a/n This comes from a prompt over on Tumblr by Liddym2113.
Rick Grimes, principal of Woodbury HIgh and part time relationship adviser to his best friend, watched in silent amusement as that selfsame friend flicked glances across the lounge at the object of his affection.
"Quit staring like a lovesick school boy and go ask her out," Glenn Rhee urged quietly. He had more to say but the words bottled up in his throat as fierce blue eyes pinned him in place. "Sorry, dude, but the way you moon over her every day is pathetic." A growl of displeasure escaped the man and prompted Rick to put a staying hand on his friend's shoulder.
"The man's got a point, Daryl," Rick pointed out. "Don't get me wrong. I'm a sucker for longing looks and heartfelt sighs. Why do you think we've been friends for so long?" As he hoped, that comment brought a wry snort. "Carol though, the lady strikes me as someone who likes to take her medicine straight. Just ask her."
Nervous blue eyes darted across the room, fingers drumming a staccato rhythm on the table top. "She'll say no. You know she will. Fuck, what's a woman like that want with a redneck asshole like me?"
"You don't know that!"
"Don't give up before you've even left the gate."
"You've got a decent ass. Women like that."
Three sets of eyes swung toward the speaker, brows lifted and mouths a perfect O of surprise. Hershel Greene calmly looked around as he finished his sandwich. "What? The boy does have a nice ass. Anybody can see it. Half the writing on the girl's bathroom wall mentions it. There's even a few lines in the boy's."
Silence reigned for a few drawn out seconds but then Rick started chuckling, quickly followed by Glenn. Daryl shared a glare around the table, eyes narrowing as their laughter blossomed into full on gales. He looked accusingly at the old man, who looked back unconcerned. One corner of his mouth lifted into a grin, and then he joined in, the knot of tension in his gut easing.
"Alright then," he conceded. "I'll do it. What have I got to lose?"
The torrent of laughter pulled their heads around, curious as to what the others found so funny. Michonne craned her neck, shaking her head when she saw Rick wiping away tears as he slapped Daryl Dixon on the shoulder.
"That can't be good," she murmured to herself. When those two cooked up one of their schemes, most times all hell broke loose. She tried to catch Rick's eye to remind him of their plan to run interference for Daryl and Carol. Those two had been dancing around each other for the past year but little forward progress had been made. Their friends had decided among themselves that enough was enough. Their time had come.
Carol pushed her salad aside, her interested gaze on the table across the way. Daryl glanced toward her and then just as quickly away. As usual. And, as usual, her pulse fluttered like a wild thing. Her fascination with the taciturn English teacher began shortly after he came to Woodbury. Their classrooms were side by side and it wasn't unusual for her to hear his gravelly voice as he stood before the class, reiterating a passage or prodding his students into a discussion. It was that voice, reading an excerpt from Jack London's "The Call of the Wild" that drew her in.
"He had learned well the law of club and fang, and he never forewent an advantage or drew back from a foe he had started on the way to Death. He had lessoned from Spitz, and from the chief fighting dogs of the police and mail, and knew there was no middle course. He must master or be mastered; while to show mercy was a weakness. mercy did not exist in the primordial life. It was misunderstood for fear, and such misunderstandings made for death. Kill or be killed, eat or be eaten, was the law; and this mandate, down out of the depths of Time, he obeyed."
He read each word slowly and succinctly, the timbre of his voice like warm honey as his south Georgia drawl curled around each syllable. Carol didn't realize she'd stopped her lesson altogether to listen, not until her students tittered behind their hands. Blushing furiously, she gave the class a stern look and picked up where she'd so abruptly left off.
"I wonder what that's about," Andrea Harrison, the pretty blonde accounting teacher, chimed in. "Maybe they're planning a boy's night out. You should find out, Michonne. If they are, we need to get something together. Can't let them have all the fun."
"That's an idea," Michonne nodded agreeably. "Another is for Carol to ante up and cash in on all that unresolved sexual tension she stockpiling with Mr. Dixon." An impish grin tugged her lips up at the corners. "Just go over there and ask that man over for dinner. If you're lucky, he'll provide dessert."
"Jesus, Michonne," Carol's cheeks burst into flame. "Have you lost your mind?"
Michonne rolled her eyes, and then traded aggravated looks with Andrea. "You want him. Don't sit there and tell me that you don't. And it's obvious from the way he watches you that the man feels the same. One little question. That's all it'll take. C'mon, Carol, you know you want to. Just do it."
"You should," Andrea echoed.
Carol gnawed her lip as she allowed herself another look in his direction, a shiver running through as her gaze collided with his. "Okay, I will," she heard herself say. The whoop of joy from her friends made her smile even though inside, she was shaking.