I ain't never amounted to anythin' and I probably never will. I'm certainly not worthy of you wasting your talent on," he spits out, anger and a touch of hurt, tinging his words.
Your heart aches for him but you're also angry, not at him but at the people in his life that were responsible for making him feel this way, that he was nothing and he would always be nothing. You get up from the table, chair scraping back against the wooden floor as you hold out your hand to him.
"Get up."
He looks at you for a long moment, then takes your hand, letting you pull him up to stand in front of you. You look up at him, eyes traveling over his features, taking in the strong jaw, his goatee speckled with sexy streaks of grey, his lips and the cute mole above them, his high cheekbones, his striking eyes which are watching you with a mixture of confusion and curiosity. You bring up a hand, slowly reaching to touch his face and he flinches away from you, eyes widening like a trapped animal.
"Daryl."
You say his name softly and this time when you reach for him he doesn't move away but stands like stone instead, every muscle in his body taut and thrumming as you gently stroke his cheek with the ball of your thumb. Slowly, you bring your other hand up to join the first, letting your fingers explore his features with a feather-light touch. Gradually, he relaxes a little, some of the tension ebbing from his body as your hands stroke and caress his face.
You move your body a little closer to his, encouraged when he doesn't back away and gently but firmly you pull his face down to yours, feeling his breath quicken as you touch your lips to his. He tenses again under your touch for a moment and then, suddenly, his body is responding to yours. His bare arms slip around your waist, pulling you closer to him as his lips push back against yours.
You slide a hand around the back of his neck, stroking the skin there before pushing your fingers up to clutch at his hair as you part your lips to him to deepen the kiss. He moans hard, making your spine shake, as he delves into your mouth with his tongue. His kiss is hard and hungry, his mouth practically devouring yours but its making you whole body tingle and your body bangs against his, hips grinding as you fight for dominance over his tongue.
He abruptly lets you go, staggering back a few steps, chest heaving and eyes wild. You don't give him a chance to think, going on the offensive again, crossing the distance between you and tearing at the buttons on his shirt, reaching up on tiptoe to kiss him again. His hands try to fight yours but you just kiss him harder and he moans again, letting you undo his shirt while his fingers fist into your hair, holding your face to his.
Your hands fly over his flesh, tracing every line and muscle of his hard stomach and his broad chest. You tweak at his nipples and he makes a strangled cry in his throat that has your pussy twitching in response. This time you're the one to break off the kiss, panting hard as you shed your clothes to stand naked before him. His eyes devour you, looking at you like a starving man who's just been given an endless feast.
He reaches for his own belt, fingers fumbling to undo it, never taking his eyes off you. Smiling, you push away his fingers, undoing the buckle and pulling down his zipper yourself. You reach inside his open pants, fingers finding his straining cock and wrapping around it, tugging slightly as he throws his head back, closing his eyes. You stroke him hard for a minute until he tips his head back down, growling deep in his throat as he pushes you away from him, tipping you backwards onto the small cot behind you.
You back up onto the bed as far as you can, watching as he quickly pulls off his boots and strips out of his pants. You barely have time to admire his physique before he's on top of you, knees pushing between yours as he captures your mouth in another brutal kiss. Your hands grasp at his skin, nails leaving deep trails in his shoulders as you slide your tongue against his. You can feel the burning heat of his body hovering above you, the musky smell of him filling your nose and making you crazy. You push up underneath him, thrusting your hips against him, feeling his hard cock rolling over your abdomen, leaving behind a sticky trail wherever it touches.
Now it's your turn to moan and you feel his body quiver at the sound. You want him inside of you now and you bring one of your legs up to wrap around the back of his thighs. He stops kissing you with an audible smacking sound and looks down to where your body is pushing up against him. He starts to bring one hand up to his mouth but you grab it with yours.
"Daryl Dixon! I swear to God, if you spit on that hand right now, you'll be spending the rest of the damn night out on the balcony!"
He looks at you sheepishly and you grin back at him, taking his hand and guiding it down between you until his fingers are gliding through the hair on your mound and delving between your wet lips. You keep your fingers lightly on his, steering his movements, until you're sure he's got it, then pulling your hand back up to slowly slip your fingers into your mouth, seeing his eyes widen as he watches you suck your own juices from your skin.
His fingers work at your pussy, the rough skin causing all kinds of sensations as he strokes your clit before shoving his fingers inside you, pushing into your wetness, making you gasp and buck your hips to meet his hand. He kisses you once more, then pulls back, a questioning look on his face.
You nod to him and he pulls his slick fingers from you, changing his position and reaching to grab his cock, sliding it against you before he enters you hard, balls banging against you as he rams into you again and again. You bring your other leg up to wrap around with the first, opening yourself to him as he pounds his cock into your slickness, grunting with every forward movement.
His hands reach up above your head, wrapping around the metal headboard of the cot, leveraging his body for maximum thrust. Your hands reach for his arms, his muscles rippling under your touch as you cling to him. He fucks you hard, both of you soon slicked with sweat, bodies sliding against each other.
Abruptly, he pulls out of you, breaking the hold you have on him with your legs and you look up at him, confused, for a second before he bodily grabs you, pulling you up and flipping you over until you're on your knees in front of him. Without hesitation, he finds your entrance and thrusts his wet cock back into you, resuming his punishing pace.
Now you're the one bracing yourself against the cot's frame, your arms straining as you try to hold steady against his frantic movements. You feel his bodyweight coming down over your back as he kisses his way up your spine, one hand brushing aside your hair to nip at your neck. You shudder at his touch and his name escapes your lips in a small strangled cry. He makes a whining noise, cock buried deep inside of you as he bites hard where you're shoulder meets your neck. You give a soundless scream, pushing back against him and before you know it, he's turning you over again, like your body weighs nothing in his hands, pushing your knees up to your chest and thrusting into you once more while his mouth clashes against yours.
You clench tight around him, wanting to come so bad but not wanting this to end, and he makes that whining sound once more, raw and animalistic, deep in his throat. You feel it in your very soul and that's it, your body let's go, writhing beneath him as your orgasm rips through you, eyes locked on his, teeth bared as you clench and release around him, feeling your wetness slicking him even more.
He groans in response, stiffening inside you and cursing softly as he reaches his own climax, head falling down to rest against yours as he gives a few last thrusts against you. He rests like that for a second, breath panting out of him, before raising his head from yours, flicking back his sweat-darkened hair and looking down at you. You feel him slide from you and you lower your legs back down as he collapses against you.
You lay like that for a while, not speaking, bodies pressed together, your arms around his back, stroking softly at his skin. With a grunt he makes to sit up but you hold him back.
"Where are you going?"
"Figured you'd want the bed to yourself," he mumbles, not meeting your eyes.
You sigh, taking his face in your hands and forcing him to look at you.
"You…"
You kiss him softly on the lips.
"Are…"
Another kiss.
"Worthy…"
Another kiss.
"When are you going to let that fact penetrate that thick redneck skull of yours? You're every bit as deserving of the love and respect people want to give you as any of the others. You just have to let them give it."
He stares into your eyes and you can see his emotions clashing as he wants to believe you but all his old barriers are holding him back. Finally, he buries his head against your neck, arm wrapped tight around your stomach, and you feel the hot burn of his tears trickling against your skin. You say nothing else, just hold him against you, fingers stroking through his hair.
The sound of birds outside pulls you from your slumber and the cool pre-dawn air blows in the open window and tickles your naked skin. You stretch a little, thoughts of the night before coming back to you in a rush and you turn your head to look at Daryl. At some point during the night, he's managed to roll over on the narrow cot and is laying with his back to you.
You turn on your side, bending your knees up to spoon around him, frowning as your eyes take in the terrible scars on his back and the large demons tattooed on his shoulder. Your fingers reach out to trace the ink with their tips and you wonder if one day he'll share their meaning with you. He stirs at your touch and you slide your fingers down to rest at his hip. He reaches up a hand to scrub at his eyes, yawning deeply, before looking over his shoulder at you.
"Mornin'," his voice is gravelly and sends a small buzz along your spine.
"Morning," you reply, unable to keep a smile from spreading across your face.
He stares at you for a moment, blue eyes sparkling under his bangs.
"Don't think this means we're goin' steady or nothin'!" he growls.
"The thought didn't cross my mind for second," you reply.
"Good."
He turns his head to the other side, laying it back down, but you smile to yourself as his hand reaches down to find yours, his warm fingers wrapping around it as he pulls it up to his chest and holds it there.