Merle always called him a wuss. Well, he called him names for a lot of reasons, but whenever the two of them went out barhopping and Daryl went home alone, again, it made him a wuss.
Hell, when he did find some woman to go to a motel with, it was mostly just because Merle and his asshole buddies called him shit a lot worse than "wuss" if he went too long without showing interest in a lady. It wasn't that he didn't like women- he did. It was just the idea of spending a night with them and forgetting about it the next day that didn't hold a lot of appeal. He liked women, but picking up random strangers at a bar always felt like more trouble than it was worth. He could just use his right hand for the same results.
But, if it got Merle to throw a few less barbs his way, why not? It wasn't like he was going to find a woman that wanted him to stick around, anyway.
Daryl couldn't stop staring at her. He couldn't stop hovering at her side. He didn't care that she was as filthy as the rest of them, or that everyone kept glancing his way and smirking. He couldn't even tell what it was about her- her eyes, her body, the way she could blow up a compound full of cannibals one minute and kiss him on the cheek the next? He knew he hadn't always been this attracted to her- back at the quarry he'd barely noticed she existed. Even back at the farm, he'd never really thought of her as attractive. It seemed like the more they'd gotten to know each other, though, the more attractive she got.
Hell, he didn't even care. He was just happy to have her back.
The day after they left Terminus, Rick had them stop at the closest town they could find- it looked ransacked, but they'd escaped with almost nothing. They had to try.
He and Carol took a house (no one questioned that they were staying together) and one of the new people, Tara, joined them. After making sure the place was clear, they split up so Carol could search the second floor, and Tara could inspect the kitchen. Daryl wound up checking out the first-floor master.
The sheets and blankets had already been stripped from the bed, and the connecting bathroom was totally picked clean. The last thing he checked was the dresser.
There were a few women's t-shirts still in the top drawer that looked wearable. Picking them up, the bold black letters emblazoned on the front of the top one caught his eye.
"LGBTTQQIAAP." OK, the "LGBT" part he recognized, but what the hell were all the other letters for?
He shrugged, piled them on the bed, and proceeded to empty the other drawers, finding a couple of men's t-shirts and a pair of socks. Not a bad haul, considering the state of the rest of the house.
Daryl heaved the pile into the kitchen, where Tara was still looking through the cabinets to see if there was anything useable left. So far, it looked like all she'd found was a plastic ladle.
Daryl held up the shirt. "The hell do all these stand for?"
Tara snorted. "After the 'LGBT' it seems like everyone has a different continuation." She went back to rummaging through the cabinets. "Let's see, there's intersex, pansexual, queer, questioning, asexual, uh… oh, transsexual! Demisexual- wait, no, there's no 'D' on that shirt. See, this is why you should always use a plus sign at the end."
"The hell's demisexual?"
"It means you're only attracted to people you've already bonded with. Like, you don't look at some random stranger and want to sleep with them, you don't experience that initial physical attraction."
"Wait. That's a thing?"
"What do you mean, 'that's a thing?'" Tara asked, turning back to raise an eyebrow at him.
"No, uh, nothing. Nevermind."
Carol chose that moment to walk in, automatically glancing at Daryl but pausing when she saw the look he was giving her. "What?"
"... nothing."