Chapter 2: Sooner Or Later
The ride down to the station was a relatively quiet one. As soon as Rick got him in the back of the car Daryl closed up, wouldn't say a word, and just stared out the window at the passing trees and buildings. Rick glanced at him in the rear-view mirror a few times, and had to practically force his eyes to go back to the road lest he stare at that boy forever. There was just something so appealing about the way Daryl's hair fell in his eyes, shading his cloudy gaze from view.
Surprisingly enough, it wasn't much of a struggle to haul Daryl into the station and seated in one of the various interrogation rooms. His muscles never relaxed, and he still refused to speak, but at least he went along willingly enough.
Rick left Daryl alone to stew for a few minutes, grabbing both his and Merle's files, along with a tripod video recorder. He flung the files onto the desk haphazardly, the slam causing Daryl to jerk backward slightly, and set up the camera so that it would clearly record both interrogator and suspect.
"Alright, Mr. Dixon, before we begin, could you state your name for the record?" Rick asked as he flipped through the paperwork in Daryl's file.
"Daryl," He grunted, keeping his eyes fixedly pointed toward the table.
"Y'mind if I just call you Daryl?"
The other man shrugged, a slight movement of the planes of his shoulders so brief that Rick almost missed it.
"Well, then how about you call me Rick? Don't need all the formalities here." Rick offered a smile, but Daryl just glared at him. "Do you want anything, Daryl? A coffee, or a soda, or maybe some water?"
Daryl thought it over for a moment before asking, "'S'alright if I smoke?"
"Sure, Daryl, that's no problem. Let me get you a Styrofoam cup to use as an ashtray, hmm? Then we can get down to business." Rick rose from the table and briskly left the room, letting the door slam behind him.
Rick could just tell that Daryl was going to be difficult, though not in the traditional sense of being uncooperative. There was a feeling building at the bottom of Rick's stomach, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. It was almost like the way he felt when he first asked Lori on a date all those years ago in high school.
They had been seniors then, though Rick had been admiring her from afar for at least two years. Shane had even gone after her once, though she'd politely rejected him, telling him she had another boy in her life at that time. Rick had been discouraged by that information, but after two years of waiting and watching and listening to the gossip of the grapevine he figured out that she'd never had another guy at all, she just wasn't all that attracted to Shane.
Rick wanted to ask Lori to the Prom, but it was months away, and no way she'd say yes if he didn't at least speak to her sometime before that. So he settled for Homecoming. He asked her to go with him to the football game, and out for dinner afterwards, figuring that if all went well he could also ask her to the dance. He could have been knocked over with a feather when she actually said yes and smiled that bashful little smile of hers.
Rick had felt sick to his stomach with nervousness the entire week before he finally worked up the courage to say the words to her, and he swore he would throw up all over her by the time he managed to track her down at lunch to ask her.
He felt that way now, though without the nauseous aspect. There was nothing in his stomach to throw up in the first place, so that wasn't much of a concern, but he did feel jittery, like he was seventeen again and wringing the strap of his backpack in his hands as he desperately tried to think of what to say. Odd, considering he was simply interrogating Daryl Dixon about illegal substances.
How many people had he taken into custody, sat in that very same chair in that very same interviewing room with that very same tripod video recorder focused on them, and asked every question under the sun until they finally cracked? And not once had he felt even the slight bit nervous, save for on his very first case as a detective, and that was to be expected of a rookie.
So what was it about Daryl that made his stomach flip-flop every which way it could? Daryl was a man; Rick didn't like men. Or at least he didn't think he did. He'd never been attracted to a man before, anyway. But there was something special about Daryl; something in the way his shoulders sagged in defeat, something in the way his muscles flowed beneath his skin, something in the ferocity of those bright blue eyes, something that reflected years of pain but a soul still intact. Rick couldn't help but want to figure out the man's mysteries, and set his burdens free.
But he didn't have time for all of that poetic bullshit right then. He had a job to do, and damned if he wasn't going to do it just because a few emotions were getting in the way. Rick pushed those thoughts from his mind as he grabbed two cups from beside the water dispenser, leaving one empty and filling the other with the somewhat warm water, just in case.
"You got a girl, Daryl?" Rick asked, setting both cups in front of his suspect before moving around to the other side of the table and sitting once more.
Daryl raised one eyebrow, his gaze piercing right through Rick. "What's it matter?"
"I'm just trying to get to know you better is all." Rick shrugged nonchalantly, flipping open his pocket notebook and uncapping a pen. "Do you have a girlfriend?"
"Yeah, Carol." Daryl placed a cigarette in his mouth and lit up, taking a long drag before looking at Rick again.
Rick felt some odd form of disappointment settle into him at Daryl's words. Why did he care whether or not Daryl had a girlfriend or not?
"What's her last name?"
"Peletier. She kept it after her husband died. Ain't never changed it back to her maiden for some reason." Daryl blew a plume of smoke out toward the ceiling, watching it swirl through the air.
Rick could only vaguely remember the woman Daryl spoke of. She had hair that only came to about the middle of her neck, colored a soft white-ish gray, and blue eyes that were full of life, yet heavy with broken dreams. She'd been the one to collect her husband after bailing him out of his domestic abuse charges.
"The black eye was my own fault, honest." She laughed nervously as she touched a finger to the edge of the swollen bruise, a slight wince tearing her face apart for a fraction of a second before her smile was back in place. "Ed would never hurt a fly, unless they hurt him or his family first. He's a good man, you know. Provides well for me and Sophia. This is all just a big mistake, really it is." She pulled her daughter slightly closer, smoothing a hand over the girl's blond hair, trying to keep the fear from bouncing around in both of their eyes lest Detective Grimes see through her façade.
Ed had died in jail, apparently of suicide, though the stab wounds that littered his body had been overlooked by most everyone in the department once they saw the noose around his neck. Good riddance had been the mutual thought of everyone at the station that day.
Rick nodded as he looked over the name written down on his notepad. He supposed it made sense for them to be together, seeing as how the same pain was present in both of their eyes.
"When was the last time you saw her?" Rick asked.
Daryl bit at his bottom lip, letting smoke out through his nostrils. "Well, I actually ain't seen her in a while. Two weeks, at least. We kinda had a fight, an' she said she didn't wanna see me no more. Said she was goin' back up to her momma's house somewhere in one'a them upper states."
"So you two are broken up, then?" Rick's tone was a little too enthusiastic, but Daryl didn't seem to notice.
Daryl just nodded, taking a final drag of his cigarette before stamping it into the empty cup in front of him.
"Let's talk about your brother for a minute. You said the stash in the living room was his, correct?"
"Well, it sure ain't mine. Guess it could be our daddy's, but I doubt he'd ever leave is just sittin' out like that fer any damn cop t'see it."
"Where is Merle today, anyhow?" Rick folded his fingers on top of the tabletop, watching Daryl with calm, observant eyes.
Daryl didn't seem any more or less nervous at the mention of the stash or his brother, not like he'd been when talking about his and Carol's fight. Either he was an excellent liar, or he wasn't involved in his brother's dealings; Rick was, for some unknown reason, vying for the latter.
"Not sure. Haven't seen 'im since late yesterday afternoon." Daryl shrugged again, this time meeting Rick's stare, his eyes never wavering.
"Did he say where he was going yesterday?"
"Somethin' 'bout headin' on up to Billy's."
"And who's Billy?"
"Guy who runs the lil' no-name bar in the sketchier part of our neighborhood. For all I know Merle's still buried balls-deep in some lil' hussy's pussy, hungover from last night. 'S'where he usually is on Fridays and weekends." Daryl smirked, but not humorously. This small curvature of his lips seemed to be made more in disgust than anything else.
Rick nodded, a gentle bob of his head, and then proceeded to write down what Daryl had said.
Two hours, one blood test, and one follicle test later Daryl Dixon was free to go. No illegal drugs showed up in his system or in the hair sample they had plucked from his scalp, and simply being in the same house as a dealer didn't make him a criminal; he couldn't exactly help where he lived or who he was related to.
Plus witness statements from the low-life druggies collected from the streets proved that Daryl had never dealt drugs in his life, and that Merle was the powerhouse operator in that little scheme. None of the withdrawl-suffering convicts had ever seen Daryl before.
Rick escorted Daryl out of the building, stopping him at the end of the parking lot.
"If you think of any information that could help in this case, please give us a call." Rick slipped a slim paper card into Daryl's outstretched hand.
Daryl looked at the card for a moment, and then snorted. "I ain't rattin' out my brother."
"I didn't ask you to." Rick nodded to the other man, who continued to stare at him incredulously.
Finally, Daryl shook his head and turned to walk away. Rick watched him walk away, his eyes travelling to the sway of the redneck's hips, and that same nervous feeling seized him once again. A sudden impulse fired through his veins, and he could practically feel the invisible force pushing him towards Daryl's retreating form.
Rick had enough instincts to know that when fate pushed you in a certain direction you didn't fight it. Steeling his resolve, he darted after Daryl, catching his shoulder just before he turned a corner.
Daryl's body tensed, his hands clenching into fists, preparing to defend himself, but when he saw that it was only Rick he relaxed. "Whatcha want now, Rick?"
Rick swallowed roughly, his face flushing a light pink color. "Daryl, uh… would it be alright if I called you sometime?"
Daryl's eyes widened slightly, taking in the sincerity in Rick's deep blue eyes. Was Rick trying to flirt with him? He'd never been hit on by another man before; no other man in his right mind would even think of crossing that boundary for fear that Daryl would put him in the emergency room. Being with another guy hadn't ever really crossed his mind before, at least not in any seriousness. He'd wondered a time or two what it might be like to be with the same gender, what the sex might be like, if the relationship would differ greatly from that of a female's, but he'd shaken the thoughts away; he didn't want to be labeled a queer.
But something about Rick's clean-cut, angular face sparked that same bit of curiosity in him once more, and, surprisingly enough, he found himself whispering, "Yeah, that would be great."
