A/N: I'm kinda bummed how short these chapters are! Dang! Shane is weird. Like I really hate the guy, but I really love him at the same timeā¦. Yah know? Okay guys, give me your opinions on Daryl/ Carol. Norm said he's going to "hit that" Do you think it's gonna happen? Do you want it to happen? *winces* I hope it doesn't happen. Feel free to flame your ship opinions in the review box thingymabob!
Disclaimer: come on guys let's recite it! I own none of the Walking Dead characters, nor do I make a profit from writing this fiction, nor do I think Daryl is gay *sigh*
Warning: Angst, language, ruining of perfectly good lungs.
The Stray.
Chapter 4 A Slight Change.
Rick found himself at his desk staring dazedly at the settling dust particles ambling throughout the stuffy police station. The pencil between his fingers tilted precariously but never quite gave up its struggle to cling to him. His brownish hair had developed an uncombed look, not having been able to drag his perverse mind from the memory of Daryl, his sure strides, and the sultry sway to his hips. It seemed like a lifetime since the brute had sauntered out of his vehicle to live a life wherever- all Rick knew was that it was away from him- when really it had been more hours. He hadn't decided what disturbed him more, having feelings for someone other that his wife, or having feelings for another man. Rick had nothing against the gays, wasn't comfortable around the flamboyantly so, but really did that count? Men had just never interested Rick. It was frightening to find that something he'd been so sure of all his life was now being questioned. His sexuality had always been so black and white, so cut and dry, he couldn't be gay. It had to be physically impossible. But of course, his mind was drawn away yet again, back to the lair of the haunting blue eyes. Rick was concerned he'd be sick. Something as substantial as sexuality couldn't be changed overnight, it didn't work that way, it couldn't. He cautiously searched his memory for any hint of attraction to another man before last night. Na-da. Zip. Nothing. A stupid redneck had just decided to crash into his life and bulldoze over his identity with his super sized boots, him being defenseless as a newborn.
He struggled trying to tell himself there were extenuating circumstances, Rick had gotten protective because Daryl had come to him in need. He'd been put in the meeker, feminine position. That was the only answer. Rick was confusing a drive for protecting with physical attraction. As many times as Rick chanted within his mind he knew it wasn't true. The impressive masculine physique and essence of pure male made Rick snort with laughter of his earlier thought of Daryl being meek or feminine. He couldn't rip his mind's eye from the snapshot of a memory of Daryl, elbows on knees, twin blue orbs baring in his direction. The man had looked to him, to Rick, to solve his problems. Rick desperately needed to solve Daryl's problem, and he would happily. Someone had violated Daryl in the most demeaning of ways, and Rick would gladly put a bullet between the eyes of a sick excuse of a man that had done that. Never being one for the violent route he smiled sadly. Something in Rick was changing. Hopefully for the better.
"Whoa, how's the moon doin'?" A thick manila folder slapped against the solid block desk with enough force Rick thought he'd been shot. Shane stood over him smiling toothily, the man he considered his brother taking joy in the small harassment.
"Dammit, Shane, thought I'd died," Rick grabbed at the pencil as it had finally lost its long futile battle. The brute of a man let out a hearty chuckle as he cuffed Rick's ear.
"Ah, come on, man." his eyes twinkled with an old familiar mischief, "Just a little joke," Shane carded a large hand over his head. A head that had recently held dense dark locks, Rick was shocked.
"Well," Rick recovered taking in his friend's buzzed cut hair, "What's with the hair, or lack thereof?" He waved a hand towards Shane's bald scalp. They'd been friends since high school and Rick knew Shane better than himself. He was a creature of habit, almost to the manic level, creating a strict exercise regime along with an impossible dietary system. Shane had also maintained the same hairstyle as the day Rick met him claiming it suited him best. Rick loved his friend and ws happy that he'd managed to make and accept even a small change.
"Yeah," Shane snorted, "thought it best to change." he looked away almost seeming embarrassed, "It was getting a bit outdated," he trailed off as Rick nodded sympathetically, understanding the hard ships of ageing. "Anyways, I wanted you to check out this file, thought maybe you could make some mind of it." He hadn't meant to tune out but Rick's thought were back to Daryl and therefore he was hopelessly lost. "-Merle Dixon being involved." He refocused immediately as Shane lecture ended. Merle? It couldn't be the same as Daryl's brother could he? Rick grabbed for the file excitedly, thanking whatever deity was watching over him for this stroke of luck. He felt so stupid the night before when he realized on the drive home that he didn't know Daryl's last name. Without a last name there could be no paperwork, no case, and no hope of finding the cruel monster that had hurt Daryl. And Rick wanted justice with a vengeance.
He noted Shane eyeing him curiously, no doubt his long time buddy seeing the oddness in Rick's actions that morning. He didn't exactly care what Shane thought, the man always had his opinions and would interject them when he saw fit, so Rick would wait for that. The boring manila did not justify the colorful reports lying inside the Dixon file with a mug-shot of the same skinhead Rick had the pleasure of meeting last night. Drugs, assault, public indecency, it was all there in a compiled work that any criminal would read with pride and envy. The papers painted an intriguing yet expected vision of Merle Dixon, hulking man with love of a good high, a heavy fist, and a sleazy heart. Rick wasn't at all surprised by the multiple misdemeanor charges, but intrigued at the balls it took for Merle to walk into a police station willingly. Most convicted criminals high tailed it at the sight of the place, so the older Dixon must genuinely care for the younger, Rick reasoned.
Listed as current address he also noted that it was on the same street at Daryl's home. The Dixons lived close together or in the same apartment. Rick hoped Merle didn't give the younger Dixon too much trouble though Rick feared the worst, that maybe the darker haired brother was just as bad as Merle.
"Hey Shane," Rick looked up slowly, seeing his friend truly for the first time that morning, "Is there a file on a Daryl Dixon?"
Daryl slumped against the poorly painted cinderblocks of his apartment building, they scratched his back through his dirty t-shirt but couldn't bring himself to care. He rolled his exhaustion clouded head back against the brick, for once glad of the poor lighting on the outside balcony. The view was lovely as well, above him, poorly vinyled roofing, and across the alley from him a bland brick wall- the cause of the lack of light. He was working on his third cigarette since he'd come out here, intending on only one, but his mind wouldn't cooperate. He couldn't focus on the burning material between his fingers long enough to properly enjoy it. Chalk that up on the list of things that bastard had taken from him. He exhaled, watching the entrancing blue-gray cloud float from between his lips into oblivion over is head. Sometimes he wished he could follow the smoke to wherever it disappeared. It didn't have to be chained down to a job, or a family, by money, not even gravity could hold it down. Smoke vanished, the only trace being a lovely lingering smell. The smell of smoke clung to him like a second skin today, being reduced to chain smoking all morning, watching every cigarette he owned disappear into the sky only wishing he could follow.
His hand wandered to his jeans pocket of its own accord, slipping into the warm denim. Something soft clung to his fingers and he wrapped the strands of softness into his palm. He pulled it away from his pocket letting the dark strands glint off the slight light of the alley. Daryl only vaguely remembered ripping the coarse hair from his attacker's scalp. He hardly remembered the bellow the man had made or the punch to the head Daryl had received. At least he had done some damage, even that little helped Daryl feel not so weak. But it was still so little.
A/N: another super short update! But I updated close together so don't be too mad, lovelies. Ooh, who saw that coming? Give you a buck if you can list all the changes that happened ;)
