It's On
by Leela
The next morning, Carl's spirits are lifted and he eats his breakfast with ferocious hunger. Daryl is there, but after a few minutes the man disappears into the woods with his crossbow, and Carl feels relieved. He needs to focus, and Daryl tends to make him both inexplicably irritable and strangely nervous at the same time. When everyone is done eating and dishes are being transferred to the sink, he approaches Andrea eagerly.
"Shane says there's a lake near here," he tells her, positively smitten with the smile she gives him as she looks down at him. "Can you teach me how to fish?"
Andrea looks up at Lori instantly, but before Lori can say anything, Carl adds, "you promised you would, remember?"
And Andrea does remember. She remembers that day Amy died, when they spent the whole morning fishing and bringing their catch back to the group. She remembers Carl asking them to teach him how to fish, and Amy enthusiastically promising him that she would. She's weary of Lori and weary of taking this responsibility, but it was Amy's promise, and she feels reluctant to break it.
"I don't know, sweetie, I don't know how far away this lake is," Andrea says.
"Just about a quarter mile," Shane chimes in, wiping grease from the corner of his mouth. "Can walk ya there, if you want?"
Once again Andrea looks at Lori, who seems to be weighing the pros and cons. Despite their accommodations the woman is still scared, Sophia's fate still weighing heavily in their hearts, but Andrea can tell Lori would welcome a morning to herself. Pregnancy must be exhausting, and Lori knows what a great shoot Andrea is. The best in camp.
Still, Andrea's surprised when Lori finally puts a hand on her shoulder, looking worried, but relenting. "Andrea, please just be really careful."
Andrea smiles at her. "Don't worry. It's gonna be fun, right?" she asks Carl, and he's so pleased and his heart feels so happy that he fears he's going to burst.
He goes with her to the RV, where Dale keeps his fishing equipment. He follows Shane and Andrea to this infamous lake, and Carl is happy to see it has a deck and everything (though no boat. Maybe the rich people who previously lived in this house sailed away).
He tries to pay attention to all the things Andrea is telling him - how to tie a knot, how to hook the bait - but she sits really close to him and she smells really good, and so he just grins and nods without taking any information in. This won't be the first fishing lesson, he figures, so he can just ask questions later. For now, he revels in the feel of her skin and her hair resting on his little shoulder as she leans over and fiddles with the knot she's showing him.
They sit in silence for a bit, because Andrea says if you're too loud it scares the fish. Carl admits to himself that he likes it better this way, because if they were talking he still doesn't know what he would say to her. All the words and sentences play out neatly in his head, but for some reason they refuse to come out in the right order, or if at all. But this way is better. This way, they can sit and spend time together and he'll learn how to get rid of the nervousness he gets when she's around, before he can learn how to confidently talk to her.
It's genius, really.
So he relaxes, periodically throwing little glances at her whenever he can and committing every expression to memory. The days are cooling down and the leaves have turned orange and yellow. Every once in a while, the breeze will tug one of them away from its branch and it'll sway back and forth in the air before it lands on the water, creating a tiny ripple. Andrea must like this, because every time it happens a small smile grows into her features, and Carl decides fall might just be his favorite season (now that it no longer posed the threat of being dragged kicking and screaming back to school).
And he decides he loves fishing more than he actually thought he would. It's quiet, and nothing much happens most of the time, but it's nice to be able to sit and think without the hustle, noise and drama the adults are constantly creating. It really might be the first time he's felt any kind of peace since people started gnawing at each other hungrily, and the fact that he gets to share this peace with Andrea makes him feel, for the first time since he was convinced Sophia would return, that there really might be some kind of hope for them after all.
His reverie ends, however, when something tugs at his hook. His body snaps up and he lets out a high pitched, "whoa!"
Andrea raises her eyebrows. "Looks like you got one!"
Carl grins at her, and feels the fish start to give a bit of a fight. His smile wavers a bit, because as the seconds pass he feels the fish just might be a bit stronger than he can handle, and his muscles tense up as he uses all his strength to try and reel it in. He looks at Andrea for help, but she hasn't moved from her spot. His mom would've been all over him by now, sick with worry, quickly coming to his rescue, tears in her eyes. But Andrea just sits there, smiling.
"You can do it. Just relax," Andrea says gently. "Don't put too much effort into it just yet; let him get tired first."
He does just as she says. He takes a deep breath and lets his muscles loosen up. It takes a little longer than he thought it would, but with Andrea's kind words of encouragement and his determination not to let her down, eventually the fish gives up the fight, and Carl reels it in effortlessly.
"Wow!" he shrieks when the fish finally emerges from the water. "Andrea, look!"
"That's a good one," Andrea says as she reaches for the net to catch the fish. It struggles a little bit between the threads, but eventually gives up the fight and stops breathing. She brings it in closer for inspection. "Looks like a Spot."
"I caught it! Did you see?" He's all energy, adrenaline rushing through his body and a grin so big his cheeks quickly begin to hurt, but he doesn't care. The fish lands in Andrea's bucket and he looks at it closely. He can't believe he actually did it, he caught a fish. And all by himself. Without Shane, without his dad, without his mom. He did it all by himself.
Andrea laughs at his enthusiasm. "You did an awesome job! High five."
He slaps her hand has to fight every urge in his body not to give her a giant hug. He has to remember he doesn't want to scare her. But he feels so pleased with himself, so happy that he made her proud, that he knows he probably won't get any sleep that night.
He looks down at the fish in the bucket again. "Can we eat it?"
"Of course we can," she says. "But we'll need a few more if we wanna feed the whole camp."
"Okay." He sits down and grabs the rod again, struggling to remember how to tie the knot and hook the bait. She helps him a little bit, and they resume their previous positions. It's much harder to concentrate now, with sparks of energy still bursting through his body, but eventually his breathing evens and his body relaxes (though his mind is still rushing).
Andrea catches a fish and reels it in with ease, and Carl is in awe of her strength. That's two. Two fish that they've caught between the pair of them. He's on cloud 9. He can't believe how well this is working. At this moment he feels incredibly connected to her, like they were always meant to have a special bond. He's been dreaming about this day for a while now, but even in his dreams it never goes as well as this.
But then, he hears something rustle behind him. Andrea must hear it, too, because she quickly puts her fishing rod down and reaches for her gun. However, when she turns around she lowers it quickly and sighs.
"Jesus, Daryl," she breathes as Daryl emerges from the bushes, looking at them suspiciously. "You scared the crap out of me."
Daryl approaches the duo, his weary eyes on Carl, who is not looking pleased by his inopportune entrance.
Christ, this kid. He ignores him and looks at Andrea. "Ya shouldn't be out here by yourself."
"I'm not by myself," Andrea says as she smiles at the calm water. "Carl's protecting me."
Carl brightens up once again, and turns around to show Daryl a big, cocky smile.
Daryl frowns at him. Little shit.
"What'cha all doing, anyway?"
"I'm teaching Carl how to fish," Andrea says. "I think people are getting sick of eating canned food all the time."
"That so," Daryl asks, and before he realizes it his legs continue to guide him to them until he's on the deck. His mind isn't pleased by this.
Nor is Carl. He turns around and frowns at Daryl. "You don't have to stay. Andrea shoots better than you, anyway."
Oh hell no, Daryl thinks as he sneers and tries really hard to stop himself from wrapping his hands around the little shit's neck and flinging him right into the middle of the lake to watch him drown.
Daryl narrows his eyes at him. "Maybe I feel like catching some fish, too."
"You can join us, if you want." Andrea smiles at him, oblivious of the tension between them, and returns her attention to the water.
Daryl looks from her to Carl. Carl frowns at him. Daryl frowns back. Carl's nostrils flare. Daryl's, as well. The two mentally square off for a few seconds, until Daryl shakes his head and tries to even his breathing to cool his tempers.
No, seriously, he is not going to do this. He is not going to get jealous of some shitty kid. He's not going to fall into this nonsense, no matter how much it pulls him, he is not going to let it. He's a grown ass man and he's not going to play silly games with some kid over the affections of a woman he's desperately trying to get out of his head.
Just walk away, a voice inside his head tells him. Let Carl dream all he wants. Let him be. He's just a kid with a crush and there are bigger things to worry about. And really, like Carl has a chance, anyway. Kid is a complete mama's boy with freaking Sheriff Woody for a father and by the looks of his gait-
He shakes his head again. Fuck, not like he has a chance either. Not like he wants one. Christ, what the hell is going on? Why are these people so toxic? Didn't he used to be the meanest son of a bitch in town? Didn't he used to laugh at all this sentimental bullshit? When did everything change so drastically?
It has to be them. It has to be. Dale is possibly hiding a little Daryl shaped voo-doo doll in the back of his RV and probably takes it out every morning and gives it hugs and kisses. It's the only explanation for the change in his behavior, because it's exactly what it feels like. Like he's some damn puppet and the puppeteer is making him do things and feel things that otherwise he wouldn't do or feel.
Goddamn Dale.
Daryl turns around as he hears steps behind him, and sees Lori and Shane emerging from the bushes. Lori's got that mom look on her face, her hands resting on her bulging stomach. She ignores Daryl and shouts to her son,
"Carl, come on, it's time for your lesson."
Daryl thought he had just witnessed an angry Carl, but that Carl was nothing compared to the one who turned around now and shouted back, "Not now, mom!"
But that Carl is still no match for angry, hormonal Lori. "Right now, young man! Come on!"
Daryl has to look down to fight a smirk. God bless Lori and her cock-blocking timing.
"It's okay, Carl," Andrea says. "We'll do it again soon."
This seems to calm Carl down a little bit, but he's still looking annoyed as he puts his rod down and stands up, picking up his father's hat and bringing it with him.
As Carl walks by him, Daryl can't help it. He gives him a big cocky smile, and the child sneers at him and follows his mother and Shane back the way they came from. Daryl smirks as he watches them leave.
But then the minute Carl is gone, Daryl freezes. He realizes after a moment that Andrea is looking at him, expecting him to sit down and pick up where Carl left off. He kinda feels like leaving, doesn't know if he can handle this so soon. Besides, he's trying to get over her, and staying will jeopardize that. But he can't leave her here alone, either. She can get hurt.
Fuck.
After a few moments, he reluctantly takes his shoes off and sits down, sinking his legs into the cool water.
Only he miscalculates his landing and ends up sitting too close to her. Not touching, but still close enough to make him feel uncomfortable, exposed; like if she wanted to, she could read his whole life in his face and posture. She stares at the water instead, like she's not even aware that he's there, and though she barely moves he's still a little overwhelmed by the amount of energy that radiates from her body. It makes him uneasy, and he feels a consuming need to start biting his nails, but he tries to stay still. He's sure he looks like an idiot, sitting there paralyzed while a thousand voices in his mind are screaming at him to run.
He doesn't know what he hates more, this ridiculous situation or the fact that Carl is a better ladies' man than he is.
Don't be a bitch, his mind tells him. You're just fishing. No different from hunting. Just pretend she's not there. He does (or tries) and after a few moments his body finally begins to relax.
Luckily, fishing is a quiet affair. And as it turns out, rather humiliating. Andrea reels in fish after fish with such finesse and expertise, throwing their lifeless bodies into a bucket she must've found back at the house.
There's another bucket that sits next to him. Daryl looks at it – it's completely empty. His eyebrows furrow, and Andrea tries to be discreet as she quickly glances at it as well, failing to hide the curve of an amused smile.
Daryl frowns. "Ain't used to these fancy rods."
She breathes a chuckle, barely audible. "I didn't say anything."
He wants to be mad, really, but in a way it is kinda funny, since he's supposed to be the hunter. And though he knows admitting this makes him sink deeper into this shit, he does enjoy making her smile (even if he only seems to be able to do it at the expense of his ego). He lets himself smile at the situation as well (this once, just this once), and he feels a chunk of the haze lift and get carried away by the breeze.
It's only then that he notices the leaves have changed colors, that he's no longer uncomfortable or sweating. He notices that the sun is now lower in the sky and finally understands that the reason why he's not catching that many ducks is because they are all beginning to migrate south.
It punches him in the stomach with a hard blow. When did fall sneak up on him like this? What else has he missed?
Where the hell has he been this whole time?
He gets distracted again when Andrea reels in another fish. It struggles in her bucket for a few seconds, and then dies. Daryl tries to stay quiet for his own benefit (the less he knows about her, the better). His mouth, however, isn't very cooperative.
"How'd you get so good, anyway?"
She stays quiet, and he thinks either the words didn't actually come out, or she doesn't feel like talking to him. His lack of self-esteem decides it's the latter, and he swallows the disappointment with pride. But when he looks at her she's smiling at the water, really smiling, like she's seeing something that isn't there. Daryl's actually surprised when she starts to talk.
"It's pretty much what we lived on for most of my childhood," she says, and when he gives her a questioning look she embellishes further. "My parents - they were 15 when they had me. My grandparents wanted nothing to do with us, thought my mom was a disgrace. We were pretty much on our own, but we lived near the Glades. My dad built this crappy little boat out of nothing and would take me fishing so we could put food on the table."
Daryl listens, and begins to feel uncomfortable once again. The moment, the softness in her voice, it feels strangely... intimate, and he wonders how or why she trusts him enough to tell him this.
She doesn't trust you, dumbass. She's only telling you because you asked.
"We used to sell it, too," she continues, a bit brightly now. "To the local markets. I think I was 2 or 3. I used to follow him around all day from store to store. Most of them would turn us down, and the ones that didn't always took advantage, but it helped us keep our crappy little place. Eventually one of the owners hired him as a stock boy. He was really hard working, my dad. Always doing whatever he could to bring money back for my mom and I. He ended up taking over the store when the owner died. I think Amy must've been 4. She didn't really have it that bad."
At the mention of her sister Daryl notices her eyes sadden a little bit, but he says nothing. He thinks about Merle, for just a second, but then pushes him out of his mind.
"By the time she came along fishing wasn't a necessity anymore, just a hobby. For me it'd been a livelihood. For her it was just fun."
Daryl soaks all this information in, and it doesn't help at all to alleviate these symptoms. For as long as he's known her, he always imagined she was one of those uppity popular girls, with expensive clothes, walking around in her little cheerleader outfit, showing off the new car daddy bought her for her 16th birthday. A prom queen. One of those girls who used to look down on him for his dirty clothes and feral disposition.
Now he sees a scrawny little girl in tattered clothes, with messy blonde hair, sitting quietly in the back of the class. He sees the other kids calling her names because she reeks of working class. He wonders if that little girl would've been friends with the feral little boy who was looked down upon by everyone as well. He wonders if she would've given him a chance.
Maybe, maybe not.
He'll never really know.
It doesn't matter.
After a long silence, he says, "Always pegged ya for some fancy city girl."
Andrea chuckles softly. "I had to work my ass pretty hard to get there."
He nods, swallowing that information as well, and returns his attention to the water. Something feels different again, and after a moment he realizes his shoulders are slouched and his muscles no longer feel tense. This one is a different feeling, not overwhelming, not scary. He feels... comfortable. At ease. No longer nervous. No longer on alert. It's weird.
But he feels like... it's a good thing. Maybe. Perhaps he just needs to get used to being around her and this whole thing will go away. Maybe it'll fade or dissolve into some kind of friendship. Maybe that's the key. Maybe he just needs to spend more time around her. Maybe if he does, he'll finally see that she's not perched up on some sort of golden pedestal. That he doesn't need to be nervous around her. That she's just a girl and this fixation has nothing to do with her, but with that impromptu touch that caught him so off guard.
It might work. After all, trying to stay away from her only seems to make things worse. You have to confront your fears, he's always heard people say. Maybe if he confronts these weird feelings they'll finally leave him in peace.
He feels confident for the first time in weeks, but doesn't have much time to dwell on it, because something tugs at his line.
"Ooh."
Andrea turns to him. "Got one?"
"Mm," he grunts. "Big one, too."
His lips form a tight, tense line as he struggles with the fish. His muscles contract and nearly double in size as he stands up on the deck to get a better advantage.
Andrea reels her line in and puts her rod down. "Need help?"
"Nah, I got it," Daryl says, and really does curse at this stupid fancy rod. He's really not used to these things. The fish puts on a hell of a fight, and several moments Daryl thinks he might lose it. But after a few minutes of struggling he feels the fish weaken for the first time, and he takes the opportunity to tug as hard as he can.
"Holy... carp?" Andrea says as Daryl pulls the fish towards them with such force that it practically flies through the air and she has to take cover before it lands on the deck with a giant thud. Immediately it begins to flail about, but Daryl puts his foot over it, takes out his knife and guts the fish in the head.
Andrea approaches the fish, admiring its massive body. She looks at Daryl. "Well, I think this pretty much makes us even."
He smiles, actually smiles showing teeth and all, feeling a great sense of accomplishment and pride. It troubles him a bit, but it's probably some sort carry over primal instinct, he thinks. Just the caveman in him trying to impress the opposite sex. It sounds terrible in his head, but it's the only way he can rationalize it.
After all, these feelings have nothing to do with her.
With a grunt he leans down and flings the giant fish over his shoulder, casting a glance at her full bucket. "Think we got enough?"
"Too much." Andrea gathers all the equipment, picks up her bucket, and the two begin to walk back. "Most of it is probably going to go to waste."
"We can make jerky with it," Daryl suggests. "Store it for the winter."
She looks at him as they walk, confused. "You can make jerky with fish?"
He smiles at the reappearance of the fancy city girl.
They bring their catch back to the house, and the others are delighted. Everyone but Carl, Daryl notices, but he ignores the little boy and helps Carol clean, gut, and fabricate the fish.
That night, they all eat until their stomachs feel like they're about to pop. They laugh as they tell more stories, and for the first time since he's met this group, Daryl actually listens. He notices T-Dog is actually kind of funny, and finally understands why the others always prod at him to regale them with tales of his past.
He notices the way Maggie fusses over Glenn, almost as much as Lori fusses over Rick, the two women wiping away at the little grease that hangs on the corners of their husbands' mouths.
He notices Shane tenses up every time he sees this, though not as much as he used to, and he notices that Carol is smiling, actually smiling, her eyes squinting as everyone laughs. He notices the way Dale is constantly looking at everything, as if he could read their thoughts, and he makes a mental note not to make too much eye contact with the old man. At least until this he overcomes this thing.
And he notices the way the lights from candles catch the million different shades of yellow in Andrea's hair when she laughs so hard that her body tilts to the right. He notices how much... bigger she seems now. Not physically, but something about her disposition has changed over the past few months and he must've been too knee deep in his haze to notice. She seems more confident now, stronger, so... alive. He thinks back to those weeks after Amy died. Andrea wasn't really in his radar much, not back then, but he does remember her being such a shrinking violet; not really living at all, just... barely there.
She's not like that anymore, and a part of him regrets having missed this transformation (though he's also glad he did).
"This is the best meal I've had in... God, I can't even remember," Lori says, picking at the remains of her fish.
"It really is," Rick says between mouthfuls. "Andrea, thank you so much."
"I can't take all the credit," Andrea says as she blushes slightly. "I had some great help."
Both Carl and Daryl perk up immediately, but then they each notice the others' reactions, and their bodies sag again.
"Did you try the carp?" she continues.
"Oh my God, it's amazing," Maggie says, sinking her fork into another fillet and dragging it to her plate.
"You should've seen Daryl catch that thing," Andrea says. She catches his eyes from across the table and smiles, and Daryl has to remind himself again: this thing, it has nothing to do with her. You don't even know her. "It put on a hell of a fight."
"I don't like it," Carl says bitterly from where he's sitting next to his mother. He makes a face at the fish. "Tastes like mud."
Andrea chuckles and begins to tell the group about the dietary habit of carps and how it affects the way they taste, but Carl isn't listening and neither is Daryl. Their eyes are locked on each other and the intensity behind Carl's expression nearly knocks Daryl off his center, but he stands his groud and matches it with his own Dixon scowl. He knows what the kid is trying to do, insult his fish as a way of insulting him, to put him down in front of Andrea. The kid is playing dirty and Daryl feels the frustration bubbling in the pit of his stomach.
The voice is trying to remind him again to let it go. He's just a kid. A kid. But he can't hear it anymore. He's having none of this. He might go down in flames, get humiliated, hurt, or banished, but this kid needs to be taken down. He might have an angry, pregnant Lori come after his ass after it's all over, but he doesn't care anymore.
This is fucking war.
to be continued
Christ, this was way longer than I intended. I've a lot of school work in the next week or so, so I don't know when the next part will be up. But I'll try to work on it as often as I can. Again, thanks for the reviews!
Anea the Morwinyon - I don't know how old Carl is supposed to be on the show. In the comics, he's 6 when the apocalypse begins and he's 8 now (or he thinks he's 8). I'm going with 8 cause it's kind of an age where you're still a little innocent and cute but you can also be a sneaky little bastard.