AN: I don't even know what this is. I just needed to write it. Maybe someone will enjoy reading it.
I own nothing from the Walking Dead. If we're being honest, I don't even watch it anymore. Everything comes straight out of my imagination these days (with a few things I catch on social media here and there).
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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She was asleep on the couch. Her face was illuminated by the crackling flames of the fire that were dancing lower and lower as the night wore on. She'd never meant to fall asleep there. She'd been talking with him, her head against his shoulder, and slowly she'd slid farther and farther down until he'd simply invited her to rest with her head in his lap.
She'd insisted that she couldn't sleep, but she'd slept so soundly that she hadn't even moved when he'd lifted her enough to escape from his place under her and eased her back down. She hadn't moved when he'd covered her with the blanket or when he'd slipped outside to gather another few sticks of firewood from the wood box by the door.
Daryl carefully added the wood to the fireplace and walked back over to watch her sleeping.
In her face, he saw everything.
He saw every hurt that she'd ever experienced. He saw the pain she felt over the daughter she'd lost—the daughter he'd wanted desperately to save for her. He saw the pain she'd suffered at the hands of a man who had never deserved her. He saw the pain she'd suffered as she'd encountered asshole after asshole in a world for which she'd always been too good. He saw her regret over poor choices that she'd made in men, and her regret over having hurt them because she'd never been able to love them.
He saw all of her past pain.
But there was something else there, and it was much more beautiful. It was something that he enjoyed seeing. It was something that brought him inexplicable peace.
Because, on her face, he saw the peace that she felt in his presence. He saw the proof that he could give her what she needed to rest and let down her guard entirely. He saw the woman who had validated everything about him. She'd made him everything that the world had told him he'd never be, and she'd given him everything that the world had said he'd never have.
He saw the woman who could love him despite all his shortcomings. She could see right past them. She could see him for who he wanted to be and who he would strive to be to make her happy. She never held against him his own past and where he'd come from. She embraced every broken piece of him and she, somehow, made all the pieces feel like they fit back together.
He could see his future when he looked at her.
He could see long and lazy nights spent tangled in each other's arms. He could see sleepy smiles over warm breakfasts. He could see pumpkin pies and Christmas trees tumbling just after happy days spent baking in the sun on the banks of a river or napping in the shade of lush, green trees.
He could see the woman who welcomed him home. He could see the woman who gave him the home that he'd craved since he was a boy—a home he'd been certain that he'd never know until he'd come to know her. He could see her welcoming him back each and every time he'd been forced to leave her side. She was always there with a smile, a kiss, and a warm embrace. She was always happy to see him.
And seeing her again made his heart beat with the renewed feeling of truly living that only she could grant him.
He could see, in her face, the mother of his children—those that would come and, perhaps, that were even already being shaped just outside of his view. He could imagine how her eyes would light up the first time that she laid eyes on each of them. He couldn't help but smile when he thought about what it would be like to hold their hands and, with her by his side, teach them everything they needed to know to thrive in a world for which they would be built—a world they'd be so much more prepared for than either he or she had ever been.
He could see the winter of his own life in her face. He could see himself, old and bent and facing death. In his mind's eye, he faced it without fear or sadness. He faced it surrounded by the family that she helped him build. He faced it with her hand in his—her soft hand that, though it showed the weathering of so many hard years, was still as beautiful as it had been just that night when she'd slipped it into his and cuddled next to him on the couch.
He could see, in her, the woman who had made him want to be a better man, and the woman who had convinced him that he could be.
He would do anything for her. He would give her anything he could.
But right now, all he could give her was the peace that she craved to enjoy the sleep that she needed.
To move her to the bedroom would mean that he would have to wake her. He'd take her away from the crackling sound of the sticks breaking under the heat of the fire. He'd take her away from something which he knew she found soothing.
To go to bed without her would mean that he would sleep lonely and missing her. The bed would feel cold and empty and not at all welcoming.
He left her sleeping just long enough to return with two worn blankets. He covered her with one of the blankets and he sat on the floor and covered himself with the other. Leaning his head against the couch, he closed his eyes and listened to the sound of the crackling wood and her soft, rhythmic breathing. He felt himself floating as he pushed thoughts of everything that had been out of his mind and welcomed only his warmest wishes for what might be to come.
He drifted off into a deep sleep filled with welcomed dreams—dreams filled with her presence.
Happiness. That's what she brought him, and it was what he hoped that he always brought her.
When Daryl woke, he took a moment to orient himself to his surroundings.
Gone was the fire that had been crackling near him in the cabin. Gone was the couch that he'd rested against. Gone was the cabin, even, where he'd spent a welcomed evening recovering from the cruelties of the world around him.
Gone was her face.
He was resting, covered over with a blanket that he carried in his sack, with his head against a box on a loading dock where they stored excess supplies for the community. She wasn't there. She'd been there, but she'd left long before he'd fallen asleep. She'd walked back to her home and she'd gone to sleep in her bed—if she'd gone to sleep at all. She'd returned to a home that hadn't been the cabin of Daryl's dreams—a cabin where he'd once come so close to telling her what he'd been thinking while he watched her sitting by a fire with her face illuminated by the flickering glow of the flames.
She'd gone back to the place she called home—a place that Daryl knew wasn't her home at all.
Because Daryl was her home, and he knew that she'd gone back to a man that she didn't love, no matter what she said. She couldn't love him because Daryl knew—even though she'd never said it—that she loved him. She had to. She belonged with him.
But she'd gone back to the man because, just like she'd never told Daryl that she loved him, he'd never told her that he loved her.
And she needed someone. She needed some happiness. She needed the promise of a home and warmth and comfort. She needed the promise of a future just like the one of which Daryl dreamed night after night. She'd sought the promise she needed in the only person who had offered it to her.
But it was a mistake—another mistake.
And Daryl couldn't let her make it, because if she did, she wouldn't find the happiness that she wanted to find, and Daryl certainly never would.
And, besides that, Daryl knew that she didn't sleep in the self-proclaimed King's presence. She only slept in his presence.
She was his peace, but he was hers as well.
Daryl gathered up his blanket and ignored the complaints that his body grumbled against having spent the night in such an uncomfortable position. He'd dreamed of her, like he did most nights, so at least his mind was at peace even if his body ached. He rolled his blanket up, stuffed it in his pack, and gathered up his courage and resolution.
He had seen her future, and it wasn't with the King. It couldn't be. Because no matter how much the King might claim to love her, he would never know the love for her that Daryl knew for her. He would never know the love that made him feel like she was as necessary to his life as breathing.
And she needed to know the love that he had for her.
Daryl slipped off the side of the loading dock and threw his bag over his shoulder. The morning was nice and the walk would be short. It was a walk his feet welcomed because it was as if they finally understood and accepted the truth.
Once and for all, she needed to know that he loved her.
The future, after all, wouldn't wait forever to begin.