A/N: I figured I should post the chapters I've written so far, close together so I give y'all fine folks more than just a… well, huge cliffhanger… poor Daryl. I felt so evil holding my pencil and well… yeah …. Sorry Daryl…. well lets hope Norm stays away from this site for his own mental health! Thanks to everyone that reviewed so far! You are all amazing.
Disclaimer: Don't own squat. Make nothin' from this, purely for entertainment.
Warnings: Dar's potty mouth, rape, internal angst…
The Stray.
Chapter 2 Numb-nut Doofus
Rick sat slumped over a stack of paperwork that's height could rival the Chrysler building. Being a desk drone seriously sucked, even if it was only for tonight. Rick hadn't been thinking when he offered to help a younger police officer out by taking their shift so that the younger man could spend time with his "hot date." So, here Rick sat, three A.M. and drowning in forms, reports, and some sort of spread sheet that Rick was yet to decifer. It had been a pretty quiet night at the station having only had one drunk and disorderly so far, maybe there was hope for sneaking a nap in. At least he could zone out into a near sleep trance, anything to be away from these damn things. Rick shuffled the stack to the far side of the desk preparing a nice space wide enough for his folded arms and head to rest comfortably. He eased his cheek into the coarse material of his sleeve already drifting off to sleep.
The door to the station was ripped open banging wildly against the wall, the sudden gust of wind scattering papers. Rick nearly peed his pants. He'd awoken so violently he'd spilled out of his chair and bashed his head against the desk behind him. With the leverage of his desk he managed to get his sleeping legs to hold him, preparing to launch himself at whatever idiot had woken him.
"Get yah lazy pig ass over here and help ma brotha," the hulking skinhead standing in the doorway growled. Rick immediately threw any thought of reprimand away. The guy was way scary.
"Er- um," Rick hastily wiped away the healthy drool string from his lip, "if he is injured, you need to take him to the emergency room." Rick noticed for the first time the smaller man behind the skinhead, presumably the brother. The kid looked like a male model, lanky, tanned, and dark, and he was a kid, maybe twenty three at most. The model wore a scowl that would make any sane person cringe in fear or run away, though his brother was not affected by it. The skinhead gripped the model by his collar , shoving him in Rick's direction, "Alright Darleena, I done my brotherly duties, call me up when yah got a name." And with that the hulk of a man turned around mumbling a barely audible "pussy ass cops" leaving Rick with a very pissed Daryl.
After killing the older Dixon with his eyes Daryl turned the full force of his icy glare on Rick, who was totally lost. How did the big guy want Rick to help his brother? Why did the big guy leave? As handsome as the dark haired man in front of him was, Rick didn't want to be alone with him. Those blue eyes were looking a bit crazed.
"I gotta fill a form out or some shit?" Rick hadn't expected such a gruff voice to come out of the young looking man. Form? What form? Those freakishly blue eyes made him so confused, and more than a little nervous. The young guy cocked an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his t-shirt clad chest. Rick was tempted to check his officer uniform for holes, 'cause man, this guy was staring bullets.
"Oh!" duh, he was a cop, "uh- yeah. No, no forms…." he trailed off in confusion. Were there forms? Damn, when had a simple victim's report gotten so complicated. With a sigh Rick collected his tangled thoughts avoiding male model's glare. "Please, come over to my desk." Rick spread his arm awkwardly allowing Daryl to pass. The younger muttering something very similar to what his brother had said. Good to hear their sparkling opinion of law enforcement. Once they were seated Rick awkwardly stacked his papers appearing to have a purpose. How did these things go again? "So Mister…" He put his sweetest, most welcoming smile on, Hoping that blue eyes would drop the hostility.
Daryl was pissed, and no, he wasn't dropping the hostility anytime soon, so fuck you. He didn't deserve any of this shit. It wasn't fair. Daryl had been attacked. He'd been unable to defend himself, and he felt so ashamed for that. This… incident had shattered him. He'd only just now rebuilt. So that was it, the bastard had broken, stolen, broken, and raped his every semblance of a life. Now everything was held together by scotch tape and fury. His daddy had made him broken in the first place, now some random prick wanted to do it all over again? What the fuck?! He'd also actually shown emotion for once too. He'd been so numb, so confused when he'd gotten home. Then Merle had come over and Daryl had his breakdown. Merle had sort of flipped out screaming for blood. Merle would be happy to slit whatever sick son of a bitch that hurt Daryl down his throat, let him choke on the blood. But Daryl had no idea who the son of a bitch was. He hadn't seen the guy's face, he'd been cornered in the alley behind his apartment, only heard the guy's voice. It was so fucking sickening. Daryl was so sick. Then Merle up and dumped him at the police station in hopes that maybe they could figure out who the attacker was, that way the Dixon boys could make him adeqauetley suffer. But the police were obviously run by a ton of numb nut doofuses with this fucking smiley idiot as his only help. It just rubbed him the wrong way. The hell was with that creepy smile? And Mister? Christ, no one had called him that before. He let out an annoyed tch sound. "Jus' call me Daryl, skip tha Mister shit." he grunted, glare back to its full force.
"Oh- er, right." Rick blushed brightly, "I'm Rick Grimes, by the way." To escape the frightening wrath that was Daryl's eyes he rummaged in the desk drawer for a notepad. Daryl just made another annoyed scoffing sound. "So, why not tell me what happened?" An innocent enough question, but it seemed to spark a whole new kind of fiery anger behind Daryl's eyes. "uh…" maybe it was best to build this guy's trust before he jumped right into the action. He had always prided himself in being so people oriented, had even gotten the social butterfly certificate in seventh grade. Well this redneck sounding, model looking, blue eyed bastard had yanked the plug on any decently coherent sentence the minute he walked in the door. Not that it was his fault, this guy was scary! No where near as scary s his brother though. The older guy's body had screamed "bash your skull in with a tire iron" where this guy was more of the "tie you up and kill you with a million paper cut" sort of guy. Rick wasn't really into the whole pain kink thing…
If Rick wasn't trained in reading people's expressions he would have missed the queasy look that passed Daryl's face. Extremely subtle, the only hint of discomfort being the brief stitch of his eyebrows and the slouching lower in his seat. The kid's body read something like "if you fucking come near me I will ram a blunt object through your skull and lick the blood," Daryl was suddenly not the only one feeling queasy. "So, Daryl!" breaking through his graphically violent mental images and avoiding spilling his guts onto Daryl's comfortable looking work boots, Rick said a little too loudly, "That big guy- your brother- he seemed nice," trailing off in the natural cop trap Rick was so used to speaking in. Come on, open up, relax. He settled against his chair crossing his legs and trying to keep the subject-er- victim (?) at ease. This felt so much like the interrogation room that Rick was tempted to slap some cuffs on someone- and based on the brothers' apparent love of "pigs" would it really have been Daryl's first time in the things?
Daryl snorted, "Yeah, well, feed 'im an' he sticks 'round I guess." Alright…? Rick just felt even more awkward if that were possible, letting out a chocked laugh since he wasn't really sure if Daryl had been joking or not. "Is there a big age difference between you and your brother?" Without any other idea of how to connect with him, Rick just stuck to the brother, hopefully it'd be the right choice. Daryl grumbled something unintelligible and rubbed the back of his acheing skull. Damn was officer smiley a pain in the ass. He had forgotten about the bruises on his arm but quickly remembered from the pained expression on the cop's face. It probably had been a mistake to forgo wearing a jacket.
The inky purple bruise on Daryl's upper arm was obviously fresh. Rick could just make out individual purple lines as fingers. It looked like someone had wrapped a hand around Daryl's arm from behind. It made Rick sad that Daryl didn't trust him enough to out rightly say he was attacked but now Rick knew at least. "You want to tell me where those bruises are from, Daryl?" his eyebrows sank back, creeping down his forehead. Great, a bruise decides to play hide 'n seek with officer friendly here and the whole plan goes to shit. Not that Daryl really had a plan It had all been Merle's idea to go to the cops- which had surprised the hell out of Daryl, the guy left town if there was a cop within a mile's radius of him- why hadn't they though of a plan to trick the pigs into helping them? Then it hit Daryl, Merle expected him to actually tell them what happened. He hadn't thought of that. Why hadn't he though of that? He didn't fight Merle too much on the way to the station since he'd assumed his big brother had big plans in that endless crazed arsenal of a brain he had. Way to misjudge a situation. Well he was going to have to tell this smiling ass clown something.. Maybe wouldn't need to go into specifics… "Uh, yeah, some prick jumped me…" he nodded so dumbo cop bought it, Daryl figured. "Why I'm here." he added, not exactly sure how to do this, talking to a cop wasn't really on his list of things he's love to do tonight. Neither had being raped, but fuck life, 'cause shit happens.
"Okay, so you were mugged?" Rick was jotting things into the small notepad at a rate Daryl didn't like.
"Nah, not quite," well it wasn't like he could claim the guy took his wallet, he still had it and the eight bucks inside, no the guy hadn't taken that. He'd just taken everything else. My sanity. My composure, Daryl thought, fuck, even my manhood! I even cried cuz of that fucking motherless goddamned- his thoughts broke off into a confusing roiling mass of raged hatred. Daryl unconsciously popped his knuckles making Rick wince at the bone on bone sound.
"So, a fight?" Rick scratched something in the notepad out, replacing it with another quickly jotted down line. This whole notepad shit was making Daryl feel like he'd been shoved into some cheap ass therapist's office. That only made him more pissed. He could feel blood pounding in his temple and off handedly thought that maybe he should get his blood pressure checked, this whole mess was making it sky rocket- not that he could afford any meds if he needed them. "No, not a fight…" Rick didn't miss the confused look lurking in the zircons depths of Daryl's eyes. Ruling out the possibilities seemed to be working now that Daryl was showing some semblance of cooperation, but really at this rate would Rick ever get any answers? The kid had come here for help so why was he so reluctant? Rick had the sudden feeling that he was trying to coax an alley cat out from behind a dumpster. You had to be patient, take your time and give it treats bit by bit then maybe it would come out, only if it wanted to. Show it too much attention and the thing would bolt in the other direction, never to be seen again- plus Daryl's uncombed hair kind of looked like a stray cat's, seriously did he even brush it?
Repressing a sigh, Rick sat his notepad on the desk and leaned against the cool metal and wood surface. The late hour was starting to wear on his brain, his eyes beginning to feel strained hours ago. This whole… interrogation with Daryl was bound to take a lifetime and Rick was losing patience. Why help a person who didn't even really want it? The reluctance was obviously there. The glaring, the scowling, the kid wasn't the most fun to be around, and obviously didn't want to be there. Rick wanted to be home, he wanted to lay down next to his wife, he wanted to kiss baby Carl goodnight. Why had he agreed to take this damn shift?! The sooner this pissy little kid spit out whatever it was the sooner they could both get home. Rick to his nice, cozy little house and cutesy family, and Daryl to whatever alley way he'd crawled out of. Rick felt guilty for the thought. Sleep had made him bitter towards poor Daryl. He wanted to help Daryl with whatever his problem was if only he knew how. There was this look that Daryl just couldn't hide that left all his bitterness behind and screamed lost little boy, Rick simply couldn't abandon someone like that. He'd find Daryl out, no matter how long it took, his family could wait. "Daryl, please tell me happened to you"
He was near another breakdown but this time he wasn't sure if he wanted to cry of break things, kill people, set things on fire. The latter sounded very tempted, but the tickling pain behind his eyes made the former seem more likely. Daryl shoved the palms of his hands hard against his eyes, forcing any tears to the back of his skull. No way was he crying in front of Rick Grimes, desk monkey extraordinaire. "Fuck!" he yelled, angry at Rick, angry at the tears, angry at himself, angry for being unable to protect himself, but mostly angry at whatever monster had done this to him. "I don't fucking know what happened, alright?!" The truth had never been spoken more clearly. Daryl tore his hands away from his face, standing up and violently pacing around the room. He needed to hit something. He needed a cigarette , but of course didn't have any on him.
"Okay, Daryl, calm down," Rick soothed, "Just start-"
"Yah got any smokes?" Daryl didn't even realize Rick had been talking, the need for nicotine more important than everything else.
"Uh," what was it about Daryl that made all his words run and hide? Reduced to "uh"s and "er"s, Rick didn't like it. Rick also didn't smoke, hadn't since before college. Lori didn't like smoking, so Rick didn't smoke. But the officer Rick was filling in for smoked. Rummaging through the several messy drawers, Rick finally found his prize. He handed over the pack of Marlboros to the pacing Daryl who lit up with a fluidly practiced motion. He stopped pacing and plunked down into the chair sucking on the sweet paper wrapped goodness. Damn, cigarettes were good.
Rick was just happy that the pacing was over, otherwise there would soon be a path etched into the floor, Daryl had made each footfall twice more violent that Rick thought possible. Eyeing the cigarettes, Rick took one with a sigh and held out a hand for the metal zippo lighter Daryl had fished from his back pocket. Rick took it, ignoring Daryl's raised eyebrow, lighting his own smoke. Technically there was no smoking in the station, but what the captain didn't know, wouldn't kill him. Same went for Lori.
Rick took his first long drag on the thing, sputtering on the unfamiliar smoke and burning sensation. Daryl smirked knowingly, almost laughing at the cop's ridiculous looking face. Daryl didn't exactly like the guy but he appreciated his efforts in making Daryl feel even minutely more comfortable. "So," Rick stated when he was done gulping air, "Why don't you start from the beginning, take your time." He decided to skip the notepad this time to Daryl's infinite relief.
"Yeah," Daryl sucked in another drag of poisonous air, collecting his thoughts, "So I was bartendin' tonight at the Black Leaf til twelve," Rick knew the place well, bad side of town, most people went in there looking for a fight. So that was where Daryl worked? "Pretty quiet night," Daryl continued around his cigarette, chewing absently at the filter, "'cept this one douche bag and his skank, 'more fuckin' olives, where's the damn olives?'" He changed his pitch making it match the annoying female's. Rick laughed easily, seeing Daryl relax as he retold his night's events. He hadn't expected Daryl to be so normal. "Anyways," Daryl blew out smoke expelling the tangent he'd almost launched into about the fucking olives. Seriously though, who the hell wants those nasty things in their drinks? Couldn't be any worse than the fruity shit some chicks drank, he reckoned. Bartending was a good job for him, thanks to his experiences with Merle, unless you wanted him to make something fruity or girly. None of the Black Leaf customers were looking for tropical relief so Daryl was in luck. "I leave to walk home, since it's just like three blocks from my apartment," he trailed off tensing a bit at the memory. "Felt like someone was watcin'" me the whole way home, but it's the city, yah know? Someone's almost always watchin' you, it ain't like the woods." Daryl seemed to have forgotten the cigarette burning low between his fingers he'd become so wrapped up in his story. "Then I got to the alley outside my apartment. I had at stop an' get my keys out cuz there aren't any lights back there," He was biting into his thumb with a glazed look that Rick doubted he even knew he was doing it, or even remembered that Rick was there. "So then the fucker jumped me." Daryl spat out with a quiet ferocity that made him decide Daryl was much scarier that his brother. He was meeting Rick's gaze with those crazed eyes again as Daryl ground his cigarette to bits between his fingers. Rick wished he would look away.
"Shoved me face first into the wall so I'd be too stunned to fight back," Daryl leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, getting closer to Rick, making the officer squirm under the glacial stare. He was saying all this with such fierce coldness it sounded like he was making Rick out to be the offender. "Oh, I got a couple good hits in, but it wasn't enough. The sick fuck didn't want money, trust me I fuckin' tried that. Nah, 'that would be too easy', he said. You know what he did Rick?" Daryl didn't care anymore, he was getting that dark spirally feeling he got before everything blew up, he wanted to hurt Rick, or at least make him share in the sick discomfort Daryl just wanted to go away. "He undid my belt," Rick gulped in fear. Daryl's face was too close, his eyes were too cold, and his voice too empty, "tied my hands up with it, and he fucking raped me." Daryl's eyes went unfocused again, "Not a curtosey lick, nothing." He went back to silence, his face contorted in disgust. Dammit, now it was out. He looked back up to Rick, maybe the officer was just as disgusted with him as Daryl was. Maybe he was disgusted by Daryl, after all he did just have some freak's- he clamped down on the thought unwilling to think about the exact mechanics behind the incident.
Rick was just shocked. How could anyone over power Daryl? The guy wasn't bulky like his brother but there was the calculatory look of a fighter in his eyes. He also wasn't devoid of muscles. The rounded bulges of bicep under white cotton was plenty evidence. Rick had been afraid of Daryl, but now he just felt sorry for him. The kid had to be scared, he'd just been raped. A normal rape victim would crawl into a fetal position for weeks and not speak a word. Here was Daryl, though, right out of a romance novel cover shoot- one of those really cheap smutty ones that always have some shirtless lumberjack on the cover- spitting, clawing, and throwing punches the whole way down. He couldn't believe how strong Daryl was. Rick knew if roles had been reversed there was no way he could have Daryl's outlook. He felt a sudden familiar protectiveness over the dark haired man, one he'd only ever shared for Lori and Carl before. There was just some mystery Rick needed to solve behind those bluer than blue eyes and under that messy hair.
Daryl didn't like the look doofus general was giving him. Sure, it was much better than that dumb smile of his, but it was almost creepier, and much too real for Daryl's taste. He felt like Rick was dissecting him, pinning his hands to the table and gutting him. Suddenly the chair wasn't so comfortable, he just wanted to leave. He was done talking to this cop, and he was just done. What other word was there? He grabbed the smokes, taking them as compensation for his little story. Hope the cops get a big kick out of that, he thought sourly, Daryl Dixon, white trash, redneck, good for nothing pussy. Can't even take care of himself. He stormed toward the door not caring if Rick followed and found himself alone in the parking lot. Alone and without his truck. He'd forgotten Merle would have taken the powder blue monstrosity with him. Daryl would have to walk, and that was the last thing he wanted to do.
He stood in the mouth of the police station parking lot contemplating what route he should take. It didn't really matter it was maybe a six mile walk, but anyway he took would lead him right back to the alley. Right back to the place where his life got even more fucked up.
"Daryl?" Rick's tentative voice nearly gave Daryl a heart attack, he jerked violently having been ripped out of his mental map, "Jesus H. Christ! Yah tryin' kill me?!" he clutched his chest and glared at the innocent looking cop.
"Sorry," Rick smiled nicely, trying to hold back his laughter, "Sorry. You look like you need a ride," he motioned towards a silver Corolla that made Daryl cringe. Truth was he really did need the ride. Truth was he wouldn't mind company that much, even if it was from officer smiley. Truth was being alone didn't sound so perfect right then. He shifted from foot to foot then nodded and strode towards the car. Let Rick take him home, better than walking anyhow.
Rick was so glad when Daryl accepted the ride home. He wanted Daryl to be safe and the streets held dangers that Rick didn't want Daryl to run into. On the walk to the car Rick began to panic, his newly acquired social anxiety flaring up. He really didn't know how to ride in a car with another guy. Did he open the door for him? What was he supposed to talk about? When had it all become so damn confusing? Daryl, seeming unaffected by whatever disease Rick had caught, opened the passenger door and got in without a second thought. Rick again found himself thinking, how does everything come so easily to Daryl? It was like he was immune to confusion. He jumped in the car with Daryl and prepared for the long car ride home, that promised to be the most awkward situation of either man's life.
A/N: phew! That was a long one! So I'm thinking of Murphy from Boondock Saints as this Daryl. Yeah? I mean scruffy dark hair and stuff? J ~MacDixy
