The Breakfast Club

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"I'll take the biggest, blackest cup of coffee you got."

With his bruised, bloodshot blue eyes, pathetic excuse for a five o'clock shadow, and limp, lifeless curls falling into his face, Grimes looked like shit on toast, but Daryl was finding it hard to muster up too much sympathy for the scrawny, bow-legged bastard. Especially when he weren't so sure Olive Oyl was worth it in the first place. But he didn't say none of that. Not many people out there was so willin' to do right by a kid that didn't ask to be born in the first place. Daryl ought to know. And people their age? It was damn near unheard of. Grimes was all right. Obviously not blessed in the brains' department, least common sense-wise, or else he'd have wrapped that shit up as Merle always used to say, but he was tryin' his best, and Daryl respected that. Picking up the coffee pot, he set it right in front of the new father, along with an empty mug. He shrugged off Grimes's expression of thanks and returned to wiping down the counter while he waited on T-Dog to get back from his break. "Time to make a new pot anyways."

"You don't know how much I needed this."

He tossed the first cup back like it was a shot of the hard stuff, and Daryl ducked his head to hide his smirk. "Think I do."

Grimes started to protest. "No, Man. You…shit!"

His sudden, loud exclamation drew the attention of just about every patron currently in the diner, and it bein' breakfast, that was a whole lot of folks staring in their direction like gutless goldfish. Daryl suppressed a groan when the old man's hawkish eyes lit and lingered on them both, his forkful of pancakes dripping syrup onto the tabletop below him, and Ms. Irma got up from the table to approach them. The little ones remained oblivious to the whole scene, while Milton only looked marginally interested, and Andrea…well, Andrea was Andrea, and Daryl would have flipped her off if Ms. Irma weren't right there, makin' him feel guilty with that warm smile of hers. He already felt bad enough for turnin' down yet another invitation to the Breakfast Club, as Amy called it. That kid was always makin' a club of something or other; Daryl reckoned the only way she got away with that shit was on account of those big blue gumdrops that took up two thirds of her face. Milton claimed she looked like one of those Precious Moments dolls. Daryl didn't know what the hell the boy was talkin' 'bout. Big surprise there.

"Boys. Everything okay over here?" Ms. Irma asked, resting a hand lightly on Grimes's shoulder.

"Just fine," Daryl informed her gruffly. Grimes weren't so short and to the point, though; he took the offered opening and ran with it, his pasty face glowing almost as red as the stained tee-shirt he had taken to holding away from his chest like it had sprouted fangs. It dawned on Daryl what the splotch was right about the time he got a good whiff of the soured remnants of young Carl Grimes's breakfast. He couldn't help wrinkling his nose in disgust.

"It's all my fault, Mrs. Horvath. I didn't mean to cause a scene. It's just..."

"Parenthood is a messy profession."

Grimes seemed to take heart in her kind teasing, smiling wryly. "He peed on my other shirt, and I'm supposed to be at the pool for my shift in less than half an hour."

"Sucks to be you, Man," T-Dog announced upon his return, tying his apron back on and hurrying to the back to check on Jacqui in the kitchen before Ms. Irma had a chance to tsk at him for the insensitive comment.

"Come upstairs with me, Dear. I might be able to help you out."

Daryl snorted at the hopeful look on Grimes's face but quickly fixed a blank look on his face when Ms. Irma addressed him.

"Daryl, do eat some breakfast." She sighed softly when he gave his requisite response.

"Ain't hungry."

"You know there's plenty if you change your mind."

She left it at that and led Grimes upstairs. When the pair re-emerged from the small upstairs apartment less than fifteen minutes later, the stain was barely noticeable, and Grimes looked less like one of the walking dead and more like one of the living. Nevertheless, Daryl held out a steaming Styrofoam cup in offering when the square pulled a couple of bills out of his pocket to pay.

Grimes accepted it with a grateful groan, taking a hearty draw. "You busy this evening, Dixon?"

"Watch out," T-Dog cracked as he rejoined Daryl behind the counter. His dark eyes sparkling, and his teeth gleaming white, he grinned at Grimes and arched a brow at him. "Sure your little mama'll be okay with you inviting our resident redneck out for a night on the town?"

Grimes's slow answering smile and T-Dog's self-amused chortle had Daryl rolling his eyes at them both and walking away. "Know what, Man? Screw you. Screw you both."

"Milton can tag along as a chaperone if it makes you feel better."

T-Dog guffawed, slapping Grimes on the back as he squeezed past him with his notepad and pen in hand, ready to take their newest customer's order. "Good one, Man. Didn't know you had it in you."

Grimes's crazy-eyed grin faded into something more earnest, and almost against his will, Daryl found himself stalling in his tracks and muttering out, "Naw. Ain't busy. Neither's Milton."

Grimes gave a pleased nod. "You know where Greene's farm is?"

"Got some idea," Daryl huffed. "What's this about?" Grimes didn't answer right away, and Daryl felt his already limited patience where this kind of stuff was concerned growing thin. Just because he tolerated the guy ever since he spoke up for him during that whole shitstorm with Walsh didn't mean he wanted to hold hands and sing fuckin' Kumbaya. "Well," he finally snapped. "You gonna say somethin'?"

"You'll find out when you get there. Andrea's welcome to come, too. Greene's farm. Five o'clock."

"Five o'clock," Daryl acknowledged. "Fine. Ain't you got somewhere to be?"

Five o'clock saw Daryl and Milton bumping along an old, rutted country road in the old man's borrowed Chevy. Daryl was well and ready to give up and turn around, sick of having a sharp, coiled spring poking him in the left ass cheek with every unavoidable bounce, and Milton was looking a little green around the gills as he studied the scribbled directions in his lap. Finally, the old two-storied farmhouse loomed ahead, and Milton heaved about as big a sigh of relief as Daryl when they spotted Grimes's car in the driveway. That feeling didn't last long for Daryl when he saw the thin, reedy figure of Grimes's girl emerge from the vehicle, her long brown hair and her dress fluttering in the evening breeze and her baby son snug against her chest. He had the passing notion to turn around, but he knew it was too late. They'd already been seen. "Fuck," he swore softly.

"Ditto," Milton murmured, throwing his hands out to brace himself when Daryl tapped the truck's brakes a little too hard in his frustration and nearly sent him sprawling in the floor. As it was, it took several minutes of fumbling to recover his glasses from the floorboard, and he was sweating profusely with nerves and exertion when he finally joined Daryl and the rest outside of the vehicle.

Before anybody had a chance to speak, they heard another car rocking and rattling up the driveway, and a young black man that couldn't have been that much older than any of them got out of the car.

Daryl's eyes narrowed at the stiff white collar standing out against the black suit, the small Bible cradled in the man's hands, and he looked to Grimes in disbelief. "This what I think it is?" Grimes nodded, slowly, and Daryl swore. "This even legal?" He knew Grimes weren't of legal age, least not without a parent's permission; that's the way his vague understanding of Georgia law worked. He also knew Grimes's parents didn't approve one bit of the mess their son had landed himself in. Hell, everybody 'round town knew that. It weren't no secret. As for Grimes's girl…Daryl supposed if her parents cared one way or the other, well, maybe there wouldn't be that little boy working up a cry. But Daryl didn't pretend to understand the in's and out's of somebody else's family; they were all fucked up in one way or another, nobody bein' perfect and all. He swore again, low under his breath, unable to believe he'd been sucked into this whole mess. The only saving grace of the matter was Andrea's absence; Olive Oyl annoyed her merely by drawing breath.

Milton, the walking encyclopedia, answered Daryl's question before Grimes or the young clergyman even had a chance to open their mouths. "Actually, as young parents themselves, they don't need their own parents' permission. It's perfectly legal, but ill-advised. Are you two really sure you want to do this?"

Grimes wrapped his arm around his girl's back and pulled her into his side. "Lori's it for me."

"I'm sure," Lori murmured against Carl's crown of thick dark hair.

"So everybody's in agreement then?" The priest looked around at all of them. "There is to be a wedding here today?"

Grimes and his girl spoke in concert. "There is."

"Don't look at me," Daryl scowled.

"Will there be cake afterward?" Milton asked, causing Grimes and the girl to laugh and Daryl to roll his eyes.

"There'll be cake," a soft voice promised.

"Punch, too."

Olive Oyl beamed and handed the squirming kid over to Grimes, rushing beyond them with her arms outstretched and her brown eyes welling with happy tears. "Carol! Patricia! I'm so glad you came."

It was an eye-opening transformation, and for the briefest of seconds, Daryl saw what Grimes saw, and the scowl on his face started to melt away. Maybe this weren't such a bad thing. Least it weren't the stupidest thing he'd been involved in, being Dixon born and all. He allowed the corners of his mouth to lift in the slightest of smiles as he glanced in Grimes's direction, but that expression froze and his heart started beatin' triple time with recognition when the girl's words started to filter through the haze. It couldn't be. It'd been months since the first and only time he'd heard that name, heard that same sweet voice.

"Look at you. Sophia, you're getting so big!"

Sorry for the delay on this chapter. I know I promised it sooner, but RL happened. :)

The law's since changed, but once upon a time, you didn't have to have your parent's permission to marry at age 16 if you were pregnant or a parent. Least that's the way I understood it. I was barely legal myself back when they made the change, lol. I exaggerate, but it's been a while.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter.

Next one is back to present day, and I don't know about you guys, but I'm feeling a little smuffy. ;)

Thanks so much for reading!

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