I Love You.
Three of the smallest words in existence but with enough power behind them to start and end wars, to bring new life into existence and to change the world.
You tell Daryl you love him a dozen times a day at least.
When you wake up in the morning, wrapped in his protective embrace, you whisper it softly in his ear until he groans and tells you to quit it, covering your mouth with his warm, dry palm until you stop and he pulls you tighter against him.
When he slides extra food onto your plate at mealtimes and walks away before you can protest, you say it to his retreating back.
When you find fresh-picked wildflowers tied with a string bow on your bunk and you know he risked breaching the fence just to see you smile, you race through the corridors till you find him, throwing your arms around his neck and declaring your love in front of everyone, laughing at his growls of indignation as he pretends to fight you off.
When you're holding him in the dark, in the still of the night and he's weeping soundlessly against your chest for the loss of his brother, you murmur it against his hair over and over and over again.
When he's covered in dirt and walker gore, eyes glistening with the adrenalin of a fight, you pull him to you, kissing him hard and say it for the sheer joy of having him alive and with you still.
When you're lying together, skins slick with sweat from your love-making, his head buried against the crook of your neck as you both try to regain your equilibrium, you take his hand and write it against his palm with your fingertip, slowly and deliberately until he folds your hand in his and tilts his head to find your lips once more.
When he's in a rage, angry at the world, pacing like a caged beast, hair wild and in his eyes, you stand quietly by until it passes, then slip a hand around to the back of his neck and rest his forehead against yours until the tension ebbs from his body. You kiss his cheek and say the words softly against his skin as he sighs and slides his hands around your back.
Daryl never says I love you.
The first time you say it and he doesn't say it back, it doesn't bother you. You know, given his background, that it's not going to be easy for him to say, so you don't make a big deal out of it. But, as the weeks roll by and you've already found a hundred reasons to say it to him and he still hasn't replied, your curiosity gets the better of you and you find yourself asking him about it.
He's chopping wood for the furnace, stripped to the waist, sweat dripping off his lean body as he expertly swings the axe again and again. In the middle of collecting and stacking the wood logs he's creating, you stop suddenly and turn to him.
"Daryl, do you love me?" you ask before your brain can control your mouth.
He stops in mid-swing, the blade slowing its trajectory to come to rest by his thigh, as he flicks his head back to get his damp hair out of his eyes and gives you one of his appraising looks before answering.
"You know that I do," he says seriously.
"Then why do you never say it?" you follow up, clutching tight to the wood in your arms.
He gives you another of those long, hard looks.
"I didn't know it was about the words, Lucia. Don't I show you every day?"
You think about your days with him, about all the little things he does for you.
The way his hand finds yours every night, just before sleep, and pulls it close to his heart.
How he always helps out when it's your turn on laundry duty, even though you know he hates being in the laundry room, but he knows it creeps you out so he just happens to appear whenever you're there.
How he teases you no end for the old-fashioned wind-up alarm clock you like to keep by your bed but he'll never let you forget to wind it each night because he knows the sound soothes you into sleep.
How, without fail, he brings you back a gift every time he goes on a run without you, whether it's a new sketchpad, or pencils or just a picture he saw that he thought you might like.
The way that you're always aware of his presence, watching over you, making sure you're safe in any given situation.
How he still gets jealous if he finds you talking to poor Brad, scaring him away with a scowl and then claiming innocence when you call him out on it.
Knowing that he's going to wrap you up in his arms and just hold you anytime you're feeling sad because it physically pains him to see you cry and all he can offer to make you feel better is himself.
"Do I make you feel unloved?" he asks quietly.
He looks genuinely distressed, misreading your silence, and you throw the wood you're holding to the ground, crossing the short distance between you and take his face in your hands to kiss him deeply. You hear the axe clunk to the earth as his hands come up to wrap around your waist, pulling you into him as he consumes your mouth with his, tongue sliding between your lips and flicking across your teeth. You try to pour all the love you have for him into that one kiss until you're breathless and dizzy.
"Never," you reply, when you finally break apart. Then, taking him by the hand, you lead him into the cool, sweet-smelling darkness of the wood shed to show him just how loved he makes you feel.
Later that night, when you're laying pressed together in your narrow bunk, his fingers twined in yours, he sighs softly.
"Do you need me to say it?" he asks. "Is that what makes it real for you?"
You think carefully before answering, tracing his flesh with your fingertips.
"No, I don't think it does. I mean, it used to, before. I would need to hear it to somehow reassure myself that I meant something to another person. But I guess it's not only the world that's changed."
He's quiet again for the longest time and you're just starting to drift off to sleep when he speaks again, so softly you can barely hear him above the beat of his heart where your head is resting against his chest.
"My dad would tell my mom he loved her every damn day, even the days when he'd come home and she'd be drunk off her ass and he'd take his belt to her for not having his dinner ready, he'd still be telling her he loved her and he was just teaching her a lesson for her own good.
When she was gone, after the fire took her, and Merle was gone half the time, either locked up in juvie or off somewhere with his buddies, I was the one learning those lessons. And with every bite of that leather into my flesh, the old man would still be tellin' me it was just 'cos he loved me. So I guess those words never meant the same to me as they did to you."
Hot tears burn at the back of your throat but somehow you keep them from falling, knowing that he doesn't want your sympathy - that would just insult him but that he needs to know that you understand. You squeeze the fingers tangled with yours and burrow your face deeper against his neck, planting tiny kisses on his fevered skin. He lets out a shaky sigh and the arm he has wrapped around your back pulls you tighter for an instant. You stay, tight against him, until you both fall asleep, fingers still linked together.
He's gone when you wake the next morning and your heart lurches for a second before you remember that he was taking the pre-dawn watch in the guard tower. Dressing quickly, you follow the smell of coffee to the kitchen, smiling to yourself at the fact that even an apocalypse isn't going to get in the way of everyone's morning brew. You fill a thermos and grab two mugs before heading outside into the grey light of day.
Across the field, the ever-present guttural sounds of the walkers at the fence increases as you come into view but you mentally block them as you slip inside the tower and climb the stairs to the top. Daryl looks around from where he's leaning against the railing in the corner of the tower facing the gate, as you open the door, and smiles at the thermos in your hand. In the opposite corner is Carl, eyes scanning the fence in the growing light. You hide a smile at his serious expression as you walk over to hand him a mug and then fill it with the steaming coffee from the thermos.
"Don't tell your dad I gave you that," you say, before turning back to Daryl and handing him the other mug.
"How's it looking?"
"Same shit, different day," he replies, wrapping his hands around the warm mug and leaning back on the railing to look at you.
"Was thinkin' maybe we'd take the pick-up out today, head up the river aways. Looks like it's gonna be overcast. Perfect time to try and bag us a coupla deer. Give you a chance to try out your new skills."
For the past few weeks, Daryl's been training you to use the crossbow and, while you're still better with a knife or a gun, there's something about the elegant grace of the crossbow that speaks to your personality. Even though, for you, re-loading's a bitch and you now know where Daryl got his superior upper body strength from. But the thought of a day away from the prison, just the two of you, gives you butterflies in your stomach.
You try not to look too eager, turning your gaze out over the mist covered field and to the trees and highway beyond.
"Sure. Sounds like a good idea, if that's what you want to do" you reply, nonchalantly, but you know you're fooling nobody as Daryl's hand reaches out to poke you not-too-subtly in the ribs. You turn your face back to him, catching the sparkle in his eyes, as he sips his coffee.
A couple of hours later and you're in the truck, the prison melting away behind you as Daryl drives, maybe a little too fast, until you reach your destination. He pulls off the road, leaving the truck under the cover of a thick copse of trees. Grabbing your pack, you set off into the still woods, the damp ground muffling your footfalls as you follow the trail Daryl sets between the trees. The woods are silent around you and you soon fall into an easy rhythm, picking your way carefully behind him, wondering for the billionth time how he can walk without making a sound, his movements as graceful and sure-footed as any animal.
Before long, he raises a hand signaling you to stop and you halt behind him, peering around him to see what he's spotted. Up ahead, a lone walker is crossing the path you're on, her ragged clothing trailing behind her in the dirt, as she shuffles aimlessly forwards. You're downwind of her and she doesn't raise her head as she meanders between the trees. Daryl beckons you forward and you step as quietly as you can until you're beside him. He hands you the crossbow, indicating the walker with a nod, and leans in to whisper in your ear.
"Target practice."
You take the bow, heart beating a little faster, and take a breath to steady yourself as you bring it up to take aim. Confident you have a clear shot, you exhale as you depress the trigger, watching as the bolt shoots out to pass cleanly through the walker's soft skull, dropping her to the floor instantly.
"Did you see that?!" you ask, triumphantly, bouncing a little on the balls of your feet.
"Pretty good," he replies, grudgingly, taking the crossbow out of your hands to reload it, "but let's not get too excited until we see how you do with a live target. Shooting deer ain't like shooting walkers."
"Yeah, yeah, we'll see."
He starts off into the woods again, slinging the crossbow back across his shoulder, eyes tracking the ground ahead and, as the path widens a little, you move up to walk alongside him.
"You're not really going to make me carry Bambi when we kill him are you?" you ask with a woeful sigh.
"How else do you think we're getting' it back to the truck? And stop calling it Bambi!" he grunts in reply.
"Well it is Bambi," you mumble under your breath. Of course Daryl, with his super redneck hearing, doesn't miss a word.
"City girl!" he says, nudging you with his elbow.
"Damn right! And still proud of it! I want my meat in a nice clean grocery store, perfectly portioned and wrapped in nice hygienic cling wrap! I don't want to have to haul its smelly, hairy carcass out of the woods while its lifeless eyes judge me and then have to hack it to pieces myself."
"Well, princess, it ain't gonna happen. This here is your grocery store now," he spreads an arm to indicate the woods around you, "you better get used to it."
"Fine! But don't tell me there's nothing you miss from the old world, some convenience, something that's gone."
"Nope."
You stop dead in your tracks and he turns back to face you.
"Really? Not one thing? Not fast food or potato chips or candy bars?"
A look crosses his face briefly and you know he's thought of something.
"I saw that!"
"What?"
"That look. There is something you miss. Tell me."
"Nothin'!" he says, trying and failing to look annoyed.
"Lies!"
You push up against him, hands sliding quickly under his shirt, nails scratching against the sensitive skin on his ribs. He squirms a little at your touch, trying to maintain his scowl as he grabs at your wrists. You shake off his hands, reaching up further until your nails scratch against his nipples and a small hiss escapes his lips.
"Tell me!"
You lightly tweak one nipple between your thumb and forefinger, smiling as he bites the tip of his tongue between his teeth. You squeeze a little harder and his hands whip up again, this time pulling yours out from his shirt and holding them at your sides.
"Alright, alright. Enough, woman. Good Lord!"
"So, tell me."
Daryl cocks his head to one side, then sighs.
"Gummi Bears, okay. I miss Gummi Bears."
You try to stifle a giggle and can't and he responds by tickling your sides.
"Who knew my man had such a sweet tooth?" you laugh, wriggling under his touch.
"Well, I like you, don't I?" he says, cockily.
"Oh! Smooth answer, Mr. Dixon, very smooth."
You reach up on your toes to plant a chaste kiss on his lips but his hands clench into the sides of your shirt and he parts your lips with his tongue, licking his way inside your mouth. The kiss is relaxed and unhurried as he takes his time to explore your mouth. Only when you moan deep in your throat, does he pull away, pupils wide and a slight color on his cheeks. He looks into your eyes, then plants a final kiss on your forehead, before stepping back and pulling his crossbow from his shoulder.
"Here, you should take this," he says, handing it to you. "Let's see what ya got."
You heft its weight in your hands, smiling at him as he shakes his head and sets off again. You fall in behind him once more, knowing you need to be quiet but just enjoying the day too much to care.
"So, Gummi Bears, huh?" you say, with a light tease in your voice.
"You got a problem with Gummi Bears?" he throws back over his shoulder.
"No, not at all," you reply with a laugh.
"Good! When I was a kid, I never had an allowance, hell, my folks barely had enough money for booze and cigarettes, they certainly weren't gonna waste none of it on a snot-nosed kid like me! So, I'd do these odd jobs around the neighborhood, you know, wash cars, take out people's trash, walk their dogs and then, every Saturday morning when my mom would go get her wine for the week, over in the next town, I'd hide in the back of her car and go with her. There was a candy store next to the liquor store and I'd just have time to race in there and spend my money before she'd get back with her booze.
The first few times, I went for the candy bars, buying as many as I could with the little money I had but one time, when we got back home, Merle caught me sneaking out the back of her car and beat me to a pulp until I gave him everything I had. So, after that I learned to buy one or two candy bars in case he caught up with me and I spent the rest on Gummi Bears because I could tuck the bags into the back of my pants and he'd never know they were there. If he grabbed me, I'd always put up a scuffle, make him think he'd taken everything, then I'd climb this big, old tree we had in our yard and just spend the afternoon up there, stuffing my face with Gummi Bears, feeling like I'd put one over on my big brother.
I guess I never lost the taste for them 'cos, years later, I'd still be buying them anytime I went to get a pack of smokes or a six-pack. Hell, more times than not, Merle would come home and toss a bag at me if he was in a good mood. Happened more than you'd think."
He gives a small bitter laugh then straightens his shoulders, instantly going on the alert as the path ahead opens out into a small clearing, a pop tent and a charred campfire set up in the middle of the space. He draws his knife, moving cautiously forward as you split off, circling the clearing until you're behind the tent. A quick glance inside the tent has him shaking his head and you exhale softly. You slip off your pack, pulling out your water bottle for a drink, and letting it drop at your feet. You're watching as he pokes around inside, looking for anything useful, when suddenly you feel strong arms wrapping around you from behind and a hand clamps over your mouth.
Your fight or flight response kicks in and you start to struggle wildly, part of your brain knowing that this is no walker that has you. You succeed in turning your head enough to loosen the grip on your face and you yell Daryl's name, seeing him come flying out of the tent, straight into the fist of a second guy, who was standing just out of his sight. Daryl staggers slightly from the punch but doesn't lose his footing, bringing his knife up in a slashing arc that takes the guy by surprise as it slices into the flesh of his forearm, making him yelp in pain. They circle away from each other, Daryl's eyes darting in your direction as he assesses the situation.
"Now what do we have here?" says a deep voice behind your head. "Seems like we found us a couple of thieves, rifling through our personal belongings, about to take stuff that don't belong to them. Now that ain't very friendly, now is it?"
"Look, we don't want no trouble," says Daryl, keeping his voice low and neutral but you can see the muscles bunching in his shoulders and the cords in his neck starting to stand out. "We thought the place was abandoned, we were just taking a look, no harm done. Just let her go and we'll be on our way."
The guy behind you snorts in your ear, tightening his grip on your arm until his meaty fingers are digging into your flesh, his other hand coming to rest around the front of your neck, up tight under your jaw. You stop struggling, wondering if there's some way you can reach across to your knife which is strapped on your other thigh. You start to move but he forces your jaw higher, leering into your peripheral vision as he reaches down to slip out your knife himself, bringing it up to hold against your exposed throat.
"Don't even think about it, girly," he breathes against your cheek, his rancid breath filling your nostrils. "Damn, you're a pretty one, ain't ya? What say, me and you spend a little time together? I bet you'd like that, huh, having a real man take care of you?"
His hand slips down from your throat, the other still keeping the knife close to your jugular, and pushes roughly inside your shirt to squeeze hard at your breast over your bra. You renew your struggles, you can't help yourself, not caring about the knife, just knowing that you need to get out of his repulsive grip. He roars with laughter behind you.
"That's right, darlin', you wriggle all you want, it's all just fuel for the fire, baby."
In front of you, you hear Daryl's yowl of anger as he suddenly pitches himself at the other guy, taking him to the floor in a flurry of rage-filled punches. It takes the other guy a second to recover but he's soon fighting back until the pair of them are rolling in the dirt in a blur of limbs, nobody getting the upper hand. The one holding you continues to bray his foul laughter past your ear, shouting encouragement to his buddy to finish Daryl off. The skirmish continues until from out of nowhere there's a sickening cracking sound and the guy Daryl's whaling on is suddenly still under his fists. As Daryl climbs shakily to his feet, sides bellowing from the fight, you see the blood spreading from the guy's head where it's resting up against one of the rocks ringing the campfire.
"Jimmy! No!" the guy holding you screams, as Daryl kicks the guy on the ground to make sure he's dead.
Daryl turns in your direction, a look of murderous intent on his face as he starts slowly towards you.
"Stop right there or I'll slit her goddamn throat, I swear to fucking God!"
Daryl hesitates as the guy presses the point of your knife into your skin and you feel a small trickle of warm blood seeping from the puncture he makes. You meet Daryl's eyes, pleading with him to stay away, knowing in your heart that he won't. He looks to the guy holding you.
"What do you think I'll do to you if you hurt her?" he asks, his voice filled with an undercurrent of barely-concealed rage.
"Oh, I don't think I'll have to worry about that. I can see you how much she means to you, you're not gonna risk anything happening to her pretty little head. Let me tell you what you're gonna do. You're gonna back the fuck up and let me and your little girlfriend here disappear. If I even get a whiff that you're following us, I'll take her out so fast that your damn head'll spin. You understand me?"
Daryl grits his teeth, hands balling into fists at his sides, his eyes never leaving yours. He nods once in agreement.
"Good choice. Maybe, if you're lucky, I'll let her go in a bit or maybe I'll just keep her for the time being. A little insurance policy if you will."
He pulls on your arm, keeping you in front of him as he shoves you towards the path you and Daryl came in on. Looking back over your shoulder as you stumble forward, you can see Daryl standing rigid in the center of the clearing, his eyes locked on you as you're pulled away. Your mind reels, looking for an escape but you're held tight and you can tell by the brief glimpses you've gotten of this guy that he's at least twice your size and, judging by the way he's wrenching your arm nearly out of its socket, he doesn't care if he hurts you or not.
"You have a car, right? Jimmy and I thought we heard on earlier, so I'm guessing that was you and your boyfriend."
You refuse to answer him, purposefully dragging your feet and stumbling over everything in your path, anything to buy a little more time. Abruptly, he pulls you to a halt, swinging you around to face him. It's your first proper look at him and you shrink back in disgust. Over 6ft tall, he has meaty shoulders and a beer gut that even the end of the world couldn't shrink. His face is a grizzled mess of straggly beard and his long, greasy hair is pulled back and tied behind his head. He looks – and smells – like he hasn't washed since the walkers first appeared and when he opens his mouth to talk, you can see brown stains coating his teeth.
"Look, I ain't gonna hurt ya, okay? I just need you to keep your boyfriend off my back until we reach the highway. I know he has to be somewhere behind us, hell I would be, but all I wanna do is get gone. So, you help me out here and as soon as we reach the road, I'll let you go, I swear. Deal?"
One look at his face tells you he's lying, you've seen that look on men's faces before, desperate men who looked at you like you were their last chance on earth to get laid. You were lucky in the past before you reached the prison and you're hoping that luck will hold out now. You know that Daryl's not going to let you go but there's still a million things that could go wrong. Trying to look as if you believe him, you nod your head and point along the trail. As you lift your arm, the crossbow slips down to your elbow and he looks at it like it's the first time he's really noticing it. He holds out a hand and you reluctantly hand it over to him, feeling naked without any weapons. He whistles appreciatively as he takes in its sleek lines and your stomach roils at the thought of his hands on something that is so essentially a part of Daryl.
Smiling, he aims the loaded weapon at your head and your heart stutters in your chest for a moment before he jerks it to one side to indicate that you should keep walking. You feel a little better now that he's not holding onto you but you're acutely aware of the bolt aimed at your back as you walk ahead of him. Pretty soon, you notice the trees starting to thin out and you glimpse the truck up ahead where Daryl parked it earlier.
"You drive," he says when you reach the battered pick-up, eyes trained on you and the crossbow raised as you walk around to the driver's door.
"I thought you were letting me go," you state.
"Yeah, well plans change, sweetcheeks. I'm thinking you and me need to take a little ride together, see where the road takes us."
He leers across the cab at you, his tongue licking slowly over his lips, making your gorge rise. You climb into the driver's seat as he opens the door to the passenger side. Before he can get in, he's swiftly pulled backwards, his momentum causing his arms to pinwheel, the crossbow shooting off an ineffectual shot as he loses his balance and crashes to the ground. You catch a brief glimpse of a dirt streaked face surrounded by dark hair, jumping after him and then they're both on the ground out of your sight.
You jump back out of the truck and race around the front, just in time to see Daryl straddling the guy, arms a blur of motion as he lands punch after punch to the guy's face and head. Without warning, the guy suddenly bucks beneath him and Daryl is pitched off to the side, rolling with the momentum to get quickly to his feet, pulling his knife from its sheath. He's crouched, arms up and ready, looking for a way back in as the guy clambers to his feet a lot faster than you would have expected, wiping away the blood fountaining from his broken nose with his sleeve and you realize he has your knife clutched in his fist. He spits a bloody wad from his mouth then advances on Daryl, lips pulled back in a red-streaked grimace.
The guy doesn't even pause, barreling towards Daryl with his knife arm raised, relying on his sheer size and brute strength to do maximum damage. Daryl side-steps him easily at the last second, slashing out with his blade, sending a fine red mist into the air as he connects with solid flesh. The guy bellows in pain or rage and spins on a dime, pushing into Daryl before he can defend himself and knocking him to the ground, planting a foot squarely on his chest as Daryl twists beneath him, trying to get free. You yell out, hoping to distract him, but neither of them looks your way.
A movement catches your eye from the tree-line and your heart goes cold at the sight of three walkers shuffling out of the woods, heads swiveling in your direction as they catch scent of the fresh blood on the air. You rapidly look around for a weapon, eyes coming to rest on the discarded crossbow. Snatching it up, you groan in frustration as you realize it's empty and set about reloading it as fast as you can, your eyes flicking from the approaching walkers to Daryl and his assailant.
You've just snapped a new bolt in place when there's a shriek of pain from the big guy and your head whips up in time to see him falling to one side, Daryl's knife sticking from his calf. Daryl is up from the ground as soon as the weight is lifted from his chest, pulling his knife free with a vicious twist, leaving the guy writhing in agony. He's about to land a killing blow when you see the first of the walkers suddenly put on a burst of speed, heading straight for Daryl's back. You shout a warning to him and, for a moment, you don't think he's heard but then he growls in frustration and turns just in time to take it down by plunging his knife into its eye.
By now the other two walkers are almost on him and you can see more coming from the trees.
"We've got to go!" you yell, dancing on the balls of your feet.
"Get in the truck!" he answers, taking out the next walker, then backing up to where you're standing. "Go!" He snatches the crossbow from your hands, aiming it towards the closest walker and shooting it in the head before pulling free another arrow and reloading faster than your eye can see.
"Wait! You can't leave me!" The guy on the ground starts screaming at you, begging and pleading as you climb into the truck and start the engine, yelling for Daryl to hurry up. He tries to get up but his mangled leg won't hold his weight and he crashes back down. "Please!" he screams, reaching out towards Daryl, "please don't let them eat me!"
"Daryl!" you yell, as you see the other walkers getting closer.
Daryl looks from the screaming, crying man on the ground at his feet to the rapidly approaching group of walkers and does the only thing he can. He shoots the guy in the head and jumps into the truck beside you just as the first walker slams into the side panel. You gun the engine and shoot forward, half watching in the mirror as the walker spins into the space you left behind and then averting your gaze as you see the group descending on the fresh body you left behind.
You drive like a woman possessed, white-knuckling the steering wheel, not even caring if you're heading in the right direction until you become aware of the fact that Daryl is yelling at you from the passenger seat, pleading with you to slow down. You slam on the brakes, bringing the old pick-up to a shuddering stop, then throw open your door, practically falling out to vomit your meagre breakfast across the asphalt. Head bent and with a hand clutching at the door to stop you pitching over, you close your eyes, willing the nausea to pass as you hear the other door open and footsteps coming around to your side of the truck.
You feel Daryl's strong, warm hands caressing your back reassuringly and when you think you can straighten up without passing out, he pulls you in against his chest, wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin against your head. You steady yourself against the beat of his heart against your cheek, lining up your breathing with his, until you feel the nausea dwindling and the dizziness pass.
"Are you okay?" he asks, voice rumbling in his chest under your ear.
"I'm fine," you mumble in reply, face still buried against his shirt.
He loosens his embrace a little, tilting your chin up so he can see your face. You manage a half-smile for him, wanting to assuage some of the concern from his eyes.
"Really," you say softly, taking his hands in your and stepping back from him, "I'm fine. I just want to go home, okay?"
He nods and you squeeze his hands. He reaches into the truck and hands you a water bottle which you take eagerly, washing the taste from your mouth and spitting before taking a long swallow to ease your throat. Feeling a little better you climb back into the truck.
"Scoot over," he says, "I'll drive."
You slide gratefully across the seat, as he climbs in behind you, until you're pressed up against the passenger door, your head resting against the cool glass.
You must have dozed off because the next thing you know, you're opening your eyes to the sound of gravel crunching under the tires and Daryl is pulling the truck to a stop in the yard and killing the engine. You scrub your hands over your face and open the door to greet the small group that's come out to meet you. As Daryl starts to recount what happened, everyone starts talking at once and your head begins to ache so, while everybody is busy asking questions, you slip away from the group and head inside.
The cool interior of the prison is quiet and you don't encounter anyone else as you head towards the showers. Outside the door, you flip Beth's cute hand-made sign around so it reads 'Girlz Only' and grab a towel from the shelves by the door, heading all the way to the stalls in the back of the large room. Now you're alone, the overwhelming sense of disgust that's been lurking at the back of your mind, floods in and you practically tear off your clothes, throwing them in a heap in your urgency. You pump the water handle viciously, then turn the tap, sending up a silent prayer of thanks for the day that Hershel figured out how to get the wood boiler working again.
As the tepid water flushes over your skin, you stand, eyes closed and arms wrapped around yourself as your mind replays the day's events. You can clearly see the arrow from Daryl's crossbow ending the screaming man's life and you shudder, still able to feel where his hands violated your body. Hot tears mix with the water running down your face. Two men dead and for what, you think? Intellectually you know it's not your fault but a part of your brain is stubbornly clinging to a sliver of guilt over their deaths.
"Hey," says Daryl softly from behind you and you whip around, startled.
He's standing at the edge of the pool or water you've made on the floor, concern etching his features. He takes one look at your face and steps forward, arms coming around you as he pulls you in. You fight against him at first, mumbling through your tears about him soaking his clothes and being crazy and that your fine. But he doesn't let go and finally you sag against him, sobbing while he strokes your back, the water cascading over both of you.
"I'm sorry," he whispers and you pull back to look up at him.
"For what?" you ask, incredulously.
"For letting that fucker put his hands on you. For not protecting you when I should have."
"Stop! Don't do that to yourself, it was a bad situation and we came out of it alive. There's nothing else to it. I call that a good day."
"But this…" he reaches up to rub away the water under your eyes with his thumbs.
You cover his hands with yours.
"This is nothing, Daryl. I just needed to let it go and now it's gone. I just needed to be clean."
He stares down at you, the water plastering his hair to his head and making his shirt cling to him, defining every line of his torso underneath, until he's satisfied by what he reads in your face. He leans down to place a soft kiss against your lips, then straightens up again.
"C'mere," he says, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, as he turns you around so your back is facing him. "Tip your head back," he instructs, reaching past you for the shampoo bottle on the shelf.
You do as he asks, smiling as you hear him snap the lid on the shampoo bottle and apply it to your hair. He leans over to replace the bottle, the wet material of his shirt sliding deliciously against your slick skin, then his hands are on your scalp, massaging the shampoo into your hair with his fingertips. You close your eyes, sighing with bliss at the sensation, feeling his touch in every part of your body. A small moan escapes your lips and you hear him chuckle softly behind you. Gently he tugs you back under the water and rinses the soap bubbles from your hair until it's all gone.
You turn to face him, body tingling from his touch, and tug on his wet shirt, pulling him against your naked body. You pull aside the collar of his shirt, kissing along his collarbone and nipping at his jaw with your teeth.
"I really think we should get you out of these wet clothes," you breathe between kisses, feeling his body pushing against yours in response.
He steps back, pushing a hand through his wet hair to get it out of his eyes, watching you as he pulls off his boots and then his clothes, dropping them next to yours until he's standing naked and glistening before you. Your eyes drink in the sight of him, his body amazing you as always, and he steps back closer to you, stopping when you're mere inches apart, the water rippling against his skin. Grinning, you reach back to the shelf and pour a generous handful of bodywash into your palm, before turning back to rub it over his chest and down his stomach.
The sweet scent of vanilla and peaches fills the air as it foams against his skin and you lick your lips, running your hands across his chest and down his arms before coming back to slide you slippery fingers over his nipples, watching his jaw tighten as you do. As your hand starts to explore lower, he grabs the top of your arms and brings you forward, crushing you against his chest in a flurry of bubbles. You laugh but he cuts you off by finding your mouth with his, one hand coming up to fist in your wet hair as he urgently parts your lips with his tongue.
You push back against his tongue with your own, not letting him win the fight for once and he growls softly in the back of his throat, sending shivers down your spine. Your soapy hand continues its journey south following his happy trail into the mound of thick hair that surrounds his cock and then wrapping tight around his length. This time the noise from his mouth is a little less human and he nips at your bottom lip with his teeth. You begin a long, slow stroke coating his hardness with the slick soap and he starts licking at your neck, his breathing becoming more ragged against your skin as his hips rock with your touch.
"Luciaaa…" he moans your name against your skin and you feel your body melt at the sound. You arch your back towards him, sliding your flesh against his as your hand works at his cock between you, your other hand sliding around the back of his neck to pull his lips to yours again. The friction of his wet skin and the small patch of rough hair on his chest hardens your nipples in excitement and you moan as his hand takes your breast, rubbing over it with his palm and then teasing your nipple with his thumb.
His other hand grabs at your ass, squeezing your cheek hard and digging in his fingers as you twist your hand around the tip of his cock, mixing the fluid forming there with the last of the soap bubbles for a slick sensation that has him panting against you. You feel his hand traveling around your body, pushing its way between you until his fingers are rubbing against your sex, parting your lips just slightly to explore with one fingertip, gliding it over your clit. You cling tighter to his neck, making tiny mewling sounds when he finally plunges two fingers inside you and you lose your grip on his cock as you part your thighs, bucking as he pushes deeper.
"Daryl!" you're moaning louder now but you don't care, "Daryl… Daryl… fuck me, I need you inside me, please."
In an instant his fingers are gone and he's lifting you up, resting your back against the low shower wall, to wrap your legs around his waist, his hand guiding his cock to your entrance and pushing into you without hesitation. You stifle a scream of pure pleasure as he fills you, feeling light-headed from the sensation, clinging to his shoulders as he starts thrusting into you. He grunts against your neck with every forward motion, the sound driving you to a frenzy and everything from the day just fades away until there's nothing but the two of you, him buried inside you as you squeeze around him, feeling his body tense and release as he pushes as far as he can with each thrust.
The muscles of his shoulders and neck are shifting under his skin against your palms and at some point the water stopped running and you're both now beaded with sweat instead, the musky odor of his skin intensified by the damp air. You breathe him deep, mouth salivating at his unique scent, causing a reaction deep in your pussy, making you tighten around him harder than before, feeling every vein on his cock pushing past your ring of muscle.
"Fuck… Lucia, I can't… I can't…"
The raw lust in his voice gives you a jolt that causes you to clench tight around him a final time before being lost to the orgasm ripping up your spine, clinging to him and saying his name as each wave pushes your body further into ecstasy. His hands on your thighs grip harder as he follows your lead, your name bursting from his mouth as he comes hard inside you, body jerking into you until he's spent, his weight pinning you to the tiles behind you.
You cling tight to each other, bodies entwined until your breathing slows and he gently lowers your legs to the floor, arm coming around your waist to steady you. He dips his head to yours giving you a soft kiss, his goatee tickling against your lips, making you giggle a little. He pulls back, looking confused at your laughter and you reach up to tug on the hair at his chin. He grins back at you, understanding and scratches his fingers thoughtfully through his beard.
"You want me to shave, darlin'?"
"No! Don't you dare. I love it, it makes you look hot!"
"Pffft… it's getting a little grey in places."
"That's the hot part, you idiot!"
You nudge him in the ribs and he looks down at you in disbelief until you reach up to plant kisses on every smattering of grey hairs in his beard, making him chuckle.
"Okay, I get it. Not shaving the beard."
"Good. Now, get the water running again… I feel like I need another shower!"
He raises an eyebrow at you and you laugh, pushing him away from you.
"No, you dog, an actual shower!"
He plasters a fake look of disappointment on his face but pumps the water again until its running hard enough for you both to take a quick shower. When you're done, he wraps you in a towel and carries the pile of both your clothing over to near the door where he drops in on the floor again before grabbing a towel for himself and wrapping it around his waist. Taking your hand and keeping you behind him, he leads you the short distance back to your cell, with you giggling all the way, convinced you'll run into somebody and him trying to tell you to be quiet but unable to keep the laughter out of his own voice.
Safely inside your cell, he drops the blanket across the opening that serves as a door and lights the small hurricane lamp you keep on the table by the bed. The golden light fills the small space, throwing sparks off the water droplets still covering his skin. You drop your towel, feeling his eyes on you as you climb naked onto the bed. He gazes down at you, eyes roaming your skin as he pulls off his own towel and you see he's already semi-hard again.
He's about to get on the bed with you, when he stops, turning back to the table. He picks up your alarm clock and you smile as he winds it tightly for you before setting it back down again. You open your arms and he climbs on top of you, his warm body covering yours as he moves slowly against you, kissing your breasts and trailing his tongue across your stomach. You rest your hands in his damp hair, gently guiding his head as you close your eyes and let go under his touch.
Your love-making this time is slower, both of you taking time to explore the other's body. It's taken time and a lot of patience but Daryl has been a quick study at this as in everything else and his eagerness to please you is un-paralleled to any lover you've had before. The challenge was actually getting him to talk about the things he liked or didn't like and there was a lot of trial and error as you learned your way around his body. To him, sex was a straightforward thing you did to get off with another person so you didn't have to do it alone and you had to teach him that there could be more to it than that.
When it's over, he rolls you towards the inner side of the bunk as always, with the wall at your back and him between you and any potential danger that may come through the door. It's another one of his 'I love you's and it makes you feel safe as you snuggle against him, losing the fight to stay awake. He turns out the lamp and pulls the blankets around you, his hand searching for yours to hold against his chest. As you drift away, you think he says something but your brain is already too far gone to know what it was, but in the morning when you open your eyes again, you hear it in your mind as clear as a bell.
I love you.