SEVEN
He hadn't dreamed of Merle in months, if not longer.
He had locked away all the memories deep inside his mind, all the good and bad times. There had been more bad memories than good ones, but he refused to think about them, willed himself to forget, and for all this time it had worked.
Until tonight.
Daryl gasped for air and sat straight up in bed, sweat beading on his bare chest and his eyes burning with unshed tears. As his heart slowed back into its regular rhythm, he looked around and saw that the sun had just begun to climb over the horizon, casting everything inside the room in a faint rosy hue.
"You okay?" A voice asked, and he jumped again as he turned his head and saw Ava standing there beside him, a knife held up and ready in her fist. When she saw the sideways glance he gave her, she set it down on the bedside table.
He let out a small sigh. "Scared the shit outta me," he grumbled. Drawing up his knees, he hooked his arms around them, and she sank down onto the mattress in the empty spot by his legs.
"Sorry," she told him, wincing as the wound at her side - now sporting a new white bandage as she had overexerted herself a few days ago and reopened it - pulled tightly with each move. "I was walkin' by and heard you shouting, so I came in to check it out. Thought a walker'd got in or something."
"Nah. Bad dream."
Ava looked at him gravely. "That's one almost every night this week. What's this one about?"
Daryl's blue eyes shifted away to the window beside the bed. "Nothin'."
She rolled her own eyes. "Daryl..."
"Don't wanna talk 'bout it," he warned.
Moving closer, she laid her hand on his jean-clad knee and suddenly he felt the tears pricking at his eyelids once more. Daryl blinked and swallowed thickly, pondering just how in the hell she had done that to him. Anyone else came in here trying to make him talk, he'd scream at them to get the fuck out and leave him alone. But Ava? All she had to do was look at him with those damned green eyes and he melted like a goddamned icicle in July. And he had no clue when that had started, either, because just a short time ago he had shut down and shouted at her, telling her that he didn't need her help.
Oh, how wrong he had been.
He cleared his throat and tossed his overgrown hair out of his eyes, praying to anyone who would listen that his voice wouldn't break.
"Was more a mem'ry than a dream," he finally said. "Bad one, I guess."
"Merle?"
His gaze snapped from the window to her face then, but whatever he was expecting to see, all he actually saw there was compassion. After a long moment, he nodded. "If I coulda found a way to save 'im..."
Ava stood up and he followed her with his gaze, more than a little worried that she would leave, but she only moved to sit down on the very edge of the mattress beside him. Her arm snaked through his to curl around his chest, and he froze as she she laid her head against his bare shoulder, her chestnut hair brushing his jaw. Her voice reverberated against his skin as she said, "I'm sorry. It must've been hard."
"It was me, killed him. I...had ta be me."
She nodded. "Because you're his brother. It's only right."
"I just wish..."
"We all do," she interrupted. "Nothing worse than losing family."
His breath hitched in his chest then, and she ignored the tension in his body as she hugged him tighter, as if she could draw his pain into herself.
"Want this ta be over," he said, his gruff voice full of sadness, and when she looked up she could see that a tear had escaped and slipped down his cheek. "Tired of bein' alone."
Ava moved to reach up and brush the tear away but stopped when he flinched at her raised hand. Understanding what was happening, she deliberately slowed her movements until her hand was lightly pressed against his cheek, and he surprised her by leaning into her touch. "I know," she told him. "I want it to be over, too."
They stayed that way - Ava with her arms around him and Daryl fighting the empty feeling in his chest - for so long that her fingers began to tingle numbly. She closed her eyes and breathed in his scent, motor oil mixed with grass and the cheap soap they'd hoarded from a drugstore, grateful that at last he had allowed her so close, not only physically but emotionally. He'd been a tough nut to crack, unwilling to entertain the chance of being hurt or betrayed, keeping everyone but Rick - who he thought of as just as close a brother as Merle - at arms' length. She wondered why it was that he had let her in now, what had changed.
"Been survivin' so long, 'stead of livin'," she heard him say as his muscles finally relaxed and he slumped back against the wall. "Runnin' and fightin' since I's a kid."
"The world's changed so much these past few years," she agreed. "There's not much time to think." She chuckled. "Knock on wood, this week's been the quietest it's been since this all started."
"Ya think it's too late? Ta think?"
"About what?"
He shrugged, nervously chewing on his thumbnail. "I dunno. Everything. The future."
Ava shook her head. "Guess not. Kinda hard to date, nowadays, though."
"Yeah."
She sat up and shook her sleeping arm, grimacing at the pins and needles. "So what d'you think, Daryl? You ever think about finding someone to settle down with, or something?"
His eyes gazed softly down at her and he hesitated a moment before gently stroking his fingers down her cheek. Her numb hand dropping forgotten to her side, Ava looked up at him with a question in her eyes. The tip of his tongue touched his bottom lip then ran across it, and he breathed, "Or somethin'."
Her heart racing, she watched as he bent his head and gently brushed his mouth against hers, his hand cradling her lower jaw. She was unsure of what to do at first, whether this was some elaborate trick or a dream or even a hallucination, but when she laid her hands against his chest she found that he was solid and warm and real, and so she closed her eyes and kissed him back. His calloused hands moved to grasp her shoulders and pull her closer, kept pulling until she was sitting in his lap with her legs wrapped around him, his lips never losing contact with hers.
"Daryl," she breathed against his mouth, but he only kissed her harder before trailing his lips up her neck toward her ear.
"Don't," he whispered in between kisses on her velvet earlobe. "Please."
"I just didn't..."
"Do now," he said simply, and she nodded.
Then his mouth was on hers again, and it felt so good she wrapped her fingers in his hair and kissed him as hard as she could, grinning as she felt his hands go still on her arms, as if he wasn't quite sure what to do with them. She dragged her lips across his cheek to his lower jaw, pressing tiny kisses all along it to the spot below his ear and feeling his breath come in sharp gasps.
His fingers dug into her biceps then, squeezing once before they let go to skim up under the back of her shirt, and she moaned at the heat his fingertips left along her spine. Ava returned the gesture, running her nails lightly down his bare chest, and was rewarded by a sharp gasp and him nipping at the skin along her collarbone. Forgetting her wounded side, she ground her hips against his, throwing her head back as her mouth dropped open. Daryl suddenly stopped moving, instead wrapping his arms around her in a bear hug. He buried his face in her neck, his hot breath tickling her sensitive skin as he fought to control himself.
"I...I can't..." he said into her shoulder. "M' sorry."
Ava felt his body trembling and frowned in confusion. He definitely wanted it, wanted her, and he didn't seem like the type to refrain from taking what he wanted. So what was stopping him? Taking his face in her hands, she pulled him back so she could look in his eyes.
"Daryl? What's wrong?"
"Nothin'," he tried, licking lips that had suddenly gone dry. When he realized that wouldn't work, he inhaled deeply and muttered, "It's...I...ain't no good at this."
Her gaze softened. "You have done it, though?"
"Course I have. Jesus," he answered quickly, offended that she had even asked. Then his blue eyes shifted to the bed sheets underneath them. "Jus'...been a long time...an' yer hurt..."
Ava felt her heart squeeze in her chest, and she gently put her hand on the back of his neck and leaned forward to press her lips against his forehead. As she drew away, she said, "It's okay. We don't have to."
"I want ta," he insisted, and she smiled softly at him.
"I know. Time's not right, is all."
"I want it t' mean somethin'. Not just scratchin' an itch." He looked at her through his bangs. "Ya mad?"
Ava shook her head. "No. I get it. It's okay."
He sighed in relief and hugged her to himself again, and Ava huffed out a laugh as her nose was squashed against his chest. He made a surprised sound and jerked to the side as her breath puffed against his skin, and her eyes flew to his face. Grinning like the Cheshire Cat, she asked, "Ticklish?"
"Tell anyone and yer dead," he rumbled and then gave her a smirk.
Ava laughed again. "I won't. And you wouldn't dare."
His eyebrow lifted. "Makes you say that?"
"You like me," she replied with a half-shrug.
He was quiet for a long time, so long that she sat up so she could see his whole face. Suddenly nervous and a little self-conscious, she pulled the blanket around herself despite being fully dressed. "Don't you?" She asked softly.
His blue eyes bright in the full morning light, he put his hands on either side of her face and stared right into her eyes. "Yeah."
The smile she gave him rivaled the brightest sun. She moved off of his lap and lay on her side facing him, Daryl shifting further over to make room for her. His arm curled around her waist, keeping her close even though it was not necessary. There was nowhere she would rather be than there with him. Blinking lazily, he gazed at every inch of her face, each freckle and mark etched into his memory. She blushed under his scrutiny. He was far from what she would've chosen as her "ideal" man, at least years ago before the world had gone to hell. Back in Los Angeles she had dated much different men - lawyers and white-collar businessmen on their way up the corporate ladder. But now, looking back, she realized that none of their money or aspirations were worth a damn. Daryl wasn't big on words or emotions or much of anything besides killing walkers and watching Rick's back, but in this world loyalty and strength were what mattered, and he had those in spades. She wondered what any of her old boyfriends would do now, if they had even survived this long. Something told her that none of them could last a minute against Daryl.
"Hear ya thinkin'," he muttered, and she looked up at his face, surprised to see that his eyes were closed now.
"Keeping you awake?" She asked.
Daryl grunted, then sighed. His eyes still closed, he asked, "Somethin' wrong?"
"No. Just thinking."
"Bout what?"
She huffed out a breath. Choosing her words carefully, she said, "About what just happened."
Now his eyes opened. "You mad...?"
"No!" She said quickly, her hand running over his hair in reassurance. "No. Just...I never thought you felt that way...about me."
He paused a moment to comprehend her words, as exhaustion was edging its way over his mind and body. Then, he replied, "Ain't none of us knows how long we got left. Wasted a lot of time hidin' what I felt fer people, and then they 're dead and never knew."
"When did she die?" Ava asked perceptively.
Daryl sighed. "Few years back." He huffed a humorless laugh. "In a hospital."
"She your girlfriend?"
Now he scoffed, causing her to wrinkle her brow in confusion. "No. Just...she was just a friend. You remind me of 'er, though. Got them big, wide eyes like she did. She wasn't afraid of me, neither. Even when I yelled at 'er, said mean things to 'er.
"She was just a kid, but she was startin' to get me, y'know? Open me up and figger out why I'm so screwed up inside."
"Because of your parents?"
"Probably. They...they weren't...good people."
"They hurt you," she guessed, her heart squeezing for him and what she could only imagine he had gone through. She had seen the scars on his back a few times, once at Sanctuary when he thought she was sleeping and another time when he had gotten his shirt caught in Chloe's sling and it pulled away from his shoulder, and though they looked skin-deep she knew they ran clear through to his soul. Back at the Sanctuary she had assumed that Negan or one of his lackeys had inflicted them upon him, but once she saw them up close and saw how old they were, she knew that wasn't possible. Anger blazed through her then; what would he have become if they had not abused him? Would that tough exterior still have formed; would that sudden rage swirl just below the surface as it did now?
"I lived," he said by way of a reply, but Ava could only shut her eyes and curl her arm around him tighter, whispering his name softly. Daryl pressed his lips to her forehead, then closed his eyes. "Sleep," he muttered. "Busy day ahead."
She lay there awake long after he had drifted off, her eyes staring unseeingly up at the ceiling and her heart breaking for his younger self. He must have been so afraid and confused, wondering what he had done to make his parents hurt him and how not to do it next time. She wished she could go back in time and protect him from everything.
Like he had protected her from Negan.
She reached up and gently laid her hand on his grizzled cheek, tears pricking her eyelids. He had risked his life for her, went up against the threat of Lucille's barbed wire with nothing to defend himself but his legendary scowl and his bare hands. As another wave of tenderness washed over her, Ava leaned forward and lightly kissed his mouth, and when she pulled back she saw that though he was still asleep his lips curved up in a smile.
It was only for a moment, but it was long enough.
"You're not alone," she whispered to him. Then, she curled up beside him and let sleep pull her into its embrace.
TBC...