A/N: I know I've said I'd never write a Daryl fic in the TWD fandom, but if there is one thing I've learned, it's never say never. Ever since watching Season Three, I haven't been able to get the look that passes between Daryl and Andrea at the end of "Welcome to the Tombs" out of my head. This is my take on what went on between those two. This wouldn't have gotten off of the ground without the flailing, prereading, and sub-beta-ing (and Reedus pic spamming) of the delightful incog_ninja. Thanks, MJ.
Standard Disclaimers apply; I don't own them, and I'm certainly not making any money off of this.
Your life comes in bursts of light and heartache when you're dying. It's not your whole life, either. It's the parts that meant the most to you. Between the dull, fading numbness of the bite and the forlorn looks of Sasha and Tyreese, I was bombarded with the red checkered curtains of my grandmother's kitchen, the first Christmas morning with Amy, the third case I ever won, the Eiffel Tower, fishing…fishing… and the dead rising. The dead coming. Amy died. Jim died. Jacqui, and Carol's little girl Sophia, and Dale, and Shane… a fleeting moment in a car on a deserted highway, my blood running hot, my pulse hammering madly. Hitting the target. Shooting Daryl. Daryl…Daryl… I blinked against the burn of the wound and found myself staring up into impossibly blue eyes. Daryl's eyes.
Everything that had ever passed between us was suddenly there, taking up room in my mind, pushing out everything else. I'd never known a man to take up my thoughts the way he had – Philip hadn't even come close. Daryl had ghosted his way in and taught me so much about the world I thought I knew, and the woman I'd assumed I was. I'd been stupidly blind, and ignorant, and too stubborn to see the good in him and what was wrong with the world – what had always been wrong with the world. Now, here, at the end of things, Daryl made sense. Daryl made me think about everything I'd done to get to this point. It wasn't the bite of a walker that sealed my fate. It was my own hubris.
"Don't y'all know when ta leave well enough alone?"
I froze in my march across camp, hell bent on telling the elder Dixon brother to keep his leering eyes off of my baby sister. The voice wasn't loud, but the soft grit of it was meant to be a warning. I scoffed and threw a look over my shoulder, and the only thing I saw was the younger Dixon sitting on the tailgate of his truck, one knee pulled up as he dug the point of a small buck knife under the nail of his thumb. Had he spoken? The man had barely strung together five words since I'd met him three weeks ago. The older of the pair was the talker, and a disgusting son of a bitch at that. I stared and waited for the younger brother to speak again, but he didn't do so much as blink. Rolling my eyes, I turned back to my mission.
"Hey," that rasping tone came again and this time I whirled around, hands on my hips. He was still sitting on the tailgate, and I watched as he spun the buck knife in his hand. He lifted his sandy-blond head and narrowed his eyes in my direction. "Piece of advice," he drawled, nodding his chin in the direction I'd been going. "Don't go down there right now, y'hear?"
I smirked at what I figured was his attempt to keep me out of harm's way. "I'm not going to let some backwoods pervert leer at my sister. Just because the world's gone to shit doesn't mean we have to put up with that," and I gestured in the direction the younger brother had. "Besides, I've dealt with worse."
It was his turn to scoff, and he pushed off of the tailgate and raised one shoulder. "Doubt that," he growled. "You mighta seen junkies, but you ain't never tangled with em." He looked away suddenly, and he swallowed tightly. "You ain't never tangled with Merle."
Maybe if I had paid attention to the reedy thinness of his voice I would have been better off. Instead, I cocked my hip and crossed my arms in challenge. "I was a lawyer. Trust me, I've tangled with it all."
Daryl squinted and toed the dirt with one worn boot. "Whatever, Barbie."
"I have a name, you know. It's Andrea."
"Good for you," he shot back. "Just don't go sayin' I didn't warn ya."
He did warn me. Halfway, at least. I left the younger Dixon shuffling nervously in the dirt, his eyes darting back to me before I turned and continued on my path to where Merle Dixon was hiding. I ignored the way the younger brother's voice had grated over my nerves and my thoughts, the way the underlying tone set off a warning bell in my head.
Death isn't the only thing that has a scent. There's a thick tang to overuse of flesh and narcotics, like iron and penicillin. I should have heeded the younger Dixon's warning. I should have turned around and gone back to Amy and how she had somehow put those nasty words and lingering stares behind her, and asked her how she did it, how she managed to push it aside, to forget. I never understood her.
I came up behind him. He was high and senseless, caught in his own psychotropic world where he had meaning and purpose. On this plane, he was useless, and I had every intention of telling him that. But as I neared the tree where he'd propped himself, I became aware of the stench of his sweat and the stink of burned chemicals. His shoulder was being put to good use and my gut turned as I realized he'd take time out from the world to jerk off in the woods. Useless. Utterly useless.
I sighed and stopped in my tracks. "Do you think that maybe you could stop the self-indulgence for five minutes? I want to tell you something."
There was a pause in his movement and then a long, loose chuckle sailed on the sour breeze. "Awww, hell, that you, Blondie?" He practically groaned and it made my skin crawl.
I gritted my teeth. "Stay the hell away from my sister."
There was a pause and for a moment I wasn't sure if he'd passed out from whatever chemical he was taking or he was actually contemplating my warning. Then, his shoulder started up again and the sounds of flesh against flesh came faster and harder. "Damn, woman, keep talkin' like that. I'm about to blow my load." He wheezed as he chuckled and my stomach turned in reply.
I narrowed my eyes and drew a breath, ready to let my retort fly, but then there was a sudden flurry clothes moving, and a string of curses was muttered. My eyes widened as Merle Dixon stood and came around the tree, his pants barely hanging on his hips and a high-powered rifle cocked and aimed right at me. "Get on yer knees," he growled.
"In your dreams," I snarled.
Merle sneered and stomped towards me, shouldering me aside as he passed. There was a hollow sound of steel sliding and then the blast of a shot being fired. I screamed and jumped, and spun in the fallen leaves at my feet just in time to see a walker drop. The thick, dark sludge of its blood drained slowly from a bullet hold right through its forehead. I gaped, watching it fall, and I staggered back, trying to put distance between me, and the walker and Merle.
The redneck turned back and looked at me with an indulgent smirk. "Well, shit, Blondie. Now I gotta start all over again." His eyes wandered down from my face to my chest, lingering there. "How's about you show me those tits an' we'll call it even."
I sputtered, caught off guard, not only by his suggestion, but also by the fact that he'd just blown the brains out of a walker that could have just as easily sunk its teeth into me. All I could do was glare for a heartbeat before I drew in a deep breath. "Stay away from my sister and stay the hell away from me, you sick son of a bitch."
He leered and then spat, and turned to face me head on. "You got a real attitude, missy," he chuckled. He began stalking forward. "I like a little spark in a woman." He grunted and winked. "I just saved your ass. Least you could do is show a little gratitude."
If there was one thing I hated, it was a man who thought he was owed something. I bristled at Merle's tone and hated myself for edging backwards as he approached. "You're a bastard," I spat.
For moment, he looked almost taken aback. Then his face split into a wide grin and he cackled, and licked his lips before saying, "Well, hell yeah, I probably am. Me an' my little brother – ain't that right, Darylina?"
I turned to see the younger Dixon dissolve from the trees, like he'd been there the entire time. Maybe he had. I narrowed my eyes as he crossed to where I stood staring down his older brother.
"Shuddup, Merle," the younger Dixon muttered. He glanced to me. "Why don't y'all go back up t'yer sister an' mind yer own business."
"Excuse me? This is my business; this has everything to do with the well-being of the camp and…"
"The 'well-being'?" Merle huffed, pushing between his brother and I. He looked me up and down and spat something from between his teeth. "Doubt you know what that even means. Me an' Daryl here been providin' fer yer wellbein' since you stumbled across us out on the highway. Y'all actin' like yer doin' us a favor when we both know that if it weren't for my baby brother an' I, y'all woulda starved by now. Shit," he finished, spitting again.
"I don't believe this," I muttered, running my fingers through my sweat-tangled hair. I spun in the dirt and looked to Daryl. "Is he always like this?"
He may have been talkative earlier, but now, in the presence of his brother, Daryl clammed up and jammed his thumb between his teeth and shrugged passively. "Merle's Merle," he muttered. He nodded in the direction I'd come from. "I got this," he added, shifting the crossbow he now carried on his back. His eyes never met mine again, but instead settled on Merle. "Go see about yer sister."
It's a funny thing about siblings, really. In the end, all Daryl and I wanted was the best for each of ours.
