This is another Andryl fiction, of course. It was hard to start this one because I knew where it was going to end but had no idea where it was going to start. Spoilers for those who haven't watched Season Two. Please don't be discouraged by the large paragraphs~
It was Dale who taught her to live again. He'd shown her that she'd been egotistical when she'd aimed for her own death to end her own suffering, for not realizing that Amy's death had hurt others, too. He'd slowly shown her that her life was just as important as Shane's life, as Rick's life, hell, as Daryl's life. She'd resented him for it, of course. He'd felt like a father, but not like her father, which was probably why she'd resented him more. But she understood, in some way, that this was how he would have worked things out if he'd had children. It leveled her when she remembered that he had lost a lot, too. And this was before the apocalypse. He must have suffered more. Even Carol had lost Ed, but Carol had been strong. Even when Sophia died. But it was Dale who drew her along, cared for her enough to see that she was alive every morning and would stay alive every night.
It was Lori who taught her to be a friend again. That was a slow process, and she thought Lori was always being a stuck-up bitch when she tried to get Andrea to help her. But slowly, slowly, she began to joke. Sometimes she'd even smile, laugh a sad laugh. Once, without realizing it, she giggled because she remembered what Amy would have done in that situation. Though Lori had her doing women chores with Carol, which she resented (Andrea hated laundry), just speaking with the other women, who were kind and caring but not afraid to crack jokes, made her open up in her own time. She still needed her time away from the women and she would not help with laundry, which Lori called her out on, but Lori understood. She spent some time with the women but she spent more time with the men.
It was Shane who taught her to be in control again. The second she could, she got her hands on a gun. Any gun, though she preferred the good ol' rifle or her own handgun, Ladysmith. He saw potential in her like others did, but he actually acted upon it. She learned from him, finally. She learned how to keep Lady in tip top condition, learned how to check the bullets, learned how to aim straight and true. She even remembered Rick's advice on keeping the safety off when shooting. She kept the safety on every other time. It was Shane who taught her to hit moving targets. It was Shane who took her into an abandoned (and overrun) suburb to get her anger out. It was Shane whom she followed like a puppy, eager to learn more. It was Shane, like it or not, who she'd come onto in the car on the ride home. There had been no sex, but it opened her up a little. She didn't feel much for him, but she'd needed to release some tension.
It was Beth who taught her to trust herself again. The women were keeping Beth away from herself. Andrea saw the beginnings of what she'd gone through post-Amy's death. They were keeping Beth from doing anything drastic. So Andrea hatched a plan to let Beth decide for herself. She asked Maggie if she could watch over the ailing young woman, and then she told Beth that she could do whatever she wanted, but she would not give her a knife. Then she left, knowing full well that Beth would not kill herself. The others didn't see her reasoning when Beth locked herself in the bathroom, broke the mirror, and slit her wrists. But the cuts weren't deep, just enough for Beth to feel pain, to realize that death was too permanent. Maggie still forbade her to ever enter the house again. That lasted four days, when Beth, out of catatonia, begged to talk to Andrea. Beth thanked Andrea and told her that if she hadn't tried to kill herself, she wouldn't have known how precious living was. That made Andrea believe that she was alive for a purpose still.
It was Glenn who taught her to laugh again. It wasn't his fault, really, but the man just oozed optimism. Optimism wasn't something Andrea had in the early days and she learned quickly that if she stuck near this guy, she'd almost always feel her mouth start to pull upwards into a smile. He was just a good man, probably the purest out of all of them besides Carl. He always had something to say; it was like he couldn't filter what came out of his mouth. She was thankful for this. It was Maggie who glared at her, but it was Glenn who welcomed her thoughts, her ideas, and finally her laughter as he vomited words that shouldn't have been said. Glenn was a character and she probably wouldn't have ever felt like her cheeks were going to explode because the muscles hurt so much if he hadn't been there. Not all of his jokes were funny, either, and certainly not all that he said could be taken as a joke, but it usually had her smiling nonetheless.
It was Carl who taught her to be kind and play around again. She hadn't actually played, not for a long while, but Carl had found a deck of cards and created an insane game where if someone won, they had to tell the losers something to do. It was stupid at first (draw two cards, skip a turn) but then, as those boring ideas wore out and the players grew bored, he was the one who came up with dancing like a gorilla, making the face of a fish. Something crazy. They all played along, especially at night when they were all lounging around and he brought out his cards and they knew what was going to happen. The game got worse after Carl went to bed and after the adults had a few sips (or a few drinks) of beer. Outside of the game, Lori began to ask Andrea to watch her son. At first, it was torture—Andrea always remembered watching Amy—but then she realized that this boy wasn't anything like her sister had been. He didn't like dolls or house; he liked shooting, and she liked shooting. She discovered playing with him was more fun than she previously realized.
But it was Daryl who had the most impact of all.
It was Daryl who taught her to love again. It had been slow at first. He'd stopped by to check on her right after Amy died. He watched solemnly as she shot her beloved sister in the head. She confided in him at the CDC and he hadn't stopped her, realizing that he couldn't stop her. They'd bonded in the woods after the search for Sophia began. An answer for an arrow, she'd said, hoping to end the poor hanging man's supposed misery. They sat next to each other completely by accident at night outside of Hershel's barn, sharing the same hope that Carl would make it, would survive. After that first night, they'd begun to sit next to each other often. She couldn't help but notice that little twinge of jealousy whenever she and Shane walked past him. She noticed that cringe in her stomach when she saw him go to Carol with that flower to try to cheer her up, wondered why he hadn't done that for her. Then she realized that she wasn't like Carol and he'd done what he'd thought was best for her. That cringe in her stomach didn't let up, though, not until he left Carol alone.
That feeling of warmth in the base of her stomach that swept slowly up into her chest, the slight fluttering in her stomach, the quickening of her heart when she picked up that rifle and sighted down the scopes, eager to tell him when he returned that she'd shot a walker from a long distance. Her first long-distance kill; she wanted to share that triumph with him first. That horrible feeling when the world almost crashed down on her again when she realized that it wasn't a walker she'd shot, but Daryl himself. The utter helplessness she'd felt, so absolute that she'd spent time in her tent, not even allowing herself to eat until Dale forced her to. It wasn't her fault, Dale had said, she didn't know. The debilitating paralysis she'd felt when she finally saw him walk out of Hershel's house a little worse for wear, keeping her in place as he walked right past her, anger smoldering in his eyes. Aimed at her.
That sense of relief that washed over her when he'd accepted the book she offered, ironically named The Case of the Missing Man, a book she'd chosen from Dale's small library for him to read while he recuperated. The little half-smile he had on his face as he saw the seat open next to her at night when he was well enough. The fluttering in her stomach when he sat down next to her then, not close enough to touch but close enough; the slight smile she wore all throughout the night when she realized that he'd forgiven her for nearly killing him. It took a while, but one night they were sitting there and all of the others had gone to bed except for him, Rick, and T-Dog. Rick and T-Dog were in their own conversation, and Andrea decided just once to brush her arm against his; it was meant to be an 'accident,' but he didn't flinch away from her when she said she was sorry.
Instead, he drawled out, "Yer cold."
Was she? She couldn't feel. She'd taken to wearing short sleeves when near the campfire because the blaze usually warmed her too much to have a sweatshirt. But when she touched the side of her arms, they felt cold and she shivered involuntarily. "I guess I am."
The sudden surprise, the fluttering in her stomach that burst into full-blown butterflies, when he put his arm on her other side and drew her closer. Not to his chest, but just close enough that their arms met. He wasn't one for cuddling. Good thing, because neither was she, but just the warmth from his arm made her warm all over despite what her skin said.
That next 'fireside chat' was the next time he sat so close to her that their arms were touching. The way that no one else seemed to notice and Daryl didn't draw attention to it, only ate his squirrel that he'd caught earlier that day. She ate her own squirrel and decided it needed seasoning. Pepper. Or Salt. The way they played the card game that night long after Carl went to bed. The game got progressively worse and finally people stepped out to get some shut eye. It was only Daryl, Dale, and Andrea awake in the end. The way the old man kept glancing at them, a smile on his face as he watched them play together. She knew he saw how they were double-teaming him, but he was a kind player and said nothing about it.
That feeling of dread when Sophia stepped out of the barn, the last walker, fully dead, disintegrating before their eyes. Seeing Daryl comfort Carol, holding her back, allowing Rick to finish the job. Andrea was standing there, unsure what to make of the situation. Unsure what to make of Rick, of Shane, of Daryl holding Carol. Afterwards, she helped clean up, helped pick the walkers up. Helped Carol bury Sophia. Which was odd, seeing as she wouldn't let anyone bury Amy. That disgusting feeling in the pit of her stomach as she noticed Daryl comfort Carol more and more. He still sat next to her at night, though. But then again, Carol turned in early.
The sudden relief and joy when she confronted him about it. Not really confronted, she didn't think. No, more like asked him about Carol. He'd shrugged and said she was fine now. He didn't talk about her that way; she'd heard him. She'd seen him, that small spark in his eye. But she didn't know how he truly felt. That feeling of curiosity when he asked her to go out hunting with him. His irritability when she couldn't keep quiet and stepped on "Every damn stick'n'twig in the fucking forest." But she could hear his jest. She did watch him shoot down four squirrels. He taught her how to skin and gut them. The way he was gentle with her whenever he placed his hand on her to guide her through it. Shane never was and she'd liked Shane for that. But seeing Daryl being gentle made her stomach wash with those butterflies again.
The way her stomach leapt with relief whenever he reemerged from the forest. Usually he held squirrels, sometimes a larger animal. The way he singled her out to help him skin. The light in his eyes as, slowly, she learned not to need his help. The way that, after weeks of learning, finally she was deemed 'good enough' so that he didn't need to watch her gut the animals anymore. The way that he didn't talk much when they worked on the animals, but his companionship was all she needed. The way he smelled especially after a hunt when his smell was the strongest and not washed out by the pretty floral shampoos he rarely partook in using. That little smile he got whenever he (or she, but that was later) did something right, like fixing a broken bolt or finally cooking a squirrel perfectly.
That night some weeks later when everyone else was asleep except for T-Dog on watch but she wasn't tired in the slightest. She lay down slightly out of the way of the camp and looked up at the stars, suddenly so clearly viewable without the light from cities, without the light from anything but the moon. The way he came up to her silently and sat down next to her. Clearly something was on his mind; he kept picking at the grass, agitated. This made her agitated, too, and she propped herself on one elbow and asked what was wrong, fully expecting to get a brash remark out of him.
"I think I love you." He said childishly almost, like a kid would tell another kid when he was unsure of how courtship went. The way her heart stopped; she could count how many seconds it stopped if she'd been in her right mind. The way he didn't look at her, the way her butterflies were now alligators gnawing to get out of her stomach. The way her breath caught in her throat. Equally unsure of what to say.
Finally, as if her mind had caught up to her, her mouth moved automatically. "I think I love you, too."
The way he dropped the blade of grass he was meticulously pulling apart. The way he turned to look at her and even in this pale moonlight she could see his features, his scraggly beard, the kindness in his face, the light glinting off his softened eyes. The way he pushed her hair, light gray in the light of the moon, out of her face, the way he traced her cheek with one finger. The way that simple touch sent tingles through her body, electricity she hadn't felt with a long time, not even with Shane. The way he leaned in and kissed her on the mouth softly as if he was uncertain of what to do.
The way he pulled away and she was left with a wanting of more. The way he let her sit up, let her come to him, to kiss him more warmly, an exploratory kiss. The way they separated, not exactly breathless, searching each other's eyes for a second before he let himself smile. The way his smile somehow lit up his face even though it was dark. Then he was gone, standing up over her as if unwilling to leave her. But she was okay with him leaving; neither of them were cuddly people. One kiss was good for the night.
The way he lingered above her for a moment as if deciding on what to say. The way his final words of goodnight were: "I think I still love you."
The way she smiled as she touched her lips and lay back down to look at the sky again. She wouldn't sleep much tonight.