A/N: Sorry about the delayed update! I didn't have access to Ssn 3 until last week, so I'm in the midst of rewatching and gearing up to get the rest of this fic written and posted. Feels good to write from Andrea's voice again; as I delve into Ssn 3 once more, I feel closer to the character of Andrea than when I started off. I don't have access to Ssn 4 (boo) but hopefully Netflix doens't take too long to get that loaded once the season is over.
Thanks to incog_ninja for taking time to look this over and make sure it was nice and shiny for you all.
"Sorry, brother."
Footsteps through the tall grass surrounding the Greene farm brought my head up, and the echo of Daryl's final words to Dale faded as I turned to watch Rick approach. I frantically wiped at my eyes – I'd held it together since Daryl had pulled the trigger, and not even the hollow crack of the bullet firing had shaken me. I'd wandered off, wanting to be alone, and that was when the tears fell. As I watched Rick's careful steps, and the firm remorse in his face, I suddenly decided that alone was the last thing I wanted to be. I turned back to the field, and to the night.
"Ain't safe out here," Rick murmured as he settled down beside me. I watched from the corner of my eye as he leaned forward and snared a blade of the wild grass. He twirled it absently, twisting it around his fingers.
I snorted at his statement, and maybe it was my grief that made it turn into full blown laughter. "Are you for real?" I turned my head to fully face him.
He smirked down at his hands, pitching aside the shredded grass, and sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face. "I know," he nodded. "Ain't safe anywhere."
"That's what it feels like," I agreed.
He focused on me. "Dale said this group was broken."
I nodded silently, pushing back tears
"What do you think?" Rick prodded.
I wasn't entirely sure of Rick's motives, so I shrugged. "Why are you asking me?"
"Because I value your opinion," he answered. There was no hesitation in his voice, and I suspected he was doing some serious soul searching. I'm sure we all were that night.
"Well," I began, pulling me knees up and hooking my arms over them. "I don't think it was ever working properly to begin with."
The former deputy nodded silently, processing my answer. Then, he looked back into the field. "Think it can be fixed?"
"It will take some work," I shrugged, glancing back to the farmhouse, and then the barn, and then the shack where we were holding Randall. "That might be a good place to start."
"What would you do? I mean, if you were in my shoes, how would you fix this?"
I shook my head. "Rick, you don't have to do this alone," I started.
"Yes, I do, Andrea," he cut me off. "It's my-"
"Your what? Your job?"
My words hung in the air for a moment, and silence crept in, save for the crickets.
"Yes," Rick finally answered. "It is my job. To keep these people safe – that's my job."
The conviction was apparent in his tone; but underneath there was a hint of desperation. Rick was grasping at straws, trying to hold everyone together, or at least fix the broken parts.
I stopped him before he could continue; his voice was becoming thick with emotion. "Rick. I can take care of myself. And Daryl can take care of himself. And T, and Shane, and anyone else that isn't your family. You need to take care of Carl, and Lori, and that baby."
Rick stiffened at the mention of 'baby', and he swung his gaze back to the field. "We're all family, as far as I'm concerned." He fell silent again. When he stood, he placed his hands on his hips and hung his head. When he looked at me once more, he offered a small smile. "I'm sorry about Dale. And I'm sorry Daryl had to be the one…"
"Thank you," I nodded, jumping in before he could say anything more about Daryl. We'd been discreet, but Rick had obviously picked up on something. "And Daryl did it because he knew you needed him to do it." I stood, dusting my pants off.
Rick gave another smile and nodded, before turning back towards the farmhouse. I turned in the opposite direction, and made my way down to Daryl's tent.
As I moved into the clearing where his tent was, Daryl shot up from where he was crouched by his fire. For a moment, neither of us spoke, and I could see him fighting a battle with himself in terms of what he wanted to do. He took half a step forward, only to move back and frown at the flames. Then, he picked his head up and circled the fire, coming towards me with determination that dissolved as soon as he looked into my eyes. He opened his mouth, then closed it, and then ducked his head. On the third try, he got it, and held a sidelong glance as he reached out and snared his fingers with mine.
Clutching his hand desperately, I stared into the fire with him.
"You're freezin'," he said a while later.
I had no idea how long we'd stood out there staring into the flames, but they were lower, and the heart of the fire glowed red and angry. I swallowed thickly. "I'll be okay."
He scoffed at this and nudged me towards the fire. "Sit," he growled, before ducking into his tent.
I dropped to the log he'd hauled from somewhere at some point, and rubbed my hands together, coming back to myself as I felt the tingling in my cold fingertips. I shivered then, just in time for Daryl to return and sling his sleeping bag over my shoulders. He took a seat nearby, an arrow in his hands, his fingers slipping over the fletching.
"Thank you," I murmured. "For…" I shrugged under the down filled bag and gestured to the fire. "For this. And for Dale." I smiled faintly. "And for Rick."
Daryl's head bobbed, but he still stared into the fire.
"It couldn't have been easy."
He shook his head. "Wasn't," he replied, "but I wasn't about to let Rick carry that burden, too."
I watched as he spoke, and it was then that I noticed his knuckles. The sleeping bag I was clutching was forgotten, and I shuffled closer to him, slowing the movement of his hands over the arrow, and turning so I could see his bruised, bashed knuckles in the glow of the fire. "Lose a fight with a tree?" I tried to joke. I knew, though, what had happened. The fact that he acted as some sort of guard dog-slash-torture element didn't sit right with me, and the way he reacted told me he didn't quite know how to feel about it, either.
He narrowed his eyes at me, and tried pulling his hand away. I held him fast, refusing to let him go.
"Ain't nothin'," he grunted.
"Bullshit. They're still oozing." I looked to his tent. "Where'd you stash your first aid kit?" Daryl was a true outdoorsman, and didn't go anywhere without his emergency stash of bandages. I didn't think he'd appreciate me hauling him up to the house to see Hershel – not that I thought he'd let me in the first place. Still, I needed something to focus on, and I felt like he didn't want to talk about Dale anymore than I did.
He grunted again, and rolled his shoulder, his way of saying 'do what you want,' and so I told him to stay before moving into his tent. Underneath his shirts, next to a stash of hand-hewn bolts, I found the little yellow nylon bag that held his medical supplies. When I stepped back outside, Daryl was waiting, lifting his gaze from the flames to my face. He watched me come to sit next to him, watched as I unzipped the bag and laid out gauze, alcohol swabs, and bandages. And he watched me, unflinching, as I fixed his wounds as best I could beside the dying fire.
"You plannin' on sleepin' anytime soon?"
I shook my head in the darkness of Daryl's tent and turned to my side, pressing my nose against his shoulder. "Could ask you the same thing." His skin was warm, and smokey; we hadn't bothered dressing after he'd tackled me to all fours barely an hour before.
"Can't sleep," he replied softly. I felt the air around my head stir and then the faintest touch followed. His fingertips trailed through my hair until his bandaged hand settled on my back.
"Me neither."
There was only the sound of our breathing. Then: "Wanna tire me out?" Daryl shifted underneath me, one hand still steady on my back while the other one skated across my belly to my hip, pushing until I rolled to my back and took him with me.
"That wans't enough for you earlier?"
"Nuh-uh," he breathed against my ear.
I shivered at the timbre in his voice. "How is this going to help me?"
It was dark, but I knew he was smirking, and the scruff of his chin slid over my collarbones, hot, and rough, and making my skin tingle. "I'll tire you out in the process," he muttered before his teeth snagged my nipple and tugged.
I hissed, my knees already coming to hug his ribs, and I bounced my hips into him to convey my urgency. His lips took over where his teeth started, and he sucked and bit his way down my body, his hands pushing me down, holding me to the ground as he worked. I gasped his name more than once, and held him in place by his hair as he moved further and further, until his breath fanned over the hot, wet heat that had been building since I'd taken his hands into mine that night. I bucked again, unsure this time, and twisted under his grip. "I haven't showered in a few days," I pointed out dryly.
"I ain't showered in a week," came his response, before he pressed a hard, wet kiss to my pubic bone. "An' I really don't care, Andrea. So shut up. You need this as much as I do."
His words melted me, and my knees fell slack. It was only for a moment, the first lazy, wet swipe of his tongue through my slick center had me strained, and my hips snapped up into his face. A proud, rumbling chuckle permeated the tent and I snagged his ears, tugging him towards me. "Then shut up and get to it, Dixon."
"Bossy," he muttered, before settling in.
He may not have used his mouth for words, but he made up for it in much more creative ways. Away from the rest of the group, I let myself go beneath him, and panted and keened, clutching the back of his neck with one hand, and the blanket beneath me with the other. His tongue was fast, and sure, and together with his lips he switched from a hard, breathtaking assault to long, lazy, toe curling licks and tastes. My thighs tensed and shook every time he switched gears, and I felt like he was memorizing every detail he could.
He was voracious, and the sounds he made while he tasted me had me on edge in no time. I told him as much, only to have him pull back with a hum before sliding first one finger, and then two, deep inside. I clenched hard, coming up off the blanket and rolling my hips right into his hand. He hissed in approval, urging me with soft words, until I spilled into his hand.
He gave me no time to catch my breath and soon filled the void his mouth and hand had left. I clung to him, unashamed, and stared up at him as he drove into me over and over. Strong hands clutched my thighs, and he slid an arm under my back, pulling me up to meet him even as his mouth came down on mine, open, and hot, his tongue sliding along my bottom lip. When he moaned into my mouth, I shook, and tightened my legs around his waist. The kiss ended with a wet gasp, and he sat back on his haunches, never breaking rhythm, his eyes never leaving mine. My hands scrabbled over his thighs, up his ribs, and latched on to his forearms. I hung on frantically as Daryl crashed into me, ripping hot moans and sighs from my throat as I came again, and again, and again. It was almost too much when he followed, swelling inside of me, battering to the point of bruising, only to culminate in bone jarring thrusts, and a hoarse cry.
Moments later he collapsed, his sweat-soaked brow pushing against my shoulder, and he shuddered as my hands swept down from his damp hair, over his scars, to the small of his back. My thighs squeezed him again, and I felt him twitch, and then heard him groan gently. His breath puffed against my shoulder as he shifted and pulled free of my body. But he tugged me close, and threw a leg and half of his upper body over me. I heard him tell me to stay, and then was softly snoring moments later.
I hadn't been lying when I told him I didn't spend the night with men. It was a rule of mine: usually, I felt vulnerable, and uncertain, and spent too much time reading into what it meant to sleep next to someone through to the next morning, whereupon there would be awkward conversation over bad coffee, a request to use the shower, and then a hasty exit. But there was never anything awkward with Daryl, no matter how much he liked to try and be that way. What we had was what it was, and as his breathing settled into a soft rhythm, I knew without a doubt that Daryl was nothing like any other man I'd ever been with, and we would no doubt be like any other relationship I had ever had before. It felt good. It felt right. It felt like this was what I had been wanting, without even knowing I wanted it. I drifted off, and woke at sun up with him. Together, we dressed, and then we ate,a few stolen glances here and there, and a quick, soft kiss before we went off in search of Rick. That morning, we buried Dale. That afternoon, we decided what to do with the kid cuffed in the shed.
